Ascension

One day, during potions, Harry was watching Malfoy as the blonde boy sat at the table in front of him. He was staring at Malfoy's head, watching as the lamplight that glinted off of his hair made patterns across the back of his head. No thoughts played through Harry's head, no inner voices spoke to him, he merely sat and observed. He watched as Malfoy reached one pale hand around his back and using the short manicured nail on a long thin finger, scratched at a spot near his left shoulder blade. Harry saw Malfoy dig at the itch and then loosely shake the material of his robe that lay across his back. Harry's attention was broken when Professor Snape asked him a question that he could not have answered even if he had been paying attention.

A few days later, Harry was standing behind Malfoy as they waited in a loosely formed line to enter for lunch. Harry was only halfway listening as Ron and Hermione argued about something. He nodded toward them and grunted what could be considered a response periodically and watched the back of Malfoy's head. He saw as Malfoy lifted and rolled his shoulders as if he was tired or had been recently straining his muscles.

Harry tilted his head and watched Malfoy slowly, wearily; rub his palm against the back of his neck. Malfoy plucked at the loose folds of fabric that hung down his back. Harry tilted his head to the other side and then jumped as Hermione's sharp elbow jabbed him in counterpoint to a question that she had asked. He reluctantly shifted his attention away from Malfoy and joined their conversation.

A week later, sitting in the library, Harry looked up from his book and watched as Malfoy walked in and sat down at a table. It was quiet in the room, there were only a few other students sitting about. Harry noticed the rather large stack of books that Malfoy had in front of him. He appeared to be opening each book, checking the index, flipping to the back, scanning through a few pages and then tossing it to the side dismissively. Harry wondered vaguely what he was looking to find. Harry put his elbows on the table in front of him, rested his chin in his hands and watched as Malfoy methodically went through the entire stack of books.

Harry was intrigued, he was also bored. He stood up, closed the book he had been not reading, walked to Malfoy's table and sat down across from the blonde boy.

"What are you looking for?"

Malfoy looked at him with an expression of surprise, mixed with a bit of repulsion, a fair amount of anger and if Harry wasn't mistaken, a tiny blush of embarrassment. There appeared to have been a slight pinking of Malfoy's cheeks when Harry had asked the question, not when Harry sat down, as one would have assumed to be the case.

"What?" Malfoy managed to ask with a sputter.

"What are you looking for? I've gotten quite good at navigating these shelves over the past six years. Tell me what you are looking up, I might know where you can find it." Harry leaned forward and raised an eyebrow questioningly at the other boy.

The blonde boy sat for a minute in silence before slamming closed the last book on his stack and abruptly standing. He spun on his heel and marched stiff legged from the room. Harry watched him go and then looked down at the titles of the books. They were all about the ninth choir of angels and demons, he thought it odd that Malfoy had been looking at them; he would not have ever taken Malfoy for an existential type of thinker.

A few days later Malfoy wasn't at breakfast, he also wasn't in potions.

Harry didn't ask Hermione or Ron's opinion as to Malfoy's whereabouts, he knew that they didn't care any more than he did, and he was sure that they had not even given the matter the second thought that he had.

He was somewhat intrigued when he saw that Malfoy was at supper, especially when Harry noticed that Malfoy didn't look well. There were dark circles under his eyes and he sat hunched over as if he was exhausted. Harry also noticed that the other Slytherins left Malfoy alone; he sat and picked at his food in solitude.

Before most of the other students had finished eating Malfoy got up from the table and walked toward the door. Harry watched as his dark robes swirled about him.

As Malfoy reached the door it was opened and a tall Hufflepuff, obviously late and hurrying, rushed into the hall, heading for his table. Malfoy's feet tripped him up and he stumbled backwards slightly. Harry watched as he brushed against a suit of armor standing inside of the great doors. Malfoy's mouth flew open wide and a shriek escaped him. All activity in the great hall stopped as all eyes turned to him. He looked about wide-eyed, gathered his robe around him close and dashed from the room. A moment of silence followed his exit before a wave of conversation rippled across the room.

"Bloody hell was 'at?" Ron mumbled around a mouth full of tart.

Harry shrugged and finished his meal.

The next Saturday was a Hogsmeade weekend, but Harry stayed at school. The weather had been getting warmer as Spring rolled across the grounds and he decided that flying some practice feints across the Quidditch pitch would make for a better day than spending the entire day dragging behind Ron and Hermione as they bickered.

Late that afternoon, after hours of flying he was tired, sweaty and completely satisfied with how he spent his day. Heading toward the locker room to shower he was passing the equipment shed when he heard a moan from inside. He stopped, walked back to the shed and placed his ear against the door. He heard it again, a low moan of pain or fear. He tried the doorknob and to his surprise found that it was unlocked.

"Hello?" he called anxiously.

"Go away."

Harry squinted into the dim room toward the direction of the voice. It had sounded like Malfoy, if Malfoy had been a small, frightened child, with a slight cold.

"Is that you Malfoy?"

"Go the hell away," a voice that was distinctively Malfoy's said.

Harry walked to where Malfoy was huddled on the floor, against the wall in the corner of the room and squatted down next to him. He looked at Malfoy and saw that he was wearing only his pants, but he had his robe clutched against him tightly. The fingers that were fisted into the dark material were dirty and what appeared to be blood was smeared across the top of his left hand.

"Have you cut yourself?" Harry asked.

"Go away," came the reply.

It was then that Harry noticed that Malfoy's shirt was on the ground at his feet, streaks of dark blood shown against the white of the fabric.

"Did someone hurt you?"

