A/N: Well, here it is - the grand finale. Although there is still the smut scene to write/post, since I'll be doing it as a separate chappie for all you who don't want to read it. My Arthur is a real slut during sex... just be warned...
EDIT: To those of you who want to read the smut chapter, which was originally an interlude posted as the chapter after this one, it has been moved to this link: maplerevival. deviantart (dot com slash) art/AKMD-Interlude-Love-to-an-Angel-307939742. All of my smutfics are also being moved there to avoid them being taken down, so if you want to read my smut, please go there, and take the spaces out of the link first, obviously. For this smut scene, it should be a worthwhile detour.
P.S. I've also got a fluffy ending chapter planned, that I've been thinking about since, like, page 1. Stay tuned!
Chapter Nineteen: The Guardian of the Stars
"Well, well, well. Bonjour, petit frère," a mocking voice hissed, dripping with menace. "Miss me?"
Francis whirled around, grabbing his wand and shooting a curse before he could even stop to think. But the person it was aimed at deflected it with a mere flick of the wrist to send it ricocheting into the wall behind her with a bang, and was standing with her hand on one hip, smirking at him lazily when the smoke cleared.
The woman looked to be a few years older than him, with long blond hair the fell in waves down her shoulders. Her full lips curled in a slight snarl, and her aggressive stance oozed anger, but that wasn't what made Francis's blood run cold.
Her eyes burned red.
The very same scarlet had glowed in Arthur's eyes when the third warning had been written. Francis's stomach suddenly sank with the horrible realization that what he'd been wondering in the back of his mind since then had been absolutely right.
"Andrea," he breathed incredulously. His wand arm fell limp to his side as he stared at the form of the sister he'd thought to be dead for two long years. He'd seen her hit the ground, seen her neck snap and the blood pour from the split, and remembered as clearly as if it were yesterday how he'd run into the house, screaming and sobbing hysterically. He'd watched them bury her. But now she was here, standing before him, smirking evilly and every bit as alive as he'd remembered her to be. Except the eyes. They hadn't changed.
"Oui, petit frère," Andrea replied, not a bit of the menace fading from her voice. "It's big sister Andrea. You've grown since I saw you last."
She was advancing toward him now, wand held threateningly, and with every forward step she took, he took one back. Francis managed to spare himself a split-second glance over his shoulder, and saw that Arthur was still lying limp at the edge of the pool, beautiful white wings spread out beneath him. Francis swerved in his retreat so when he could go no farther, at least he would be between his sister and the fallen angel.
Now Andrea was prowling in front of him, like an angry cat carefully plotting its next move. "Arthur was right to call you a stupid frog," she whispered.
Francis faltered. He stopped in front of Arthur's body with a low, quiet murmur that seemed to slice through the air like a knife.
"Why?"
Andrea growled. "Did you really think I was going to keep my filthy blood traitor family's name?" she hissed, pure hatred saturating every word. "My, you really are a stupid little child, Francis. Oh, no. Not when I'd seen what should be rightfully ours."
"Ours?" Francis demanded, fists clenching angrily.
"Oui, in possession of the Purebloods," Andrea snapped. "Why should it be, that gifts are always bestowed upon those too weak to use them?" She jerked her head toward Arthur, sprawled behind Francis, and suddenly he understood—but that was still the least of his worries. Letting his gaze linger over Arthur's chest a few seconds more, his stomach lurched and heart leapt into his throat when he realized it was no longer moving. Arthur wasn't breathing. He just barely fought back the urge to fall next to the angel and feel desperately for a pulse, and with some effort he managed to pull himself away and back into the present.
"Mudbloods are cowardly and pathetic," Andrea spat, pacing angrily back and forth. "The last ones who should be blessed with the gift of a second form are them. And yet, the only times it occurs naturally, however rare, are when accidental magical blood is misplaced. Like dear little Arthur here; he was one of the rarest."
Andrea leaned in close to touch Francis's face, and he slapped the hand away. But all she did was smirk, straightening up.
"Have you ever heard of the Custos Stellarum?" she asked, the smirk soon fading to a furious glare once again. "It translates in Latin to Guardian of the Stars. There were three here at Hogwarts. My plan was simple—make sure Arthur got the ring. Even after I died, a piece of my soul was preserved in it, and it could feed off his life force; grow from him, possess him. He was easy to control. Weak, as you might say."
