Slytherin Vaguely Downwards, Pt 2, for Sidesinger
For ratings, warnings, notes, etc., see Part 1
Anthony told himself that this was just what he needed, that he should stand by and let the DADA position be cleared so that he could apply for it, redeem himself in his family’s eyes after today, finally be able to teach what he really enjoyed. His body wasn’t listening; he found himself already racing towards Aziraphale, leaping at him and bearing him down to the ground as the deadly flash of green light soared over their heads, pointing both wands at Ligur and casting Reducto, hearing most of his cousin’s bones shattering. He tried not to listen to Ligur’s scream as he cast a Finite on Aziraphale, barely breathing until the other man took a deep breath.
Aziraphale stared up at him, blue eyes wide, hair fanned out on the snow. “Thank you.”
“Anthony?”
Anthony winced, getting off Aziraphale and dropping the other Knight’s wand, shifting his grip on his own wand. “Hastur.”
Hood down, mask gone, Hastur seemed unable to believe what he had just seen. “You just - that was your cousin, you little snake!”
Anthony ran through curses and hexes in his head. “That’s quite a compliment for a Slytherin.”
“You’re no better than he is.” Hastur jerked his head towards Aziraphale, who had just gotten to his feet. “Blood traitors, the pair of you, but at least he’s continuing a family tradition.”
“Stupefy.” Hastur looked quite surprised as he keeled over, and Aziraphale shook his head. “Really. You’d think they would have learnt to hex first and gloat or blame later, by now.”
“That was vaguely anticlimactic.” Anthony drew a deep breath, then another one, running his hand through his hair and looking around for more dark-cloaked figures. There were none, though Minerva and Filius were turning the corner now, looking relieved to see them. “I was expecting a dramatic speech and a duel to the death. Can we get some Firewhisky on the way back and celebrate my impending disownment?”
Aziraphale caught his hand, pulling it down, and squeezed it lightly before letting go and dusting himself off. “Of course.”
~*~
It was past midnight by the time they were able to have any sort of private celebration; all the students had to be accounted for and those who were injured had to be healed, the frantic parents calmed, the Knights who had not Disapparated had to be handed over to the Aurors for questioning, the Daily Prophet had to be handled, a stock of the damage in Hogsmeade - very little, thankfully - had to be taken, and Albus had pulled Anthony aside and informed him that the use of a normally minor spell in self-defence in a battle shouldn’t pose too much of a legal problem, and that Ligur would probably survive.
Anthony had stopped by his rooms to get some Hangover Potion, and now the two of them were seated on Aziraphale’s chintz couch as he poured them Firewhisky. They clinked their glasses together.
“Anthony,” Aziraphale said softly as Anthony was beginning to drink, “thank you. It can’t have been easy, having to attack your cousin just to defend me. And I owe you a life-debt.”
Anthony swallowed and shrugged. “Never liked him much anyway. And I think you cancelled that out when you Stupefied Hastur.”
“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “he was hardly much of a threat.” They drank in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Anthony, before the attack really started, your cousin said something odd. About ‘offing’ me.”
Anthony’s fingers tightened around his glass before he downed the rest of the contents. The liquid burned as it went down his throat, and he swallowed.
“Was it true?”
“… Yes. At first, at least.” He put the glass down, wondering how awkward the rest of the school year would be; assuming Aziraphale didn’t tell Albus, anyway, in which case he could bid farewell to Hogwarts.
“Were you planning to push me off your broom?” Aziraphale sounded amused, and Anthony risked a glance at him. There was a small smile playing about those plump lips, and Anthony was reminded of how he had wanted to taste them before getting Aziraphale sacked.
“That only occurred to me a while after the flight, actually,” he muttered. “I wanted to slip you a faulty Hangover Potion so you’d still be hungover in class the next morning, that first time we drank together, but you Summoned my potion instead and I had to drink the faulty one.” He grimaced at the memory. “And then I slipped you an Inhibition-Removing Draught on Halloween morning. I was hoping you’d drink all of it and do something questionable, but your owl knocked your tea over.”
