"What's so funny?" Crowley demanded as Aziraphale giggled uncontrollably. As soon as he'd entered the corridor they'd agreed to meet in, Aziraphale had dissolved into laughter.

"It's — oh my dear — look up!" the Ravenclaw got out between chortles.

Perplexed, Crowley complied, and spotted what had Aziraphale so tickled: a sprig of mistletoe, tied up in a red ribbon, hovered a foot above his head. Well, that explained why various students had seemed to ogle the space just above him as he'd made his way through the castle. Heaving a theatrical sigh, he turned around in the corridor.

As expected, three heads popped out from around the corner. One sported dark dreadlocks, while the other two freckled faces were crowned in vivid red hair. All three bore Cheshire grins.

"Gotcha!" Lee Jordan crowed, as the mischief-makers stepped fully into the hallway. "You know what you've got to do now!"

"Oh no," Crowley said drily, "snog my own boyfriend? Anything but that." As he spoke, Aziraphale leaned forward and offered him a swift, soft peck on the lips. Charm broken, the sprig of mistletoe tumbled from midair and bounced off Crowley's head and onto the floor.

It had been early November when they'd faced dementors together and shared a first kiss, hearts racing more with sheer terror than excitement. Now December had arrived, yet every kiss still filled Crowley like a balloon, sending a small magic shock from his lips into his heart.

This one thought of the dementors brought more memories of that night into Crowley's mind. He allowed his boyfriend to take him by the hand and lead him along to the Entrance Hall without paying much attention. Even when Lee suddenly exclaimed, "Shit, I forgot my Zonko's money!" and he and the twins peeled away to collect it from Gryffindor Tower, Crowley hardly noticed them go, sunk into reverie as he was.

In his memory, Crowley and Aziraphale were practically dragging a semi-conscious Adam across the flooded grounds when they were intercepted by a throng of students coming in from the Quidditch field.

The match can't be over already, Crowley thought just as Dumbledore's pointed purple hat appeared in the midst of the students and the driving rain. Crowley's stomach jolted as his eyes alighted on the inert figure of Harry Potter being levitated in front of the headmaster, whose normally twinkling eyes now flashed with a scarcely suppressed fury. What had happened? Had the slender seeker been flung off his broom by the wind?

Professor McGonagall was right at Dumbledore's side, but she stepped away from him to hurry towards Crowley, Aziraphale, and the hardly-upright eleven-year-old they were urging along.

"Dementors?" she asked shortly, voice raised to combat the howling wind. Aziraphale and Crowley nodded mutely. "They came to the Quidditch pitch as well," she said. That explained poor Potter, then — he must have passed out in midair from the dementors' presence. "Wood, Johnson, come help with this boy," McGonagall ordered two of the Quidditch players hovering over Potter's unmoving form.

Wood and Angelina carried the tiny first-year between them, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to slog along behind them. When they made it back to the castle, they followed Dumbledore in his swift march to the Hospital Wing — on the way, Crowley found his AWOL wand beside the trick step he'd stumbled into on his and Aziraphale's mad dash to the grounds — and sank down onto a bed beside Adam.

Anathema and Newton dashed into the Wing, soaked and panting. They made their way to the bed where Adam was tucked into the blankets and Crowley and Aziraphale sat shivering.

"So," Anathema said to Crowley as way of greeting, "Is he a good kisser?"

Crowley blinked, wondering how the hell Anathema knew about the kiss until he recalled the prophecy she had half-revealed to him earlier: the half she hadn't told him must mention his and Aziraphale's desperate kiss. He blushed — the thought that some long-gone witch named Nutter had seen him snogging his friend with her Inner Eye was not exactly a comfortable one. But he replied nonchalantly.

"Eh, he's all right," he said. "Better than kissing a dementor, at any rate."

Aziraphale sputtered.

Just then Madame Pomfrey zoomed in to shoo all extraneous students out of the Wing, including Anathema and Newt. As Anathema turned to leave, Crowley thrust the time turner at her.

"Can you put it back?" he asked her. She nodded curtly and left the room in a swish of black hair.

The harried nurse bustled around Potter for several minutes before she could look Adam over. Soon after, she was thrusting huge mugs of hot chocolate at all three of them. Crowley felt the dregs of his depleted spirit stir at the first warm sip.

"What the bloody hell were you doing out there, anyway?" he asked Adam, who was sitting up in bed and sipping gratefully at his cocoa.

Adam did not reply for a moment, and then said in a weak voice, "Dog Junior."

"What?" Aziraphale asked, baffled, speaking for the first time since they'd left the site of the dementors.

"Dog Junior. He's jus' like my Dog at home, but bigger an' real good at tricks and here, livin' on the grounds." Crowley recalled the time Adam had told him about the great black dog that frequented the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "I thought he might be scared out in the storm, so I went to find him. To bring 'im to the castle."

