Angels

I sit and wait.

Does an angel, contemplate my fate?

And do they know,

The places where we go, when we're grey and old?

An angel. That's what he looked like when he was sleeping. A fallen angel. Fallen being the operative word.

Harry slowly ran his fingers over the purple bruises staining the otherwise flawless skin across Draco's bare chest.

Draco breathed in sharply and frowned. Harry flinched but Draco continued to slumber. It had been a tiring year for all of them, more so for Draco and Harry.

The war had been fought and, again, neither side had won. True, Lord Voldemort had been vanquished but his followers refused to crumble - as was expected.

Harry, on his knees on the floor, rested his cheek on the hand that was laid on the bed and watched Draco breathe deeply, his blemished chest rising and falling.

Neither boy knew what had happened over the last few moths. So much had occurred that neither could keep up. Lupin had literally forced them into hiding. And here they were, in hiding. In a grotty motel in Salford, near Manchester. Harry had fought against Voldemort and triumphed, losing almost everything in the process. Everything being his heart and almost his soul. There had been so much loss, he needed extra hands and feet to count the number of deaths.

Ron was in St Mungo's, having suffered the same fate as Frank and Alice Longbottom all those years ago. They hadn't found enough of Hermione to fit in a match box. Dumbledore lay in a critical condition in a Wizarding Hospital in the South of Wales. Mr Weasley had been killed in an instant by the same woman who had taken the life of Harry's godfather. Mrs Weasley had sunk so far into depression that no one could communicate with her. Neville Longbottom had been murdered by four death eaters after putting up such a fight to try and save Ginny. Ginny, having lived only by chance and Neville's sacrifice, was now at home permanently caring for her mother. Snape had fought along side Harry until he suffered at the vengeful hands of an escaped Lucius Malfoy, and he currently resided in the same cemetery as Harry's deceased parents.

It was strange. Harry had never seen his parents' graves. He now knew where they were situated but he hadn't the heart to see them.

Draco's eyelids fluttered open. Harry sat back on his heels, wrapping his arms tightly around his knees. Draco struggled to sit up. Harry watched closely as the boy pulled the covers around his naked torso, shivering. Harry knew why, there was hardly any flesh on him, they hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. They hadn't been in contact with wizards for longer. The only person they'd seen on a regular basis was the woman who pretended to change to bathroom towels every day.

Harry got to his feet and went to get another blanket. They were often like this. Silent for days on end. They had a sort of agreement. No talking unless it was necessary. It wasn't because thy despised each other. No, that stage had long since passed. That was when they had been children. Now, at nineteen, neither of them remembered the days when they had lived to torment each other.

Now they were all each other had left. Harry handed the blanket to Draco and sat on the bed beside him. The blonde boy tossed the other half of the blanket over Harry and they shifted closer to share their warmth. It was mid December, neither knew the exact date. There hadn't been any snow so far, just endless rain. Pounding against the window. Harry snuggled further down into the blanket. These were the moment he savoured in this place. No noise except the monotonous howl of wind and steady beat of rain on the roof.

'Cause I have been told,

That salvation, lets their wings unfold.

So when I'm lying in my bed,

Thoughts running through my head,

And I feel that love is dead.

I'm loving angels instead.

Draco was Harry's steadfast pillar, and Harry, Draco's. If they didn't have each other, they didn't have anything, and they knew it. Harry's loss had been unbearable, and if Draco hadn't been there to haul Harry out of depression, he would have been lost.

Draco, on the other hand, had suffered the trauma of going against his destiny. While Harry fought to live up to his. Draco ran from his father and the only home he'd ever known, wielding scars of the abuse he'd been put through since his father's escape from Azkaban. And not just physical scars, though Harry knew he had many, most of it was mental. Things only Harry could reach and repair. He had tried so hard, but some was too deep, too painful. And Harry didn't want to put Draco through any pain.

"Coffee?" Draco said, his voice weighed down with sleep.

"Tea," Harry replied.

Draco slipped out from under the blanket they were sharing and Harry felt the familiar yearning for Draco's presence beside his own. Draco padded softly across the room and took the kettle into the bathroom to fill with water. He then proceeded to place teabags into two cups and pour boiling water over them.

He topped up his own with a little milk and stirred in a sprinkle of sugar. Harry watched carefully as he poured the exact amount of milk into Harry's cup and added a slightly rounded spoonful of sugar. Harry smiled to himself.

Draco carefully carried to mugs over to the bed and placed them down before sitting back down next to Harry and cuddling back down into the covers. Harry slid closer as the other boy shivered and Draco placed and arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry was glad for the feeling of safety Draco's arm brought with it and he slipped his own around Draco's tiny waist. With their bodies in such close proximity, the chill died slightly and Draco handed Harry his mug.

Harry smiled gratefully and took it with the hand that wasn't clutching the other boy. Draco smiled in return and lifted his own mug to his lips. After he'd placed it back on the table, Harry laid his head on Draco's shoulder.

And through it all, he offers me protection.

A lot of love and affection,

Whether I'm right of wrong.

