Angel

A/N – I was listening to a few CD’s and one of my favourite, all time songs came on and I had to write this. It’s a lot darker than my usual stuff and there are drug/suicide implied themes. The song is about heroin addiction the name of the potion I use is a reflection of that, no other reason (you’ll see what I mean when you read on). The song lyrics are at the end.

Harry leaned back onto the filthy bed and waited for the potion to kick in and bring him the release, the beautiful release, he knew would soon come. He shut his eyes and saw the images that haunted him relentlessly, the images of his friends dying, of the destruction of the world he had loved – his tired, bloodshot eyes snapped open. It wasn’t time yet, the potion hadn’t started to work. A flash of anger surged through him, his impatience fuelling it – and a lamp across the bare, dirty room exploded.

Then he felt it – the empty and weightless sensation that herald the fact he would have peace tonight, the memories would stop. This time when he closed his eyes, he heard her, that beautiful calming voice telling him everything was okay. Harry smiled.

Twelve hours later he woke in a cold sweat, his eyes trying to focus, unsuccessfully as his glasses sat useless on the floor, and with concentration he tried to recall where he was. Sitting up, he looked around the room, and sighed. Remembering where he had thrown his glasses, he retrieved them and his surroundings came into focus.

It was yet another nameless, dark, filthy hotel room, similar to all the other rooms he had rented over the last eight months. On the dresser were the ingredients he used to make the potion that helped take it all away – everything; the physical pain of his injuries, the knowledge that he had killed, and the image of a dead Ron and a dying Hermione, along side so many others the he used to call friends.

Harry had won the last battle, but the price paid was too much for the young wizard to cope with and he had run. He had hated the falsities of the Ministry and their praise of him. He had hated the media making out he had done it all alone, barely acknowledging the sacrifices of so many. He had hated seeing Hermione lying in that hospital bed day after day, not moving. He had hated burying his best friend and watching Ron’s parents mourn for the lost of their son.

So he ran away.

And now he didn’t know how to go back.

He had been introduced to the oblivion of Heron early on in his travels and had quickly learnt how to make the potion that brought him such blissful release from the nightmares that haunted him. He had told himself he would only take it for a little while, until things got better – then he would clean himself up and go home.

But there never seemed to be a good time, he never seemed to feel any better. Some days, the dreams were so bad that he would take a double dose and stay in oblivion for a couple of days. But lately he recognised that he was in too deep, that he was now addicted to Heron and he needed to break the habit. He promised himself.

That was until he saw the article in a discarded newspaper, how the double brutal murder of well liked and known dentists in Oxford still had the police stumped with no positive leads, even after nearly a year of searching. The investigating team was being scaled down. Harry saw that and knew that the death of Hermione’s parents would never be solved and was now pointless.

He had returned to his disgusting room in a hotel full of Muggle drug dealers and prostitutes and looked at the potions kit that he had packed up in his attempt to go straight – and set it up once more. He could justify the need for the Heron potion so easily; the madness of the Granger’s murder, the despair that he felt, the numbing sadness. And no doubt that that night his nightmares would return.

And they had.

Running his dirty hand through his long, greasy hair, Harry felt disgusting, as he always did after the potion had worn off. He was tired of the life he was leading, the lies he was telling, the crimes he was committing – it wasn’t him.

He knew the biggest lie was the one he told himself, that he had the full right to use an artificial substance to get him through the day, that he had experienced so much – seen so much – how could anyone blame him? Of course no one needed to blame him, he did enough of that himself.

The second biggest lie was the one that tried to convince himself that he was okay. He wasn’t okay and part of him knew that if he kept using Heron like he did, he will die. Soon. Alone. In the filth that was him and his life.

He looked at the small cauldron and the bunch of ingredients that surrounded it. Sadly, a realisation hit him that it was too late, he no longer could escape and in reality he didn’t want to. He had already lost everything, he had nothing left to live for.

Just one more time, one more dose and he will let the angels take him away from the endlessness that was his life, the angels that came with the peace of the Heron. Standing, he went to the dresser and began to make the potion, his motions automatic after making it so many times over the past months. This time, he altered it slightly and with a smile, he watched the liquid change into a rich crimson colour, simmering in the cauldron.

After pouring it into a glass, he went back to the bed, took off his glasses and gulped the fluid down in one large swig. Lying down, he stared at the dirt incrusted ceiling and waited for the angels to come and take him away.

His eyes began to droop as the potion started to take affect. Suddenly, he heard voices and he smiled – his angel had arrived. Hermione.

“Harry?” the voice said and his smiled moved into a frown – she sounded anxious, scared. Angels aren’t supposed to be scared.

“He’s brewing Heron,” another voice said. It sounded a lot like Remus.

