The Triwizard Tournament

Present Day…

“Merlin’s sake Adam!” Crowley yelled across the room. In an unfortunately practiced motion, he discarded his cane and dashed over to his wayward student. “You know to never take your gloves off in the lab.”

Grabbing one burnt hand, Crowley dealt with his teaching assistant’s wound, berating him all the while. The words, much like always, fell on deaf ears.

“But sir!” Adam interrupted. “You didn’t see the way the tenticula sprouted! The salve did wonders! And I couldn’t reach the buds with my gloves on.”

“So instead of taking the time to find the tools that I left specifically for that purpose you decided to go in with your hands?”

Adam shrugged. “It was faster.”

Crowley sighed, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“You will drive me to an early grave.” Crowley murmured, voice defeated.

Adam smirked, like the little menace he was. Crowley could swear that Adam and his group of friends had been the root cause of his steadily greying hair.

Rubbing the healing salve into Adam’s hand, Crowley leaned back, letting out a gasp as the motion seemed to light his hip on fire. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to catapult over the nearest table without his cane for assistance.

“Shit sir. You alright?” Adam asked. Crowley grit his teeth, trying to force words out from vocal cords that seemed to have turned to stone.

“‘M fine. Would be even better though if you— gah” Crowley broke off, taking a deep breath. “—would be a little more bloody careful.”

Adam glanced at Crowley’s cane before retrieving it for the professor. For the first time in recent memory, Crowley saw him look guilty, and despite the fact that it was not for purposefully disregarding safety precautions, Crowley took it as a win. A horribly embarrassing and incredibly painful win.

“Oh don’t look at me like that Adam. I’ll be alright. Go find Pepper and Wensleywhatever. I’ll finish up your project here. You’ve done some good work.”

“Wensleydale.” Adam corrected. “You sure? Cause respectfully sir, you aren’t looking too hot.”

Crowley scowled. “Bugger off Adam. I know as well as you do that you're excited to get going. Everybody’s too bloody chipper today as it is.”

“If you're sure sir.”

“Mhm. On you go.”

“Yes sir! Thank you sir!”

“And get your hand checked out in the Hospital Wing you little devil!” Crowley called after him.

The minute Adam disappeared from his sight, Crowley crumpled into himself, grasping at his hips desperately. With a frustrated growl, he forced himself to limp over to his potions cabinet and uncork a vial of nerve numbing potion. Gulping it down, he exhaled shakily as a coolness spread over the searing pain, leaving only a dull throbbing behind.

“Crowley? Are you in here?”

Cursing softly, Crowley straightened, knowing he must look just as disheveled as he felt.

“Fell.”

Aziraphale emerged from around the bend, and Crowley fought against the wave of concern that rose in his chest. Aziraphale looked just as bad as Crowley felt. His hair was in disarray, his usually impeccable tartan clothing misaligned and eyes puffy and reddened.

He, like Crowley, was no doubt dreading the impending announcement of the Triwizard champions.

“Gabriel wants all the teachers in the Great Hall as soon as possible to prepare.” Azirphale began, sounding quite ill. “I came to get you.”

“Oh.” Crowley murmured.

“Yes.”

“Then I guess we should get going.”

“Quite so.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Crowley stood, the noise of his cane clicking against the ground making Aziraphale flinch.

“Come on Fell.” Crowley snapped. “We can’t stay here forever.”

Aziraphale looked away, and Crowley could have sworn he saw Fell’s eyes glisten in the light.

“Yes, of course, my apologies.”

They left together, yet even so there was a notable separation between them, and Crowley meant to keep it that way. He had not spent years avoiding the man just to give it all up because Fell looked a little worse for wear.

It seemed, however, that the librarian did not get the same memo.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm.” Crowley hummed back.

“Your leg seems to be bothering you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s no thanks to you, isn't it?” Crowley asked mildly, finding sadistic pleasure in the way Aziraphale flinched, eyes darting away.

