Title : Take My Hand
Author : Di-chan
Description : A sad little story about the beauty of love and the pains of life.
Rating : R
Pairing : Blaise/Harry
Warnings : Slash, rape, graphic violence, brief but graphic sexual content, language, and angst.
Disclaimer : Harry Potter and its characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I own only the plot, as well as the physical traits of Blaise Zabini.
Author's Notes : This was written during the first twelve or so chapters of The Anti-Angst Movement, my big HP series at the time. As I refused to put any angst in an anti-angst story, I chose to put all of the angst into this story. Tee-hee. After only eleven chapters of TAAM, it was time to finish this and work on another epic.
Read at your own risk. This is squicky. VERY squicky. And very dark, extremely sad, and breathtakingly beautiful.
Without further ado, I present...
Take My Hand
In a cold corridor of Hogwarts Castle, a lone figure wandered. The hallway was deep in the dungeons, meaning it was unexplored by most of the school. The student was glad for this; he appreciated the solitude the empty school offered at night.
The figure was none other than Blaise Zabini. He was experiencing his usual bout of insomnia that happened during the winter. Blaise had long given up figuring out the cause of it. He simply accepted it was there and let it guide him. And amazingly, he enjoyed it. Nighttime was when the dark-haired boy most liked Hogwarts. It let him think.
However, tonight must have been a non-thinking night, for Blaise was startled out of his thoughts by a scream.
Though he was used to screams, mainly from the dreams his roommates had, these screams were laced with fear, pain, and utter agony. Blaise's roommates' screams were usually laced with passion. Blaise had heard only a few people scream in such a way, and... Without a second thought, Blaise ran toward the screams.
The scene he found was not pretty. There were two people engaged in obvious sexual intercourse. Blaise was not surprised to find that the student on top was Greggory Goyle. Nor was he surprised that Greggory's partner was a boy.
Greggory was raping the boy. The screams were fading to whimpers and mindless pleas, showing that the boy was close to giving up -- or passing out. Either or. Blaise stood frozen for a moment then whipped out his wand, whispering a curse that blasted Greggory off the smaller boy, without hurting him more. Greggory hit the wall. He was unconscious on impact, his body undoubtedly bleeding somewhere. Blaise did not approve of rape in any way.
Blaise hurried to the crying figure on the floor, taking care not to scare the boy. The boy's black robes and light-colored pajamas were torn, and Blaise could easily see the blood between the boy's legs. He pulled off his cloak and laid it over the boy, absently wondering if he could get to the hospital wing and back before Greggory woke up.
A flash of light caught his attention. Blaise's dark eyes snapped to the side, where a pair of glasses lay in a box of moonlight on the floor. Blaise followed the beam to a window near the ceiling, where part of the cloudy sky could be seen. His eyes returned to the glasses. Black, round frames. Somewhat scruffy. One lens cracked. Shards of glass could be seen under the frames.
With a start Blaise realized that he knew those glasses. Had studied those glasses countless times in class, in the Great Hall, in Quidditch matches. Had wondered what the boy underneath looked like without them. With a sinking feeling in his stomach and bile in his throat, Blaise took a closer look at the boy beside him. Even though he already knew, he still gasped.
The pile of robes, blood and tears was none other than Harry Potter.
Blaise stormed down the hall toward where he had left Greggory – --no, Goyle – when he had taken off with Harry to Snape. That bastard was going to pay. Whirling around the corner, Blaise stalked to where the large lump lay. He levitated the boy with a single word and dragged him through the halls, into the common room, and up to the dorms.
Blaise slammed the door to their dorm open and dropped Goyle on the floor without any pity for the yelp of pain. Cold russet eyes watched as the large boy stirred, as two bed curtains simultaneously whipped aside, and two faces peered out at him in confusion.
"Blaise?" Draco's voice was tired, but wary. "What on earth are you doing?"
Blaise fumed. "Go on, Greggory," he hissed, making Goyle's first name sound like a foul word. "Go on and tell them what you just did."
Goyle glared death at him, but smirked as he thought of his prize. Standing with a wince, he zipped up his pants and grinned at his roommates. "I fucked Potter."
The reactions were the same. Vincent's and Draco's eyes widened with shock.
Blaise was pleased to see Draco's eyes narrow with anger. "You what?!" the blonde whispered, enraged.
Vincent stepped out of bed, eyeing Goyle with distaste. "You would stoop so low, Greg? Potter? I thought you wanted that fourth year."
Goyle nodded, smirk apparent. "Oh, I did. But I found Potter first. And it was so much better."
Vincent looked slightly queasy. Draco looked even more enraged. The blonde leaped out of bed, wand immediately pointed at Goyle. "You raped him?! Fool! I thought I told you –" Draco cut himself off, instead turning to Blaise. "Where is he?" he demanded.
Blaise was surprised further. It seemed Draco actually cared. "Snape."
"Does he know who did it?"
"Good." Without another word, Draco turned back on Goyle and cursed him. Goyle didn't stand a chance. The large frame fell to the ground with a loud thump. Draco sneered.
Vincent was watching Blaise. Blaise stared back. "What is it, Vincent?" he queried, suddenly tired.
"Are you okay?" Vincent was the only one who knew of Blaise's feelings for Harry. Blaise sighed.
"I will be once I know if he's all right," he said quietly. Silver eyes locked with his for a moment.
"You care about him, don't you?" the blonde whispered.
Blaise closed his eyes. "Yes."
Dim sadness flooded Draco's eyes. "Was it... bad?"
"Will you let me torture Goyle before you kill him?"
Blaise opened his eyes, smirking. "Sure."
Vincent looked between the two and shook his head. "Bloody Potter lovers. They're everywhere."
Two smirks were his only answers.
Blaise spent the next few days running to the infirmary between classes, catching glimpses of Harry as he slept and running into Draco at the same place. Blaise and Draco had teamed up, guarding the boy at night and making sure no one found out what had really happened. Thanks to the gossiping Ravenclaws, the current rumor about the Boy Who Lived was that a rampant manticore had caught him off-guard while he was meeting a lover in the Forbidden Forest. The last one was somehow more believable: Harry had been caught planting a dung bomb in Professor Snape's rooms by said Potions Master himself.
Needless to say, Severus Snape was not amused. Blaise, however, was, along with Draco and Vincent. Greggory – sorry, Goyle had been expelled, and in the school, only the teachers and the three boys themselves knew of what had really happened to Harry.