“Sweet Merlin,” Hermione gasped, “Harry? Can you hear me?” He tried to tell her he could but he his mouth wouldn’t work. He began to smile once more, the familiar oblivion engulfing him. Soon he wouldn’t hear or know anything. It would be over.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hermione Apparated to the room they knew Harry was staying in, her source recognising his eyes, though that was all. Gagging slightly as the smell of filth and decay assaulted her senses while she looked around the dirty, dark hole. It was bare except for a tiny table and single chair, a dresser and a bed. When she saw the person on the bed, she thought they had gone to the wrong place – there was no way the man in rags with long, greasy hair and a knotted beard was the person she loved. Until she saw the wire rim, round glasses sitting on the dresser by a potion that she was unfamiliar with.

That didn’t matter as she rushed to Harry’s side.

“Harry?” she asked and saw his blissful smile be replaced by a frown. She felt his forehead, it cold and clammy under her touch.

“He’s brewing Heron,” Remus said from behind her and it all fell into place. She had read about Heron and how its mind numbing qualities were sought after but its side effects were devastating. The user would often forget to eat or look after themselves, aware only of the addictive potion.

“Sweet Merlin,” she breathed, determined to bring him out of the stupor he was in, “Harry? Can you hear me?”

“Are you really sure that’s Harry under all that hair?” Ginny asked, joining Hermione at the bed, “I mean, he looks disgusting…”

“Hermione, we have a problem,” Remus interrupted – Hermione ignored Ginny and looked at Lupin, “he put in a heavier dose of nightshade…”

“He’s tried to kill himself!” Hermione cried and without waiting another moment, she took him in her arms as much as she could and Apparated both of them away

*-*-*-*-*

Harry opened his eyes, then shut them quickly as the bright light sent daggers into his brain. He tried to remember where he was and although he put all his mind to the task, he couldn’t. He started to panic as he realised he had no idea where he was and why it was so…bright.

“Shh, Harry, it’s okay.”

The voice was so familiar that he stopped thrashing around immediately and cautiously opened his eyes. A woman was looking back down at him, her image blurry and although her voice seemed familiar, her image wasn’t. Who was she?

“Here you go,” she said and he recognised the voice – it was his angel. She put his glasses on his face, making the world sharp once more. He looked back at the woman looking over him and all air escaped him in a sudden gasp.

“Hermione?”

“Hey Harry.”

“But you’re…am I…am I dead?” he asked, confused.

“No, but you were very, very close,” she told him and although her voice was gentle, there was no mistaking the core of hardness through it.

“This isn’t real,” Harry breathed, “you’re a dream! I saw you, I watch you die!”

At first she didn’t answer, but just sat there and looked at him. Then after a few moments, she leant over and kissed him, a chaste kiss that brought back only happy memories to Harry.

“I didn’t die,” she whispered to him, her face only inches away as her hand caressed his now shaven cheek, “and I have spent six months trying to find you, to bring you home.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I woke two months after you left to find Ron dead and you had disappeared,” she explained, sitting upright once more, “and I became obsessed in finding you. Others had already tried but, well, you kept moving…”

“Running,” he interrupted, his eyes searching hers, “I was running away.”

“I know.”

“So, how did you find me?” he asked.

“I realised you weren’t living as a wizard but living as a Muggle,” she replied, “I listened for news of strange robberies, things that were below the Ministry’s radar, and found you. In Oxford. Killing yourself with a narcotic.”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know,” she smiled at him sadly as she took his hand in here, “I love you Harry and we will get through this together, if you’ll let me. Will…will you let me?”

Harry lay there and thought for a moment, remembering the life that he had been living and knew his answer immediately.

“The potion, Heron, brought me peace – beautiful, blissful peace,” he told her, his eyes filling with tears, “and just before I would be taken, an angel would appear and wrap me up in her arms. I never saw her face, but she spoke to me, telling me that it would be alright, that she was there for me, taking care of me. It was you, Hermione. You were the one my mind used to bring me comfort…”

“I should’ve been the one telling you to stop…”

“Oh, you did that too,” Harry smiled, “many times, when I was me not the potion. But the image of you hurt was stronger and the angel was so enticing. And now you’re here, really here, offering to be my real angel when I don’t deserve it…”

“You deserve to be saved Harry,” she admonished.

“Will you save me?” he whispered, his tears finally falling, “will you be my angel?”

“Always.”

Spend all your time waiting for that second chance

For a break that would make it okay

There is always one reason to feel not good enough and it’s hard at the end of the day

I need some distraction, oh beautiful release

Memory seeps from my veins

Let me be empty and weightless and maybe I’ll find some peace tonight

In the arms of an angel

Fly away from here

From this dark cold hotel room and the endlessness that you fear

You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie

You’re in the arms of the angel

May you find some comfort there

So tired of the straight line and everywhere you turn

There’s vultures and thieves at your back

And the storm keeps on twisting

You keep building the lie

That you make up for all that you lack

It don’t make no difference

Escaping one last time

It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness

That brings me to my knees

Angel – Sarah McLachlan