Harry Angel

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.



A/N ~ This story is written for my dearest B.
She is one of my closest online friends and it is thanks to her friendship and mentoring that I am writing fanfic at all.
She has had a rough time recently and I wanted to cheer her up. So this is ny attempt at a fluffy Snarry.
To B all my love ~ Lucie

BTW> This story is complete, but this is only part one. It is 13,500 words long and parts two - four are with my beta Kim. I'll post them when I get them back. I apologise to anyone who is reading one of my WIPs but there will be a new chapter of both stories in the next couple of days


Harry Angel

Harry was pissed off. Completely and utterly pissed off. He had had enough. He had had a thoroughly rotten life and, just when he thought things were going to get better and he was going to survive the final battle, he ended up dead. So now it looked as though he was going to have a thoroughly rotten death too.

It wasn’t his fault of course, but then none of it had been really, had it? He hadn’t asked to be targeted by a madman and have both of his parents murdered before he was two. He hadn’t done anything to deserve his atrocious childhood or the numerous attempts on his life that had blighted his teenage years.

He had long suspected himself to be the butt of a gigantic cosmic joke and now knew this to be true.

So here he was in this celestial waiting room, waiting for yet another decision to be made about him but without his input.

With a (to Harry’s mind at least) well justified surge of anger Harry threw the nasty little harp they had given him across the cloud. He then had to suffer ten minutes of abuse from the cranky little cherub that he had narrowly missed with his carefully aimed lob.

“Sorry, sorry!” he soothed, holding up his hands in supplication as the chubby pink creature finished lecturing him. It gave him a final steely glare and then stalked off across the cloud in the direction of a sign which read Elysian Fields. Harry wondered if that was some kind of Heavenly Quidditch pitch.

He wriggled his back in an attempt to straighten out his wings. These were huge and white and covered in feathers and Harry just knew they were going to take some getting used to. He felt over balanced and they kept opening wide when he wasn’t expecting it and bristling when he was cross, which seemed to be all the time right now.

Of course, even more than the wings, he hated the horrid nightie that they made him wear. They told him that it wasn’t a nightdress, that it was a robe. But it reminded him of those dreadful things that Aunt Petunia used to buy from British Home Stores, except that his robe didn’t have sprigged blue flowers on it. He supposed it could also be compared to the dress robes that Ron had once worn to the Yule Ball - right down to the frilly cuffs and the lace around the collar.

Then there was his halo. He hadn’t seen many other angels yet, but those he had glimpsed in the distance seemed to have shiny halos that glowed and sort of hovered around their heads. But Harry’s halo was wonky; it looked sort of crooked to him and he thought that it was just typical that he should be the only angel in Heaven to have a cockeyed halo.

“Once a freak, always a freak, eh Harry?” he said to himself wryly.

But then he saw that the fat man with the fluffy white hair was coming out from the little room that he and several other angels had sequestered themselves in when he had appeared by some shiny, pearly gates.

He hadn’t expected them to give him a welcoming party when he first arrived, but he also hadn’t expected the angel who greeted him to blanch and stutter, “You shouldn’t be here!” several times before rushing off looking anguished.

He also hadn’t expected to garner as much notice from the copious other angelic hosts as he obviously had. Several winged people had rushed passed him into what seemed to be a celestial meeting room and banged the door firmly shut.

He was uncomfortably reminded of his appearance before the Wizengamot when he had saved Dudley from the dementors.

Harry thought that perhaps he should stop angsting over being here with wonky halos and frilly robes, because maybe he was supposed to go to the other place after all. He couldn’t think what he had ever done to deserve that though, unless of course killing someone counted. Suddenly Harry felt chilled. That was it; he had killed Voldemort, maybe that meant he wasn’t fit for Heaven after all?

He could have wept. That is, he could have done had he not been a being made of pure energy who not only didn’t contain any water but didn’t have any tear ducts anyway.

“Harry,” Fluffy Hair said, actually speaking to Harry for the first time rather than gasping and throwing up his hands in shock and running away like everyone else had done. Harry felt that whatever happened at least he would know now. He smiled up at Fluffy Hair; he had a kind voice, and a concerned air. Harry was glad it was this angel who was about to break the news that Harry was in the wrong place. He hadn’t liked the first guy very much; for some reason that particular celestial being had reminded Harry far too much of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“S’okay,” he said rather sadly, “I won’t protest, I’ll go quietly. Would it be possible….Do you think I could maybe, just see a glimpse of my parents before I have to go?”

“My dear boy,” Fluffy Hair said kindly. “Where are you expecting to be sent?”

“You know,” Harry replied gesturing downwards, “the other place.”

Fluffy hair looked thoroughly shocked.

“My goodness, child. Is that what you thought we were discussing?”

If he could have done, Harry would have blushed right then. Instead he hung his head and nodded.

“You poor child,” Fluffy Hair said. “You really have had a bit of a tough time, haven’t you? We do see it all up here, of course, but there are so many souls to take care of, there is only so much we can do to help…..” He trailed off, sadly. But then he brightened. “Come along, we are going to my office. There are some things I need to discuss with you, and whatever else you might think, dear boy, you have more than deserved a place in Heaven.”

