Harry Potter: The Angel of Death C44 (Patreon)

Chapter 44: I Am Not An Owl!

Harry sat alone in the dining nook of the cottage, surrounded by paperwork.

The stack Zarok had given him occupied nearly the entire table. Reports, financial statements, security assessments, engineering reviews, personnel evaluations, scientific documentation, legal agreements, investor correspondence, and incident reports were spread around him in organized piles.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows and a cup of tea sat forgotten at his side. Several hours had passed since he had returned from Gringotts, and Harry had become so absorbed in his work that he ignored everything else.

The more he read, the clearer it became that the situation was far worse than he had imagined, and he found himself placing the blame squarely on one thing: people. The dinosaurs were not the problem; the people behind the project were.

The more reports he reviewed, the more baffled he became that nobody had identified the obvious issues before everything fell apart.

The park's entire infrastructure depended on electricity: the fences, security systems, communications network, automated vehicles, monitoring equipment, and practically everything else relied on electrical power. Practically every critical function on the island was tied to this single dependency, yet for some ungodly reason, nobody had thought of establishing a backup plan.

Harry stared at one report in disbelief. 

The park was built on a tropical island, a place where powerful storms are a regular occurrence. Bloody hell, everyone knows that severe weather often disrupts electrical systems. Yet they chose to rely on electricity to contain creatures capable of eating people, building the entire operation around a single electrical grid.

"How?" Harry rubbed his eyes.

Even a thirteen-year-old could identify the blatantly obvious problem. 

You never relied on a single point of failure, ever; if the power went out, a transformer exploded, or lightning struck a critical system, there needed to be backups and contingency plans in place. Apparently, however, none of that had been properly considered, and when one thing failed, everything went horribly wrong.

Harry turned another page and groaned. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, he was proven wrong—they absolutely could.

Not only had the park become dependent on computers, but the people running it had as well. Animal tracking, security monitoring, personnel locations, vehicle movement—everything flowed through the computer systems and nobody seemed capable of functioning without them. The moment the software failed, confusion spread across the entire island and people no longer knew where the animals were, which systems remained operational, or even what was happening. The computers went down, and suddenly everyone was blind.

That failure led directly to the next disaster: Dennis Nedry. Over the past hour, Harry had developed an intense dislike for the man. The reports described a brilliant programmer, a lazy employee, and a colossal idiot all at once. More importantly, they revealed a far greater problem: the entire park depended on him. One man controlled the software, maintained it, understood it, and held administrative access to nearly every critical system on the island. Harry could scarcely believe nobody had recognized how dangerous that was.

Then Nedry accepted a bribe and shut everything down, and in an instant, the park lost the one person who knew how its systems worked, and nobody else seemed capable of fixing them. Harry dropped the report onto the table.

"What sort of morons ran this place?!"

Dobby glanced up from his spot on the kitchen island, where he was working through the newspaper’s daily puzzle, then lowered his gaze again, deciding Harry wasn’t really expecting an answer and that it was best not to get involved. 

Harry continued reading.

Every new page revealed yet another layer of incompetence. There should have been multiple software engineers, regular security reviews, emergency protocols, and a dedicated response force capable of handling escaped animals. Instead, the entire operation had relied on a single programmer—one. Harry had seen better planning from Fred and George, though that was hardly fair; the twins were excellent planners, and many of their pranks were works of genius. John Hammond, meanwhile, was a man flying by the seat of his pants. 

Harry reached another report.

This one contained multiple interviews with Hammond. A phrase that appeared over and over again caught his eye; it was almost identical to the title of his quest to save the dinosaurs. 

"We spared no expense."

Harry stared at the sentence, glanced at the reports covering the table, then looked back at it in disbelief.

"We spared no expense, my arse."

Either Hammond was lying, or he was incompetent—possibly both. The evidence pointed to chronic underfunding of security, inadequate staffing, and critical systems that lacked proper backups, while entire departments appeared severely understaffed. Harry found one report showing that the park’s veterinary team had repeatedly requested additional personnel, only to have those requests denied. Other reports raised concerns about containment procedures, emergency protocols, and staffing shortages, yet each warning had been ignored.