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were frantic, of course. They were allowed to see Harry, but they were exceptions, being close to Harry. All others, besides Draco, Blaise, and the teachers, were forbidden to visit the unconscious boy. Dumbledore had chosen not to tell Granger and Weasley what had really happened until Harry had woken, and Snape had convinced the headmaster not to tell the Dursleys.
Harry, for his part, had suffered more than just rape at Goyle's hands. Goyle had beaten him up earlier that fateful day and had come back to find that Harry hadn't moved from the spot at which Goyle had left him. Goyle, seeing an opportunity, had taken the chance to pummel the Gryffindor thoroughly and then rape him. Harry had not woken since falling unconscious in Blaise's arms as he was rushed to the infirmary ward.
For now, all Blaise could do was to protect Harry. He hoped that was enough.
It was late.
That night was Blaise's turn to watch over Harry. Madam Pomfrey had at first refused to let Blaise and Draco near Harry, but after Snape had explained to her the circumstances of the boys' concern, she had allowed them to stand watch, on the orders that there was no one else and that she would be alerted immediately if something happened.
Blaise and Draco had no qualms in following these orders.
Blaise was sitting in a soft plush chair beside Harry. The bed was in a private room off to the side of the infirmary ward, usually used for long-term patients or victims that didn't want to be seen by the public, giving Harry privacy.
Blaise was glad for that.
He was examining his hands. Slender, they were, and of a light golden color. Nails pristine. A scrub of dirt under his right thumbnail. Somewhat bony, but Blaise had always been thin. It was genetic -- a term Blaise had come across in his muggle science studies. His family had always been slender and tall. Most of them, if descended from his Indian grandmother, had black hair and tanned skin. Those not had auburn to blonde hair and pale skin, mostly from France. Blaise, like his mother, was black-haired and golden-skinned.
He had received his eyes from his father, though. A fierce russet with specks of gold and red. His mother had blue eyes, like most of those descended from his grandmother. Blaise rather liked his eyes; when he was angry, they looked almost red, and when he was in a good mood, they were a pleasant golden-brown. The red tended to scare people off, and Blaise liked it that way.
Blaise was growing his hair out. At the beginning of the year, the curly black locks (from his father as well) had reached below his ears. Now they reached past his chin. Blaise had had long hair before, when he was a child, but his father never appreciated it. His mother had adored it, though, and had spent many an evening lovingly brushing the long, silky locks in her sitting room.
His height almost rivaled Weasley's; that is to say, he was taller than most of the boys at Hogwarts, but still not tall enough to top Ronald Weasley. He was definitely taller than Draco, who came up to his nose, and Harry, who reached his chin. Blaise smiled ruefully at that thought. Harry would never reach a decent height, because of the malnutrition he had suffered when living with the Muggles. At Hogwarts Harry did eat quite enough, but ten of his most important years were a lot to make up for.
Absently he glanced at the bed. Harry's face was open for his viewing. The younger boy's features reflected sadness the most. There was a plea, although for what Blaise was not sure, and an aching pain that Harry hid during the day. Blaise was surer than ever of Harry's depression, seeing now the pain that the boy so carefully hid in his heart.
Blaise wished he could take the pain away. He wished he could heal Harry's wounds, but he knew in his heart he could never do that. Only time and love could heal Harry. And Blaise could never let himself love Harry.
He was in love with Harry. Had been for years. Maybe it was from watching Harry in class. Maybe it was from watching him run his fingers through that unruly hair. Maybe it was from the way Harry never antagonized him, had never been rude to him, had even been polite to him when they worked together or passed each other in the halls. Maybe it was from the quiet and passionate character that Harry had become. Blaise didn't know how he had fallen in love with Harry, but he had, and he didn't mind it at all.
Blaise couldn't follow his feelings, though. Not with the war going on. Maybe after Harry had defeated Lord Voldemort, Blaise could start up a friendship with him – assuming that he didn't die defending the boy. Blaise knew that the risk of being killed was very high since he had secretly joined other Slytherins in the fight against the Dark Lord. One mistake and he'd be dead. However, Blaise had accepted this life, and he wasn't going to back out now. Not until Harry was safe, and Voldemort dead.
A noise disrupted his thoughts. Blaise's eyes immediately went to the source of the noise.
Harry was making noise.
Harry was moving.
Harry was awake.
Blaise didn't move. Silently he watched as dark eyelashes fluttered up, then quickly down again as young features twisted into a grimace. Arms moved, then hands, and finally Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning back again the array of pillows behind him. Green eyes opened again.
Harry mumbled something. Blaise didn't quite catch it, although it sounded like Harry was cursing Goyle. Blaise rather hoped it was that. Still he stayed silent, waiting for Harry to see him.
Harry granted Blaise's wish rather quickly. Green eyes suddenly swerved and locked onto his own. In the dim light, the color was startling in its intensity. Blaise wasn't surprised, per se, but he was rather entranced by the brightness of Harry's eyes.
Harry stared at him for a long time, figure rigid. Blaise merely stared back. He kept his demeanor neutral; Harry was tense, and it'd do him no good to be scared to death by Blaise being forceful.
Soon Harry relaxed back into the pillows, eyes wearily watching Blaise's, as if searching for a reason for his presence. "Blaise..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Blaise smiled slightly. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Harry."
Harry blinked, then finally tore his gaze from Blaise's, glancing around his bed. He eyed the pile of cards and sweets on the table, then the large vase of flowers beside it. His eyes returned to Blaise's, looking a bit worried. "How long have I been asleep?"
Hmm. Easy question. "Five days."
Harry paused, as if thinking about his next question. "What time is it?"
"About one in the morning."
Finally, the question Blaise didn't want to answer. "Why are you here?"
Blaise held back a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. Gathering his courage, he opened them again, watching Harry's. "Would you like the truth, or a carefully crafted lie?"
Harry blinked, a bit startled. He seemed to weigh his options in the following pause, before he answered. "I suppose I'd like to hear both."
Smart boy. "Which first?"
"The lie, please."
"All right. Professor Snape coerced me into watching over you as punishment for tripping him in front of the Great Hall."
Harry blinked. "And the truth?"
"I wanted to be here."
Shock filled the verdant orbs. Harry was silent, staring at Blaise as though he had grown an extra head. Blaise stifled a sigh.
"...Why?" came the quiet, unsure voice.
Blaise almost narrowed his eyes, but thought better and didn't, lest he scare Harry. Mentally he cursed the Dursleys for not giving Harry enough love, and the Slytherins for having such a foul reputation. He didn't move his eyes from Harry's. "I was worried about you."