The office was strangely reminiscent of Dumbledore’s and even just thinking about the old man gave Harry a lump in his throat.

“Is Professor Dumbledore here?” he asked quietly.

Fluffy Hair smiled at him. “Oh yes, child,” he answered. “They are all here; you have a lot of people wanting to see you. But first we have something of a conundrum to solve.”

Harry wondered what a conundrum was when, all at once, he and Fluffy Hair were no longer alone.

“So this is Harry Potter,” the newcomer said somewhat snarkily, giving Harry a hard stare. “You, young man, are giving us a lot of trouble, you know!”

“Erm, sorry?” Harry tried but, all at once, the new angel was smiling at him, quite kindly Harry thought.

“Sit down, dear boy,” Fluffy Hair said. “I have not introduced myself as yet; my name is Gabriel - Archangel Gabriel - and my colleague is Archangel Michael.”

Harry’s mouth formed a silent O shape. Even he had heard of Gabriel.

“A conundrum is another word for puzzle, Harry,” Gabriel continued, “and we have a very large puzzle on our hands as far as you are concerned.

“To put it quite simply, you should not have died. The last curse should have bounced off you, just like the original one did, but the problem is that your guardian angel was new. He had just begun training and his reflexes were a tad too slow; he arrived few seconds too late to deflect the curse.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He felt the first stirrings of annoyance. He also could not work out how Gabriel had realised that Harry had not known what a conundrum was. Did he truly look stupid or could they read minds up here?

“But why did I have a trainee angel, anyway?” he asked.

“Well,” said Michael, “it is very unfortunate but you had already worn out two previous angels and we were finding it hard to get anyone to take you on, and you are very far from stupid, young man!”

Resolving to be very careful about what he thought around the angels, who did truly seem to be reading his mind, Harry said incredulously, “But it wasn’t my fault if a crazed madman was trying to kill me!”

“Well, there was that,” conceded Gabriel.

“But there were other factors, Harry, were there not?” commented Michael dryly. “Basilisks at twelve? Dragons at fourteen? Close encounters with the Veil at fifteen? Need I go on?”

“I didn’t ask for that!” Harry exclaimed indignantly. “I didn’t ask for any of that!”

Michael gave him a hard stare.

“No, well, quite,” the angel continued. “Unfortunately it was the case, however, that you have managed to completely exhaust two very experienced guardian angels; a feat which I don’t think has been managed since the days of Arthur Pendragon himself! Both of your previous angels opted for early retirement and we had no option but to assign you Paulo, who is a novice, for the final battle.

“Paulo is a little over two hundred years old and would normally have been assigned to a baby, a small child who would grow up to lead an exemplary and safe life. Paulo is nothing, however, if not brave and he did at least agree to help us out.

“But there is a solution, or at least there could be.

“We can give you seven days. You can return to earth and, if in that time you can obtain a kiss from your true love, then you will be restored to life.”

Michael’s face was beaming with pride as he said these last few words.

But Harry was not satisfied.

“Oh please!” he said, grumpily. “You cannot be serious! That sounds like a cheesy plot from some crappy romance novel!”

Michael lost his celistial glow, and narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Look, it’s the best we can do at short notice,” he said snottily. “Take it or leave it; it’s your last chance.”

“Oh okay,” Harry replied, in a somewhat defeated tone, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just, well, don’t you think that that idea is a bit corny?”

Michael bristled.

“It was my idea!” he hissed through clenched angelic teeth.

Harry didn’t know where to put himself.

But Michael was continuing.

“Your true love is also your soul mate; a deep bond connects you. A truer love than most people ever find. It is that which gives us this window of hope; your soul is still tied to the one that was meant for you. If you can get them to recognise that, and show their recognition by the means of a kiss, then you will live again.

“It was just lucky that Paulo managed to hide your body, so no one knows that you are dead yet. The corpse has been held in a sort of stasis. If you do not find your soul mate, or convince them that they love you, then the body will be found and you will be back here. Permanently.”

“Sorry, I really am,” was all Harry could say; he was rather pleased now that angels couldn’t blush. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, you know?” Harry continued. “I don’t think there is anyone who loves me, I mean how could they? I certainly don’t know who my true love is. How would I find them anyway?”

“That’s alright, Harry,” Michael replied, smiling rather nastily. “You’ll be invisible to everyone but the love of your life.”



Harry had no idea how long he had been dead. How did you measure these things, anyway? He knew that wondering around watching his friends cope with their grief and their loss was like some sort of hell on earth and he wondered to himself what he had ever done to deserve such a crap deal.

Harry had always tried never to feel sorry for himself, but right now he felt so sad and alone. He had not been this alone since his horrid childhood at the Dursleys and he was so not going to visit them.