"You almost got us killed — worse than killed — for a dog," Aziraphale said disbelievingly. Crowley placed his hand over his friend's where it had curled into a fist on the blankets. He gave the Ravenclaw a meaningful look: now was not the time to agitate the already shaken first-year.

But Adam's lower lip had begun to tremble. "Do you think he's okay?" he sniffed. "Do you think…do you think the dementors got him?"

"Nah Adam, of course not," Crowley interjected quickly. "He's a smart dog, he'll know to keep out of the dementors' way."

"He's probably found somewhere nice and warm to stay," Aziraphale joined in, to Crowley's relief, "safe out of the storm."

The whole thing blew over much more quickly than Crowley expected. That following Monday they were back in class, their biggest worry their ever-growing workload once again. He felt changed in many ways — but in other ways, the same as he'd always been.

His relationship with Aziraphale went along similar lines — much changed from what it had been, and yet not much different after all. The frequent snogging sessions in unused classrooms was the largest modification to their relationship, and their hand-holding was no longer furtive.

Crowley was pulled from his recollecting by raised voices as he and Aziraphale passed the side corridor leading to the cellar where the Hufflepuff common room was tucked away.

"I swear, if you bring up the prophecy one more time — !" a familiar voice was shouting. "I like you for you, you clueless gnome!"

Crowley and Aziraphale sped down the corridor to find, as expected, Anathema towering over an alarmed Newt. Well, not towering — she and the Hufflepuff were almost the same exact height — but when Anathema Device was angry, she certainly gave off an air of towering.

"So will you agree," she demanded, voice lower than it had been but ire still obvious, "to go as a date, or not?"

Newton caught sight of Aziraphale and Crowley behind Anathema's back. His beseeching eyes grabbed onto Crowley's.

"Just say yes, mate," Crowley said. "She likes you."

"Y-yes," Newt said, voice cracking. Then, a bit stronger, "I will go on a date with you."

"Excellent," Aziraphale said, clapping his hands together. "A double date."

"Who says you and your boy toy are invited, Anchell?" Anathema asked, turning to face them, but a grin glimmered along her lips.

"I've always wanted to go on a double date," Aziraphale said happily, ignoring the Slytherin's words.

"You have?" Crowley asked, surprised.

"They always sound so fun in books."

"They do?" But Crowley was pleased about this turn of events as well.

The walk to Hogsmeade was a merry one, for the dreary downpours of November had transformed into powdery snowfall and sheaths of frost across the grass. The four of them walked, nearly skipped, hand-in-hand. The other students all around them were equally cheerful, this being the last Hogsmeade trip of the term — it signaled only a week of classes to go, and then would come the much needed break of the Winter Holidays.

After visiting various shops — including Madam Puddifoot's to purchase some of the tea Aziraphale loved so well, where they were waylaid by a middle-aged witch whose arms clinked with bangles to rival Professor Trelawney's and who proclaimed herself as Madame Tracy, promising them a "séance they would never forget" if they followed her upstairs; they only managed to escape her after accepting a handful of calling cards — they slipped with some relief into the warm, lively atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks.

The four fifth-years settled into a booth near two wizards who were clearly well beyond tipsy at this point: several empty bottles of firewhisky littered the table between them, along with ink bottles and sheets of parchment covered in two sets of handwriting.

Crowley observed these two gentlemen as his friends set about hailing Madam Rosmerta for some Butterbeer. The one wizard, who bore tousled waves of dark hair, was dressed in robes unlike any Crowley had ever seen before: they were of black leather, perhaps dragon's hide, and Crowley fancied that if James Bond were a wizard, he would wear much the same thing.

The other man — a good bit older than his companion, giving off an air of worldly wisdom and decked in all white from his robes to his hat — was speaking: "…So the angel, absorbed in this new book he's obtained, shuts the door in the demon's face, leaving the poor demon quite put out!" He chuckled at this related misfortune, which struck Crowley as a little insensitive.

"This angel and this demon," said the one in black, speaking slowly in the way drunk people do when they don't want to sound drunk, "they sound like a regular married couple to me."

"Well they more or less are," his white-clad colleague agreed amiably, "but we never state it outright. We leave it to rather blaring subtext for the readers to piece together. It's more of a thrill that way."

Leather-robes took a moment to reply, mulling this over. "Why is that?"

The old man scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Why…I don't know," he responded, bewildered as only someone four or more drinks in can be.

Crowley found himself disappointed by this conversation: he had been entertaining the notion that these wizards were secret agents, aurors perhaps, but it seemed they were just writers. He turned his attention elsewhere.

Madam Rosmerta set down four foaming tankards of Butterbeer. Luckily, Anathema did not flirt with the landlady this time, even though the older woman offered her an exaggerated wink.

As one, they all lifted their mugs and took a large swig, filling their stomachs with warming foam.

Newton smacked his lips contentedly. "There's nothing a hot drink can't cure." Crowley thought about how the dementors' chill could be thawed off with cocoa and nodded in agreement.

