Chapter 42. Angel
The day started off pretty good for Harry Evans. Then again, disasters are sometimes like grenades thrown at you from behind the bush while you take your daily walks. There's not much foreshadowing, just a loud boom and a static silence. The Sunday, the 9th March, will be the explosion that will go down in the history as the worst nightmare of the Wizarding World.
~xXxXx~
"Harry." Astoria smiles as she walks towards me, her golden-brown sandals slapping softly against the floor.
Today is our date, the Hogsmeade outing I promised to go with her.
She's garbed in a cute sage green dress, the bodice hugging her skinny frame, held up by dainty spaghetti straps that expose her arms and delicate shoulders. A wide, cinched waistband emphasises her tiny waist before the dress spills into a flowy tulle skirt, reaching her shins, showing the sandal straps that wind up her ankles.
Pretty. Her outfit is really pretty, if a bit impractical. It's cold outside, and everyone is wearing at least three layers. It's March, after all. She'd be a shivering mess as soon as she stepped out of the castle. Nevertheless, a powerful warming charm should do the trick. And unlike others, I won't have to reapply them constantly.
I wave my hand at her as she halts before me, applying the charm. "I did not know the weather forecast predicted angels walking the earth."
It's not just flattery. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked when we first met. She was short and petite with perfect silky hair and refined features, cocooned in deep melancholy that radiated like palpable heat. She sought me to escape death, and instead of providing selfless help, I took advantage of her for gacha points.
I regret that.
Since then, she has changed. She has grown a couple of inches, and her body has filled out a little, nowhere near enough to suddenly turn her into a buxom bombshell, but enough to put more meat on her frame, so she isn't just skin and bones.
The biggest change, however, is her personality. She's still mostly reserved, but with no death looming over her anymore, she is happy and confident. She can smile and laugh, she can grin and joke.
"I suppose an angel is a good match for a god," she quips, waving her wand at herself, revealing a strange necklace dangling from her neck, turning it visible.
I narrow my eyes at it.
The silver chain looks great against her blemishless skin, it's the pendant that leaves me confused. A small metal coin with the insignia of a pair of wings.
I step closer and inspect it, my fingers brushing against her collarbone as I grasp the pendant. "What is it?"
Astoria's cheeks darken at our proximity, her breath getting heavier. "You don't know?"
"Tori." I fix her with an expectant stare.
"It's the necklace for the Children of Rayhmir," she answers, her eyebrows raised, "to show their allegiance publicly. Priestess Alice gave it to anyone who wanted to join the religion. You really did not know?"
I shake my head as I step back. Alice should've informed me before handing these out. "You don't have to wear it, you know. You're not some follower. We are much closer than that."
Her lips curve up, and her eyes shine with mirth. "I want to. I was the first to witness the miracle of the great Lord Rayhmir. The one true god."
I'm glad the gleam in her eyes is humorous rather than fanatical. One Alice is enough.
"I'm a jealous boyfriend. Unless you want to go on a date with 'Lord Rayhmir', you better chuck it away."
She giggles and takes it off immediately, handing it back to me. "I like Harry Evans more than Lord Rayhmir. You don't have to worry."
"Good." I pocket it before taking her hand in mine. "Now let's find a carriage to have some… private time."
Her cheeks reddens once more, and she nods shyly, allowing me to lead her away from the abandoned classroom. As we reach the crowded courtyard where the carriages are stationed, I find a handful of more 'Children of Rayhmir'.
It's been only three days since the establishment of the Church of Rayhmir, and yet here we are, the influence reaching the good old Hogwarts. And it will only grow as time passes. It's an odd feeling. There is a sense of pride and triumph, of course, but also a niggling feeling that I can't put my finger on.
I try not to react when I find these necklaces on the people I know. Neville, Daphne, Seamus, and a few more. My sisters give me deadpan looks when our eyes meet, as if it's my fault these people are wearing these.
Helping Astoria into a carriage, I climb after her and close the door before anyone else can intrude.
"Are you a god, Harry?" my blonde date asks, curious as she sweeps the straight mane over her shoulder. She sits elegantly, her back straight, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
I plonk down beside her, mulling over the question before replying. "I am… godly. I don't think you'll find someone stronger than me. I can cure anything. I can grant many wishes. I can even resurrect the dead if the conditions are right."
She hums, unsurprised, as she leans back. Then she shrugs. "I love you no matter what you are."
…
…
Usually, love confessions come after numerous dates. This is new. "I lo—"
She puts her finger on my lips. "Don't say it back when you don't mean it. Say it when you do, I'll be waiting."
