13. Like Switzerland, Really.
"It's humiliating," moaned Crowley, so that the malevolent bat beside him couldn't hear. "He's the bloody Antichrist."
Aziraphale nodded, and pat Crowley on the back reassuringly. "I'm sorry," he said. "It makes sense, though. He's ambivalent about taking sides."
"Fine," growled the demon, "but couldn't he be just as neutral in Ravenclaw?"
Before Aziraphale could answer, McGonagall tapped her glass goblet with her spoon and called for attention, and the man beside her slowly rose from his seat.
Albus Dumbledore, Aziraphale decided, looked as old as the angel occasionally felt. Perhaps even older.
Yet despite his appearance – rich robes of maroon brocade and a long white beard that stretched so long that the end of it vanished behind the table – he held himself with more grace and dignity than Aziraphale had seen in a mortal since the days of that nice fellow with the ark.
Dumbledore held up his hands, and the hall fell into an instant silence.
"I want to welcome you all to another year here at Hogwarts," he said, in a raspy but soothing voice. "I have a few announcements to make before we begin the feast."
"First," he said, "I would like to introduce to you two new members of the staff. As some of you may know, Madame Irma Pince, our esteemed librarian, has left to pursue her dream of writing spellbooks. I'm sure we all wish her the best of luck with her endeavours. Please welcome your new librarian, Professor Azir A. Phale."
There was a brief spate of polite applause as Aziraphale stood and bowed, slightly, to the congregation. He sat down and grinned at Crowley, who rolled his eyes.
"We also have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," continued Dumbledore, and the students buzzed nervously among themselves. Several of them craned their necks over one another to catch a glimpse of the dark, slouching figure seated beside the new librarian. "Professor Anthony Crowley has been so kind as to accept the position. Please do your best to give him a proper Hogwarts welcome."
Crowley rose, and smirked.
The Hall burst into applause, though some of the students looked a bit confused as to why they were clapping so hard. Some of them looked at their hands as if they weren't certain they were even attached to their bodies, anymore.
Aziraphale made a derisive snort as Crowley sat back down.
"Show-off," he muttered. Crowley grinned at him.
"Finally, I hope that you will enjoy your time here at Hogwarts. It is certain that enjoyment will be short in supply, in the coming months and years, so I urge all of you to do your best to live in the moment, and take each day as it comes."
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks. The angel looked questioning. The demon shrugged. The students looked nonplussed by Dumbledore's words, as if they were something they'd come to be accustomed to. Crowley frowned.
"Now then," said Dumbledore, with a benevolent smile. "Let the feast begin!"
The tables exploded with food, and as Crowley helped himself to a plate of chicken legs he tried to ignore an anxious little voice in the back of his mind (that sounded remarkably like Aziraphale, he noted) that wondered if perhaps there was something that they hadn't been told.
It wouldn't be the first time.
--
"It's humiliating," moaned Crowley, so that the malevolent bat beside him couldn't hear. "He's the bloody Antichrist."
Aziraphale nodded, and pat Crowley on the back reassuringly. "I'm sorry," he said. "It makes sense, though. He's ambivalent about taking sides."
"Fine," growled the demon, "but couldn't he be just as neutral in Ravenclaw?"
Before Aziraphale could answer, McGonagall tapped her glass goblet with her spoon and called for attention, and the man beside her slowly rose from his seat.
Albus Dumbledore, Aziraphale decided, looked as old as the angel occasionally felt. Perhaps even older.
Yet despite his appearance – rich robes of maroon brocade and a long white beard that stretched so long that the end of it vanished behind the table – he held himself with more grace and dignity than Aziraphale had seen in a mortal since the days of that nice fellow with the ark.
Dumbledore held up his hands, and the hall fell into an instant silence.
"I want to welcome you all to another year here at Hogwarts," he said, in a raspy but soothing voice. "I have a few announcements to make before we begin the feast."
"First," he said, "I would like to introduce to you two new members of the staff. As some of you may know, Madame Irma Pince, our esteemed librarian, has left to pursue her dream of writing spellbooks. I'm sure we all wish her the best of luck with her endeavours. Please welcome your new librarian, Professor Azir A. Phale."
There was a brief spate of polite applause as Aziraphale stood and bowed, slightly, to the congregation. He sat down and grinned at Crowley, who rolled his eyes.
"We also have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," continued Dumbledore, and the students buzzed nervously among themselves. Several of them craned their necks over one another to catch a glimpse of the dark, slouching figure seated beside the new librarian. "Professor Anthony Crowley has been so kind as to accept the position. Please do your best to give him a proper Hogwarts welcome."
Crowley rose, and smirked.
The Hall burst into applause, though some of the students looked a bit confused as to why they were clapping so hard. Some of them looked at their hands as if they weren't certain they were even attached to their bodies, anymore.
Aziraphale made a derisive snort as Crowley sat back down.
"Show-off," he muttered. Crowley grinned at him.
"Finally, I hope that you will enjoy your time here at Hogwarts. It is certain that enjoyment will be short in supply, in the coming months and years, so I urge all of you to do your best to live in the moment, and take each day as it comes."
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks. The angel looked questioning. The demon shrugged. The students looked nonplussed by Dumbledore's words, as if they were something they'd come to be accustomed to. Crowley frowned.
"Now then," said Dumbledore, with a benevolent smile. "Let the feast begin!"
The tables exploded with food, and as Crowley helped himself to a plate of chicken legs he tried to ignore an anxious little voice in the back of his mind (that sounded remarkably like Aziraphale, he noted) that wondered if perhaps there was something that they hadn't been told.
It wouldn't be the first time.
--