Now Aziraphale looked surprised. “That was you? I assumed it was Mr Black and his friends somehow, but when I asked them in private they denied it.” His cheeks grew pink. “I hate to ask, dear boy, but are you sure it was an Inhibition-Removing Draught and not any sort of lust or love potion?”
“I know what I brewed,” Anthony snapped uncomfortably. “And I know you’re allergic to coconut. There was a chocolate with coconut filling in the box I gave you. It was the one I took.”
Aziraphale studied him for a moment, gravely. “So if I hadn’t offered you one…?”
Anthony nodded, staring at the fire. “And today I thought I should stand by and let him kill you. That it would solve my problem for me.”
“But you didn’t,” Aziraphale said quietly, laying a soft hand on his arm. Anthony shook it off and stood.
“Thanks for the drinks, but I should be leaving.”
Aziraphale stood too, and this time his grip on Anthony’s arm was a little tighter. “I only applied for the job as a favour to Albus. We’re distantly related, and I used to work in a bookstore he often came to. One of the things he asked me to do in this position was keep an eye on you, actually.”
Anthony blinked at him. “He asked you to spy on me?”
“Not quite the word I’d use. He felt you might be too influenced by your family but that you were really quite decent at heart, and that perhaps you just needed a nudge in the right direction, but you weren’t very close to the others.”
Anthony stared at him for a long moment. “One less future Knight of Walpurgis to worry about, is that it? Well, you can tell him it was a successful mission and that it can end immediately. Now let go of my arm.” It was a surprisingly strong grip, though, and he was seriously considering pulling out his wand and Relashio-ing Aziraphale’s fingers off his arm.
Aziraphale sighed. “Dear boy, I didn’t think you were this dense. I told Albus I didn’t think he had anything to worry about months ago and we both agreed to forget about it.”
“Woo-hoo,” Anthony deadpanned. “And all that time I was trying to get rid of you. Some spy you are.”
“It doesn’t sound like you were trying very hard, anyway.”
“Aziraphale, I would have stood by and let you be murdered today. I wanted to.”
“No,” Aziraphale said softly. “You wouldn’t have. You’re better than that, Anthony, even if you don’t believe it.”
“If you say so, Dr. Filius12. Now let me go or I will curse your fingers off.”
“You really are denser than I expected.” And Aziraphale kissed him.
It was awkward; Anthony had been half-turned away, and he stood unmoving now - mostly due to shock - as he was kissed, though it did register that those lips were as soft as they looked. When Aziraphale pulled away, the only thing Anthony said was, “Oh.”
“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled at him, finally releasing his arm as both his hands came up to frame Anthony’s face. There was amusement in those blue eyes, forgiveness and acceptance, and something else Anthony didn’t want to try naming. He leaned into the touch instead.
“This isn’t how most people repay a life-debt.”
Aziraphale laughed, though there was a definite flush to his cheeks. “My dear, the only life and death I’m thinking of now is la petite mort.” And then it was Anthony’s turn to go red, even as he leaned in for a proper kiss.
~*~
12 Dr Filius - no relation to Filius Flitwick - was a popular radio-show host on the Wizarding Wireless network. Not that anyone was really sure why he was so popular.
~*~
Aziraphale’s bedroom was as small and cosy as the rest of his rooms, though Anthony wasn’t paying much attention to the décor, not when he could be pressing Aziraphale back against the shut door and kissing him deeply, hands pulling at each other’s robes until they could find bare skin. Aziraphale tasted of tea and chocolate and Firewhisky and something else, something uniquely him. He pushed back, walking Anthony backwards to the bed as they shed their clothing until they stood by the side of the bed, naked, hesitating.
Slowly, Anthony raised his hands to Aziraphale’s shoulders, gently pushing him back onto the bed; Aziraphale went willingly, pulling the other man with him to straddle his hips, and for a moment they took in the sight of each other.
Aziraphale was pale, though his room’s warm lighting lent a soft gold tint to his skin that contrasted with Anthony’s own darker skin, and pleasantly soft around the middle. Anthony ran gentle hands down his sides, bending to kiss and nibble his neck, knowing that Aziraphale had been right, that he hadn’t been trying very hard and he couldn’t have let Aziraphale die. Not before this, and certainly not after, not with his mark now on that neck and the way Aziraphale arched into his mouth with a soft gasp that might have been his name. For a moment he simply stayed there, face buried in the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder while soft hands stroked his back; Aziraphale smelt of vanilla and old books, and was just as warm as Anthony remembered from their flight.