Harry was beginning to suspect that Hammond's definition of "spared no expense" meant spending enormous amounts of money on flashy attractions while ignoring everything actually important.

And that was just the management side.

The scientists, miraculously so, managed to be worse.

Harry grabbed another file, then another, and another, growing more horrified with each page he read. These people had accomplished one of the greatest scientific achievements in human history by bringing extinct animals—actual dinosaurs that had vanished millions of years ago—back to life. The scientific value of such a breakthrough was immeasurable, with the potential to revolutionize entire fields, including biology, genetics, paleontology, ecology, and medicine. The implications seemed endless, and yet nobody appeared to have stopped and asked even the most basic questions.

How did dinosaurs behave? How intelligent were they? How did they socialize? How did they hunt? How did they communicate? How territorial were they? How would they react to captivity?

Nobody knew, and nobody could know; these animals had been extinct for sixty-five million years, yet the scientists had assumed they understood everything.

Harry put down another report.

"Bloody hell."

Even worse, these weren't actually pure dinosaurs. Their DNA contained gaps that had been filled using frog DNA, meaning every animal on the island was effectively a genetically modified organism. As a result, nobody truly knew how closely they resembled their prehistoric ancestors, which traits originated from the dinosaurs themselves, which came from the modifications, or, ultimately, much of anything at all.

And nobody thought of that.

Harry leaned back in his chair.

The management was incompetent, the scientists reckless, and the security systems woefully inadequate, while emergency procedures were nearly nonexistent and leadership consistently ignored warnings. The entire project relied on fragile infrastructure, investors were already pulling out, and now Hammond seemed determined to abandon everything instead of addressing the problems and fixing what had gone wrong.

The longer Harry thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

The problem wasn't the dinosaurs; they had behaved exactly like animals, and no one could reasonably expect a predator to ignore an easy meal when the opportunity presented itself. The real issue had been the humans, whose arrogance, carelessness, and stupidity created the conditions for those opportunities.

Harry stared at another photo: a Triceratops drinking water from a stream. 

The image was breathtaking, and the longer he stared at it, the more he was filled with awe. It should have been impossible; these creatures had vanished long before humanity's ancestors descended from the trees and learned to walk upright, yet they lived once more.

It is, by far, the coolest thing he has ever seen, and he knew, quest aside, he can not let these creatures go extinct again because of human incompetence. 

Somewhere over the past few hours, Harry had found himself genuinely invested in saving the dinosaurs, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly when that shift had happened. It had simply crept up on him, perhaps because the entire project was such an extraordinary achievement, or perhaps because the idea of bringing extinct creatures back to life was impossible to ignore. Then again, dinosaurs were awesome, so it was probably that.

Harry folded his arms.

"I refuse to let them go extinct again."

He meant every word, but the problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to fix any of this.

He knew nothing about theme parks, genetics, logistics, or dinosaurs.

Harry stared at the mountain of paperwork and sighed. Whenever he encountered something he didn't understand, he relied on the simple but effective strategy of asking someone who did, and fortunately, there was one person in his life who seemed to know a little about nearly everything: Crowley.

Unfortunately, finding Crowley had become increasingly difficult these days. Ever since Aziraphale had appeared, his solicitor had practically vanished, avoiding both his office and his house, and Harry had no idea where he was hiding. Still, it had been nearly two weeks, and surely Aziraphale couldn't still be camping outside Crowley's office. Surely.

***

Harry discovered he was very wrong; the moment he entered the office building, he spotted the familiar white-haired man sitting in the waiting room, and when Aziraphale looked up from the book he was reading, his face immediately brightened.

"Harry!"

