The new first chapter! I will not be taking down my other chapters through request.
This will be a lot more angst-y and slow-going. I have decided that I never really put that much thought into the first version of this, so I'm rewriting it with a much better plot. Hopefully, you will think the same way.
Also! I have decided that I WILL write the Hitter (Hiccup/Harry) story. I have several ideas that I want opinions on that will be listed at the very bottom of my profile! Go look after this chapter!
Harry stared listlessly from the frosted windows of Gryffindor tower, watching the flurries of snow scatter across the grounds. He had always loved snow. There was an immense beauty in the way the flakes seemed to dance on the wind. When all was calm and the last of it was fallen, it was like the angels had weaved a silvery blanket, and although it was cold, he could never help but feel warmth in the comfort of that thought. Angels meant safety, after all.
Sometimes, he imagined he could see the angel. When he was younger and his relatives would leave him outside as punishment, he swore he could feel its presence around him. A soft touch here, a whisper there was all it took to keep him fighting through the night. In hindsight, snow had saved his life. Tonight, however, would be different.
A tired sigh left his lips in a puff of wispy fog and he shuddered, wrapping thin arms about his knees as the cold finally settled into his bones. His breath covered the glass and he contemplated drawing a picture, as he used to do when he was little. They would always turn out in some form of a smiling face, perhaps with a tongue to add hilarity. He would say he missed those days, but most of those childish depictions would end in a beating. He definitely did not miss those.
Standing on his feet, Harry rubbed his palms together subconsciously to retain some warmth. It was far from ideal, but he was beginning to lose the feeling in his fingers. Not that it mattered much if he was warm or cold. Not anymore.
Green eyes scanned the entirety of the dorm, near empty for Christmas break. He didn't really trust the other Gryffindors anyway, except perhaps Neville. Not after what they had done…
Thoughts of their wrongdoings only cemented his resolve. Determination glittered in his eyes as he padded over the cold hardwood floor to the Fat Lady. She swung open without a word, curious eye following him as he went. He nodded politely in thanks, also quiet, for he had nothing to say.
His trip though the hall was uneventful, saves for the few minutes he stopped to speak to McGonagall. He was the only Gryffindor to stay behind for Break and the only other students there were a few Slytherin and a Hufflepuff. They were all in the Great Hall, as it was dinner, so he made it to the large doors leading out to the grounds without problems.
He took in a steadying breath and exhaled deeply. His eyes were shut tightly to the reality of what he was about to do. But he wouldn't have to deal with it soon enough. He wouldn't have to deal with anything. There would be no more glares in the hallway or accusations for things he hadn't done or couldn't control. He would never have to go back to the Dursleys or be forced to fight anything ever again.
Yes, Voldemort was gone. Something had happened, something even Dumbledore could not explain, when the snake man had tried to possess him. It was very painful. That's about all he could remember of the incident. But the point was that Voldemort was never coming back. Or so he hoped. Not that it was any of his business any longer; he had done what they had asked.
Giving his head a short, fast shake, as if banishing any thoughts further, Harry pulled the large door open just wide enough to slip through. A biting blast of frigid winter wind swept his hair back and around and he found himself wishing he had brought his scarf, despite the circumstances. He may have loved snow, but he had found a profound dislike for the feeling of being cold.
Pushing his feelings aside, he trudged forward through shin-high mounds of snow, breaking its pristine surface mournfully. So much work the angel must have put into it, only to be broken by ignorant human beings. Humans like him. Perhaps they took offense, and that is why there were blizzards? He'd have to ask one later.
For nearly half an hour he walked, far past the tree line of the forbidden forest and farther still until he came to a little glade which was too peaceful for a place like this. Calming magic hummed in the air and the borrowed rays of the moon shone dimly on the glistening trees. Ferns of frost spread whimsically over every bit of bark and stone and directly at the center of the clearing, a trickling brook cut a frozen path from the south end all the way through to the north. Unfrozen, the water would have only reached his ankles.
With glittering eyes and a heavy heart, Harry sat to wait. He waited and waited, until his pain was numb and his mind sluggish with hypothermia. His lips turned blue and cracked and his eyes had sealed shut with frozen tears shortly after his arrival. He lay on his back, unable to see the moon or the snow but knowing they were there. He subconsciously attempted to go for a warming spell with his wand but remembered two things. He had purposefully left his wand in the common room and he could no longer feel his arm enough to move it.
However, he was not scared. No, for this was exactly what he had wanted. After everything that had happened to him, his lost childhood and the destructive betrayal of his closest friends, he was done. He was determined to get out. And what better way to go than surrounded by the only constant comforts he had ever had. The snow and the dark were always there, protecting him when others would not. It was ironic that their shielding embraces should be his death bed.