He kissed and licked his way down Aziraphale’s body, pausing to toy with his nipples and savour the delicious little sounds Aziraphale made as he did so, nuzzling his soft stomach; where Anthony himself was all angles, lean and hard, Aziraphale was soft curves and gentle contours, and he intended to learn each of them. He was pleased to discover that Aziraphale’s waist was sensitive, and that a kiss to the back of his knee produced a most interesting noise.
Anthony knelt between his lover’s plump thighs, pressing kisses to the soft skin there, nipping lightly and smirking at Aziraphale’s gasp. He licked up Aziraphale’s cock, sucking on the head lightly before sinking down, taking as much of it into his mouth as he could, revelling in the soft choked-off sound escaping Aziraphale’s lips as he closed his eyes and sucked, moaning low in the back of his throat.
Aziraphale’s soft fingers combed through his hair, pressed lightly on his scalp in wordless encouragement, and he hummed and took Aziraphale’s cock in deeper until he could feel the head brushing the back of his throat and Aziraphale moaned. Anthony drew back for air.
“You could just use your hand, I wouldn’t mind -” Aziraphale started to say breathlessly, but Anthony cut him off.
“I want to do this, Aziraphale.” And he dipped his head, slowly taking it all in until Aziraphale’s cock sat heavy on his tongue, head brushing the back of his throat again, and moaned around it. Aziraphale’s head fell back onto the pillows as he made some unintelligible noise; the hand in Anthony’s hair remained gentle, but his other hand was clenching, white-knuckled, in the sheets. Anthony carefully swallowed, resulting in a long moan from Aziraphale.
He pulled back and slowly sank down again, moaning around Aziraphale’s cock, noticing that Aziraphale’s thighs were trembling and now the hand in his hair was clenching, too. He stroked a thigh reassuringly and sucked, looking at Aziraphale’s face; Aziraphale’s gaze was fixed on him. Then his eyes closed and, hips jerking up, he came in Anthony’s mouth with a startlingly soft cry.
Anthony swallowed, trying not to make a face, and sat up. Aziraphale had slumped back onto the sheets, breathing hard, eyes closed; they slowly opened and he blinked at Anthony before smiling. Anthony leaned down for a soft kiss, letting Aziraphale taste himself in the other’s mouth, and then found himself on his back. He grinned.
Aziraphale had very soft hands. And lips.
~*~
Anthony had been wholly unsurprised to see that while Aziraphale’s sheets were a fairly acceptable, if worn, shade of blue, his blanket was tartan. They lay under it now, curled around each other, and he was basking in the warmth; his own rooms, somehow, never seemed quite this warm, or perhaps it was just Aziraphale.
He was drifting off to sleep when he heard the sharp tapping of an owl’s claws against the windowpane, and sat up to pull back the curtains; the Crowley family owl was outside, a bright red envelope in its claws.
“Accio wand.” His wand flew into his hand from his robes on the floor, and he was just pointing it at the window when a soft hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Allow me,” Aziraphale said softly. “Accio wand.” He aimed his wand at the window and murmured a few words; immediately the Howler landed on the bed, while the owl hooted indignantly outside. “Off you go, now.” Drawing the curtains shut with a flick of his wand, he then pointed it at the Howler. “Incendio.”
It burned to a crisp cinder which then disappeared, leaving nothing but a faint soot stain on the blanket. Another flick of Aziraphale’s wand got rid of it. “There.” He gently took Anthony’s wand from his hand and placed it, with his own, on his bedside table before wrapping an arm around Anthony’s waist and gently pulling him back down. “Perhaps we can sleep in peace now. I know it’s Sunday tomorrow, but unlike a certain someone I’m not in the habit of sleeping until lunchtime.”
Anthony went willingly, turning his head slightly so he could look at Aziraphale. “You know that painting of yours? The one with the angel?”