“I was merely concerned—”

“Concerned? You? Can it. Save your concern for the students who are chosen today. Unlike you,they can’t run to daddy if they end up in trouble.”

Aziraphale spluttered, cherub face reddening. Crowley sneered in disgust. “For fucks sake Fell. Get it through your thick skull. I don’t like you. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m only working with you because it’s our students' lives on the line if this whole thing goes to shit.”

There was silence for a moment, and Crowley ignored the harsh breathing coming from beside him.

Then, so softly that Crowley could barely hear it, Aziraphale replied. “I understand. Apologies.”

Crowley grunted, basking in the silence that descended, even as the subdued figure beside him persisted in the attempt to pluck at Crowley’s heartstrings.

After a good ten minutes of walking (or hobbling in Crowley’s case) they arrived at the double doors of the Great Hall. For a moment they both paused, as if in sync. Then, with a fortifying breath, Crowley pushed open the doors and they made their way up to the staff table.

Making a beeline for the edge seat, Crowley was grateful when Anathema slid into the chair beside him, cutting off Aziraphale before he could stage a reenactment of the breakfast they had so delightfully shared earlier.

“Excited?” Anathema asked, “Merlin knows the students are. I couldn’t get a single one to focus on their star charts. I suppose astronomy isn’t as interesting when there’s a tournament about.”

“Oh I doubt that Ana.” Crowley replied. “If anybody could get those little buggers to do their work, it’s you.”

Anathema chuckled. “You give me too much credit. It’s the students themselves who put in the hard work.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “And their stellar behaviour has nothing to do with the fact that all your students are clearly deathly afraid of you?”

“Afraid? Of little old me?” Anathema asked with mock confusion. “Oh, how ridiculous! I’m not scary in the slightest.”

Crowley laughed, which quickly morphed into a strangled cough as Anathema maintained eye contact, face blank as anything.

“Fuck Ana, you said you wouldn’t do that anymore!”

Anathema grinned impishly, pushing up her glasses. “Ah, I couldn’t help it. Seems like I can still scare the life out of you.”

“Of course you can!” Crowley exclaimed, “You’ve got the Nutter genes in you.”

“Oh yes.” Anathema murmured sagely. “The Nutter capability to render any poor sucker scared out of his wits. My great great gran must’ve really been looking out for me and my love life.”

“Didn’t scare off Newt though.”

At the mention of her fiance, Anathema’s face softened. “No. No I suppose it didn’t.”

Thankfully, before Anathema could get overly sappy (the thought of which gave Crowley hives to think about: Anathema was supposed to be a badass at all times, not caught up in the throes of anything as fickle as love), Headmaster Gabriel began his own speech at the head of the table.

“Good morning staff! What a wonderful day it is! I’m so glad you all joined us with such haste!” There was a pause, and Gabriel’s eyes darted to Aziraphale, and then Crowley, who had been the last to arrive. “Haha! Wonderful, wonderful! Now, as you all know, we’re going to be announcing the competitors from Hogwarts competing in the Triwizard Tournament soon! In fact, they’re bringing in the goblet as we speak!”

Gabriel stopped talking, eyes fixed on the Great Hall doors. Next to Crowley, Anathema stifled a cough.

“Let me try that again! I said: As we speak!”

Crowley glanced around awkwardly. Yet again, nothing happened.

“He said, AS WE SPEAK you fuckwits!” Beelzebub yelled, and finally, the doors to the Great Hall banged open as a scrawny kid, who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, dragged in the golden goblet. Crowley swallowed, feeling a cold sweat break out across his brow.

“Ah, thank you Beez.” Gabriel murmured. Straightening out his sleeves, he continued with as much gravitas as he could muster. “As you can see, we’re revved and ready to get this show on the road! Within the next fifteen minutes, students from Hogwarts are going to gather in the Great Hall. Soon after, the other schools are going to drop by. And then, finally, what we’ve all been waiting for! The champions will be announced! Isn’t this exciting?”

