Disclaimer: I don't own any characters or anything else related to Harry Potter; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made.

Saving Angel

You don't speak any more.

In the beginning, you asked me why. You demanded answers, so brave, so fierce, like you always were. After some time, you begged for them, broken, crying. Now you're silent.

They never told me, either, so I eventually stopped asking, too. I knew it anyway, just like you.

Sometimes, you almost managed to convince me that you don't. You seemed so sincere, so honest.

"I don't know what I did to you, please tell me. Tell me why!"

I felt tempted to comply, more than once. But of course, I didn't. It wouldn't have been right, wouldn't have been fair. After all, I want you to understand. And you couldn't understand if I told you, now could you?

It's painful for me as well, you know. Seeing you lie there… it's like looking in a mirror that shows the past – my past. Only too well do I remember how it was… the cold, the hunger, the pain and fear…

But it is necessary, even though you won't believe me. You need this, my love. You need this punishment, and what a lover would I be if I didn't give you what you need?

I love you. One more reason why it hurts to do this. I don't like seeing you suffer – well, that's not entirely true. You're so beautiful now, even more so than before. You're thinner now, and paler – spending several months in a dungeon, away from the sun, has done this to you, and I find myself admiring the contrast of your hair and skin.

I have always been pale, and when I was freed, I looked like a corpse, anaemic and ugly. You will never be ugly. Whatever I will do to you, it will make you even more beautiful. I love how the blood runs down your lithe form, how it caresses your cold skin, so warm, so red. I smeared it on your lips once, and I watched you lick it off and remembered… remembered the metallic taste of my own blood.

All the blood, those bruises and barely healed scars – they're signs of redemption. With every new one, your guilt slowly fades away. Aren't you happy about that?

Pain purifies.

Yes, you are beautiful, my love. I could just sit here and watch you for hours, and so I do. We have all the time in the world, you and I.

I often find myself thinking about how it could have been. I watch you, naked, battered, shivering on the icy stone floor, and I wonder. How would it have been, had you come? How would it have been, had you fulfilled your duty? For it was your duty, wasn't it?

I knew you would come. Every day, I waited for you, every day, I prayed for you to come.

They laughed at me when I told them, but I didn't care. They didn't know, couldn't know. Maybe father had known love, once, before He made him His slave. He certainly never knew. So no wonder they laughed at me. After a while, I didn't hate them any more. I pitied them.

I knew you would come and save me, save me, like you would save all the others, the whole Wizarding World. You were our saviour, everyone said so, and they all loved you.

But no one loved you like I did, like I still do. It came as a complete surprise to me, you know. I had always thought I hated you. But somewhere along the way, I realised it was the opposite. It wasn't hate – it was love. I don't know when it happened, or why.

But I knew that you knew, although I never told you, couldn't tell. You couldn't have possibly missed it. You couldn't. You knew I loved you, and that's why you would come and save me. I knew it. I wouldn't have been able to survive without this knowledge. You were our saviour. My saviour. Brave, noble and pure, beautiful like an angel. My Saving Angel.

I was never afraid you could lose the fight against Him. You had defeated Him once, you would do it again. He couldn't kill you. You're an angel, and angels are immortal.

Before I stopped speaking, I laughed at them, told them why He would never win. Of course, they didn't understand. They didn't know what you were, they wouldn't believe me. They said I was crazy. But I'm not – you killed Him, didn't you? He couldn't win. I had been right all along.

I remember father's face when he came to my cell that day. He was beside himself with fury and fear. I couldn't help smiling at he sight, even though I was barely alive by then. He was vanquished. Now, finally, you would come and save me.

I knew that one day, the door would open, and it wouldn't be father, but you. You would come and undo my chains, and you would smile at me, and maybe you would cry – because of what had been done to me. You would gather my battered body in your arms, wrap your snow-white, feathery wings around me and tell me everything was all right – angels like you have wings, don't they?

I was wrong.

It still hurts to think of it, to think that you, of all people, betrayed me. You, the only one I could rely on. My own father had imprisoned me, tortured me, because he had realised I wouldn't follow his master; my mask had failed. If even my family didn't love me, whom could I trust beside you?

