The no-longer Archangel Tyrael looked around to find himself in a train car. Well, he might as well find a seat somewhere to sit down. His Fall had been brutal and he still felt pains all over his body. Perhaps somewhere private.

He walked down the train car until he encountered a blonde girl who just stood there tilting her head at him. He started staring at her, thinking of intimidating her into moving aside, but she just stared right back, unself-consciously.

"Aren't you missing some wings?" she asked the striking bald-headed black-skinned being masquerading as an adolescent. He was wearing a very impressive set of steel armour.

Tyrael was startled, but not for long. He smiled at meeting one of Heaven's own children walking the Earth. A most auspicious sign.

"And what is your name child?"

"Luna, Luna Lovegood." she told him, and from her smile and her gaze he knew her for a Dreamer.

"Well met Luna, my name is Tyrael."

They stayed motionless looking at each other for endless moments, happy and relieved to have met each other.

Then suddenly she declared "I think you're supposed to meet him." before turning around and moving away without a look backwards. He smiled bemused, not knowing whom she might be speaking of, and hurried on to follow her.

Tyrael followed Luna all along the train. Past one carriage then another. Finally they came upon a carriage whose compartments Luna started inspecting, obviously searching for something. She must have found what she was looking for because she opened a door and stared inside for a minute. He stared at her while presumably the compartment's occupants were similarly staring at her.

His sharp ears heard a voice exclaim "Oh that's just Loony Lovegood." Tyrael frowned. That wasn't her proper name. Was it some manner of nickname or insult? Luna was already a short enough name and symbolic enough. The tone was dismissive, not affectionate. An insult then. His lips pursed. Who dared insult a Dreamer?

Luna stepped aside then and bid him come. She introduced them to him.

"Tyrael, this is Harry Potter. They say he defeated a Dark Lord. I don't know who his friend is. And that's Ron Weasley." she said pointing to the cowering child, the defiant one, and the scowling one in turn. He started judging their facial expressions, their body language, their positions, determining their character. Yet the more he stared with his blank face and in utter silence at the cowering boy-child while his friend introduced herself (Hermione Granger), the more the child hunched over into himself.

This, this cowering hunched-over Slave had defeated a Dark Lord? Well, Tyrael was wise to the ways of Humanity. He'd walked the Worlds amongst mortals for long eons. He knew children were often submissive, rarely did they know their own souls before 200 years of age, or was that 20? Well, fully grown at any rate. This boy was but a child. Though ... Tyrael's head swiveled silently to Luna and he frowned. Luna was a Dreamer and assertive. Allowing for the boy's seated position and his hunched over posture, he was probably as tall as Luna. The same age then.

Well, no matter. So the boy was a Slave, so what? It wouldn't be the first one Tyrael had seen. He'd seen grown men as Slaves. Thousands, perhaps millions by now. A Slave child had defeated a Dark Lord, that was interesting. Unusual. Yet he'd heard of stranger things. He'd witnessed stranger still. Perhaps the Slave's good masters had ordered him to kill the Dark Lord. Children were small and could get into places adults could not. Slaves often went around unnoticed by their arrogant superiors. Even child Slaves could be skilled, dangerous, deadly. So long as his companions were Good, he would serve Goodness.

The girl child had kept up a nervous chatter. Her manner was pushy, defensive, protective. Hmm. But also submissive, unsure of herself, of no account because not self-directed. He recognized a Minion. From her questions, perhaps even a Bureaucrat, a pyramid-builder, a slavish believer in hierarchical authority. No, this one could not be the Slave's ultimate master. She had no will of her own, no self-direction, she knew not her own soul. Tyrael dismissed her and turned his head to the last occupant of the compartment.

The pouting boy perked up, the one who'd been scowling, he enjoyed attention. Tyrael's face hardened to stone. Oh and look, the scowl was back, defiant at negative attention, unwilling to accept any criticism upon himself. A narcissist. Perhaps it was youth? But Tyrael knew children started revealing their nature as soon as they were waist-high. The Evil One was far taller than that, was the tallest of the lot. Passive. Avoidant. A Hedonist. Tyrael could smell the slob's sweat. This was the Slave's master? The master of the slayer of the Dark Lord was an Evil One? This could not be borne. Tyrael's hand shot out like a viper and he grasped the Evil One's throat and started squeezing.

The Slave and the Minion were stunned, not so the Evil One whose survival instincts had kicked in. The Abomination's right hand went around Tyrael's, trying to pry his off. Ineffectual. Its left went into a pocket and pulled out a wand, a weapon. Tyrael reached across his body with his left hand. The position was very awkward, the leverage poor, it wasn't his dominant hand, yet he still had strength enough to snap the Swine's forearm. The sharp crack was heard by everyone in the compartment and arrested the Slave's and Minion's movements. The Minion, Hermione started pleading all in a rush,

"Please, you're hurting him. You broke his arm. You can't do this."

Tyrael turned to face the girl, Hermione, fully all while strangling the Evil One with his arm outstretched. Out of the corner of his left eye, he could see the Slave looking to the girl for guidance, for orders. The Slave wouldn't do anything on his own, of his own volition. Dark Lord slayer or not, deadly or not, he was irrelevant without orders. "Do you not recognize a Hedonist, child? A swine? An Evil One?"

"But, that's just Ron! He isn't evil! Oh a swine, I guess he is that. Well, his manners are poor, I don't think his mother ever taught him. But he's not evil! He just gets jealous and angry sometimes."

Tyrael was most displeased by the ignorance of the girl. But then, she had been keeping company with It, so he wasn't exactly surprised.

