Harry Angel

This is it, final part. Thanks Kim *smooches her* thanks for all your kind reviews! my friend Mystkyten did me some wonderful manips after she read this story. they can be seen at my LJ (here http://quill-lumos.livejournal.com/) if you are curious I think that they are truly lovely! ~ Lucie

Four


Potter was missing. One minute he had been here, the next he had vanished and Severus felt cross. Where did the boy think he was going? Nobody could see him but Severus could they? That’s what he had discovered - about that, at least, Harry was telling the truth. So what was the point of going to ‘see’ anyone else?

What did the ridiculous child think he was doing, disappearing like that? Worrying him. Severus stopped mid-thought. He had not just felt a pang of concern for the boy’s safety, had he? He shivered. He had obviously spent far too much time with the peculiar creature that was it! He would finally get some time all on his own without the blasted hero of the wizarding world following him about like a lost puppy.

He would make himself a nice cup of tea and read a good book and not have to worry about Potter making all those weird Pottery noises that he kept coming out with. The snuffles and the sighs and the long dark looks. No, he told himself, it would be peaceful, relaxing.

He wondered what time it was and cast tempus just to check. Hmmm, twenty-five past eight. Not that late, then.

He made a proper cup of tea. Two heaped teaspoons of Darjeeling in a pre-warmed pot. Let it brew for exactly five minutes and then pour it. Add the milk afterwards so as not to scold it. Not like the Potter boy made tea. A great dollop of milk, a teabag! Boiled water sloshed in, teabag squeezed once and chucked in the sink and then three teaspoons of sugar.

He shivered again.

How anyone could ruin good tea like that was beyond him. But then he snorted to himself. Potter didn’t drink good tea, did he? He drank the sweepings from the floor and called it tea. He was about to tell the boy so, but then he realised that he wasn’t here right now. He had disappeared somewhere.

Thank goodness for that, he told himself. Peace at last!

And then he remembered that he had not actually seen the young man drink anything at all, not since he had arrived three days ago. He must have noticed how Potter took his tea before he ‘disappeared’. He had noticed quite a bit about Potter it seemed.

It had been quiet without him, those weeks when he had been gone. Severus had felt quite edgy then hadn’t he? The house had seemed so empty without the boy, so dull. The brat didn’t realise how important he was, rushing about with abandonment, risking himself like he did, when he was too important to risk!

He hadn’t eaten anything either, had he? Despite Severus’ efforts to tempt him, and he used to love his food, Severus had always thought that Harry ate with such pleasure, never taking food for granted. He ate in a way that was almost sensual. Severus assumed that he had been eating and drinking when he wasn’t around, because Potter wouldn’t have gone all that time without sustenance would he? Not in Severus’ experience of the boy at least. But then he was always around, wasn’t he? Potter had hardly left him alone, not in three days, not until tonight.

He had tried tricking him, tried enticing him but nothing seemed to work. It was almost as if……

He cast tempus again. eight thirty-seven. He was sure more time had past than that? Maybe the spell was not working correctly?

Eight thirty-eight. Seemed to be okay. He should drink his tea before it got cold.

Where had Potter said he was going again? Something about saying goodbye to those he loved. Overdramatic, that’s what he was. Seeking attention as usual.

saying goodbye

Severus shivered again, although the room was not cold, it was hot, humid. Severus was sure that a storm was building.

By eleven forty-one, Severus was getting worried.

He had had six cups of tea. All made properly, in the teapot, fresh each time and not reheated. He had tried to read (and then discarded) a number of different books and cast tempus more times than he cared to remember but Potter had still not returned.

There was a tune running round in his head. He concentrated on that instead of thinking about Potter and tried to remember what the music was from, it seemed very familiar.

Severus admired Mahler and would admit to a certain enjoyment of Beethoven, especially the third and fifth symphonies. He would, if pressed, reluctantly agree to a slight fondness for Tchaikovsky but the blessed man was far too romantic to be a proper composer.

And then he remembered.

When he was still at school, Lily had taken him to the Muggle cinema. He had never been before but she had. It was one of her favourite places to visit outside school. They had walked into Hogsmeade and apparated from there.

My Fair Lady Lily had loved it! It was being shown as part of a musical retrospective at some small independent place. She had danced all the way back to Hogwarts, she had hummed the songs for weeks. It had been the last thing that they had done together and Severus had loved it too. It had been his only experience of the cinema. Lily had begun to date the brat’s father just a couple of weeks later and Severus had stopped speaking to her.

She had asked him to join her again several times, but he never had and finally she had given up asking.