Sleep began to wash over him, bathing his remaining senses in a sort of barrier where nothing existed but his rapidly slowing pulse. It was admittedly alarming to feel your heart dying but not be in pain. The beat went slower still and his blood flowed lethargically along his veins until, finally, with a tired but content smile, Harry slept.
But he did not expect to wake up.
Warmth. That was the first thing Harry registered. It was a strange feeling after hours in the cold. Memories surfaced and made him knowledgeable of his previous situation. He had attempted to smother his life in the snow. It must have worked too, for how could he possibly feel such deep warmth from waking after hypothermia? He couldn't. At least, he thought he couldn't. Magic worked in funny ways, though.
A sudden intense flash behind his eyelids provoked a flinch from his head and against his will, his eyes shot open.
There was the moon. It smiled down on him with shining rays and every bad feeling he had felt before vanished. He felt hope and wonder and such happiness that he had never experienced before stampeded threw his body. He no longer felt the need to die. For a moment, all there ever could be was the moon and that intoxicating feeling. But then the rays dimmed and the glade, his supposed place of death, came into focus in his peripheral.
Realizing he was on his back, Harry sat up. Everything was the same, yet it felt strange. The feeling of warmth he had been experiencing ever since he woke up had remained, even as the previously glacial winds flew around him, taking spells of snowflakes with it. He brought his hands up, perhaps to see what had become of them in the hours he might have spent asleep, but what he saw made him pause.
His skin was pale, almost white where it used to be tanned and his scars were gone. He could distinctly remember at least 20 on his lower arm. The scar carved into the back of his left hand by the blood quill was faded to the point where you would have to look for it to see it. With a tiny flicker of hope, he reached up with a shaking hand and felt the area directly in the middle of his forehead. At the feel of the familiar ridge of scar tissue he let the flame be snuffed out by a raging wave of despondency.
Well that was anti-climactic.
He let his hand fall back into his lap with a shuddering sigh. His bangs flipped into his face and he sent a puff of air up in frustration. He reached out to the calming magic he had discovered earlier to keep from possibly screaming in rage. But it wasn't there.
No, it was there. That magic was tied to the land, to the trees themselves. They were still there. So why couldn't he feel it? He stood fast, nearly tripping over the snow sounding his feet. He took a deep breath in through the nose and concentrated hard, willing his own magic to find it. It was only then did he realize his magic felt different. It felt very different.
It was chaotic and cold but soothing and intermittent with joy and so many different things. It danced, it fluttered, it glided and above all else, it was uncontrollable. There was so much of this foreign magic that he could not contain it. He was scared. All the bad feelings rushed in again with his panic and, unbeknownst to him, it began to snow again.
Harry held himself in a hug and tears slipped down his face. He was so confused and frightened. What was happening to him? At first, he had thought it was a simple change in looks. But now he did not understand his own magic or why he had even lived in the first place or why he was warm when he shouldn't be?!
He stared through his tears at his skin, where not even goose-pimples formed at the coldness he knew surrounded him. A tear splashed across his skin and solidified to it, but still it was as if it was luke-warm water. What was he?
That's when he heard it, a crooning whisper at the very edges of his subconscious. The words were faint but clear. It spoke to him of his magic and left more questions than it answered. It did tell him what his purpose was though. He was an angel of the snow*, a companion or second-in-command of some sort, though he was not told for whom. And that was all it said.
A snowflake landed delicately on the tip of his nose, causing him to look up. The moon was once again bright and smiling as it moved ever further down the sky. His tears dribbled down to a stop and a small, reassured smile spread across his face. Because when he looked up, he knew it was the moon that had saved him from himself and given him a new, better purpose.
And he wasn't afraid anymore.
Tahdah! Much more angst-y but it'll get better! Next chapter will be much longer, (I'm planning at least 4,000 words) I swear! I just… I was going to make this one really long but I decided that it's sort of just an introductory and I like where it ended.
Next chapter: Rediscovering. Harry will find out what exactly comes from being an Angel of the Snow.
*Angels of the Snow: Harry has a very strong belief that Angels are what make it snow. So, Manny took to that and resurrected Harry in that image! Harry's abilities are few but very powerful. Like say a Wizard was only capable of casting transfiguration spells, but he had buckets and buckets of magic with which to execute them… It's exactly like that! Harry does NOT have all of Jack's abilities. When Manny created Harry, it was to save him and ALSO give Jack a sort of helper. It is not Manny's intention that they fall in love (although they will).
Harry's reaction: I don't know if I made it clear, but Harry was unsure about the whole suicide thing. He wanted an escape and he was desperate enough to not think about it long enough to go through with it. So when he wakes up and finds himself alive, he isn't angry that it didn't work. He just questions it. And then the reality of his new situation hits and he panics. In short, his emotions are a little on the wonky side so it's kind of like an electrocuting rollercoaster of mood-swings… things will calm down for him.