He then closed his eyes. Silence followed his statement. Blaise was sure that Harry was wondering what in hell the Slytherin had been smoking.
A bitter voice sounded, causing Blaise's eyes to open rather quickly. "Right. What Slytherin in his right mind would worry about me, the Boy Who Lived? Or rather, in Goyle's eyes, the Boy Who Got Fucked? Bet all Slytherin's would love to have a go at me, eh?" Blaise blinked, shocked. Anger suddenly filled his veins, but the hot emotion was not directed toward Harry, oh no. The rage was for Goyle, for hurting Harry like that. Blaise held his temper in check, though, knowing Harry would not appreciate it if he started cursing.
Quickly he stood, backing away from Harry and moving towards the window in the corner. He didn't want to upset Harry now. "That's not true, Harry. Not all Slytherins are as sick as Goyle."
Harry watched him wearily, having tensed again when the tall boy had moved. After a few moments, the slim boy realized that the other wouldn't hurt him, and was just giving him room. Suddenly his anger left him, and he sagged against the pillows, features saddening. He still watched the other, almost wanting to know if Blaise really was worried for him. "Would you have done the same?" he asked softly, suddenly wishing to go back to sleep. It hurt too much to stay awake. He didn't want to remember what happened. He didn't want to wake from the comforting blackness. He didn't want to face reality.
To top it all off, those dark eyes burned into him, watching his every move.
Blaise's eyes were soft, guarded, yet sometimes Harry could glimpse more, something like worry or anger. Dimly he hoped that the worry was for him.
Now Blaise was looking surprised, as well as a bit disgusted. Harry saw a spark of anger in the dark brown of the other's eyes that quickly erupted like a volcano. "Do you really think that I would degrade myself like that worm by taking another unwillingly? I don't wish pain on you, Harry, unlike some I could name. And I would never do that to another person. Especially you."
Harry was taken aback; he wished that were true. Blaise had always been polite to him, even going as far as nodding to him as they passed in the halls, or inquiring about his health on a particularly down day. They were even on a first name basis. Harry didn't want to think that Blaise was the same as Goyle.
Finally, the almost red eyes of his visitor got to him, and Harry had to look away. He played with the sheet in his hands, gripping it tightly as his eyes started to sting. Don't cry. Don't cry in front of another person. You're not alone now. "Are you telling the truth?"
An exasperated sigh met that question, but Harry didn't sense Blaise moving. "Yes. Frankly, I wanted to kill Goyle for doing that to you. But that's to be left to another, sadly."
Harry forgot his tears. Blaise cared? Blaise hated Goyle? The truth was only hitting him now, and Harry had a hard time swallowing it.
Suddenly a thought struck him. "You... You were the one who found me, weren't you? You stopped him from..." Harry couldn't finish that. It hurt just thinking about it. Hesitantly, he looked up from his hands, his eyes seeking out Blaise.
Blaise was watching him, looking angry and worried. The mask had fallen. A long pause, and then the tall Slytherin spoke quietly. "Yes, Harry. I was."
Harry didn't know how to answer to that. Absently he thought back, remembering what had happened that night. Something had hit Goyle, and the heavy weight was propelled off him. Someone was close to him, and Harry had tried to see who it was. It was too dark to see clearly, but Harry had caught a glimpse of dark, shocked eyes.
Those same eyes were watching him now.
Harry didn't realize he was crying until he felt a tear hit his hand. Dumbly he lifted that hand, touching his cheeks and feeling the wetness. Funny. His throat hurt, his eyes stung, and his chest burned. Harry didn't cry often, but this didn't feel like crying...
Fingers touched his cheek and hand, and Harry's head jerked up, a whimper escaping him. Blaise was in front of him, sitting on the bed, the anger gone and those dark eyes showing worry and concern. Harry almost jerked away, but the fingers were soft, slender; so unlike Goyle's, which had been thick and coarse. And Goyle hadn't touched his face except to punch him.
Harry's resolve caved. He fell forward, throwing his arms around Blaise, and let out a howl, as the dam broke and his misery and pain poured out with the tears. Strong arms encircled him and a warm body pressed against his, holding him gently. Whispering words of comfort. Protecting him. Loving him.
Like he was something precious.
Harry cried as his world fell apart. And Blaise was there to pick up the pieces.
Draco stared at the scene on the bed with a raised eyebrow. That was all he could muster at the moment.
Blaise was curled up with Potter. Legs intertwined, arms snaked around torsos, Blaise's face buried in Potter's hair and Potter's face buried in Blaise's chest. Potter was asleep, but this sleep was different; it wasn't like unconsciousness. Potter was truly asleep.
Blaise, on the other hand, was awake. Draco could tell, after spending six years in the same dormitory with the boy. Just because he was breathing evenly, had his eyes closed, and wasn't looking at you, that didn't mean that he was asleep. Blaise was remarkably talented at staying utterly still.
However, he wasn't perfect. Draco knew he was awake because of the slight clench in his fingers around Harry's hair. Blaise usually slept like a dead weight, even though he could snap awake at the slightest sound. When Blaise was asleep, he didn't latch onto anything. He just slept.
After a long five minutes in which Draco wondered how this had happened, Potter woke up. Draco watched as the green eyes opened and glanced up to look at Blaise's face, the pale neck craning back a bit. Draco looked at Blaise then, and raised the other eyebrow when Blaise calmly opened his eyes and pulled back a bit to meet Potter's gaze. Draco moved his gaze back to Potter.
Potter wasn't smiling, but his features were calm. His eyes were inquisitive. He seemed to be asking something of Blaise with his eyes, to which Blaise must have answered in the affirmative, because a moment later Potter was smiling.
Draco felt the urge to strangle Blaise. Or Potter. Or both. He cleared his throat, rather loudly.
The effect was instantaneous. Both parties leapt apart, Blaise going so far as to fall off the bed while Potter latched onto a pillow in shock. Draco burst out laughing.
A few minutes later, when Draco had regained his sanity, he discovered that Blaise was standing and was glaring at him and that Potter, now with repaired glasses, was staring at him as if he were insane.
Blaise looked as if he wanted to kill Draco. Draco couldn't blame him – how could any Slytherin stand being humiliated in front of their crush? The blonde smirked.
"Have fun, Zabini?"
This only served to make Blaise look more livid. "Shut it, Malfoy."