"A Swine, child. A Hedonist, thinking only of its own physical pleasure and pain. A narcissist incapable of empathy, thinking only of itself, with no comprehension or understanding of others. Is any of this familiar to you? Do you recognize any of it?"

"Well, he's just a boy. He'll grow out of it. He's our friend. And you're killing him!" she beseeched him while pulling gently but frantically on his steel-like arm. Tyrael heard her excuses and knew she had no arguments, no facts, no defense for the Evil One. She'd given up and had condemned It thereby. Now he just had to get her to see Reason and admit the truth, condone the Sentence.

"A friend to you, child? Narcissists have no friends." but he wasn't getting through to her at all. Children needed to be taught, he knew that. Change of plans. Yes, she was touching him, perfect. And she respected authority, even better. He would share with her one of his Memories. Of his Fall, of Commitment, of Willpower, of Sacrifice.

And suddenly Hermione Granger saw a FLASH and she was Elsewhere. Had she been teleported? Apparated? She was standing inside of a gleaming shining white-grey tower. Everything stone and light. More magical than Hogwarts' Great Hall! And there prostrated before her was a massive suit of gleaming steel armour, with only darkness in it, and as it was rising she gulped. Because there before her was a Lord of Angels, an Archangel. She could see the crown upon its head, the wings made of light and fire. She tried to move but couldn't, she could FEEL herself SPEAK:

"You cannot judge ME. I am JUSTICE itself! We were meant for more than this. To protect Goodness and smite Evil." and then drawling "But if our precious laws bind you all to in-action ... then I will no longer stand as your brother!"

Harry had been waiting, every muscle in his body tense, ready to pounce, staring intently at Hermione staring blankly into nothing. THWACK, a great clash of metal breaking could be heard coming from nowhere and both his and Hermione's bodies were thrown back against their seats, away from Tyrael who still had his fist around Ron's throat, slowly choking him.

"He chose. To be one of us." Luna's eerie voice told him.

Hermione heard her and she knew, she knew the impossible truth. But she still needed to know, to know more, to know everything. Her right hand reached out to push Harry back while her left reached out to touch Tyrael again. And suddenly, the Vision was upon her again. She could feel her arms struggle mightily with her breastplate, tearing it apart. She could feel the roar coming out of her own throat. And from in front of her, from the Archangel she heard denunciation,

"Sacrilege."

then there was a great tearing like her body was being pulled apart, her back felt like it was torn open. Why would she be doing this to herself? She heard a shockwave and a great thump upon the floor. Then a gale started blowing against her burning back and she could see her hands disintegrating. And through her disintegrating hands she saw tentacles of light reaching out from the floor, wrapping themselves around her, pulling her under. And she was burning, she was on FIRE.

And then Hermione started screaming and screaming. Harry pulled her away from the stranger, unheeding of Ron's fate, and she curled up into a ball against him while sobbing. He stiffened up then tentatively put his arm around her and patted her back, scared. Ron's face was all red and his movements were getting slower, jerky, spastic. Ron was dying. Finally Hermione was visibly pulling herself together, she'd tell him what to do.

"Hermione, Ron's dying."

"Let him die, Harry. Justice is done this day."

"Hermione, he's my first friend."

"Nobody is any good at anything on their first try, Harry. You heard what the Angel said, Ron was no friend of ours. He had no friends."

"What Angel, Hermione? What are you talking about?"

"The Angel Tyrael, Harry. The Angel killing Ron."

Harry was stunned, frozen. Maybe this is what shock felt like? It didn't feel like anything really. Hermione was facing him, clinging to him, refusing to watch Ron die. Harry was transfixed. He watched Ron's movements become still, he watched his glazed eyes stare sightlessly, he watched Ron's face become pale. He watched Ron die. And still Tyrael was holding him, was strangling him.

Harry watched Ron's corpse feeling bereft. He turned to Tyrael and asked resentfully "What now?"

"Now we get rid of the body. Let that be a lesson to you Harry, just because you engage in mass murder doesn't mean you have to be stupid about it. Rather than boasting about your kills like the Evil Ones do, you clean up after yourself so you can do more of them. Come on you three, real life isn't like some video game or TV show where Abominations' bodies dissolve all by themselves. It takes hydrochloric acid to do that."

"You're not going to get away with this." Hermione said.

Tyrael just stared at her while lifting an eyebrow.

"I mean, they've got Veritaserum and Legilimancy. Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore? He's on my list. One of the major Evils of this World. Is anyone else capable of mind reading?"

"Dumble-dumbled-" Hermione started stuttering, unable to get the name out through her shock.

"Dumbledore the Decider, next of kin to a Dark Lord, he is on my list yes." Tyrael repeated kindly urging her on.

"Of-of Evil people?"

Tyrael nodded his head solemnly.

"Oh, I guess that just solves everything." then she started laughing hysterically.


A/N: This fic was inspired by the Diablo 3 video Tyrael's Sacrifice (Act 2). Also by a shitty unrecommendable self-insert HP fanfic whose author was an inhuman narcissist. Since I couldn't get past the scene where the narcissistic shit introduces himself to the Golden Trio, I thought to myself "why not insert a Good character instead of an Evil one?"

Incidentally, everything I'm writing in this fic about Good and Evil is either literally true or a fairly accurate metaphor for technical matters that are beyond mere human understanding.

As far as this being a Diablo cross, you can consider everything on that side completely AU. In particular, Tyrael was never the Archangel of Judgement (misnamed Justice) as in Diablo, but was the Archangel of REAL Justice. I took from Diablo everything I'm planning to and will spit on the rest.