Harry stopped walking. He should have known; things rarely went his way. The irritation that had been building for nearly two weeks immediately resurfaced. Aziraphale seemed like a lovely person—polite, kind, and friendly—but his presence had also caused Crowley an enormous amount of trouble. Harry had missed multiple appointments because Crowley kept fleeing whenever Aziraphale appeared, and he was not the only one; the same was true for all of Crowley’s clients. 

"You're still here?"

Aziraphale blinked at his brusque tone, not expecting it, nor came to mind why Harry would be mad at him.  

"Well, not continuously."

Harry folded his arms.

"Mr. Aziraphale," Harry said in a firm tone. "If Crowley doesn't want to talk to you, then leave him alone."

The words came out much harsher than Harry intended, and Aziraphale visibly flinched as the brightness drained from his expression and his shoulders slumped.

"Oh."

Aziraphale's response made Harry feel guilty, and he cursed inwardly as he wondered why sad people always had to look so heartbreakingly miserable, and why they resembled kicked puppies. Neither of them spoke for several seconds before Harry finally let out a sigh.

"Look." Aziraphale looked up with sad blue eyes, and Harry felt even worse. Being harsh to him felt like kicking a puppy. "Write him a letter."

He tilted his head. 

"A letter?"

"Yes, I will deliver it to him." Aziraphale straightened, and Harry pointed a finger at him. "But."

The hope in those blue eyes dulled a bit as he looked cautiously at Harry. 

"You have to stop showing up here during office hours." Aziraphale opened his mouth, Harry continued before he could interrupt. "You're disrupting his work."

Aziraphale lowered his head and looked ashamed.

"And mine." Harry continued.  "And everyone else's."

Aziraphale winced.

"If Crowley wants to talk to you, he'll talk to you." Harry had softened his tone, but even so, Aziraphale looked even more miserable. "If he doesn't, then chasing him will not change that."

After a moment of silence, Aziraphale nodded.

"That's... fair."

Harry relaxed.

"Good."

"I can do that."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Harry smiled.

"Great."

Aziraphale immediately reached into a pocket in his coat, then into another pocket, and another after that, seemingly pulling items from an impossible amount of storage space. 

Harry stared at him.

"Found them!" Aziraphale produced elegant stationery, a fountain pen, an envelope, sealing wax, and what looked like a small silver inkwell, none of which should reasonably have fit inside the coat. 

Yep, Harry thought, this is definitely Crowley’s friend. Aziraphale was clearly not human, that much was obvious. As for what he actually was... surely it couldn’t be, could it? Then again, maybe...

Crowley correctly guessing that he was an angel, or at least part angel, suggested that he was familiar with angels. Crowley had told him that the whole Bilbilc affair was real, and he had seemed sensitive about the subject, so perhaps he was part of it. In the Bible, three major nonhuman groups dominated the narrative: angels, fallen angels, and demons. If Harry had to guess, Crowley was probably a fallen angel, while Aziraphale was still a pure angel. That would explain why they seemed to be at odds. Perhaps something had caused Crowley to fall, and now they were literally star-crossed friends, lovers, or something in between.

Maybe Harry was completely right, or maybe he was wildly mistaken. Either way, he knew better than to ask.

***

Harry returned to the cottage carrying Aziraphale's letter and a growing sense that he had made his life more complicated than it already was. 

That was becoming a theme in his life. 

He had gone to Crowley's office hoping to find his solicitor and ask for help with the dinosaur situation. Instead, he had ended up acting as a courier between beings who were likely older than humanity itself, assuming his admittedly wild theory was correct.

Wonderful.

After placing Aziraphale's letter on the dining table, Harry pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote a note of his own.

Crowley,

Come to the cottage when you can.

I need your help with something important.

Harry.

He stared at it for a moment. If Crowley knew Harry had a letter for him from Aziraphale, he probably would not show up, so it was better not to mention it.

Delivering the letter to him posed a different challenge, as Crowley had become exceptionally difficult to track down ever since Aziraphale appeared.

Fortunately, Harry had Hedwig.