The two Slytherins stared at each other for a long moment, with Potter looking on in shock and worry. Suddenly the tension dissipated, and Blaise and Draco were smiling at each other. Which made Potter's eyes bulge further.
Blaise sat down on the bed. Harry hesitated, then reached out and touched Blaise's hand. Blaise reached around and took Harry's hand into his, squeezing it slightly before letting it go again. Harry relaxed. He's not embarrassed.
Harry then looked at Malfoy, who looked to be very amused. I, on the other hand... Harry felt his face flush red, and he looked away, angry at getting caught like that by Malfoy.
Stupid git, he thought tiredly. Does he have to ruin everything?
Looking back at Malfoy, Harry was surprised at the lack of terror he felt. He had read in a book somewhere that rape victims were usually terrified of males and of being touched, but... The presence of Malfoy, like the presence of Blaise, didn't serve to terrify him. Instead, he felt a bit relieved, seeing that Malfoy wasn't gloating, and a bit annoyed, since Malfoy had so rudely interrupted them...
Malfoy caught his eye then and smirked. Harry felt himself bristle at the look. Beside him Blaise looked amused.
Then came the moment when all came down.
Crabbe walked in at that moment with Madam Pomfrey. He was carrying a meal and some potions on a tray for her. The large Slytherin ignored the looks Malfoy and Blaise both were giving him and carried the tray to another table by the chair. Crabbe set the tray down and turned to face the room.
Harry couldn't move. Terror consumed him. Crabbe was so big.
Goyle was so big.
It hurt, it hurt so much. His arms, his face, his chest, legs, everything ached from where Goyle had hit him. But Harry didn't feel that pain. His thoughts were centered on the pain between his legs, where Goyle was shoving his erection into him without preparation. Harry was a virgin.
Oh please, oh gods, it hurts, it hurts, stop, please stop, oh gods, stop it please stop itstopitstopitpleasedon'tithurtsithurtssomuchohpleasehelpme...
Harry couldn't stop himself. He threw his head back and screamed out his pain. Goyle did nothing to stop him, but when Harry's lungs failed to give him more air for the yell and he had to cut it off and breathe in deeply, the large Slytherin grabbed his head and slammed it against the wall. Harry saw stars behind his eyelids.
The monster kept plowing into him, ripping him open, destroying him, taking his hand and throwing it into the darkness where Harry fell, where he couldn't hold on...
Suddenly the weight above him lifted, and the giant hardness gently slid out of him. A single moment left Harry open under the great boy, with him staring into Goyle's surprised but victorious brown eyes. Then he saw the ceiling, and close by he heard a loud thud, as if something had hit a solid wall.
Someone was beside him. Harry tried to move his head to see the person, but it was too dark to see clearly. Something was laid over him -- a cloak, Harry realized -- and something brushed his wet cheek. He looked up, peering into the darkness.
Shock. Anger. Worry. Concern. Love.
Gentle arms scooped him up, but they were slim, strong, not like Goyle's herculean muscles. He was cradled against a flat chest that was too unlike Goyle's, which was fleshy and slightly flabby.
Movement. His savior was running. Words met his ears, but Harry couldn't understand them. He looked up one last time into dark worried eyes before passing out.
"NO! GET AWAY! DON'T TOUCH ME! STOP IT! STOP! PLEASE, JUST STOP! IT HURTS! PLEASE!"
Harry heard the words, heard the utter pain and agony behind them, and it wasn't until he blinked into reality that he realized they were his own. He was curled up against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, and was rocking back and forth, screaming for Goyle to stop.
His eyes were closed tight, but he sensed someone moving toward him. Immediately he shot up, elbow hitting the windowsill jarringly. Without thinking he grabbed the ledge and started to heave himself over, just to stop the pain, anything to stop the pain.
What he didn't expect was for slim arms to wrap around his body and haul him back into the room. He fell back against a flat chest, the arms trapping his own to his sides, with a soft familiar whisper in his ear, telling him that it was all right, that Goyle was gone, that no one would hurt him, that he was safe here...
Harry recognized those arms.
"Blaise," he whispered shakily, looking back and up at the golden face, finding the dark brown eyes that looked so worried for him, that had that shine of love, that had calmed him in the moments after he had been saved.
Blaise looked so scared. "Oh, Harry..."
Harry smiled briefly before passing out.
Blaise sighed as he collapsed into the chair beside Harry's bed. Merlin, what a morning. I didn't think about Harry reacting like that. Stupid of me. I really hope he won't try that again...
Blaise had thought he would have a heart attack when Harry had started to jump. Ignoring Madam Pomfrey's cries behind him he had dashed forward and seized the black-haired boy to stop him. Quickly he pinned Harry's arms to his body, to prevent him from causing harm, and had held him gently, whispering words of comfort to him. It had taken a while, but Harry had calmed down. Then he had looked up at Blaise and whispered his name then had passed out.
Blaise had to close his eyes. Oh, gods, his eyes...
Harry's luminous green eyes were tortured. They reflected every part of his being: the depression he felt every day, the pain of his past, the terror from the rape, the relief that it was over, and worst of all, the acceptance of this horrible fate.
Blaise had sworn to himself in that moment he would help Harry heal, no matter the cost.
Vincent had been very disturbed at the reaction he had caused. Truthfully, Blaise knew that Vincent never intended any true harm on Harry in the past, but there was a thing called image, and Vincent liked playing tricks on people. However, the pain that Goyle had caused Harry was shocking, and the distraught boy had left at once, knowing his presence wouldn't help at all.
Draco's reaction had been... unexpected. The blonde was definitely shocked and disturbed at how messed up Harry was. However, Blaise had felt emotions from Draco that he never thought he would feel from the Seeker: worry, pity, concern. Draco Malfoy concerned about Harry Potter? The world was ending.
Now Harry was unconscious again. Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall had been alerted. Blaise had pleaded with Madam Pomfrey to let him watch over Harry, and after a bit she had agreed. He had been a bit surprised at her reasoning:
'You seem to be the only person Harry trusts right now. We can't be too sure how he will react to others' presences, and he didn't seem too upset at Mr. Malfoy's presence, either. It was Mr. Crabbe that set him off, wasn't it? Probably the bulk of Mr. Crabbe reminded him of what happened. However, we do not know whom else he will trust and who will cause him to go flying out a window. As you calmed him down, I'm giving the responsibility of protecting him from himself when he reacts badly to you. Take care of him, Mr. Zabini."
Blaise swore he would. Screw Voldemort. Screw the war. Harry needed him.
