Title: The Erumpent Horn
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Crowley. Mentions of Aziraphale and a certain wizard.
Rating: PG
Lenght: + 850
Summary: Where the horn came from and why.
Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows


Crowley is angry. As simple as that. He's just found out on the streets that some smarty pants has managed to star a war between the “magically inclined” humans of the islands. And that smarty pants is not him. That's why he's angry.

As simple as that.

Yes, maybe the “magically inclined” lot isn't exactly in Crowley's jurisdiction, but they do tend to mix with the “magically impaired”, the ones that are under his jurisdiction. They didn't mingle too much, granted, but enough for Crowley to claim he has a rightful foot on the metaphorical door.

Though, right now, what angers the demon the most is that he's caught himself using Aziraphale's euphemisms.

Damned angel.

And damned wizards and witches and the rest of them mortals. Muggles, normals, mudmen or whatever.

Just damn all of them.

(Which would look terrific in his curriculum, by the way.)

But, specially, damned the demon who came up with the idea and who was not Anthony Crowley.

Crowley'll find out exactly who that one is—that sort of things don't remain hidden for long—and he'll make him pay for stealing that commendation. Crowley needed it.

Crowley's been suffering from a long thread of thwartings for the last couple of months now. Not by Aziraphale, no; that angel is busy doing his angelical stuff in a different channel. Crowley's been thwarted by the very humans he's supposed to corrupt.

Imagine that.

Here he is, a demon minding his own business, trying to send as many souls as possible to Hell for all Eternity. He nearly manages it but then those very souls find way to redeem themselves. They change their hearts after watching something as mundane as a movie, or reading a book, or getting a hug. No all of them, certainly, but enough for him to lose points Below.

And then, some stupid idiot comes forward saying he's just started a war and that everything indicates their side's going to win.

Their side, yeah.

Crowley doesn't know much about the "magically—" bloody wizards in the present; he hasn't felt the need to bother himself with them in the last three hundred years, but he knows they have ways to make the Inquisition look like a box full of kittens. Kittens with vicious teeth and claws that can draw blood, but still fluffy and heart-warming to look at. Or so says Aziraphale about the aforementioned fur balls.

The point is that not everything is lost for Crowley yet. He can still get a slice of the metaphorical pie if he hurries up. And to hurry up he needs to stop to do some research.

The sort of information the demon needs isn't, quite contrary to popular belief, lying around on the Internet, so he needs to go back to the second most classical of methods: books. (The first one is field research, but that'd take longer.)

And what's the best place to get the books he needs plus a nice cup of tea?

Exactly: Aziraphale's personal library.

-

The angel isn't there when Crowley arrives. The demon thinks about going through Aziraphale's catalog by himself, but at the end he decides against it. If demons could shudder, Crowley would've done it right now, while remembering what dear Aziraphale is capable of to preserve his beloved collection.

So he waits.

And waits.

While waiting, Crowley thinks he won't get in trouble if looking around the cash register; is not like Aziraphale has any money in there and Crowley's getting bored.

He gets to the machine and begins to press buttons. Nothing happens beyond of what's expected, but then Crowley notices a small handle right in front of his hips. It doesn't look important, so he opens the drawer.

There's a booklet in there. A journal, according the the dates on the top of the pages.

Do angels have journals?

Crowley wonders what Aziraphale says about him there, so he begins to read more attentively.

-

One hour later, Crowley's not longer angry.

He's infuriated.

Not only because he's not mentioned in Aziraphale's journal, not even once, nor because Aziraphale all but confesses to have a hand in the wizards' war, but because Aziraphale doesn't seem to do more than talk about a certain Xenophilius Lovegood and how he encourages to keep fighting The Good Fight. Which he does via a tabloid.

Usually, that idea would amuse Crowley to no end, but not now. Not under these circumstances.

How dares the angel not to talk about him at all, after all they've been through?

He flips the pages glaring at the book, and the poor book does its best not to caught fire under the demon's gaze.

Then, Crowley finds a vital bit of information: this Xenophilius Lovegood has a fixation with creatures that don't exist in this realm, which Aziraphale might find endearing, but Crowley sees as an open gate to revenge.

Crowley puts the journal back to where it was as he remembers some of what he does know about the Wizarding World. And he snickers.

Xenophilius wants a horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack? Oh, he will have one of those in no time.