Magical owls possessed a strange talent for finding people. Nobody had ever properly explained to Harry how it worked, only that it did. Owls could locate recipients across impossible distances, bypass confusing addresses, and deliver letters to people who had no desire to be found. Since Hedwig had evolved into an Arcane Snow Owl months earlier, that ability had become even more powerful. She could even track people through wards and ignore certain forms of concealment.

Which made her perfect for locating Crowley.

Unfortunately, convincing her to do what was technically her job required negotiation. Harry found her perched on the back of one of the chairs, looking regal and very bored.

"I need you to deliver something."

Hedwig stared at him as Harry held out the letter, but she did not move.

"It's important." Hedwig blinked slowly and Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are an owl."

Hedwig hooted, the sound practically said: So? 

"Whose job is delivering letters." Hedwig looked away, purposely ignoring him, and Harry sighed. "What do you want?"

The owl's head turned back toward him with a glint in her eyes. Of course, her majesty would not lower herself to deliver a letter without proper compensation. 

By the end, Harry had agreed to give her an entire honey-roasted chicken for supper, just for her.

"Extortion," Harry muttered as he tied the letter to her leg.

Hedwig nipped his finger.

"Fine, fine, fair payment for services rendered."

That seemed to satisfy Her Majesty.

She spread her wings and took off through the open window, vanishing into the sky with the sort of elegant arrogance only Hedwig could manage.

Harry watched her disappear into the sky and sighed. He spoiled her terribly, knew it perfectly well, admitted it without hesitation, and had absolutely no intention of stopping.

***

Several hours later, Harry was sitting in the dining nook surrounded by dinosaur books.

He had sent Dobby to buy every book he could find on prehistoric life and had been slowly working his way through them. Unfortunately, most of them were written for children, which meant they contained more dramatic illustrations than useful information, while the more advanced texts tended to say things like "scientists believe" and "current theories suggest" with frustrating frequency.

Nobody really knew anything, and that was exactly the problem.

Harry had just finished reading a chapter about theropod hunting behavior when the air shifted, and a moment later, Crowley appeared in the cottage with Hedwig perched on his shoulder.

The owl looked extremely pleased with herself, but Crowley did not.

"Your bird is terrifying."

Harry glanced up, glaring at him. How dare he? Hedwig is an absolute angel! 

"Hedwig is perfectly lovely."

Crowley turned his head toward the owl, Hedwig stared back, and neither blinked.

"Right," Crowley said. "Perfectly lovely."

Hedwig gave one satisfied hoot, then launched herself from Crowley's shoulder and flew toward the kitchen, probably to confirm that Dobby had begun preparing her promised chicken.

Harry closed the book.

"Thanks for coming."

Crowley removed his sunglasses and looked around the table. His gaze passed over the dinosaur books, the InGen files, and finally Harry.

"What," he asked slowly, "is going on?"

Harry hesitated.

Since the birthday party a few days ago, Crowley had stopped neglecting their appointments. They had held the last few meetings at Harry's cottage, which meant there had been no reason to summon him so urgently unless something had gone wrong.

And, technically, something had.

Several things, actually.

Harry pointed toward the sealed letter on the table.

"Read that first."

Crowley's expression darkened the moment he recognized the handwriting.

"No."

"Read it."

"No."

"Crowley."

"Harry."

They stared at each other, and Harry pushed the letter closer.

"He promised to stop showing up at your office during office hours if you read it."

Crowley paused and raised an eyebrow.

"He what?"

"I told him he was interfering with your work and other people's."

Crowley stared at him in disbelief. 

"You told Aziraphale to stop harassing me at work?"

"Pretty much."

"And he agreed?"

"Yes."

Crowley looked genuinely bewildered and Harry shrugged.

"I might have accidentally made him feel guilty."

"That tracks."

"Read the letter."

Crowley's expression closed off again.

"No."

Harry leaned back in his chair. 

"Then write him a response."

Crowley stared at him with a blank stare. 

"What?"

"Write him a response."

"I haven't read the letter!"