At the moment, though, Harry was asleep, so Blaise's duties of servicing Harry's every need were on hold. Blaise took the moment of peace for what it was and relaxed.
Besides Harry trying to kill himself, one of the things that most troubled Blaise was how quickly he had lost his temper and his mask had slipped. Blaise was normally very protective of his inner thoughts, and only Draco, his mother, and one other had gotten past his mask to see the real him. And now Harry.
Harry hadn't rejected him. For that, Blaise was grateful.
But the problem was that losing control because of Harry so quickly could very well be a problem. His enemies could use it against him to hurt Harry.
And now Blaise was determined to protect Harry and take care of him, even publicly. That would take a lot of work. He was sure Harry could learn to trust him, and if Harry trusted him, then Weasley and Granger would probably do so as well, thus the Gryffindors, the Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws would back down. The Slytherins, on the other hand, would be the real problem.
Recently, when questioned about his pleasant relations with Harry, he had simply offered a clipped "Mission" and walked off. He would have to convince them that it really was a mission, to befriend Harry Potter and gain his trust, so that in their eyes he would be able to whisk the boy away to Lord Voldemort without much of a fight.
And surely befriending a person meant that you had to care about them when they were hurt or in pain, no?
Perhaps Draco would like to help me...
With a small smile on his thin lips, Blaise plotted.
Blaise approached the black-webbed archway with unease. He stopped and stared up at the design, absently admiring the detail; so intricate and careful. With a sigh he stepped through.
Instead of the emptiness he had gotten so used to seeing along the path he had walked before, Blaise now found himself bathed in light/darkness, golden/silver light/darkness that highlighted his skin and made shadows in his russet eyes. Unruly black hair now waved in a gentle/harsh breeze/gust of wind that was tame and wild at once. Blaise let his eyes stray around the garden. His gaze halted on a figure sitting in the center of the cold/warm stones.
A beautiful, painfully sweet, wistfully yearning, crying angel.
Large, gorgeous white wings lay around the naked figure in a protective embrace. Blaise slowly walked to the angel, his heart in his throat.
A well-crafted face rose gracefully from artist's hands, a soft expression chiseled into equally soft features. Verdant green eyes were unveiled by thick black eyelashes. Those eyes, locked with Blaise's, shone with tears, but the sadness did nothing to take away from the angel's eternal beauty. Black hair floated around almost elfin ears, nearly white against the dark waves, while rose-coloured lips opened in a soft gasp. Blaise stopped and spread his hands in a defenseless gesture. The angel stared at him.
And slowly relaxed.
Blaise smiled. The angel tentatively smiled back. Blaise crossed that last step and sat down in front of his angel. Soft feathers reached out and touched his cheeks, his shoulders, making his smile widen and soften at the same time. His angel made no move, but Blaise knew what to do.
He opened a hand and held it out, palm up.
"Take my hand," he whispered.
His angel stared at him, before reaching for his hand with a porcelain hand of its own. Their fingers touched.
And the sudden explosion of feelings was the last thing Blaise felt before all went black.
Blaise woke with a gasp. He sat straight up in his chair. Oh, shit, what was that? he thought wildly, staring blindly at the bed in front of him.
The angel. It was Harry. It had to have been.
What does it mean?
My hand... Blaise lifted one of his hands to his face, staring hard at the golden features, eyes coasting over the shadows and shines caused by the moonlight. I asked him to take my hand. What does it mean?
When the sun rose in the east, Blaise had no more answers than he did when he first woke up.
Blaise spent the next month juggling his studies with his need to be with Harry. He, Draco, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger spent the day hours with Harry playing card games or chess, while Blaise alone spent his nights in Harry's room, curled up in the bed with his little love. With his warm embrace and his gentle touches, he offered Harry a sanctuary from the nightmares, a haven from the pain, and a shoulder to cry on when it got to be too much. He kept his visits secret from all but Draco and Harry's two best friends, who were told what had happened a week after Harry's suicide attempt. The four of them -- Draco, Ron, Hermione, and he -- formed a bond and made a promise to always look out for Harry. With their help, Harry began to piece together his world, bit by bit, slowly finding the peace he so yearned for.
Only to have it shattered once again.
When Blaise walked into Potions a month after his dream, the second week after winter break, he was greeted with cool stares and open glares from both Slytherins and Gryffindors. Undisturbed he raised an eyebrow back, not halting in his path to the table he shared with Draco. The blonde eyed him as he sat down, and he only stared back, asking what was wrong with his eyes. His friend made a tiny shake of his head, turning to face the front as the door banged open and Snape strode in.
As Snape began class, Blaise could feel a dozen pairs of eyes boring into his skull. He wondered what he had done now.
After class was over, Blaise left as fast as he could, but not before catching Draco's eye. Draco walked with him to a point, before turning and glaring at the Slytherins following them. The other seventh-years that were following them dispersed. Blaise turned to his friend, only raising an eyebrow.
Draco sighed, looking tense. "Goyle's back," he muttered, eyes distant and cold.
Blaise tensed immediately. "What?"
"He's here with his dad to talk to Dumbledore about the coming trial."
Blaise felt the urge to hurt someone rise, but he quickly fought it off. "What's with the stares?"
"He was bragging to the whole table, and then the whole school, at breakfast this morning that it was your fault he was expelled, and that you had a lot to do with Harry Potter's disappearance. He said that you..."
"That I did that to Harry."
Blaise internally swore. "That bastard. I'll kill him."
They smirked at each other, eyes cold as they began to walk again.
Blaise bid good-bye to Draco and rose from the table, ignoring the stares of the school and walking out of the Great Hall with his head held high. He was, of course, trailed by a few of his Slytherin housemates, but after a few dizzying turns in the maze that was the dungeons, he was free of their skulking figures. He heaved his satchel over his shoulder and continued walking until he came to a familiar spot. At the sight of the blood on the floor, Blaise stopped, eyes emotionless.
It was the place where he had found Harry and Goyle.
Blaise leaned back against the wall, dropping his bag and staring down at the stain. It was Harry's blood. Blaise knew this because that was the exact location of where Harry was taken. He also knew that if he were to walk about twenty paces to the left, he'd find more blood, on the wall and floor. That was where he had thrown Goyle.