“The Archangel Michael? What of it?”
“It reminds me a bit of you. You know, what with the hair and the defeating creatures of darkness and the poofy clothing and all.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t hide his small smile. “Does that make you a creature of darkness? Should I start making jokes about swords and smiting now?”
Anthony swatted him. “I was thinking about the Knights and the owl, you prat.”
Aziraphale pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck. “Well, creatures of darkness are often portrayed as rather good-looking, anyway. Not in that one, granted, but one day I really must show you Dore’s illustrations for Paradise Lost.”
Anthony heaved a long-suffering sigh. “If we go for a flight afterwards.”
“It’s arranged, then. Goodnight, my dear.”
Anthony turned to kiss him lightly. “Goodnight, angel.”
~*~*~*~
End notes: I personally see Aziraphale as having been a Ravenclaw but since that’s never mentioned in the story itself, he’s in whatever House you want him to be. ;)
It didn’t make it into the story, but Crowley’s wand is blackthorn, though I’m not sure what his core would be. Aziraphale’s wand is rowan and phoenix feather.
BLACKTHORN - From other sources: bad luck, resentment, confusion, blindness to truth, refusal to see truth, strife, unexpected changes, pain, wounding, damage, transcendence, inevitability of death, revenge, protection, negativity, balance.
From Pottermore: Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.
ROWAN - From other sources: divine inspiration, prophecy/divination/seership, aid, psychic abilities and connections, protection, strength, determination, awareness, intuition, purity, illumination, healing, vision, poetry, wisdom, power.
From Pottermore: Rowan wood has always been much-favoured for wands, because it is reputed to be more protective than any other, and in my experience renders all manner of defensive charms especially strong and difficult to break. It is commonly stated that no Dark witch or wizard ever owned a rowan wand, and I cannot recall a single instance where one of my own rowan wands has gone on to do evil in the world. Rowan is most happily placed with the clear-headed and the pure-hearted, but this reputation for virtue ought not to fool anyone - these wands are the equal of any, often the better, and frequently out-perform others in duels.
Happy Holidays from your Secret Writer, sidesinger!
Anthony told himself that this was just what he needed, that he should stand by and let the DADA position be cleared so that he could apply for it, redeem himself in his family’s eyes after today, finally be able to teach what he really enjoyed. His body wasn’t listening; he found himself already racing towards Aziraphale, leaping at him and bearing him down to the ground as the deadly flash of green light soared over their heads, pointing both wands at Ligur and casting Reducto, hearing most of his cousin’s bones shattering. He tried not to listen to Ligur’s scream as he cast a Finite on Aziraphale, barely breathing until the other man took a deep breath.
Aziraphale stared up at him, blue eyes wide, hair fanned out on the snow. “Thank you.”
“Anthony?”
Anthony winced, getting off Aziraphale and dropping the other Knight’s wand, shifting his grip on his own wand. “Hastur.”
Hood down, mask gone, Hastur seemed unable to believe what he had just seen. “You just - that was your cousin, you little snake!”
Anthony ran through curses and hexes in his head. “That’s quite a compliment for a Slytherin.”
“You’re no better than he is.” Hastur jerked his head towards Aziraphale, who had just gotten to his feet. “Blood traitors, the pair of you, but at least he’s continuing a family tradition.”
“Stupefy.” Hastur looked quite surprised as he keeled over, and Aziraphale shook his head. “Really. You’d think they would have learnt to hex first and gloat or blame later, by now.”
“That was vaguely anticlimactic.” Anthony drew a deep breath, then another one, running his hand through his hair and looking around for more dark-cloaked figures. There were none, though Minerva and Filius were turning the corner now, looking relieved to see them. “I was expecting a dramatic speech and a duel to the death. Can we get some Firewhisky on the way back and celebrate my impending disownment?”
Aziraphale caught his hand, pulling it down, and squeezed it lightly before letting go and dusting himself off. “Of course.”