Malfoy shook his head, never raising his gaze to meet Harry's eyes. Harry waited patiently and stared at the white skin of Malfoy's shoulders. It was unnatural to Harry how pale Malfoy was, he almost looked translucent. Harry wondered briefly, that if the light was better could he see Malfoy's blood pulsing slowly through vessels and veins through the pale skin. He wanted to reach out and jab at Malfoy's shoulder to see if even that small amount of contact would cause the skin to bruise and discolor, but he resisted the urge and continued to stare silently at the other boy.

"Go away."

Harry shook his head. As he opened his mouth to ask Malfoy again what had happened, he saw the blonde boy clutch tighter at the robes and cringe. A whimper issued from the pale throat and Harry watched as Malfoy raised his head and stared at Harry with red rimmed and tear filled eyes.

One whispered plea escaped and fell into the abyss of silence between the two boys.

"Help me."

Malfoy lowered his head and curled into himself. Harry watched as the light that was seeping in from the half opened door shown in and illuminated Malfoy, his skin seemed to glow in the late afternoon light. Harry had never noticed the texture of Malfoy's hair, he knew it was pale and fine like baby hair, but he had never noticed that, in this light, it appeared to be like white silk, shot through with silver threads. It was soft looking and Harry wondered what it would feel like to the touch, if it would tear and lift away from the scalp easily if yanked upon hard. His fingers itched and he clutched them at his side to still them.

Harry looked as Malfoy's turned slightly away from him. His eyes widened as he saw Malfoy's back.

There were tears in the skin of his back. Two angry, raw wounds about three inches long over each shoulder blade. Harry reached and placed his hand on the skin near one of the wounds. He could feel heat like a fever radiating from them.

A low moan issued from Malfoy, he writhed in pain and Harry snatched his hand away.

"What caused this, who caused this?"

Malfoy didn't answer, Harry heard him take a ragged breath and watched as the skin around the wounds rippled and the flesh opened a few more inches. Harry couldn't take his eyes from the angry gashes.

It was then that he noticed what appeared to be bone poking through at the center of each cut. He raised his hand and extended one finger gently touching the tip of the bloody bone, now protruding a few inches from Malfoy's back.

Another moan as the skin pulled away and Harry watched as a vibration passed through the bone. It pushed from the cut and as he stared in amazement begin to unfold and stretch.

"Wings. You have wings." Harry said slowly, as if to a child.

Malfoy didn't speak, he only drew in closer to the floor and a low cry and hitching of breath came from him.

Harry stroked one of the tiny white feathers from the tip of the thing sticking out of Malfoy's back. The feather was soft and seemed to glow, as if illuminated from within. As the wings stretched upward and unfurled they loomed over the two boys crouched on the ground. Each pure white wing was over four feet in length and seemed to thrum with energy in the tight space of the shed. As the edges of them brushed against the shelves and equipment leaned against the walls Malfoy moaned and twitched in pain.

"We need to get you out of here, where there is more room. They are probably still fragile, you might mess them up if you try and move them in this small space."

Harry took Malfoy's arm and dragged him to his feet. The blonde boy had his eyes squeezed shut but tears leaked passed the lids and rolled down his face.

"Do they hurt?"

Malfoy bit his lip and then shook his head before answering.

"No. Not now. They did. Do they look - done?"

Harry shrugged and walked Malfoy toward the door.

As they passed through the door and into the late afternoon light outside Malfoy's wings spread and stretched out. Harry marveled at the size of them. They were so very white and looked strong as they vibrate slightly. He dropped the other boy's arm and stepped away from him.

Malfoy raised his head in the light and a smile slowly spread across his face. Harry thought that he looked beautiful at that moment. A beauty that was so pure and true that it was almost painful to behold. Harry had never thought Malfoy beautiful or even pretty for that matter; he was a selfish, nasty manipulative little brat, and any attractiveness was wildly overshadowed by Malfoy's putrescent personality. As Harry gazed at Malfoy he saw such radiant beauty that he wanted to drop his eyes and look away, to cry or shield his face, but he didn't, he merely stood and stared.

Malfoy turned to him and graced Harry with a gentle yet sepulchral smile.

"Are you an angel - or a demon?" Harry asked calmly.

It was Malfoy's turn to slowly shrug causing the glorious wings to lift and shudder slightly. Harry stepped back another step and looked up at them as they lifted and begin to sweep out, Malfoy looked over his shoulder with a look of awe. The mighty appendages made a sound like thunder as he beat them against the air and Harry stared in wonder.

Harry continued to stare into the blue depths of the sky even after Malfoy was no longer in site and then he turned and headed toward the castle.

The rumors were rampant for weeks over the disappearance of Malfoy. Each tale was more outrageous than the last before everyone settled on the acceptable version that his father had called him home on nasty, vicious Death Eater business. It was supposed that he would turn up again, probably during the war; Harry believed that they might be correct in that assumption.

Harry didn't give as much thought, as one would believe to Malfoy. He never joined in any of the conversations in the common room or dorm. He only halfway listened as Ron and Seamus made up jokes and dirty rhymes about Malfoy's disappearance.

Periodically Harry would awaken from a dream with the thrum of thunder in his ears, but he could never remember the specifics of these dreams.

After a few months Harry no longer even dreamt of beautiful pure white wings or the sound of them gliding steadily upward.

One day he was sitting in the common room and his back begin to itch. As he reached behind him to absent mindedly scratch he felt a tender bump over the sharp edge of his shoulder blade.

Angel or demon, he wondered as he adjusted the loose folds of his robe over his back, Malfoy never did answer.