I trusted you, my angel, but you forgot about me, like everyone did. It was mere accident that I was found, long after everything was over. I took no pleasure in being free again. You hadn't come. You had failed me. It was worse than any pain they had inflicted on me.

That is why I must punish you, my sweet love, my unfaithful angel. That is why you are naked and chained, why you haven't seen the sun for so many months, why your arms and legs have been broken, why your body - so, so beautiful still - is marred with scars, caused by a whip, a stick, a knife. Sometimes, I can see your wings, no longer white and majestic, but broken, burnt, soiled with blood. You're a fallen angel now, but I love you no less.

"Why, Draco?" you once asked me, crying, pleading. You used my first name, and never did it sound more beautiful than from your trembling lips. Your crystal tears were running down your cheeks, just like the droplets of blood on your freshly cut chest, and you were so beautiful, and I loved you so much.

I would have liked to tell you then. But of course, I couldn't. You need to understand, love. You need to know how it was for me, back then, when I was waiting for you in vain, waiting for my angel to come. How finally, I lost hope. Day after day, night after night, alone in the dark, cold, scared, hurt. It never ended. It has not ended yet, even now.

I still lie in the dark, every night, and I feel cold, so cold, and so alone. You're not with me. Not yet. But do not fear, my love, for this will not last forever. Soon you will be free again. Soon you will have paid enough. I don't want to hurt you more than necessary, believe me.

It is evening now, but of course, you can't know, since the cell has no windows. The only light you know comes from the candles I bring when I come to you, and now I'm going to take them away, to leave you in the dark for another endless night.

Before I go, I bend down to look in your face. Your cheeks are dry – you have run out of tears long ago – and there is no hope left in your eyes. They were so vivid once, shining brightly with joy, anger, hate, fear. Now they're dull and empty, and I recognise that expression. It's the one I saw in my mirror, too.

You are broken, I realise, broken into thousands of shards, like glass, so fragile. With no hope for salvation, you finally understand. I look down at you, and I smile. Tomorrow, everything will be different.

"Good night, my angel," I whisper, and kiss your forehead. You stare at me silently – you don't understand. Never have I shown affection, it would have ruined my efforts to do so. Tomorrow, I will explain you everything. Just one more night, just some more hours, and everything will be all right again.

I get up and leave, and the last thing I see before I close the heavy door is your skeletal form, shaken by tremors, your breathing coming in ragged wheezes. Just one more night, my love, just one more night. I am not afraid for you, have never been, during all those months. There was no reason – you are an angel. I might have died at the hands of my father and his Dark Lord, but you can't die. Angels are immortal.

I find it hard to sleep tonight, because I have to think of tomorrow. I had to punish you, my love, had to show you exactly how I felt, to help you to atone for your sins, for your failure. But one thing will be different: Other than you did with me, I will not forget you. I will come.

Tomorrow, I will be your Saving Angel.

Night creeps by, hour after hour, and finally, I fall asleep. It is still early when I awake again, but I can't wait any longer. I need to see you, my angel, my love. My hands tremble when I unlock the door to your cell.

I find you still asleep, lying limply on the ground. Your chest is no longer heaving with wheezing breaths, the tremors have abated, and your wounds do not bleed any more. You look so peaceful, almost like you knew I would put an end to it today. I undo your chains and shake your shoulder a little to wake you. You don't react. I call your name, but still, you won't open your eyes. You must be sleeping more deeply than I had thought, but I understand you need to rest. Even angels get tired. Even angels need to recover from torture like this.

I sit down on the floor, cradling your thin body in my arms. How cold you are. Just as cold as I felt inside. But no more, no more. Now we can be together, like we should be. I will hold you, comfort you, nurse you back to health. You will see.

When you wake up, I will show you how much I love you. I know you will be thankful – like I would have been, had you come to save me. But that belongs to the past. All that matters now is the future. Our future.

I stroke your hair and pale cheeks while I wait for you to awake. I look down in your face, so peaceful, so beautiful. How I love you!

I will wait for you. My angel. My Harry.

We will be so happy.