"Then your response can be 'leave me alone.'"

Crowley glared at him; it was admittedly a rather intimidating glare, but Harry held his ground.

"You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to talk to him, nor do you have to explain anything to me." Harry paused, then added more quietly, "But if you keep running every time he appears, this never ends."

Crowley looked away and for a long moment the cottage remained silent, then he snatched the letter from the table.

"Fine."

Harry wisely said nothing.

Crowley broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. At first, his expression remained carefully blank, then his jaw tightened, followed by his eyes narrowing. So many things flickered across his face too quickly for Harry to identify—pain, perhaps, anger, hope, or all of them. Harry looked away and returned his attention to his books. This was none of his business.

Several minutes passed before Crowley finally lowered the letter. Harry did not ask what it said, though he desperately wanted to—of course he did; he was thirteen, not dead—but he also knew when something was private. Crowley folded the parchment with unnecessary precision and care. 

"He says he didn't betray me."

Harry did not ask what he meant, or what really happened, and kept his voice neutral.

"Do you believe him?"

Crowley let out a cold laugh.

"I believe he believes it."

Harry remained silent; he had learned that in situations like this, the best thing he could do was listen. Crowley stared at the letter with a mix of emotions flashing through his yellow eyes, which took a reptilian shape. 

"He says he chose to do what was right." The words seemed to taste bitter in his mouth. "He says I took that as betrayal."

Harry continued listening as Crowley's voice became quieter and more vulnerable. 

"He says he's fighting for our future."

Harry glanced at him.

"Our?"

"All of ours."

Harry still didn't know the full story, so he had no advice or words of comfort. 

He knew Crowley and Aziraphale had a long history together. He knew they had known each other for thousands of years, that they had once been partners—perhaps something more—and that Crowley felt abandoned. That was all he knew, and the rest belonged to them.

Harry pushed a blank sheet of parchment across the table, and Crowley stared at it.

"What?"

"Write back."

Crowley looked offended by the suggestion and frowned at him. 

"I am not a schoolboy passing notes in class."

"No, you're an ancient being sulking in my cottage."

Crowley slowly turned his head, Harry met his stare, and after a long moment Crowley looked away first.

"You're a menace."

"So I've been told."

Crowley grabbed the parchment and began writing a very short response.

Aziraphale,

Leave me alone.

Crowley

Harry looked at it, then at Crowley, who looked back defiantly.

"That's a response."

"It is technically a response."

"Good."

"But not a very useful one."

"You said I could write that."

"I did."

"Then stop judging me."

"I'm not judging."

"You are absolutely judging me."

Harry took the letter, sealed it, and called Hedwig. The owl appeared from the kitchen with suspiciously sticky feathers near her beak. Harry decided not to ask.

"Can you deliver this?"

Hedwig stared at him with that familiar look, and Harry sighed.

"I already promised you a chicken."

She hooted.

"No, you are not getting two chickens."

Another hoot.

"You haven't even eaten the first one yet."

Hedwig looked offended, betrayed, and annoyed all at once, her glare practically shouting: And whose fault is that? 

Crowley watched their interactions with faint amusement.

"She gets this from you."

"She does not."

"She does."

Harry ignored him and tied the letter to Hedwig's leg. The owl flew off again. Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. Hedwig returned forty minutes later, carrying another letter and what looked like jam stains on her feathers. Aziraphale must have bribed her.

Crowley stared at the letter as though it were a cursed object.

Harry took it.

"That was fast."

Crowley muttered something under his breath, took the letter from Harry’s hands, read it, went very still, and then vanished. 

Harry stared at the empty chair, then at the dinosaur books.

"Brilliant."

Hedwig landed on the table, and Harry looked at her.

"You let Aziraphale bribe you?"

Hedwig hooted.

"Traitor."

The owl regarded him with complete indifference, and Harry rubbed his temples. He hadn't even gotten the chance to bring up the dinosaur problem...

***

Author’s Note: Next chapter 3rd year starts.