He looked at the staff table, awaiting some form of acknowledgement. When all he received was a vague, lackluster scattering of applause, he frowned visibly.

“I said… isn’t this exciting!”

This time, the other professors clapped louder, and one even whistled.

Crowley felt sick to his stomach.

“Now, I’ll pass over the baton to Warlock, the Minister’s intern. He’s here to go over the rules of the tournament and ensure that there’s no illegal shenanigans throughout the competition.”

The kid who dragged in the goblet stepped up to the podium. “Hello everybody! I’m Warlock! I just wanted to say how awesome it is to work with all of you! I’ve been a fan of the Triwizard Tournament since forever! I’ve seen reruns of when Aziraphale won the cup!” Turning towards the librarian, Warlock beamed. “I am such a fan. Can I get your autograph?”

Flushing at the attention, Aziraphale’s eyes widened with panic. “O-oh. I don’t think that’s quite appropriate, dear.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Oh yes, of course! Maybe I could bother you for one later?” Warlock paused until Aziraphale gave a flustered nod, face pink. “Splendid! Now, let’s get into the deets! Everybody ready?”

There were nods all around.

“Great! Okay… so, I was thinking we start with the rulebook… ”

Crowley tried to focus, he really did, but the words kept drifting in and out of focus. Remaining seated, Crowley clasped one hand tightly around his cane, while the other clenched in his lap, shaking and white from the pressure. He could feel Anathema sending concerned glances his way, but couldn’t bring himself to reassure her. Hell, he could hardly keep himself together as it was.

After what felt like decades, Warlock finally finished talking and the first of the students began to trickle in. One by one, they took their seats, and the cacophony began in earnest.

Once everybody was settled, Gabriel gave the cue for service and the tables were soon cluttered by platters of different dishes.

Crowley’s meager appetite disappeared as he noticed the copious amounts of lamb laid out before him.

Oh, fuck me. Crowley thought.

This is surely a sign of the universe’s twisted sense of humor.

But before he could continue to dwell on the unfortunate coincidence, the ceremony began, and any resemblance of intelligent thought left Crowley’s mind as he was transported back in time.

Back Then…

“Oh—Oh my. Mm. Oh. This is quite delicious.”

Crowley bit back a grin as Aziraphale took another bite of the lamb in front of him, wriggling in delight as the varied spices hit his tongue.

“Oh Crowley! You absolutely must try some! This is simply exquisite.”

“I’m not hungry, Zira.”

Aziraphale pouted. “Oh, come on. Just one bite—for me?”

Crowley crumbled in the face of his partner’s puppy-dog eyes. “Ugh. Fine.”

Spearing a square of the meat on his fork, Aziraphale leaned over the table and popped it into Crowley’s mouth.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked. “Perfectly done if I do say so myself.”

Crowley chewed in consideration. “It’s passable.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “From you that is high praise indeed!”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Crowley noticed something out of place. As the students were eating, it seemed as if the Headmaster had brought out the goblet that everybody had dropped their names into for the selection process. The sight of it made Crowley uneasy, as he had tried to forget about the Tournament in its entirety.

“Crowley? Are you listen— oh.”

Crowley grimaced, turning his attention back to Aziraphale.

“Crap, sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your lunch.”

Aziraphale had gone pale, his cheeks pallid and eyes unreadable as he began chewing on his bottom lip, a nervous tick that Crowley had become rather fond of.

“You did no such thing. I just hadn’t realized they’d be announcing so soon.”

“Shit, yeah. Sorry Zira.”

Aziraphale waved off Crowley’s apology, and turned back to his lamb. Much to Crowley's disappointment, the earlier zeal was gone, and his partner proceeded to eat without any enjoyment.

Feeling ill himself, Crowley gave up his half-hearted attempt at spearing broccoli, and instead turned his attention to the staff table, where the Headmaster began to stand.

“Attention! Attention please!” He called, sending off a spray of sparks with his wand. “Ah, thank you. Now that you are all listening. I would like to introduce the two visiting schools at this year’s Triwizard Tournament. Please welcome Germany's very own Durmstrang Institute!”