~*~
It was past midnight by the time they were able to have any sort of private celebration; all the students had to be accounted for and those who were injured had to be healed, the frantic parents calmed, the Knights who had not Disapparated had to be handed over to the Aurors for questioning, the Daily Prophet had to be handled, a stock of the damage in Hogsmeade - very little, thankfully - had to be taken, and Albus had pulled Anthony aside and informed him that the use of a normally minor spell in self-defence in a battle shouldn’t pose too much of a legal problem, and that Ligur would probably survive.
Anthony had stopped by his rooms to get some Hangover Potion, and now the two of them were seated on Aziraphale’s chintz couch as he poured them Firewhisky. They clinked their glasses together.
“Anthony,” Aziraphale said softly as Anthony was beginning to drink, “thank you. It can’t have been easy, having to attack your cousin just to defend me. And I owe you a life-debt.”
Anthony swallowed and shrugged. “Never liked him much anyway. And I think you cancelled that out when you Stupefied Hastur.”
“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured, “he was hardly much of a threat.” They drank in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Anthony, before the attack really started, your cousin said something odd. About ‘offing’ me.”
Anthony’s fingers tightened around his glass before he downed the rest of the contents. The liquid burned as it went down his throat, and he swallowed.
“Was it true?”
“… Yes. At first, at least.” He put the glass down, wondering how awkward the rest of the school year would be; assuming Aziraphale didn’t tell Albus, anyway, in which case he could bid farewell to Hogwarts.
“Were you planning to push me off your broom?” Aziraphale sounded amused, and Anthony risked a glance at him. There was a small smile playing about those plump lips, and Anthony was reminded of how he had wanted to taste them before getting Aziraphale sacked.
“That only occurred to me a while after the flight, actually,” he muttered. “I wanted to slip you a faulty Hangover Potion so you’d still be hungover in class the next morning, that first time we drank together, but you Summoned my potion instead and I had to drink the faulty one.” He grimaced at the memory. “And then I slipped you an Inhibition-Removing Draught on Halloween morning. I was hoping you’d drink all of it and do something questionable, but your owl knocked your tea over.”
Now Aziraphale looked surprised. “That was you? I assumed it was Mr Black and his friends somehow, but when I asked them in private they denied it.” His cheeks grew pink. “I hate to ask, dear boy, but are you sure it was an Inhibition-Removing Draught and not any sort of lust or love potion?”
“I know what I brewed,” Anthony snapped uncomfortably. “And I know you’re allergic to coconut. There was a chocolate with coconut filling in the box I gave you. It was the one I took.”
Aziraphale studied him for a moment, gravely. “So if I hadn’t offered you one…?”
Anthony nodded, staring at the fire. “And today I thought I should stand by and let him kill you. That it would solve my problem for me.”
“But you didn’t,” Aziraphale said quietly, laying a soft hand on his arm. Anthony shook it off and stood.
“Thanks for the drinks, but I should be leaving.”
Aziraphale stood too, and this time his grip on Anthony’s arm was a little tighter. “I only applied for the job as a favour to Albus. We’re distantly related, and I used to work in a bookstore he often came to. One of the things he asked me to do in this position was keep an eye on you, actually.”
Anthony blinked at him. “He asked you to spy on me?”
“Not quite the word I’d use. He felt you might be too influenced by your family but that you were really quite decent at heart, and that perhaps you just needed a nudge in the right direction, but you weren’t very close to the others.”
Anthony stared at him for a long moment. “One less future Knight of Walpurgis to worry about, is that it? Well, you can tell him it was a successful mission and that it can end immediately. Now let go of my arm.” It was a surprisingly strong grip, though, and he was seriously considering pulling out his wand and Relashio-ing Aziraphale’s fingers off his arm.
Aziraphale sighed. “Dear boy, I didn’t think you were this dense. I told Albus I didn’t think he had anything to worry about months ago and we both agreed to forget about it.”
“Woo-hoo,” Anthony deadpanned. “And all that time I was trying to get rid of you. Some spy you are.”
“It doesn’t sound like you were trying very hard, anyway.”
“Aziraphale, I would have stood by and let you be murdered today. I wanted to.”
“No,” Aziraphale said softly. “You wouldn’t have. You’re better than that, Anthony, even if you don’t believe it.”
“If you say so, Dr. Filius12. Now let me go or I will curse your fingers off.”