They sat like that for half an hour before Draco sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. He pulled a pair of trousers on over his boxers and grabbed the nearest jumper to him. Harry didn't comment that it was his.

Draco turned around to face Harry. "Breakfast?" he asked.

Harry nodded and hauled himself out of the bed. He walked over to the bathroom and threw water onto his face before joining Draco and walking out of the door, closing it firmly behind them.

They got funny looks as they descended the stairs, they always did. It was the two silent boys. The ones that didn't speak to anyone and hardly spoke to each other. It was the ones that everyone knew of, but no one knew about. But then again, no one had ever asked. People avoided them like the plague, for their own reasons.

Some didn't know what to make of two nineteen year old boys who looked like they'd lived for hundreds of years. Others couldn't decide if they were gay or not and avoided them for that reason. Some had seen Harry and Draco's scars and bruises and were scared of what had happened to them.

The two boys didn't mind though. They liked the privacy this got them. They walked out of the front doors of the motel and walked down the street to a small, dingy café owned by a woman called Fran. Harry and Draco seated themselves at the table in the darkest corner and ordered two teas and two bacon butties.

They sat in a comfortable silence while waiting for their sandwiches. Small talk was out of the question. They had forgotten how meaningless conversations went. Draco stared out of the window at the passers by. Harry could only guess that it was a week day because commuters were bustling along the streets. Harry vaguely wondered how many of them were wizards or in contact with the magic world.

While Draco watched the people rushing by, Harry watched Draco. His sharp jaw line looked more defined in the minimal light of the café. Harry was surprised to see how dull his once beautiful eyes had grown while they had been cooped up. They had once shined silver with malice. Then, Harry vaguely remembered a time when they danced with flecks of pale blue when he laughed. Laughter. Harry had heard it quite recently but he couldn't remember what it felt like, what it tasted like on your lips.

When Draco laughed, it sounded like music. There had been a time when the two had been so close they were almost inseparable. It was just after Hermione's death. Ron was unreachable and Harry had turned to Draco for support. As it happened, Draco was only too happy to give it, as long as Harry could give support in return. They had held each other together. Held each other up. They became so close they yearned for each other all the time. Harry still did, but he didn't know if Draco still felt the same way.

It ached Harry's heart to see Draco's eyes look so sad. He wanted to do something to help, but he couldn't do happy any more. Draco was his happy, and if neither were happy, well... so far it had got them as far as a drab motel room.

Harry sighed wearily. Draco looked at Harry, concern written all over his pale face. Harry shook his head as if to say nothing was wrong. Draco returned to his earlier task. Harry wanted to cry. Cry about where they were, cry about why they were there and cry about who they had become.

And down the waterfall, wherever it may take me.

I know that life won't break me,

When I come to call.

Harry looked at Draco's hand on the table. His fingers were long and artistic with beautifully refined bones. Then, Harry did something he hadn't done in a long time, he reached out and placed his own over Draco's. He was worried he would get the same dead-pan reaction. He didn't. Draco jumped and turned around. His eyes were fixed on their hands on the table. He then looked slowly up at Harry.

Harry swallowed hard and blinked. Draco's eyes met Harry's and locked. It was at that precise moment that Harry remembered why he had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. Two pairs of eyes. Both precious, both beautiful, one emerald, one silver. Completely locked in one and others' binding hold. Harry saw Draco swallow hard too.

Harry's heart had begun to beat at an alarming pace. He felt as though his whole world depended on these next few seconds. Draco, eyes still on Harry's did something he hadn't done in a while. He smiled, smiled a real smile. A deep, heart rending smile that could warm Harry from the inside out. Harry didn't realise how much he'd missed that smile.

Harry wanted to say something momentous but his throat had dried. Draco did it for him.

"Harry," he said. His voice no longer sounded tired like it had done for so many months. It still sounded far from the lively voice he'd once had but it still overjoyed Harry to hear this new tone. "We've been so distant these past weeks, months, however long it's been. I can't remember any more. You've been there for me like no one else has, when I haven't even been there for myself. Harry, I love you so much. I don't know if you realise how much you mean to me."

He won't forsake me.

I'm loving angels instead.

Harry smiled back. He still didn't have any words. And as it seemed, neither did Draco any more. He squeezed Harry's hand and tore his gaze away from Harry's. At that moment, Fran appeared out of the kitchen with their breakfast.

They ate their meal with one hand. Harry with his right, Draco with his left. Their others remained clasped beside the sugar bowl. When they had done, Harry threw a crumpled £5 note on the table, as usual and Fran took it with a smile. Harry liked to tip lots. The sandwiches together had only been £2.20 but he loved the look people wore on their faces when they were graced with such generosity. It was the look he used to see on Draco's face when he saw Harry.

They stood and exited the café, the door tinkling pleasantly as it hit the little bell on the frame. Harry felt Draco entwine their fingers together and felt a surge of warmth go through his body. He couldn't remember the last time they'd walked down a street holding hands, just for the sake of it. It was the sort of thing carefree lovers did. Not two boys who had seen so much hurt and suffering they could hardly talk to each other without feeling the pain.