"Arthur is stronger than you ever were," Francis said, voice quivering with suppressed rage. Andrea didn't even falter.
"And now, as he grows weaker, I grow stronger. Soon his angelic form will be mine—and rightfully so. The process will be complete." She leaned in close once again, taunting him. "Death Eaters aren't the only ones who learned tricks from Lord Voldemort," she breathed.
Francis glared at her, gripping his wand handle so tightly his knuckles were white and fingers numb. "Vous salope," he hissed. Andrea smirked, backing away.
"Oh, I may be a bitch," she said smugly, snapping her fingers over her shoulder. Francis's gaze wavered, his fear returning with creeping fingers as his stomach sank in dread of whatever horrible creature she had just summoned. "But at least I'm a live one."
Suddenly, in a huge explosion of water, a huge serpent came roaring up from the depths of a pool just behind Andrea, its enormous jaws snapping hungrily as its war cry echoed through the Chamber.
"Kill them slowly," Andrea hissed in Parseltongue with a nasty smirk. "But leave the Mudblood. He is mine."
The basilisk lunged for Francis as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
Huge, empty eye sockets still stained with blood from whenever the basilisk's terrible, deadly eyes had been gouged out met with Francis's blue gaze, laced with terror, and he did the only thing his instincts allowed—sprang to one side to avoid the deadly fangs that had ripped away the lives of two other students so far this school year. Francis didn't plan on being added to the collection.
He skidded aside on the wet floor, hearing the basilisk whip past and feeling a rush of air as it just barely missed. Nearly falling into the deep pool behind him, he just managed to stop his slide before he slipped into the water and pulled himself back to safety on the floor. Suddenly a shout from the other side of the Chamber caught his attention, and he recognized it as Gil's voice.
"Francis! Get Artie! I'll keep it distracted!"
"Bien!" he called in reply, stumbling to his feet and running for where Arthur was still lying, untouched by Andrea's orders, and scooping him up just before the basilisk came back for another round. It roared and lunged again, sending Francis sprawling to his knees, curled around Arthur to keep him from getting hurt in the fall, before he was up again, stumbling half-blindly toward the other end of the Chamber, dodging attacks in ways he would never find possible afterward. Do it for Arthur, he told himself. Do it for Arthur. The basilisk was getting ready to lunge again, and it had him trapped against the wall. He turned his back to the great snake to put himself between it and Arthur's body, only able to think of one thing: protect Arthur. Protect his angel.
"Hey! Over here, you ugly brute!"
Gil's shriek echoed through the ringing in his ears, and through the adrenaline haze Francis turned enough to see a sharp rock fly and crash into one side of the basilisk's head. It stopped, growling, before after a split second that lasted an eternity, it turned away and went rampaging after Gilbert instead. Andrea's enraged shrieks in Parseltongue for it to get the fucking Mudblood back did nothing to faze it. The basilisk was truly angry now, and seemed to have taken to hating Gil with a certain passionate loathing that most animals seemed to feel toward him, for some odd reason. It struck Francis as strangely funny in the desperate situation.
Not even taking a second to rest, he managed to get to his feet and run back toward the middle of the Chamber, not wanting to be trapped against the wall again if the mad serpent decided to come back for another round. But after taking one look at Gil and the basilisk, Francis didn't think that would be happening any time soon. He wondered vaguely where in hell Matthew was through all this, but it only slipped into his mind for a brief moment and was gone. Gil was fighting—as he would put it, and rightfully so—awesomely.
And when it was only his fists up against an enormous, scaly powerhouse of fangs and muscle, that was saying something.
Gilbert had lost his wand when he'd thrown the rock at the snake to get it away from Francis and Arthur, and now he was oddly unregretful. It was as if the option for a more evenly-matched fight had never even existed. Every second was a cheat with Death—and he was loving it.
But Francis could see what the albino didn't, in his adrenaline-drunken state. Gil was fighting with inhuman strength and agility, yes, but he didn't seem to realize what was happening. It wasn't enough. He was being pushed farther and farther back—
And closer to the deep pool of water.