“You really are denser than I expected.” And Aziraphale kissed him.
It was awkward; Anthony had been half-turned away, and he stood unmoving now - mostly due to shock - as he was kissed, though it did register that those lips were as soft as they looked. When Aziraphale pulled away, the only thing Anthony said was, “Oh.”
“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled at him, finally releasing his arm as both his hands came up to frame Anthony’s face. There was amusement in those blue eyes, forgiveness and acceptance, and something else Anthony didn’t want to try naming. He leaned into the touch instead.
“This isn’t how most people repay a life-debt.”
Aziraphale laughed, though there was a definite flush to his cheeks. “My dear, the only life and death I’m thinking of now is la petite mort.” And then it was Anthony’s turn to go red, even as he leaned in for a proper kiss.
~*~
12 Dr Filius - no relation to Filius Flitwick - was a popular radio-show host on the Wizarding Wireless network. Not that anyone was really sure why he was so popular.
~*~
Aziraphale’s bedroom was as small and cosy as the rest of his rooms, though Anthony wasn’t paying much attention to the décor, not when he could be pressing Aziraphale back against the shut door and kissing him deeply, hands pulling at each other’s robes until they could find bare skin. Aziraphale tasted of tea and chocolate and Firewhisky and something else, something uniquely him. He pushed back, walking Anthony backwards to the bed as they shed their clothing until they stood by the side of the bed, naked, hesitating.
Slowly, Anthony raised his hands to Aziraphale’s shoulders, gently pushing him back onto the bed; Aziraphale went willingly, pulling the other man with him to straddle his hips, and for a moment they took in the sight of each other.
Aziraphale was pale, though his room’s warm lighting lent a soft gold tint to his skin that contrasted with Anthony’s own darker skin, and pleasantly soft around the middle. Anthony ran gentle hands down his sides, bending to kiss and nibble his neck, knowing that Aziraphale had been right, that he hadn’t been trying very hard and he couldn’t have let Aziraphale die. Not before this, and certainly not after, not with his mark now on that neck and the way Aziraphale arched into his mouth with a soft gasp that might have been his name. For a moment he simply stayed there, face buried in the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder while soft hands stroked his back; Aziraphale smelt of vanilla and old books, and was just as warm as Anthony remembered from their flight.
He kissed and licked his way down Aziraphale’s body, pausing to toy with his nipples and savour the delicious little sounds Aziraphale made as he did so, nuzzling his soft stomach; where Anthony himself was all angles, lean and hard, Aziraphale was soft curves and gentle contours, and he intended to learn each of them. He was pleased to discover that Aziraphale’s waist was sensitive, and that a kiss to the back of his knee produced a most interesting noise.
Anthony knelt between his lover’s plump thighs, pressing kisses to the soft skin there, nipping lightly and smirking at Aziraphale’s gasp. He licked up Aziraphale’s cock, sucking on the head lightly before sinking down, taking as much of it into his mouth as he could, revelling in the soft choked-off sound escaping Aziraphale’s lips as he closed his eyes and sucked, moaning low in the back of his throat.
Aziraphale’s soft fingers combed through his hair, pressed lightly on his scalp in wordless encouragement, and he hummed and took Aziraphale’s cock in deeper until he could feel the head brushing the back of his throat and Aziraphale moaned. Anthony drew back for air.
“You could just use your hand, I wouldn’t mind -” Aziraphale started to say breathlessly, but Anthony cut him off.
“I want to do this, Aziraphale.” And he dipped his head, slowly taking it all in until Aziraphale’s cock sat heavy on his tongue, head brushing the back of his throat again, and moaned around it. Aziraphale’s head fell back onto the pillows as he made some unintelligible noise; the hand in Anthony’s hair remained gentle, but his other hand was clenching, white-knuckled, in the sheets. Anthony carefully swallowed, resulting in a long moan from Aziraphale.
He pulled back and slowly sank down again, moaning around Aziraphale’s cock, noticing that Aziraphale’s thighs were trembling and now the hand in his hair was clenching, too. He stroked a thigh reassuringly and sucked, looking at Aziraphale’s face; Aziraphale’s gaze was fixed on him. Then his eyes closed and, hips jerking up, he came in Anthony’s mouth with a startlingly soft cry.