Severus felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Ever since he had turned up like the proverbial bad penny, Potter had been humming a selection of tunes and Severus had found them vaguely familiar, an echo of a memory. He had assumed that they were just Muggle pop songs and ignored them whenever he could. But they had still niggled. He had even asked Potter where he knew the songs from when one or two of them seemed to get stuck in his own head and he had found himself whistling them at various times in the last day or so.

Potter had shrugged and said, “When I saw my Mum she sang them to me, I think. But I can’t really remember. I wish I could!” Severus had sneered at him yet again. But Harry had been telling the truth, hadn’t he?

About everything.

They were the songs from My Fair Lady!

Lily?

She had sung their songs to him, sung to her child.

Severus sat down. Heavily.

“Oh my God!”

The words of the tune that had haunted him all evening came rushing back to him and he remembered them as if it were yesterday that he had heard them last.

He whispered them quietly to himself, just changing them a little bit so that they were more suited to him and to……Harry.

Oh Harry!

But I'm so used to hear him say
"Good morning" ev'ry day.
His joys, his woes,
His highs, his lows,
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I'm very grateful he's a boy
And so easy to forget;
Rather like a habit
One can always break-
And yet,
I've grown accustomed to the trace
Of something in the air;

- Accustomed to his face.

Harry was his Eliza and he was Henry Higgins, grumpy and irascible. Dismissive of a bright, charming young thing that he had slowly fallen in love with, refusing to believe it, not telling the truth, not even to himself.

Severus felt cold all over. It was the icy grip of sudden realisation, about something long denied. He’d had a revelation.

All at once, there was a crash. Deep in thought as he had been, Severus almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected intrusion.

Harry burst through the back door. He was soaking wet, his hair was even messier than usual, sticking every which way in thick, ebony spikes and his eyes fairly danced with delight. He had never seemed more alive than he did right then, which was ironic really considering he kept insisting that he was dead.

“Severus you have to come outside. It’s raining!”

“That is hardly a great shock, Potter. We are in England in August - of course it is raining!” Severus snarled, surprised by the boy’s unexpected entrance. He winced when heard his own voice, the sharpness, the distain.

But the boy had not even seemed to notice.

Harry looked away as a huge crash of thunder drowned out all other sound for a moment or two. He seemed as eager as a small child who was getting ready for Christmas.

“It’s wonderful out there!” he continued. “Just brilliant! I can feel the rain, really feel it. For the first time since I arrived I can feel something, Severus! It’s like a gift. It must mean that my time is nearly up. It’s time to go back!”

The room was suddenly lit by a blinding whiteness and Harry groaned.

It was a guttural sound, nearly feral in it’s intensity.

Severus felt like someone had connected the lightning to his groin. It was almost as if he were on fire himself.

“We’re missing it!” Harry yelled, and he turned and raced outside again.

“Stop!” Severus shouted. “What do you mean your time is nearly up?” The heat had gone as quickly as it had arrived. It had been three days since he had first found Harry, three days since the boy had become such an integral part of his life again. Had Harry been telling the truth all along? Surely not?

But what other explanation could there be? Severus had found none, not in all his searching and not with his scepticism.

Nothing to explain the fact that the boy was invisible, inaudible to anyone else; no reason for his inability to touch anyone or anything but Severus, no plausible explanation for his silent apparitions or his seeming facility to avoid any need for food, water or sleep. No apparent explanation for the fact that the whole time that he had been here, Harry had not once drawn a breath.

“No! Don’t leave me!”

Suddenly Severus knew the truth: Harry was dead, he really was. But he was not a ghost, he was an angel. Of course he was an angel! Who could possibly deserve Heaven more than him? Nobody could be more fitted, more worthy than Harry.

Severus had spent his entire life in the magical world, he had seen countless wonders and many things that almost defied explanation, but this? This was nothing short of a miracle. Heaven existed. Harry was an angel and he was leaving; he was being taken away from Severus

He hadn’t heard Severus’ last few words, he hadn’t been listening. He was going, just like he said he would, just like he had promised.

He ran outside into the tempest, desperate to see the boy before he disappeared again. He needed him; he didn’t want him to go. He loved him. He knew it with more certainty than he had felt in his entire life, about anything.

A storm like nothing he had ever seen was raging all around them. The sky was alive with colour and brightness and energy. Bolts of light, eerily reminiscent of the one on Harry’s forehead crossed over each other and chased across the inky darkness. The monstrous crashes of a thunder louder than any that he had heard before roared its fury and all the while the rain poured unstoppable from the night time sky.

“It’s bloody fantastic, Sev!” Harry shouted. “I can feel it, touch it, taste it! It’s a gift, a final gift. It’s almost like being alive again!