Hours passed. Blaise merely stared at the spot, sometimes filled with anger, sometimes empty. He watched as the sun's shadow passed over the spot, the cold light sliding over the stones as if mocking them, placing them on a pedestal for the world to see -- "Harry Potter's Defeat." Blaise sneered in disgust. He didn't stop glaring at the light until it had faded and had been replaced by the loyal moonbeams. The moonlight glided gently over the stones, the cold silver beams mournful and silently painful. Blaise felt empty as he stared at the highlighted stones and the shimmering stain. Why couldn't he save Harry earlier?
Blaise was feeling empty when he heard footsteps to his right. He didn't move, letting his dark features blend with the shadows. A shimmer of silver appeared at the corner. Blaise watched the blonde as he walked toward him. He knew that Draco knew he was there. Because of that, he didn't move.
The shorter boy stopped before him, stormy eyes looking up at Blaise, then down at the floor. The gaze stopped on the blood.
"This is where it happened, isn't it?" Draco asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question.
Blaise didn't speak. The silence spoke his dark feelings for him, making Draco look back at him suddenly.
"Is it hurting you this much?" the blonde whispered. He let go of his own satchel and stepped forward to wrap his arms around Blaise's slim form. Blaise didn't move, only stared at the bloodstain, willing the emptiness in him to go away.
It did, and quickly, as a horribly familiar face suddenly lurched into sight. Blaise tensed considerably as Greggory Goyle strode into view, smirking at the two Slytherins and stopping in front of them, right over the stain of blood. Draco had tensed as well, and Blaise felt the other boy's arms move to his sides. He glared fire at the large boy across from them, rage filling him to the core. Absently he wondered if Goyle realized just where he stood.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, letting the snarl indicate his anger.
The former-Slytherin didn't move. He just kept on smirking at his former roommates. "A bit angry over Potter?"
Draco stepped away from Blaise, hands in his pockets. "You shouldn't be here, Greggory." The blonde drawled out the name like it was a foul word, tone cold.
Goyle leered at him, feet digging into the floor as if wiping something dirty off the bottom of them. Blaise nearly growled. So he does know.
"You know... I was just up to see Potter," the tall eighteen-year-old stated casually, as if speaking of the weather or what was for lunch.
Blaise and Draco both tensed horribly. Blaise slammed down on his temper to keep himself from losing control. He wouldn't lose control, not now. "Oh?" he asked, sounding nonchalant. Only Draco could feel the tension radiating from the slim boy.
Goyle looked a bit disappointed at failing to get a rise out of Blaise, but nevertheless, he continued his story with glee. "Yes, indeed. I felt like I should... personally... see how he was faring," he said with a sneer, features twisted horribly in the moonlight. "I was a bit confused when he looked less than appreciative of my most thoughtful visit," he carried on, cold brown eyes on Blaise's the entire time, "but after I gave him a replay of what had happened that night... he went along quietly, like the little dog he is." The large boy gave a sharp laugh, unaware of how very thin the line of Blaise's control was now. "Foolish little dog," he crooned, lips curled in a horrible smile, "following his master with his tongue hanging out, panting for attention... Like with any bad dog, you must break him in before he'll acknowledge you as master. Once you break him in... he fears you. Worships you. Such control you have over the mutt... or is it bitch? Yes... Harry Potter, my little bitch..."
The line snapped. Blaise snarled aloud, jerking forward with deep intents on killing Goyle. Draco didn't move to stop him, so angry was he. Both Slytherins slid their wands out in mere seconds, but both were too rash; Goyle deftly brandished his own wand and muttered a Disarming Charm before either could curse him. He caught the two wands easily, smiling victoriously at his prey.
"Thought you could get away with stopping me from finishing the job, did you? Too bad you failed... Potter is all mine, now." Goyle waved his wand, and Blaise and Draco were yanked backwards, cold iron digging harshly into their wrists. Blaise growled under his breath, the anger in him bordering on eruptive.
Then Goyle turned and walked away.
Blaise stared at the boy's back as he stopped about twenty paces to the left. He felt the anger drain out of him, only to be replaced with cold dread as Goyle leaned down, grabbed something, and yanked it up with a laugh. A dim cry met Blaise's ears.
Blaise saw red. "You bastard," he spit out, struggling against his bonds as Goyle dragged Harry back to them. The slim Gryffindor was thrown to the floor while Goyle glanced in Blaise's direction.
"My parents were married when I was born, thank you, Blaise," he said lightly, making Blaise's growl deepen.
On the floor, Harry whimpered, pale hands clutching his chest. Blaise swore. "What the hell did you do to him?!"
Goyle grinned widely, cruelly. He kicked the boy on the floor harshly with his boot, knocking the wind out of Harry. "Just a replay," he purred out, kneeling down and grabbing the smaller boy, a fierce shine in his eyes. Blaise stopped struggling, his eyes widening.
"No," he whispered hoarsely. "You aren't going to...!"
Goyle looked up, meeting the tall boy's near-red eyes for a brief second. The cold brown eyes slid back to Harry, something in them making Blaise's insides recoil in disgust. "I am," he whispered, the words heated. Goyle was aroused.
When Goyle's hand suddenly grabbed Harry below the waist, Blaise lost total control. His power core reacted with his rage, making a flash of white light erupt from him. The spell holding him to the wall disappeared. Blaise immediately shot forward, his wand flying to his hand and his lips already forming the words that would send Goyle to hell.
"Expelliarmus! Crucio!" he hissed, pointing his wand at Goyle. The large boy was thrown off Harry and down the hall with a great force. Blaise muttered another spell just before Goyle's screams began. He watched the large being writhe in silenced pain and, when the movements began to slow, cast the Cruciatus spell again. He put Goyle in a full body bind, his eyes blazing. Oh, how he would torture the bastard... but not now. Definitely later, though.
For now, Harry needed him.
He turned around, pointing his wand at Draco. The chains holding the blonde up disappeared, and Draco fell to the floor, staring up at Blaise with wide silver eyes. Blaise ignored him and went straight to Harry. He slipped the wand in his pocket and knelt beside the shaking boy. He didn't touch Harry, but he leaned close to Harry, whispering warm words to reassure his broken love. "Shh, Harry... it's Blaise... I'm here... he's gone, don't worry... I won't let him hurt you ever again, I swear..."
A wretched wail rose from the shivering body. Blaise felt his insides clench. Harry... He almost felt like crying, but he had grown out of that habit years ago. "Harry, it's all right... I'm here, it's only me, I won't hurt you... I'll protect you..."