Anthony swallowed, trying not to make a face, and sat up. Aziraphale had slumped back onto the sheets, breathing hard, eyes closed; they slowly opened and he blinked at Anthony before smiling. Anthony leaned down for a soft kiss, letting Aziraphale taste himself in the other’s mouth, and then found himself on his back. He grinned.
Aziraphale had very soft hands. And lips.
~*~
Anthony had been wholly unsurprised to see that while Aziraphale’s sheets were a fairly acceptable, if worn, shade of blue, his blanket was tartan. They lay under it now, curled around each other, and he was basking in the warmth; his own rooms, somehow, never seemed quite this warm, or perhaps it was just Aziraphale.
He was drifting off to sleep when he heard the sharp tapping of an owl’s claws against the windowpane, and sat up to pull back the curtains; the Crowley family owl was outside, a bright red envelope in its claws.
“Accio wand.” His wand flew into his hand from his robes on the floor, and he was just pointing it at the window when a soft hand wrapped around his wrist.
“Allow me,” Aziraphale said softly. “Accio wand.” He aimed his wand at the window and murmured a few words; immediately the Howler landed on the bed, while the owl hooted indignantly outside. “Off you go, now.” Drawing the curtains shut with a flick of his wand, he then pointed it at the Howler. “Incendio.”
It burned to a crisp cinder which then disappeared, leaving nothing but a faint soot stain on the blanket. Another flick of Aziraphale’s wand got rid of it. “There.” He gently took Anthony’s wand from his hand and placed it, with his own, on his bedside table before wrapping an arm around Anthony’s waist and gently pulling him back down. “Perhaps we can sleep in peace now. I know it’s Sunday tomorrow, but unlike a certain someone I’m not in the habit of sleeping until lunchtime.”
Anthony went willingly, turning his head slightly so he could look at Aziraphale. “You know that painting of yours? The one with the angel?”
“The Archangel Michael? What of it?”
“It reminds me a bit of you. You know, what with the hair and the defeating creatures of darkness and the poofy clothing and all.”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t hide his small smile. “Does that make you a creature of darkness? Should I start making jokes about swords and smiting now?”
Anthony swatted him. “I was thinking about the Knights and the owl, you prat.”
Aziraphale pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck. “Well, creatures of darkness are often portrayed as rather good-looking, anyway. Not in that one, granted, but one day I really must show you Dore’s illustrations for Paradise Lost.”
Anthony heaved a long-suffering sigh. “If we go for a flight afterwards.”
“It’s arranged, then. Goodnight, my dear.”
Anthony turned to kiss him lightly. “Goodnight, angel.”
~*~*~*~
End notes: I personally see Aziraphale as having been a Ravenclaw but since that’s never mentioned in the story itself, he’s in whatever House you want him to be. ;)
It didn’t make it into the story, but Crowley’s wand is blackthorn, though I’m not sure what his core would be. Aziraphale’s wand is rowan and phoenix feather.
BLACKTHORN - From other sources: bad luck, resentment, confusion, blindness to truth, refusal to see truth, strife, unexpected changes, pain, wounding, damage, transcendence, inevitability of death, revenge, protection, negativity, balance.
From Pottermore: Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.
ROWAN - From other sources: divine inspiration, prophecy/divination/seership, aid, psychic abilities and connections, protection, strength, determination, awareness, intuition, purity, illumination, healing, vision, poetry, wisdom, power.
From Pottermore: Rowan wood has always been much-favoured for wands, because it is reputed to be more protective than any other, and in my experience renders all manner of defensive charms especially strong and difficult to break. It is commonly stated that no Dark witch or wizard ever owned a rowan wand, and I cannot recall a single instance where one of my own rowan wands has gone on to do evil in the world. Rowan is most happily placed with the clear-headed and the pure-hearted, but this reputation for virtue ought not to fool anyone - these wands are the equal of any, often the better, and frequently out-perform others in duels.
Happy Holidays from your Secret Writer, sidesinger!