Good Omens
Aziraphale and Crowley are out for a walk. A simple walk, for once. No need to worry about the up and coming antichrist, or Heaven, or Hell, or Gabriel. They had just turned the corner when a young boy with disheveled hair almost barreled right into them, before managing to execute a sharp right turn and stop right behind Crowley. Panting, with a look of confusion, he looked around. "Bianca?" he called out, hands digging into the pockets of a pair of ripped black jeans. Somehow, Crowley doubted the rips were for fashion. "Bianca?" he called out again, staring out the street. Then, murmuring a small "oh", his shoulders slumped and he turned back to the Angel and Demon, apparently not even noticing them. "I thought I would have more time," he whispered, looking down at himself. Then, suddenly, he started to cry softly. Giving each other bewildered looks, Crowley fell back into his old nanny persona and went to kneel down in front of the child.
"Hey kiddo," he said softly. "Are you lost?"
---
Harry looked up, still crying, at the red haired man in front of him, and shook his head. He wasn't sure how or why, but he knew exactly where he was and when he was this time. Still that didn't change that he was no longer near Bianca anymore, and not for the first time, he was grateful for the fanny pack Annabeth had given him. At least he hadn't lost his birthday gifts, his sword, or notebook.
"Who are you? Where are your parents?" was the man's next question.
He sniffled, wiping a hand across the snot on his nose. "'m Harry. My parents are dead. Who are you?"
---
Despite the tears, Crowley couldn't help but be charmed by the emerald eyes behind the silver frames. "I'm Crowley. Would you like to come with us?" The demon extended a hand, and the boy took it with his thankfully non-snotty hand.