Tortured green eyes suddenly met his, as Harry moved his head to see who was beside him. Blaise gasped softly at the emotions reflected in the verdant orbs -- acceptance, agony, emptiness, sorrow, pleading, and most of all, a deep, utter pain that affected Blaise to the core. He gave a soft sound, wishing to touch Harry. "Harry..." he whispered, eyes locked with the smaller boy's.
Harry stared at him, tears running down wet cheeks silently, while soft whimpers fell from trembling lips. Blaise felt his heart break. "Harry," he whispered again, holding his hand out, palm up, "take my hand." Please take it, Harry... I don't want to lose you... let me save you, oh please...
There was a long, long moment in which Blaise felt his mind start to crack. He doesn't trust me, he thought wildly, he won't take my hand, he doesn't believe in me, he doesn't believe that I won't hurt him, oh, gods, Harry --
Silk touched his skin. Blaise had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from flinching. He stared into Harry's bright green eyes, tears wallowing on the surface, as a trembling hand slowly crept into his. When Harry's hand was finally situated in his, Blaise had to close his eyes against the sudden rush of emotions and against the sting in the corners of his eyes. Yet slowly, surely, wet droplets began to slide down his dark cheeks. He opened his eyes, blinking away the blur and gazing down at Harry. "I love you," he whispered.
Either Harry was too far-gone, or he already knew, because the slim Gryffindor did not show surprise. Blaise gently lifted Harry up, pulling the slight boy into a soft embrace, gently rocking him back and forth as he sobbed. He let himself cry without sound. Behind him, Blaise could hear the sounds of Draco levitating Goyle's prone body and floating it away. Thank you, my friend, he thought to himself, while he clutched Harry to him, wishing so badly that he could take away the pain.
Months passed, and under the gentle guidance and warm words of his friends, Harry began to heal. When he felt ready enough, he studied hard under Hermione and Draco's tutelage, finally pulling up to the same finish line as the rest of his class: graduation. As summer rolled in and his birthday passed, Harry began to feel an odd sense of freedom under captivity. He was free from the pain of his Muggle family, but he was still trapped within the confines of duty to his people, the obligation passed to him on a fateful bittersweet day at the end of October seventeen years before.
Blaise remained at Harry's side for as long as he could, but in August, he was called back to his family for preparations for the final attack. Harry, unused to not having Blaise by his side, felt alone and uncomfortable, and the stricken young man often ran from the hollow echoes of the rebuilt Potter Manor to the warm arms of his freed godfather, where his tears were kissed away and he felt as if he was a child all over again.
Then Blaise came to see him again, on the anniversary of Harry's parents' deaths, for one last moment with his beautiful Gryffindor before he was sent off to war. To Harry, the tall presence of his savior made the accusing shadows and oppressive silence of his home fade away. Even after Blaise left.
It was All Hallow's Eve of Harry's eighteenth year, and he was spending it in the company of the man who had come to mean more to him than anyone else: Blaise. They were sitting together on the couch in the den of Harry's home. A few rooms away, Harry's friends were laughing and sharing stories of their youths. Harry felt comfortable where he was: nestled against Blaise's side, his legs folded under him and a book in his lap, Blaise's arm around his shoulders. There was a blanket covering their laps, warming them even with the shared body heat.
Harry glanced up from his book, smiling fondly up at the tall boy who was watching him impassively from under dark eyelashes. Blaise instinctively smiled back, if a small one, and that was enough for Harry. He closed his book, set it aside for later, and turned to curl into Blaise's side, his eyes closing slightly at the warmth of his love.
"Do you really have to go, Blaise?" he asked softly, one hand almost unconsciously reaching up for the one on his shoulder. He felt more than heard the answering chuckle of his companion.
"Yes, I'm afraid so..." the ex-Slytherin whispered in return, tightening his hold on his love. "I have to prepare with the others for the attack. You know that."
Harry sighed. "I wish you didn't have to. I want you to stay with me."
Above him, Blaise closed his eyes. "I'd love to do that, Harry, but I have to go. I have no choice. I promise I'll return. I swear it."
Harry closed his eyes, another sigh escaping him. "I understand... and I'll wait for you, Blaise," he added, his heart in his throat. Don't leave me, he pleaded silently, burrowing against Blaise's side.
A gentle hand took hold of his chin and tilted it upward, making him open his eyes. I'll always be with you, wherever I go, the dark eyes of his beloved answered back. Harry felt calmer after that, but he still couldn't help but cry.
"Blaise," he whispered, a tear escaping and rolling down his cheek, "I..."
The dark eyes softened to a golden color. "Shh..." Blaise put a finger to Harry's lips, hushing him. "It'll be okay, little one. I'll come back to you. We'll survive this. When this blasted war is over, I'll walk up that road and to this house, where I'll be welcomed back by your warm arms. You'll cry, of course, and I'll kiss away your tears..."
Harry smiled through the ache his heart was feeling. "Why do you love me?" Blaise had told him this several times, but Harry just needed to know. Just needed the reassurance one last time.
"Because you're Harry."
Not Harry Potter. Not the Boy Who Lived. Not Dumbledore's Golden Boy. Just... Harry.
Harry turned his face into Blaise's shoulder, not wanting the other to see his tears. "I love you, too..." he whispered. Don't leave me.
Warm arms encircled him and pulled him to an equally warm body, an embrace that Harry gladly accepted. Endearments and reassurances fell in whispers to his ears, and he welcomed them whole-heartedly. He cried softly, trying so hard to hide his tears. Please don't leave me...
When the tears had faded, Harry was left with a sense of serenity that extended through his entire being. "Blaise," he said softly, moving his head to look into the other man's eyes. "Stay with me tonight?"
Blaise's eyes, those dark eyes that Harry had fallen in love with over and over, those beautiful eyes with their strange colour and their fierce countenance, softened to where Harry could see the glow of the other's love for him. "Of course," the tall man whispered, as he leaned down to press a kiss to Harry's scar. A whisper fell from his lips, an endearment that Harry wasn't sure Blaise even knew he had said. "Precious..."
Harry closed his eyes against the rush of feelings. I'm precious to him... oh, Blaise...
They rose together. Walking together led them out of the den and up the stairs, down to the room which Harry felt was his sanctuary in the empty home his parents had loved -- their bedroom. His bedroom. Once inside, Blaise scooped the smaller man up and walked to the bed, where he laid his love in the midst of red and silver blankets. He tucked Harry in with gentle care, took the slim glasses and set them on a table, then climbed in after him, the slim arms immediately curling around his waist as he settled on the soft mattress. He slid his arms around Harry in return. With a whispered word, the lights were put out.
