InsaneJournal

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he made his way towards St. James park. Christmas always put a slight spring in his step, and this year’s holiday season was probably the best he’d had since 1818.¹ Regardless of the horrible commercialization these days—courtesy of one infernal demon—Aziraphale could sense the outpouring of love and peace the holidays encouraged. 

 

That is, until he spotted the boy sitting on his accustomed bench. The poor child was curled around himself in abject misery, completely ignoring the snow falling around him. He didn’t even have on a decent coat. In fact, all he seemed to be wearing was some strange sort of robe—neatly pressed and obviously expensive, but seemingly not thick enough to block out the bitter winter chill.

 

“Oh, dear.” The boy jumped in surprise at Aziraphale’s sudden appearance. “What in heaven’s name are you doing out in this weather? Don’t you have some place to be?”

 

The angel swiftly took off his own coat and draped it over the child. He received a glare from the boy, one that spoke of arrogance, suspicion, and a hint of mischief. All in all, he reminded Aziraphale a bit of Crowley, and it was rather unsettling. The look of suspicion slowly faded to grudging gratitude as the boy finally realized how cold he had become.

 

When the boy finally answered Aziraphale’s initial questions, it was in such a small, disheartened voice that Aziraphale strained to hear it. “Yeah. My uncle’s having a great big bash for the whole family.”

 

“But you needed some air,” he said with understanding. The boy looked up in shock as Aziraphale sat down beside him. “I come here often myself for that.”

 

The boy sighed. “They don’t like me much. Ever since school started. Ever since the Sorting. I’ve shamed the whole family.”

 

“I highly doubt that one so young as you could shame your family. Why, you haven’t even had a chance to really explore the world yet.”

 

“I know lots of things about the world,” the boy spat defiantly. He looked his companion up and down.² “Probably a lot more than someone like you.”

 

“I highly doubt that, my dear boy.” Aziraphale gave a tired smile.³

 

There was a comfortable silence between them for several moments. If Aziraphale listened hard enough, he fancied he could hear the snow as it gently blanketed the earth and, even further away, the chorus of angels singing the praises of heaven. 

 

The peace was broken by the young boy’s groan. “Why did I have to be put in Gryffindor?”

 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what Gryffindor was, but he was familiar with the desolate tone of the question. “That, my dear, is surely one of the more ineffable aspects of life.” He offered the boy a sip from a thermos of hot chocolate which may or may not have been on his person at the time he arrived. “Surely there must be some things about school that you like.”

 

“Well, one of my roommates… he’s the greatest friend I could ask for. James always gets my jokes and he’s not afraid to break a few rules.” The boy took a few sips from the thermos and the color began to return to his cheeks. “Remus, however, says that I’m an incorrigible, arrogant imp with a nasty temper and a penchant for ignoring authority figures. He says that some day I’ll be the death of him. I can tell he likes me anyway.”⁴

 

“Well, you seem like a good enough lad.”

 

Aziraphale had meant for it to be heartening, but the boy looked positively offended by the statement. The similarities between the boy and Crowley really were quite frightening.

 

“I’m meeting someone here later… a dear friend of mine. If you don’t mind my saying so, you remind me a bit of him. A real devil, but with a great deal of good in him.” Aziraphale chuckled at the disgusted face the boy made. “Crowley—my friend—also isn’t entirely fond of his… er… family, and they aren’t fond of him either. Still, he keeps to his own path and has found it pleasurable enough.”

 

The boy gave a noncommittal sound and pulled at a loose thread on Aziraphale’s coat. 

 

“Even though you aren’t doing what your family expects you to, you must have confidence that you are doing the right thing—and have faith that you will inevitably be rewarded for it.” The angel placed a hand over the boy’s to stop the fidgeting. 

 

“How do you know that it isn’t all suffering for nothing?” Although the tone was a bit harsh, the question was genuine.

 

“Believe me, I know.”

 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and began to hum again. He could still feel the love of mankind wrapped around him, and tenderly directed some of it towards the child sitting next to him. Perhaps a gentle reminder of the affection towards his friends would carry him through the cold, lonely nights ahead.

 

“I guess I should get going, before they realize I’ve left.” The boy stretched and stood up. “It was nice meeting you, sir.”

 

“It was nice meeting you as well…”

 

“Sirius. Sirius Black.” He handed back Aziraphale’s coat.

 

A group of carolers passed nearby, the words of ‘Silent Night’ weaving into the air around him as he watched the boy walk away.

 

“I shall keep you in my prayers, Sirius.” 

 

 

1. It was this year that the carol ‘Silent Night’ was first performed in Oberndorf, Austria. Aziraphale has since claimed it inspired hundreds of humans to remember the holier aspects of the holidays, and to spread an unprecedented amount of goodwill. Crowley claims that it inspired him to sleep until the turn of the next century.

2. Sirius saw a slightly pudgy, middle-aged Muggle with terrible fashion sense. Probably a pouf, too.

3. Something about the way he said ‘dear boy’ made Sirius pause to reevaluate his impression of the stranger. The tired smile reminded him of his sickly roommate Remus—something about an ancient soul that’s been through a lot. This thought was brief and flittered out of his mind before he could completely capture it.

4. This is, strictly speaking, not true. Remus Lupin has only ever called Sirius ‘incorrigible’ and ‘imp’, and each on separate occasions. He, in fact, likes him because of said traits, and has long held the belief that he will die by falling down stairs.⁵

5. This belief stems from a deeply entrenched phobia created when he was three and scraped his knees after tumbling down the front porch.