Harry glanced to his left. Draco was just staring straight ahead but there was a slight upward tilt of his lips and his forehead was devoid of creases. Harry even thought he could see some of the old glint in his eyes.

When I'm feeling weak

And my pain walks down a one way street.

I look above.

And I know I'll always be blessed with love.

Once back at the motel, we got more funny looks than usual. One little boy tugged on his mother's sleeve and whispered loudly to her in a broad northern accent. "Mummy. Mummy look. They're holding hands," - and his mother replied - "Yes Nathan dear. Don't point. It's rude."

Harry smiled. This was from the same woman who Harry had overheard talking to a companion about Draco and himself. "They're a puzzle those two boys. They don't seem human. They look like they've been dragged through a hedge backwards and their eyes are hollow. I won't let our Nat near them. I saw them t'other day, staring into space, for three hours."

Draco grinned back at Harry as they ascended the stairs to their room. Harry put his key in the door and pushed it open. It was exactly as they had left it. The bed was unmade, clothes were scattered everywhere, and the broken TV sat lazily on the mouldy dressing table. You could see the grime and fingerprints on the window and the mirror had a solitary crack down the centre.

The first thing Harry did was pull his battered suitcase from under the bed. He felt a change was in order. He unzipped it and pulled the lid back. Inside lay the things he hadn't had the heart to take out when they had first been escorted here. For months they had been sat under the bed, and he now decided to take them out.

Draco watched carefully as Harry unloaded an armful of picture frames onto the bed they shared. Harry looked determinedly at the photos. There were seven in total. One of himself with his parents as a baby; one of himself with Ron and Hermione in their last year at Hogwarts; one of Neville, Ginny, Luna and Ron having a snowball fight; one of Hermione on her own; a picture of his whole year group at Hogwarts including the teachers; one of the whole Order of the Phoenix; and finally one of Harry and Draco, grinning from the back garden at Grimmauld Place, Draco's arm around Harry's shoulder, Harry's wrapped around Draco's waist, just like they had been sat earlier on.

Draco moved around to stand behind Harry. Harry was now knelt at the edge of the bed. Draco put a hand on his shoulder. Feeling the contact, a huge wave of emotion fell over Harry. Today seemed to be a day of doing new things, because he cried. Well, when he started he was crying. After thirty seconds he was sobbing. He curled his hands into fists and covered his head with the bed clothes.

Draco hauled him to his feet and pulled him into a hug. Once Harry had begun to weep, Draco had started too. They stood, heads buried in one and others' shoulders, bawling. Clinging to each other so tightly it was as though they would never see each other again. In their case it was that they had been apart for so long. And in that time, the two had forgotten how to love.

And as the feeling grows, he brings flesh to my bones.

And when love is dead.

I'm loving angels instead.

Harry turned away from Draco and took the final item from his case. His wand. Holly, eleven inches with a phoenix feather core. He remembered the day he bought it. "I think we must expect great things from you Mr Potter..." - what Mr Ollivander had said to him that day still sent shivers up and down his spine.

The wood felt warm against his fingers. On holding it in his hand, he felt his life seep back into him. He wasn't the scrawny orphan who had been bullied by his cousin. He was The Harry Potter, who had triumphed over Lord Voldemort. This was what made him a part of the magical world. Harry watched as Draco crossed to the other side of the room. He pulled out his trunk from under the bed and unhooked the lid, pushing it open. He rummaged around in the bottom and withdrew his own wand. Harry knew off-by-heart what it was. Maple, thirteen inches, unicorn hair in the centre.

Harry smiled. Draco returned it. There was colour in his cheeks that had only been there recently with fever. His eyes were twinkling again. Harry spun around and took in his surroundings. He grinned and aimed his wand at the cracked mirror. "Reparo!" he shouted. The crack faded and soon the mirror was a whole again. Harry was shaking. The power that now surged through his veins was overwhelming.

Draco strode over to the window. "Scourgify!" he said. The muck off the window began to dissolve into this air and soon the glass was sparkling clean.

Draco whipped round to face Harry, breathing deeply. The grin wouldn't leave his face. "Harry," he breathed. "Can you feel that?"

Harry nodded dumbly, still clutching his wand. "It's... it's... unbelievable!" He laughed out loud. It was a hiccupy laugh, but a laugh all the same.

"Harry... I..." Draco said, his face more serious, a soft seriousness.

Harry knew what he was about to say. "I know," he replied. "I love you too."

Draco dropped his wand to the floor and with a clatter of wood on wood, Harry did the same. Arms open, Harry flung himself at Draco. Hands found hair and cheeks found shoulders. Bodies linked back together, just like they had all that time ago. And they remembered what it was like to be them, together, happily.

And through it all,

He offers my protection.

A lot of love and affection.

Whether I'm right or wrong.

And down the waterfall, wherever it may take me.

I know that life won't break me, when I come to call.

He won't forsake me.

I'm loving angels instead.

And through it all, he offers me protection.

A lot of love and affection.

And down the waterfall, wherever it may take.

I know that life won't break me.

He won't forsake me.

I'm loving angels instead.