A whisper sounded in the darkness. "I love you, Harry."
A smile, invisible in the dark, could be felt against warm skin. "And I you, Blaise."
Nestled in the warm haven of Blaise's arms, with soft breath tickling the hairs on his neck, as a gentle hand traced patterns on his back... Harry felt like his soul had finally healed.
Harry got the letter on New Years, when he was at the Weasleys' for a long-needed visit. With furrowed eyebrows, he excused himself from his friends and went into the next room to read it in private. Ron and Hermione lingered in the doorway as Harry unrolled the parchment.
Green eyes slid over an elegant script, growing increasingly wider as full lips dropped open in disbelief. "No," Harry croaked out, eyes glazing over and staring sightlessly at the parchment. "It can't be..." he whispered even as he clenched the letter that assured its truth.
Blaise was dead.
Murdered at the hands of Harry's rapist of nearly a year ago.
A keen wail, wrenched from deep in his heart, rose from the young man's lips, as he screamed out his pain and fell to his knees in a wretched sob. Warm arms quickly encircled him, but they didn't exist to Harry, as he rocked back and forth and back and forth, tears slipping from his eyes like Blaise's name falling like pleas from his lips...
The graveyard was large and desolate, Harry noticed as he stepped out of the car. A chilling gust of wind blew at him, mussing his hair up. Harry shivered, but he pushed his discomfort aside, his mind purposeful. He reached into the car and picked up two bundles and a scroll tied with a black ribbon. With a final glance with his two best friends and his godfather, Harry stepped away from the car and into the maze of grave markers.
After a short walk, he came upon a small monument, with two names on the sleek surface. Harry felt his eyes prickle as he read the inscriptions for each name.
James Matthew Potter
Friend, Husband, Father
"Let's see where this gets us, and then we'll worry."
Lily Evans Potter
Friend, Wife, Mother
"Lovely is the rose that blooms in full sunlight, but beautiful is the lily that blossoms under a cloudy sky."
"Mum," he whispered, his hoarse voice somehow carrying over the whistling wind in the distance. "Dad." He knelt before the graves, his gloved fingers clasping his treasures. He didn't say another word, just gazed at his parents' graves with watery eyes, his throat burning slightly.
After a long time, he drew one of the bundles from his arms, laying it at the base of the monument with a whispered spell. He stood, gazing at the roses, one red, one white, as they stood out against the grey of the grave and the white of the snow on the ground. With a whispered endearment, Harry continued on his way.
He soon came to a magnificent plot, the proud name of the family rising over the monuments and stone slabs with cruel might. He wove his way through the graves, glancing over each name with a quiet, respectful air. Finally, at the end of a long line, he came to the very last stone.
Tears began to slide unnoticed down the young man's cheeks as he gazed at the name, which fell from his lips in a silent admonition.
Beloved Son, Dearest Friend
"Precious angel, we'll meet again. Just wait for me."
Harry knew without a doubt that Blaise was speaking to him. He again fell to his knees, but there was a slight difference in how he addressed his lost love than how he had approached his parents. Tears again fell from his eyes, but his voice dropped whispers of regret and sorrow in a loving and terribly sad litany, whereas with his parents, there was only silent mourning and understanding.
"Oh, Blaise... I miss you so much. It's almost too hard to believe, that you're... gone.
"I hate him... you know. Him. He killed you... god, I hate him!" Harry felt his voice break again, but he didn't care. "He murdered you, that bastard, he took you away from me... he's already done so much to you, to me, and now... he did this. Damn it... he should have been killed back in seventh year."
He was silent for a while, thinking of what Goyle had done to him a year ago. The beatings... the rape... the lies... the pain...
Blaise healed him then. No one could heal him now.
"He's dead," he said suddenly, eyes on his lover's grave. "Draco killed him. Tortured him for a week straight, then watched him die. Watched as the blood ran over the stones... and Draco was laughing when he died. He told me he did the same thing that the bastard had done to you..." He sniffed, as the tears flowed faster. He couldn't speak for a few minutes, even as his mind dwelled on what Goyle had done.
"Draco loved you, Blaise. He misses you. I know he doesn't show it, but I can see his pain when someone says your name. I know, because I feel the same way...
"When will we see each other again? When I'm old and grey and shaking so hard I can barely stand? Or tomorrow? Gods, Blaise, I can't wait. I know you told me to... and I promised... but I miss you so much. I can barely function without you, and I hate myself for it.
"But I'll wait for you... I'll wait until I die, and I won't kill myself, and I won't let anyone kill me unless I absolutely can't stop it. I promise, Blaise. I swear it."
The wind started up again, ruffling his hair and brushing bitter snowflakes against his face. He welcomed the chill, as it pierced his skin and left bits of ice on his eyelashes and in his hair. He knelt there for a long time, no more words being said, just a silent mourning taking their place.
Finally, he took out the last bundle and the letter. With such gentle care it nearly made him cry again, he set the enchanted flowers and the letter before the grave. All of the flowers were charmed to live through the winter.
He took out his wand and whispered the spell that would keep the flowers and letter from flying away. With a broken sigh, his body fell forward, as he curled into a fetal position while he knelt. And there he cried, as the wind and ice blew around him, freezing his body and chilling his heart.
A light suddenly shone on the figure, through the wind and the snow and the cold. The man took no notice as he cried his heart out, his heart reaching for the man he had loved. A figure descended through the light, robes of every color shimmering around the tall, lithe figure. Dark hair flew against brilliant wings, with feathers so white they shone with their own light. The angel floated to the figure, coming to hover just above the boy and the grave. Dancing dark eyes smiled at his little love, while a golden hand extended out, palm up.
Harry looked up then, and green emeralds connected with beautiful russet orbs. His arms hung limply at his side as he sat up, his eyes filling with shock and happiness. Three words were whispered in the sweet silence that now surrounded them.
"Take my hand."
And Harry reached up, sliding his hand into the warmth of his lover. A single moment passed, where the reunited lovers gazed into each other's eyes, and two words were spoken with deep feeling.
The lithe figure stood, dark hair floating in the light of his lover, and left the cold, unfeeling body of his life behind. The angel began to float upwards, pulling his little love with him, and as warm light embraced the green-eyed figure, beautiful white wings suddenly erupted from his back. With eyes only for the russet ones above him, Harry flew into his beloved's waiting arms, laughter in his throat and a smile on his face.
He had finally come home.