I kiss her fingers. "Sorry."
She scoots closer and presses into my side, wrapping her arms around my left hand. "I'm just happy I can finally go on a date with you."
Her warmth feels so gentle and loving, her scent so sweet, like a cup of hot chocolate when tired. And then there's the softness of her body, of her skin, that sends a thrill down my spine. As the carriage starts moving, I turn my face towards her and capture her lips, the press of our mouths chaste and unhurried.
I heave her into my lap, swallowing her gasp. I embrace her tight, until I can feel her stiff nipples against my chest. Her fingers are lost in my hair, while mine roam over her dress hungrily, revelling every time they find lush, pliable flesh.
The ride to the village is spent without words, while our lips move and communicate in a far more intimate way.
~xXxXx~
The date is… nice—surprisingly so. With every new shop we enter, Astoria grows more lively and talkative. I'd gotten a glimpse of her bubbly nature while I was in my cat form, but seeing her act the same way with me as she does around Daphne and Davis feels flattering.
We spend more time in the clothing store than anywhere else, which quickly reveals just how much she loves dresses. It might have been boring if she weren't trying them on and posing for me, smiling every time I complimented her. Most of the dresses were more cute than sultry, but it was a treat nonetheless. By the time we leave, she's spent nearly a hundred galleons. I offered to pay, but she declined. The Greengrasses are still very much loaded.
We end the day with butterbeers and pastries.
"Thanks for going out with me," she chirps, our fingers intertwined. "Today was fun."
"It was a pleasure." I smile.
"It will be a pleasure." She hip-checks me, grinning.
I laugh at her suggestive tone. She's right. It will be a pleasure. Good thing I have my own quarters now. No need to take her to that cramped upper room at the Three Broomsticks or settle for the filthy Shrieking Shack.
We stop abruptly when she breaks into a fit of coughing.
I wince and rub her back.
"Sorry," she mutters sheepishly, wiping her mouth with a hanky, followed by a series of hygiene spells.
As we climb into the carriage for the return ride and close the door, I point my finger at her and activate my [Heal] skill. She's enveloped in golden light for a moment. When it fades, she shakes her head.
"It was just a simple cold. Did you really have to use your divine powers?"
"Yes." I lean in for a kiss. "Now pay me back."
She giggles softly and meets my lips, offering no protest when I drag my palms up her sides and cup her breasts. They're full enough to fill my hands, and the texture of her dress feels nice beneath my palms. She bites my bottom lip when I brush my thumbs over the prominent impressions of her nipples on the fabric. They're hard like stones. I rub circles around them, occasionally flicking them, loving the way she moans.
Since the carriage ride is too short to escalate things further, we restrain ourselves, limiting ourselves to kissing and light caresses.
But once we are in my quarters, all bets are off, and we lose ourselves in each other, spending the rest of the time until dinner tangled in the sheets.
~xXxXx~
"Rose." I call when I don't find her in the common area. Astoria left half an hour ago to freshen up before dinner. And I finally decided to get off the bed and accompany Rose to the Great Hall.
"In my room," A weak voice barely reaches me.
With my brow furrowed, I open the door and enter. Painful wheezing greets me. I find Rose lying in her bed, buried under a thick blanket up to her chin.
I walk over and grimace at the sight.
Her face is deep red, her eyes bloodshot, and her nose running.
I step back when she starts hacking, almost lurching from the impact of her violent coughs. It goes on for a whole minute, and when it peters out, she flops back in exhaustion, wiping her nose with a grumble.
I sit down at the edge of her bed and put my palm on her forehead. She's practically burning.
"Seriously, Rosie? You should've come to me and I'd have cured you." I cup the side of her face and use my [Heal] to restore her health.
The effect is immediate. Her red face goes back to normal. Her breaths don't come as wheezes anymore. And her fatigue vanishes.
She sits up and wipes her face on the blanket. "You were busy bonking Iris' friend. Didn't want to disturb you two lovebirds."
I open my mouth to argue before thinking better. She's right. That would've been awkward for Astoria.
"Wait here. I'll wash up quickly and then we can go." She slides off the bed and hurries to the en-suite.
Once she's done, we make our way to the Great Hall. Again, I'm greeted by painful coughing. And it's not only one person this time. Nearly everyone has caught a cold. No matter if they are from Gryffindor or Slytherin. Or if they're a student or a professor. The usual murmur of chatter is replaced by coughing and wheezing.
At the Gryffindor table, only Iris and Astoria are untouched. I can guess why. Iris' instant-regeneration ability must've purged the disease before it could find a foothold, while Astoria was treated by me earlier. Though there's definitely a risk that she could catch it again. I'll keep an eye on her.