Francis wanted to do something, but he knew if he let go of Arthur, Andrea would be on the angel in a minute and the entire reason they'd started this insane venture would be destroyed. So he could do nothing but watch as the basilisk slowly but surely gained the upper hand, and Gil fought slowly but surely closer to his death.
And now, suddenly the albino seemed to realize it. Time slowed down as he managed to lock eyes with Francis. The world was a muted blur of green and blue and gray, all except for Gil's scarlet gaze in the mess. The basilisk was drawing back, getting ready to strike, aiming its final, deadly blow straight for Gil's throat. Then it tensed, and lunged, jaws opening wide as it plunged forward, closer—and closer—
Francis could hear someone shouting in desperate French and knew it must be himself. He felt himself moving forward to try and stop the impossible, even though he'd never even thought of wanting to do any such thing and his mind knew it was hopeless, but his heart wouldn't give up.
Suddenly everything stopped.
Cutting through the daze like the sharpest glass knife, was a shrill, screamed shriek of war. Francis had never heard such sheer desperation and fury and pure, stark rage that the split second of dead silence didn't even register.
"PALM TO THE HEAAAAAAAD!"
Matthew.
A small, black-robed figure had launched itself at the back of the basilisk's head, the glimmer of the sword in his hand glinting with the same fury in his voice just before it was driven straight through the great snake's skull and sank straight through, out of sight.
A scream of agony. The basilisk stopped mid-lunge and unleashed its deafening wail, screeching to the ceiling. It swayed, wavering, still letting out that dreadful dying scream, before finally, finally, it collapsed to the ground just next to Gil. The last echoes faded away as Gil and Matthew stared at each other incredulously for a second, and then Gilbert grabbed the smaller boy and pulled him into the most perfect kiss Francis had ever seen.
The silence was deafening.
"Non!"
A sudden yelp of anger made Francis jump, and Gil and Matthew broke apart as Andrea came stomping into view, screaming in incoherent strings of enraged French. "Baisez cette Dieu maudit merde! Sang de Bourbe stupide, ruinant tout! Ce n'est pas la façon dont il est censé à la fin! Dieu maudit, je le jure, je vais l'assassiner moi-même et faire en sorte qu'il pourrit en enfer—"
"Time's up," Francis whispered, raising his wand. Andrea stopped, and then laughed.
"Not quite, petit frère," she hissed, advancing on him. With every step closer, manic victory glinted in her eyes. Oh, no. Something was very wrong.
Andrea walked right up to him, and slowly, rather than pressing the wand to his jaw, she lowered it to poke against Arthur's cool skin and met Francis's eyes evenly as she threatened the smaller boy, cradled in his arms.
"Lower your wand, or I kill him," she whispered.
Francis shook his head. "I'll hex you," he hissed back. Andrea pressed the wand tip farther into Arthur's jaw.
"I'll have killed him before your spell hits my body," she replied with pure, searing hatred.
They glared at each other for a full minute, before Andrea pressed the wand up against Arthur's neck even harder, gaze not even leaving Francis's eyes. "I'll do it, you know," she muttered.
Finally, Francis sighed and lowered his wand. But his sister didn't stand down.
Instead, she took the wand away from Arthur's throat and moved it to Francis's. "I could've killed you, you know," she murmured offhandedly, clearly contemplating it. "I can still kill you."
Her scarlet gaze wavered, and she raised the wand again, nodding to herself as Francis braced himself for the worst.
"Oui, I think I will..."
And just as Francis was trying to think of running away, ducking, something, a jet of red light came rocketing out of nowhere to slam into her and send her crashing into the wall. The place where her head had slammed had a bloody stain, and Francis would never be able to erase the memory of that sickening smash from his mind. For a moment the silence rang again. Andrea was collapsed against the wall, her skull quite obviously smashed and blood leaking into her long blond hair, matting it together in a tangle of yellow and red.
She was no longer breathing.
Francis looked back to see Matthew tucking away his wand.
"Merci," he said breathlessly, and Mattie only shrugged, looking a little sheepish.
"I only meant to Stun her," he muttered quietly, sounding a little embarrassed and hoarse from the explosion of noise he'd made in the magnificent war cry that had saved Gil's life. Francis didn't blame him. He didn't think he'd heard someone yell so loud before in his life, much less the ever-quiet Matthew Williams.
"So, what now?"