The Great Hall doors swung open, and a procession of boys came through, each in a flat-pressed military-like garb. Crowley shuddered at the exact precision of their marching and the blankness of their faces, as if all individuality had been stripped away from them.

“Excellent!” The Headmaster exclaimed, as the boys lined up on the left side of the hall. “And now, from France, the Beauxbaton Academy of Magic!”

This time, a group of girls walked in, and, had Crowley not been as bent as a maypole, his jaw would have unhinged and fallen to the floor.

A good quarter of the girls seemed inhumanly beautiful, with flawless skin and perfect hair.

“Veelas, my dear.”

Turning toward Aziraphale, Crowley nodded, having reached the same conclusion.

“How wonderful it is to have you both here!” The Headmaster announced. “And now that everybody is present, we can begin the ceremony. We will start off, as always, with the ignition of the Goblet of Fire.”

Pointing to the goblet with his wand, the Headmaster sent a stream of flames that made Crowley hiss as his eyes were assaulted even through his glasses. Blinking through the pain, Crowley took note of how Aziraphale turned to him in concern. To reassure him, Crowley dragged his foot across Aziraphale’s calf, causing his significant other to turn a tomato red, glancing away with a swallow.

With a smirk, Crowley turned back into the Headmaster, just as the Goblet spewed out the first name.

“Our Durmstrang Competitor is Hastur. Congratulations!”

A boy with a shock of white hair stepped forward, his eyes dark and lips curved in a satisfied, self-assured manner. Almost immediately, Crowley disliked him.

The goblet belched again, and Crowley closed his eyes to avoid the flames.

“Our next competitor is from Beauxbaton. Congratulations Nina!”

A girl from the line of foreign students stepped forward, her hair tied back in a series of braids and lips tight in a stern line. Nevertheless, her eyes sparkled with achievement. Crowley made sure to note the way she glanced not at the goblet, but at the girl standing beside her, before making her way to the stage.

The goblet gave one final gurgle. And then…

“And from Hogwarts, our very own, Aziraphale!”

Crowley felt his stomach drop out of his body and implode. Across the table, Aziraphale stood, confidently making his way up to the table. But Crowley could see the way his hands shook, the nails bitten to the quick.

“Ah, what a wonderful outcome!” The Headmaster exclaimed. “The best students from all three schools have been chosen to represent in our most esteemed—oh my! What is this?”

The Headmaster cut off as the goblet reignited, all on its own.

Then, a scrap piece of paper fell out, covered in soot and sagging as it fell to the floor.

“How odd. It seems the Goblet has just chosen another qualifier.”

The Headmaster picked up the parchment.

“And, in a befuddling turn of circumstance, it appears our fourth representative, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is Anthony J. Crowley. Get on up here lad!”

For a moment, Crowley thought he misheard.

Then, the room exploded with whispers, and Crowley stood up, dazed. Wha— this isn’t possible. I’m not seventeen for another month! I couldn’t have put my name in even if I’d tried.

In a panic, Crowley looked for Aziraphale.

When their eyes met, Crowley felt his mind grind to a stop. For the first time ever, Crowley saw Aziraphale frozen in pure shock, an expression that was rapidly morphing into confusion, and then finally, fear.

Crowley felt himself grow faint as his prim and proper boyfriend spoke.

And even from so far away, Crowley could read his lips. After all, he had spent hours upon hours admiring them. Now, he found himself wishing he’d lacked that particular talent.

Fuck. Aziraphale’s lips read, and Crowley found himself echoing the sentiment. Fuck.

Present Day…

“And the Hogwarts champion is none other than: Adam Young!”

Adam, surrounded by his trio of friends, cried out in triumph.

Crowley, in stark contrast, lowered his head to his hands and groaned.

“There there.” Anathema murmured, patting her coworker on the back. “It could’ve been worse.”

“Could it have been?” Crowley asked, aggrieved. “Really?”