Angel Wishes
A/n: sorry for the delay in my other stories but I've found out what my problem is…well, the story related one….it seems that some stories won't go the way I like them to unless I write the ones in my head…so I just have to… about this one, though, it's how I feel so don't hate me for it.
Enjoy and review, please.
=Catcatcatcatcat^^=-=-=
He had always loved the church.
The high walls painted so lightly, the colored windows reflecting the sun's gaze and the statues…Oh the statues he loved the most.
They had always fascinated him; the bodies and the faces. It seems each one told a different tale; a weeping mother holding her firstborn, the son of god suspended in eternal torture.
All were permanently carved in rock, they could never change.
It was perfect.
His relatives didn't mind this. In fact, they were the ones that caused it.
As good christens they attended every Sunday's mass, never missing a single one no matter how much Dudley whined about missing one or more of his shows.
They have decided early on to take Harry with them, reasoning that perhaps being in god's house would help cure him of his 'freakishness'.
Harry had no idea what sort of freakishness he had. He was just as normal as the rest of his family and yet his relatives insisted that there was something wrong with him, that he was a freak.
Being force to go to church in order to 'fix' him was the least horrible of their ways.
He couldn't find it in himself to listen to the vicar's words on how to reach heaven- his relatives already told him he was condemned to hell. And more, he didn't believe any of it anyway.
Quite simple, and no one should have cared-but his relatives did. He would be beaten harshly if they happen to notice it but for several years now, Harry had taught himself the art of 'out of mind, out of sight'.
It had also been decided that since he was 'A lazy scoundrel just like his good-for-nothing father' (his aunt's words) that he should make himself useful. So after explaining the situation ("The boy is a trouble-maker, father, and should always be occupied so he wouldn't do anything stupid or dangerous.") to the vicar, Harry found himself working for several hours at the church, doing all sorts of odd jobs. Such as cleaning the windows, washing the floors or polishing the benches.
If the vicar wanted Harry to do something else, he would have to.
Harry didn't mind.
The time he spent at the church allowed him to reflect on his situation. For example, he had always wondered how a man that works for god wouldn't do anything to help him. 'Cause Harry knew the vicar saw the bruises on his skin whenever his far-too-big-for-him shirt was slipping over his solders.
But no matter what showed, nothing happened and the way Harry showed up for work never seemed to bother or make a difference.
Not that Harry cared anymore. He had had years to get used to the way he was treated at home, years to remember that most people don't want to hear or see anything they didn't agree to.
All of these came up to the reason why Harry never minded staying at the church.
The young boy smiled as he scrubbed hard at the stone floors. He could hear the choir practicing and he had always enjoyed it.
The soft words sung so lightly made him wonder. The choir may not be as good as the ones he heard on the television (on the rare occasion he was allowed to clean the living room while the Dursleys were there) and yet, hearing them, Harry felt in peace; always hoping he would finally get his wish.
After all, the vicar said his words are god's words so that must mean that the choir songs were the angels'.
And angles always grant you your wishes.
The boy smiled sadly once more when he realized that he finished. It was the last thing on his list and he was upset that he had to leave.
He took a moment to stare at the sparkling hall and felt his breath hitch at the wonderful sight he saw; Sparkling statues, see-through windows, glowing benches and a newly washed floor.
The only thing missing was the angels.
As if summoned by that very thought, the great wooden doors opened and a tall figure entered.
Harry stopped what he was doing but didn't rise; his eyes not leaving the man.
He didn't look like an angel; he was far too dark for that.
His hair was the blackest black Harry had ever seen, with glowing red eyes to match. They burned brightly and told the boy of the man's past. They told him about the screams of his victims, about how they begged, how he never gave in. They told him that the being in front of him wasn't a normal human; he was far too superior to be one.
The figure walked down the aisle, heading in Harry's direction. But the boy wasn't scared.
Angel or not, Harry was sure that he would get his wish tonight.
How right he was.
Harry watched the red-eyed man standing in front of him, the darkness he felt before was almost tangible now.
"Why have you come here?" The words broke the silence.
The dark angel stared.
"Am I not allowed?" He wondered and the boy shook his head.
"The angel of death doesn't belong in a church."
The idea was simple.
The angel of god takes a life because it's in god's plan, or so says the vicar. It is understandable that god will not allow him to kill in a church, unless he has a good reason for it.
With that in mind…"What makes you think this is what I am?"
Harry smiled but didn't answer. After all, they both knew he was right, so why argue?
"What's you're name?" The man asked and Harry cocked his head to the side, "Harry, but you knew that already." It wasn't a question.
The man stared at the boy for another moment before his gaze turned to watch the church.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" The whisper startled him, even if he didn't show it. "It all fits." The child carried on.
"What fits?" Voldemort asked and the child sighed. "God's house with an angel inside, even if it is a dark one."
"It was said that there is no light and dark-" He as cut off by the child.
"Only shades of grey, yes I know."
Voldemort shook his head and briefly wondered if he was making a mistake.
"Are you going to grant me my wish now?" Harry asked.
The dark wizard pulled out a wand. Yew, thirteen inches with a phoenix feather.
It was the brother of another who will never have a master.
"Do you want to see your family again?" The dark lord spoke and Harry nodded.
"I always wished it, yes."
Voldemort paused once more before he pointed the wand to the child's heart.
"Close your eyes." He whispered and the boy complied.
"Do I need to keep wishing?" Harry asked silently and the red eyed devil smiled.
"No. there's no need. Your wish is going to come true in any case."
With that he spoke the two words and watched the green light heading towards the boy.
So caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the boy's silent words of thank you.
He didn't answer.
The young body fell to the floor almost soundlessly and Voldemort felt his breath hitch.
He, himself, was no angel…but the boy…Harry Potter was the perfect example of one.
Pale skin that seemed to glow even in death, eyes closed with a blissful smile on his face.
He was beautiful and it saddened the great lord to kill such a being.
The boy needn't have died. He had no magical powers so he wasn't dangerous, but it had to be done. Not only to show his followers that he wasn't scared of his one time defeater, but he had the feeling that the life Dumbledore (the old fool) had sent him to, with the muggles, was just like his own at the orphanage.
The boy's wish to die so could be with those he loves was proof enough that he was right.
Yes, Harry Potter had to die by his hand, if only so it wouldn't be by the muggles.
As he left the church, Voldemort was glad that Potter's perfect picture of the church wasn't ruined.
There in god's house, with the clean floors and the washed windows that glittered in the sun's gaze, laid an angel.
An angel that finally got his wish.
The end.
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A/n: I wonder what a shrink would say about the fact that all my latest stories are about death.
Anyway, please review because I'm working really fast over all my other fics…