Gil's voice interrupted the silence that had been broken only by the sound of dripping water. Francis sighed and squared his shoulders, starting back toward the door to the Chamber of Secrets. Now that he was reminded of it, Arthur felt heavy and cool in his arms—not warm, and inhumanly light, like he should. He bit his lip, refusing to let the possibility of him already being dead seep into his mind. Instead, he answered Gil's question with slow, deliberate words.
"We'll take Arthur to Dumbledore," he murmured, voice shaking a little as he adjusted the fallen angel in his arms, pulling Arthur closer as his mind refused to accept the inevitable possibility. "He'll know what to do."
The stairs seemed to spiral on forever; first the staircase back up to the Room of Requirement, and then a race through the corridors to find Professor McGonagall and explain everything, and then another battle with time to run with her up to Dumbledore's office. The school was completely deserted, with all the other students locked away in their common rooms, and without them it was eerily silent. Hurried footsteps echoed as the three boys and teacher made their way toward the Headmaster's office.
By the time Francis was carefully placing Arthur on the floor and explaining everything yet again to Dumbledore, the sun was setting, a ball of fiery red against a bloody sky. Francis didn't think he'd ever seen a sunset so bright. It streamed through the windows and lit the floor ablaze, illuminating everything with a brilliant red light. It reflected beautifully on Arthur's soft white feathers.
He couldn't stop glancing at how pale the angel's face had become, and didn't dare feel for a pulse—for fear there wouldn't be one. He found himself having to take deep, steadying breaths every few words now, his voice shaking, and just as he finished the story, it cracked. Swallowing hard, Francis looked up into Dumbledore's kind face desperately.
"Isn't there anything you can do?" he whispered.
The old Headmaster sighed and shook his head. He turned away. Francis bit his quivering lip, forcing himself to breathe deeply. Gil and Matthew just watched, despair and desperation etched in their eyes. McGonagall looked down, staring at the floor.
But slowly Dumbledore turned back, as though contemplating an idea. He looked at Francis again, and then to Arthur, and then back to Francis.
And then, finally, he spoke.
"That ring is a horcrux," he said quietly. "If we can destroy it now, there is some chance that Arthur may still live." Dumbledore extended a hand. "Hand me the ring."
Francis, still biting his lip, did as he was told. He took the uncomfortably hot emerald ring from Arthur's finger and placed it on the Headmaster's desk.
He would never remember Dumbledore using an incantation, and he would never really be able to recall how suddenly there had grown a long, slim flaming snake from the end of the Headmaster's wand. The fire had taken shape, and now it was slithering closer, scorching the air around it, demon eyes glowing like coals straight from the pits of Hell. Slowly it took the ring from where Dumbledore had placed it on the desk, leaving a large black burn mark in its place. A second after it had eaten the ring, the fiery snake screamed in agony, and in a white-hot blast of light, both serpent and ring were gone.
No one moved.
Finally, Dumbledore was the one to speak in the shaken silence. "It is destroyed now," he whispered. Francis immediately fell next to Arthur's body, feeling desperately for a pulse. He tried his wrist, and then neck, and then put a hand over the angel's heart. It was still. Finally, the tears spilled over as he was forced to accept the truth.
There was no pulse to find.
Instead, he took Arthur's cold face in his hands, sobbing quietly and wanting to do something, anything, to restore the damage his horrible sister had done. "Oh, God, Arthur... please wake up, please..." he whispered, collapsing on the lifeless angel's chest. He dissolved into quiet tears, body wracking with muffled sobs even as he tried to keep them inside. Gil and Matthew didn't speak, but Mattie had a single tear sliding down his face. Francis pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur's forehead, unable to stop crying brokenly. He could even hear McGonagall sniffling behind him.
But suddenly, the chest beneath him rose.
And fell.
And rose again.
Oh, God. Arthur was breathing.
Francis looked up just in time to see green eyes flutter open and immediately lock with his own, all traces of the bleary glaze they'd had in the Chamber having vanished. He sniffed, trying to hide his face, but another sob escaped his throat—this one not of grief, but joy. Arthur looked at him for a second, then pulled him into a hug.