“THANK YOU, GABRIEL!!!! THANK YOU. I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!”

Harry was shrieking his delight and whirling around with his arms outstretched like a child, dancing through the storm. The robe that he was wearing was almost transparent, clinging against him, hiding nothing of his magnificent body, toned by years of Quidditch and racing around trying to battle Dark Lords. The boy was finally all grown up. His hair was plastered to his forehead and raindrops clung to his thick black lashes. His wings were spread wide, the feathers glowing against the lightning and the halo shimmering, like molten gold, shining brighter than everything else.

Severus had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.

“Harry! Harry! Listen please, I have to know, you have to tell me. It was the truth, wasn’t it? You were telling the truth?”

Suddenly everything seemed quieter. The lightning still flashed but the only noise for now was the heavy rain driving against the hard sun-baked soil.

Harry stopped twirling and looked at him.

“You called me Harry!” he said. He was puzzled, adorably confused and Severus prayed it wasn’t too late. He loved the boy; he had done for years, he knew that now and he couldn’t bear to lose him. Not when he had finally admitted the truth, something that he had known deep down all along.

He, Severus Snape, snarky bastard, greasy git, loved Harry Potter with all that he had. He admired him, his honesty, his bravery his refusal to be beaten down by the crap that life threw at him. He enjoyed his company, liked having him around. Harry made his life better, he made him a better man. He needed him, wanted him, hadn’t had long enough.

Forever wouldn’t be long enough.

“Harry,” Severus croaked, “why can nobody see you but me?”

The boy was watching him; head on one side, that little frown line firmly in place between his brows. He looked ethereal, unearthly. How could Severus ever have doubted what he was? The lightening illuminated them both and it was as if finally the truth was laid bare, the whole truth - that Severus loved him. He loved him, he wanted him, he could not live without him and Severus could deny it no longer.

He was part of the storm, this beautiful boy. No. He was the storm. Heaven was lamenting the passing of a champion; it was celebrating the life of a hero.

“I told you,” Harry said. “That first day that you saw me, I told you then. It was a mix up, a mistake.”

“No, not that!” Severus knew with a certainty that was bone deep that there was almost no time left.

“Why me, Harry? Why only me?”

Harry looked infinitely sad for a moment.

When he spoke Severus had to strain to hear him.

“They said that only my true love, my soul mate could see me, touch me. I tried everyone, but I couldn’t touch them, couldn’t make them see me. It was just like they said it would be. I couldn’t show them that I was there; they didn’t even seem to sense me. Well, not until tonight when I went to say goodbye. When you spoke to me, when you saw that I was there when no one else could, I knew it was all over, that I would be going back, that there was no hope!

“Soul mates indeed! Some giant cosmic joke that is!”

Severus felt bereft.

“Am I so dreadful, then,” he asked brokenly, “so awful that you would rather be dead than be with me?”

Harry looked astonished.

“Don’t be daft!” he exclaimed. “I have fancied you for ages now. That lovely silky voice of yours, those dark velvet eyes that seem to see me; no one else ever did that you know, just saw me. Your courage, your bravery - the way that you always tried to look after me, even though you have always hated me. Of course I want you. These last three days have been really great, I am just grateful that we got this time, that I got to know you properly. I think I fell in love. You’re amazing, you know?”

The sad little smile that he gave almost broke Severus’ heart.

The rain had increased yet again, heavier than before, it was almost deafening he couldn’t really hear Harry’s last words, he felt them instead.

“I just knew that you would never want me! Why would you? Why would anyone really?

“Goodbye Severus.

“Please tell my friends that I love them.”

All at once he was distracted by another peal of thunder and he turned his head towards the sky.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to fade away.

“NO!”

Severus didn’t call out; instead the cry was ripped from him. Torn from deep inside his soul.

He threw himself forward and all at once his arms were full of Harry.

Harry Angel.

Severus was kissing him, hungrily, passionately. Telling him, showing him with everything that he had, everything that he was, how much he loved him too. Then somehow Harry was kissing him back, just as passionately, just as urgently. Severus could feel Harry’s hands stroking him touching him and he could feel Harry against him his body firm, strong, vibrant, alive! Crushed against Severus, held tightly, securely. Severus felt that he might never let go.

The ground beneath them was almost liquid; the top layer had turned to mud, it clung to them, as they sank to their knees still kissing, tumbling down, until finally they were lying together totally entwined. Severus holding Harry on top of him, protected at last from the relentless rain by the safety, the security of Harry’s wings. The almost liquid soil oozed between their fingers, onto their skin, their clothing and all the time the rain beat down, lashing them closer in their feathery cocoon.