He knew that, after his interview with Michael and Gabriel, he had met with his family and he knew that the reunion had been wonderful. But his memories of Heaven were fading fast; they were vague, wispy, transient. Harry supposed that it was meant to be that way but he could not help wishing rather wistfully that he had more than a vague feeling of how wonderful it had felt to finally be hugged by his mother. How glorious it had been to see Sirius again or how he had felt so warmed by his father’s smile or Dumbledore’s pride.

He was feeling far from warm right now. He had finally returned to Grimmauld Place after several days of searching. He couldn’t think who else to try, and he thought that, very soon, he would be back with his parents and his godfather, because, how ever corny his task had seemed, Harry had managed to fail in this too.

His first port of call when he had returned to earth had been, of course, Ginny. He had not been sure that she was his true love but she was the person that he had known that had seemed the closest to such a thing. But Ginny had not even noticed him. She had seemed desperately sad, her eyes had been red and she had been crying. She had been cuddled up on the sofa in the Weasley’s living room with a photo of him held tight against her chest.

At nearly eighteen, his former girlfriend was stunningly beautiful. As far as Harry was concerned she could have had any man on the planet; he had truly never understood what she saw in him. He had sat right beside her on the sofa and she hadn’t noticed; he had even stroked her glorious hair generating a small shiver from the miserable girl but no recognition whatsoever. Molly hadn’t seen him either when she bustled in with a mug of hot chocolate and a huge box of tissues in her hands and wasn’t Harry glad about that? Being the soul mate of Molly Weasley would have been far too weird.

But even the Weasley matriarch would have been better than nobody and that was the situation he was in right now. Not one of the numerous people that he had visited over the past few days had seen him at all. Of course he had found out some interesting things. Hooch and Sinistra, who knew? Well, him, apparently, and maybe the ghosts at Hogwarts and absolutely, nobody else.

He had visited Ron and Hermione; not that he thought either of them was a soul mate, he had just wanted to see how they were. Sad and missing him, it seemed. Hermione had been reading through a pile of books. Apparently he had vanished on the battlefield in an explosion of light and she was researching spells that might have produced such an effect.

Harry rather doubted that angelic mistakes were included in any of the learned tomes that she was scouring, but he was absurdly touched that she was working so hard on his behalf.

It appeared that he had been gone for more than six weeks. In his travels Harry had discovered that all kinds of theories were being discussed as to what might possibly have happened to him. Everything from kidnapping by Death Eaters who had escaped detection, to Harry deciding that he wanted no more of the magical world; a wizard named Artemis Pringle had even suggested that Harry had been stolen away by aliens from somewhere called Alpha Centuri.

Harry thought it all completely bizarre.

He couldn’t go back and leave Ron and Hermione, he had decided. He felt that he was letting them down; they had worked so hard! How would they feel when his body did turn up? At least they would know that he hadn’t left them willingly.

He had tried everyone he could think of, everyone he had ever met – and quite a few that he had not. He had even drifted over to Malfoy’s place. Malfoy and Snape had turned up five weeks after Dumbledore’s death clutching a brace of Horcruxes, which had of course accelerated the end of the war and, ironically, Harry’s death.

Malfoy hadn’t seen him either. Although Harry had been somewhat shocked when he had followed the blond to the Weasley’s house where he had proceeded to offer Ginny sympathy and support. Harry hadn’t believed him, for a minute, when he talked about a ‘tragic loss to wizarding kind’ but Ginny obviously did and made no attempt whatsoever to remove Malfoy’s hand from her knee or his arm from her shoulder.

That had been the final straw for Harry; he had seen Ginny turn large sad eyes on Malfoy, eyes that had never looked at him like that! Then he had truly despaired. Not that he thought Heaven would be all bad. It wasn’t an awful place to be, even if Arc Angel Michael had seemed a touch grumpy with him. Harry didn’t mind that at all, really; he had often had that effect on people. It reminded him a bit of Snape and he hadn’t minded Snape that much when he had found out that he had been forced to kill Dumbledore. He had actually felt quite sorry for the greasy git by the time he had died.

Died.

He had to face it, that’s what had happened and all of his efforts were useless because no one ever could (or ever would) love him as far as Harry could see.

He put his head in his hands and wished that angels could cry. Harry Potter never cried, never had. There had never seemed to be any point. But, right now, he thought it might have made him feel better to give in to a bit of self pity.

He heard the front door of Grimmauld place fly open, waking up Old Mrs Black who proceeded to berate the person that had come through the door with a selection her usual epithets about blood traitors. She seemed to be getting particularly irate with whoever had just come in, however, and was bellowing things like “foul traitor” and “filthy spy.” Then Harry heard a voice that he recognised all too well.

“Do shut up, you viscious old hag!” It was Snape. Obviously he was living here as well as Lupin. He had seen his father’s old friend only the day before. Lupin had, unsurprisingly, not seen him.

By habit Harry was looking at the door when Snape crashed through it, laden with bags and swearing colourfully. He stopped, narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Harry who was still sitting rather forlornly on the battered sofa.

“Potter!” he hissed menacingly. “Where the blue blazes have you been and where the fuck did you get those wings?”