"Why are you crying, frog?" he whispered. Francis didn't even answer; he just hugged back, still sobbing happily, barely even hearing the cheer that erupted from Professor McGonagall, Gil, and Matthew behind him. He didn't even see it as Dumbledore smiled fondly, nodding his approval. All he cared about was the now warm, breathing, living angel, soft and slim and held tight in his arms. Francis could've died for happiness.
"You're such a sap," Arthur whispered, rolling his eyes. He sat up, full white wings trailing limply behind him for a moment, before they lifted from the floor and stretched, as though it were completely natural. Gil exploded in laughter behind them at the way Arthur didn't even appear to have to think about it. His best friend was part fucking bird.
Francis just laughed and closed his eyes, resting his chin on Arthur's shoulder and letting the memory of those beautiful wings etch itself into his mind.
It was pitch-dark by the time everyone had left Dumbledore's office to let him sleep in peace. Gil and Matthew headed up to the hospital wing together to get some of Gilbert's more severe cuts and bruises treated, and McGonagall bustled off to alert the kitchens of a feast now scheduled for tomorrow night, to celebrate the end of the Chamber of Secrets, once and for all. Francis didn't remember taking Arthur's hand, but their fingers were tightly entwined as the two of them walked down the torchlit corridor, glowing with warm light against the inky, star-specked midnight of the windows. It was almost as if Arthur thought they would be separated again at any moment. Every time he gave Francis's hand a little squeeze, Francis's heart leapt happily and he squeezed back, but it felt odd, to be holding his hand and feel it warm for once. He was still an angel; beautiful and white, green eyes shimmering brightly against the full, soft feathers of his wings, folded carefully against his back. It seemed so second-nature for Arthur, to have wings. It made Francis want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and another part of him wanted to just reach out and stroke those feathers. He wanted to touch.
They had been silent for some time now, simply reveling in the quiet that was no longer awkward. After all, when you save someone's life, that has a tendency to restore friendships beyond what any apology could ever fix. Finally Francis spoke, giving voice to the one issue that had been on his mind since they'd managed to escape the Chamber alive.
"Arthur, when... when we came down after you into the Chamber, Andrea said something about the Custos Stellarum. I-I've heard of them, but only in legends and such. And now that I know you're one of them..."
Arthur looked at him quizzically, a small smile on his lips as he watched Francis struggle for words. Finally the Frenchman sighed and shook his head. "I guess, what I'm trying to ask is, why didn't you tell anyone? It's not exactly a gift to be ashamed of, Arthur."
The angel sighed, looking down under Francis's blue gaze. It took a moment of silence for him to gather his thoughts, put them into some form of a reply. Finally he spoke.
"I just didn't want to be looked at as a freak," he murmured. "You know how kids are—always looking for someone different from themselves, and I just wanted to have a home where I was like everyone else for once. Because God knows I'm normal at my parents' house," he added, turning to Francis with a crooked grin. But it soon faded as he looked down at the floor again. "And besides, it's considered extremely dangerous to be one of us," he murmured. "There've been all kinds of religious wars and genocides against us, and many people target us for the powers. You saw how Andrea went after me like that. Wings are only the beginning.
"A lot of people think it's immoral and Satanic to have a human angel, and to throw magic in on top of it all—and to some extent, I agree with them. But... it's not really something we can control."
Francis quirked an eyebrow, looking at him questioningly. Arthur smiled a little again, green eyes sparkling and happy.
"Guess you didn't know I can't control when I change, huh?"
"Non," Francis laughed. "So, do you just grow wings in the middle of class or something occasionally?"
Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh, and he smacked the Frenchman gently on the shoulder. "Oh, hell, no! I mostly just change when there's danger threatening me or someone close to me. I haven't changed all year because the influence wasn't strong enough to overpower Andrea draining me through the ring. But I was at such a risk of being killed when she kidnapped me and dragged me down into the Chamber to finish the process that the transformation finally reacted, so I could fight. And..." He blushed a little, looking away sheepishly. "You saw how that went."
Francis laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. "You could've beaten her and that snake any day, mon petit amour, if she'd been playing fair. And besides—" He gave Arthur's had a little squeeze, leaning in closer. "If you hadn't been taken, I couldn't have saved you and you would never have given me a chance to apologize for last night."
Arthur stiffened and held his hand a little tighter, but didn't stop walking. "You're right," he finally murmured. "I wouldn't have." He paused, slowing down their pace for a moment as though carefully contemplating what he was about to say next. After a few seconds, he licked his lips and continued.