Harry head was thrown back; his face was wet with what seemed like a thousand tears. Severus kissed his neck, his collarbone, felt the firm pectoral muscles the strong arms crushed against him. He held on with all that he was, he was never going to let go. Harry moaned, he pushed back against Severus his hips undulating against Severus’ seemingly lost in the moment. He was hard, his cock was pushed into Severus’ groin and Severus in turn was pushing back.

“Love you Harry,” he found himself muttering into the hot, wet, skin of Harry’s chest, trailing kisses from the little corner of flesh between neck and collarbone. “I love you.”

Harry was panting; he had drawn in a deep breath – it seemed that he needed air again now.

“But you hate me! Don’t you Severus? Don’t you hate me?”

“Not any more. Didn’t you know how close they are love and hate? Silly boy.” Severus was desperately running his hands over Harry as if searching for injuries as if checking that he was truly real.

The warm weight of the boy pressed on top of him, the protective umbrella of Harry’s wings isolated them from the ferocious weather. It was almost as if having nearly succeeded in taking him away the storm was raging against its loss.

“Can’t have him. Mine.” Severus ground out, his mouth full with the taste, the essence of Harry.

“Oh God!” Harry cried. “Yours, Sev, all yours.” He arched upwards, wings stark against the sky, face, throat, shoulders once again illuminated by the unearthly light. He screamed his completion into the night and then he collapsed back down and draped over Severus covering him with warmth and life.

The fire that had ignited in Severus earlier returned in full force and raged through him, unstoppable. The blinding light of his orgasm blended with the lightning, the thunder matched the roaring in his ears. The rain still pounded them for a while, getting gentler all the time, until finally it left them with a final caress.

They were reborn, renewed. The storm was over at last, its job done. It had washed them clean so that they could start afresh and Severus knew no more.


It was Lupin who found them in the morning, wrapped tightly around each other, fast asleep. The garden was soaking wet, the dry grass turned to gloopy mud. All around everything was sodden, everything except Severus and Harry, snuggled down in a nest of feathers warm and cosy and completely dry.

Severus watched Lupin come over to them, watched him kneel down beside them both and gently stroke Harry’s hair in silent wonderment. Harry sighed in his sleep but other than that he did not stir, except perhaps to cuddle just a tiny bit closer to Severus. The wings were gone; the halo disappeared, with only the feathers to show that these things had ever been.

Severus was wrapped in feathers, surrounded by them, had been for hours and yet there was no reaction other than a feeling of peace, of serenity. He hadn’t sneezed once, his allergy was cured.

“Harry? Harry!” Lupin was whispering the boy’s name his voice filled with delight.

“It’s a miracle, Severus! I thought he was dead,” he said, his eyes glittering with tears. “Last night, just for a moment, I thought he was there with me, I thought he had come to say goodbye, but he is here, he’s alive. It really is a miracle.”

“Yes Remus,” Severus replied simply. “It truly is.”


The celebrations that followed went on for weeks. Somehow with the return of their idol, it was if the wizarding world had rediscovered hope. There can’t have been many people who were glad to hear Harry declaring his undying love for the hated ex-spy and former Death Eater Severus Snape, but on the wave of euphoria, which seemed to be engulfing them all they were prepared to give their hero anything. If he wanted the snarky, greasy git in his life then the magical world was happy to indulge him and Harry it seemed took full advantage of their sudden largesse.

They were married three weeks after Remus found them that morning dry and protected amongst the sodden vegetation by a pile of white feathers, which had since then, slowly faded away. Hermione was the maid-of-honour and Ron was Harry’s best man. Arthur Weasley stood for Severus and nobody gave anyone away.

They gave themselves instead.

Harry seemed delighted to have found someone to love him and now that Severus had finally seen through all the illusions that he had built up over the years he marvelled over the fact that Harry could ever have chosen him.

They didn’t tell any one what had happened. Severus invented a story whereby Harry had become confused during the battle and been found by Muggles returning to the magical world only when his memory returned. They didn’t mention angels or halos or wings or the fact that Harry had wandered amongst them for a week invisible to them all. Who would have believed them anyway?

For Severus, Harry’s love meant absolution, the chance to redeem himself at last.

Harry was far less complicated, Severus’ love made him content.

And if sometimes Harry caught the shadow of a memory of elsewhere, then he set it free, for now was not the right time to remember such things.

And if Severus began to brood about what might have happened if he had not had his revelation then Harry would hum some show tunes and Severus would feel more cheerful and sometimes he might even go so far as to almost smile.

And if they didn’t live happily ever after, they did at the very least give happiness a damned good try.

finis