The group's conversation meandered from schoolwork — "Only one week left, thank Merlin!" — to friendly teasing and discussions of the coming break.

"So," Newt asked at one point, "what are you lot going to do over the Winter Holidays?"

"Study," Aziraphale answered promptly.

"And watch James Bond films with me," Crowley reminded the Ravenclaw — he was staying with the Anchell family for the holidays, as usual.

"What? No!" Aziraphale protested.

"All of them," Crowley insisted. "You promised, remember?"

"Oh God, did I really?" Aziraphale sighed.

"You did."

"Oh, all right." He nursed his Butterbeer, plump lips curved into a pout that did strange things to Crowley's pulse. "But I'm studying while we watch them."

"What about you, Anathema?" Crowley asked the witch across from him.

"I'll be getting out my theodolite to check on my village's ley lines," she answered. "It's good to map them out every few years, just in case they've shifted."

Sitting in the warmth and bustle of the Three Broomsticks, enveloped in a blanket laughter and chatter from all sides, holding Aziraphale's — his boyfriend's! —hand, Crowley smiled. This is right where he wanted to be.

The next week passed quickly enough. Professors piled their fifth-year students' arms high with assignments for the holidays and sent them homeward on board the Hogwarts express.

After Anathema and Newton had finished their prefect duties patrolling the train, they joined Aziraphale and Crowley in an otherwise empty compartment.

Anathema got out her hand-held wireless, and Newton fiddled with the dial as the others lounged about, snacking on cauldron cakes and licorice wands they'd bought from the trolley witch.

The static emanating from the speakers dissolved itself into a fanfare of instruments, somewhat grainy, and then a woman's voice singing out, clear and sweet:

"When true lovers meet in Mayfair,

so the legends tell,

Songbirds sing,

Winter turns to spring…"

"Oh, I know this one!" Aziraphale cried delightedly, rising from his sweet-induced stupor cuddled up next to Crowley. "Come along, dear boy, let's dance!"

"We found a muggle channel again?" Crowley asked as he allowed his boyfriend to pull him from the seat.

Crowley was not one for dancing, and it quickly became evident that Aziraphale was no master dancer, either. And the rocking of the train beneath their feet did nothing to help their balance, besides. But a fierce kind of contentment welled up in Crowley's stomach, and he knew Aziraphale was feeling the same way.

"That certain night, the night we met
There was magic abroad in the air

There were angels dining at the Ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square."

Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale's shoulder as they swayed to the music. Beside them, Anathema swept Newt up into a dance.

"This is how it was always meant to be," Crowley found himself murmuring.

"I know, my dear," Aziraphale murmured back.

Everything was so perfect. And yet…something was missing…

"Attack, men!"

The compartment door slammed open, revealing no one else but Adam Young, accompanied by that forever-disheveled Hufflepuff, Brian.

"And women!" came a voice from overhead — Crowley whipped his head back to see the freckled face of Pepper, another of Adam's friends, peering out from the luggage rack.

"And…others!" cried Wensleydale, as their round, bespectacled face appeared from the luggage rack on the other side.

Suddenly, the four fifth-years found themselves in a flurry of cushions and rolled up parchment.

"We have you surrounded from above and below!" Adam crowed. "Do you yield, foul fiends?"

"Never!" Anathema cried, picking up one of the cushions and hurling it at the tiny boy.

Ah, Crowley thought, letting out a wild laugh. This is what had been missing — perfect chaos.

His boyfriend — his best friend— his Angel at his side, Crowley gathered up fallen parchment balls and prepared for combat against these tiny foes.

This was a battle he and Aziraphale would win, as they would win any battle the world cared to throw their way. Together.

Author's Note:

Wow. This is it. This is really it - this fic has come to its close. I'm sort of a bit in shock? Time for the corny author's farewell that you expect at the end of long fics, I suppose.

If you've gotten this far, if you've read this whole thing, thank you so, so much. Obviously, I wouldn't have finished this story if not for the encouragement of you folks. If you've left any comments, I've greatly appreciated every single one. If you've left kudos, I'm super grateful for that too. If you've just been along for this wild more-than-two-year-long ride, you are fabulous.

Feel free to message me any time at .com if you want to chat about this fic, about Good Omens in general, or about anything at all really! I'll probably be posting some follow-up "bonus" material on my blog in the next week or two, so you can stay tuned for that (I'll tag it all #ineffable incantations so you can search that tag on my blog to find it easily). That'll include stuff like fun facts about the characters that never made it into the fic, what each characters' wand is, what Az and Crow's patronuses would have been if they'd produced a corporeal one, etc.

So yep, this is the end of the road! I may post some stand-alone fics in this same universe at a later date, we'll see! But for now, I bid you all farewell, and hope that this final chapter, stuffed with cameos and GO references as it was, was to your satisfaction.

As Crowley would say, Ciao!