"And this reminds me," he whispered. "I never got a chance to thank you properly, did I?"
They had stopped walking now, and Francis realized he stood just behind the angel, pressed gently against his shoulder with his hands resting lightly on Arthur's slim hips. They were soft and warm through the thin silken fabric of his tunic, and he felt Arthur take a small, sharp breath when he rubbed his hand over the skin softly. His own heart missed a beat.
"Non," he murmured back, getting ready to pull away, but a slim hand caught his own and kept him there.
"Francis... thank you."
Arthur turned his head back to meet Francis's eyes, reaching up to trail feather-light fingertips lingeringly along his jaw, and just when the Frenchman thought he was only teasing, Arthur finally, finally leaned in to lock his mouth over his. Francis let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding against the full, soft lips that were claiming his own, before kissing back gently—again, and again...
His eyes had fallen peacefully closed as he gently turned the angel in his arms so they were pressed chest-to-chest, arms around each other and the kiss slowly growing deeper. He ran his tongue along Arthur's bottom lip, feeling mildly satisfied with himself when the angel shivered and parted his lips to allow Francis inside. Arthur tasted spicy and warm, like peppermint and some slightly bitter herb he couldn't quite place, but loved all the more for it. Francis couldn't get enough of it, pushing deeper into his mouth, wanting all of him, his breathing growing ragged. Arthur moaned, hands finding their way up to tangle in his hair, and pushed himself closer. His tongue flicked out to taste Francis, like cinnamon and sugar and sweet nectar from the honeysuckle flowers he'd used to pick when he was little. Slowly, Francis's hands were slipping from his waist—to move lower, and lower...
Arthur's arms were around his neck now, his legs sliding up to wrap around Francis's hips and make him moan into the angel's mouth. Arthur didn't notice his wings were straying open to fold loosely around them also, until finally Francis broke the kiss, panting, and Arthur blushed as he realized the Frenchman's hands were cupping and rubbing his bare ass beneath the tunic, the look in those pure blue eyes hot enough to burn.
"Dieu, I want you so bad..." Francis breathed huskily in his ear, breath hot and heavy, and he quickly took one arm away from Francis's neck to cover his mouth and withhold a moan. Arthur shut his eyes again as he felt the heat pooling between his legs overwhelm the embarrassment that had lit his cheeks only a moment before. The image of that lusty look burned into his closed eyelids; seeing it on Francis Bonnefoy's face, and directed at him, paired with the skilled hand that had slipped up and under the fabric of his tunic was just too much. He bit his lip and sighed in pleasure as he felt Francis's fingers kneading again and rubbing in hot little circles, but squirmed a bit to tell the other boy he wanted down.
Francis looked a little let down but set him gently back on the floor, where he locked their fingers together again.
"Someone might see if we do this against the wall in the middle of a school hallway," Arthur murmured, leaning up to whisper in his ear. But then he went on with a smirk, watching out of the corner of his eye as Francis's expression went from disappointed to delighted to thoroughly aroused with his next statement. "And besides—I know a much better place."
Honhon, yummy gay kisses... I wuv.
Anyway - did you get all that? I tried to explain it as best I could. Basically, Andrea was fiddling with the dark arts long before Francis even had the slightest clue, and managed to make a horcrux. She then put it into the book to hide it, and lie in wait for the opportune moment to put her plan into action, but was killed unexpectedly, and after the funeral and such, her things were auctioned off because Francis and his family had no place to put them. So that's how it ended up in the bookshop - and it was mere chance that one of the very ones she'd been trying to kill had picked it up.
Also, the Britannia Angel is actually in the Hetalia manga - and England officially changes into the angel when there's danger or an imbalance that needs to be corrected. The actual strip is quite hilarious. And now I can tell you why I killed Feli - because yes, there was reasoning behind that. Apparently, Italy is also shown as an angel, which in this case, means he would also be one of Andrea's top-priority victims. China... well, he's girly enough, right? /shot/
Well, that's it for now, eh! Hope you liked this chapter, 'cause I sure did. If there's anything you didn't understand, leave it in the reviews, and hopefully you'll receive a lengthy explanation reply within the week!
Thanks for reading! I promise I'm done now.
Love from Maple