Settling down on the bench, I resist the urge to heal my friends as they cough in their hankies. I'm just Harry Evans, I tell myself. I'll leave the healing to the professionals.
It must be some viral disease, I think. What surprises me is why they haven't been cured yet. Madam Pomfrey should've easily dealt with it by now. There are so many potions out there to expel the contaminants.
I listen as Dumbledore takes the lectern and informs us what's happening, that it's not only Hogwarts that's suffering through… whatever this is. The entire wizarding Britain is under its thrall. He explains that St. Mungo's is already working on a cure which should be available soon enough.
"Do not fret, children. The healers have studied it and found it to be no threat. While the coughs are agonising, they pose no danger to our lives. In this trying times, I ask you to—"
There are gasps as Dumbledore falls over abruptly and doesn't rise again.
A minute later, Madam Pomfrey shakes her head with tears in her eyes. The panic that follows is unprecedented.
~xXxXx~
In the morning, the Daily Prophet reveals many crucial things. First of all, the disease is actually life-threatening. It will start with coughing, but end with death, once black coagulated blood starts coming out instead of phlegm. Also, it spreads and works dangerously quick. In a span of a day, it has spread everywhere. The government has termed it as plague and shut down the borders, to limit it from spreading out of the Isles.
While the nation is wrecked by the deadly plague, I receive a horrifying letter.
It's from Alice.
There are instructions on what should be done next once the country reaches this point.
The signed date in the letter is before the plague even began.
I crumple and vanish it, grinding my teeth in fury.
What the fuck is she doing?
~xXxXx~
A mother grunts and struggles in the crowd, keeping her arms raised so her toddler doesn't get crushed in the press of bodies. Her dead toddler.
Like with everyone else, it began yesterday. And while she's still breathing—if with enormous effort—her son is not. He stopped sometime in the early morning, when his little body couldn't suffer anymore.
The healers couldn't help, but one ma—no, god, could. Alas, she isn't the only one to think that.
Diagonal Alley is filled with thousands of wizards and witches, all desiring to reach the Church of Rayhmir. It's practically a river of people, bursting with weak bodies, crushed against the store fronts, moving forward inch by inch.
The mother's feet are sore from moving through this dense crowd. Yet, she doesn't give up. She doesn't just go home to die in peace. Because while her own life is worthless, her son's is not. The little bundle of joy had—no, has, so much potential. She brought him to his world, she would not watch him leave it.
Someone steps on her foot, and she screams in pain, her toes getting crushed under the weight. But no one pays attention. She's just a drop in this river, there are thousands more screaming and crying for help, begging for the attention of a god.
Sweat and body odour assault her nose. Blistering hot bodies surround her, crush her. She has long past gotten used to it—the stench of sick bodies, the press of their flesh against hers. On another day, she'd have been scandalised by the proximity of strangers against her, the feel of their hands on her as they shove forward. But when the question is the life of her own son, she would gladly jump into the pit of similarly miserable people.
She doesn't even know how long it has been. At least three hours, she's sure. Maybe less. Maybe more.
The Golden Cathedral is finally in sight, and her heart leaps in joy. Even her hands stop aching momentarily, the weight of her dead baby akin to a soft feather.
Then the stampede happens.
Someone yells and those yells are matched by others. And the human wave teeters back and forth.
She gasps as she stumbles back, the sudden space behind her messing with her balance. She shrieks and tries to keep her arms raised, to stop her legs from bending. It's too late. She falls and the human wave surges forward, washing over her.
A quick instinctive move brings her dead child under her, and she rolls on top of him, saving him from the merciless limbs, suffering them in his stead.
"Silence. Stop moving. Help each other."
The calm melodic command comes from the sky. She feels herself getting heaved up. The same people who trampled on her are now helping. She's not the only one. All those who fell are now back on their feet.
As if on a cue, everyone looks up at the same time.
There's an angel in the sky. The powerful sun behind him makes it hard to figure out his appearance, revealing only a dark silhouette, but she can see the large white wings flapping mightily in the air.
"I am Rayhmir. Now, tell me, what do you desire?"
The command isn't directed at her, or she would've yelled for her son's life. It's asked to the young man standing on the roof of the cathedral, visible to everyone.
She blinks as memory stirs in the back of her head. Isn't it the same boy who was once resurrected by the god? Neville Longbottom is his name, she thinks.
"I want you to heal or resurrect everyone who was affected by the plague!" The young man yells at the sky, his voice loud and steady.
"If that's what you wish."
The mother hears the cry of her son and feels strength returning to her body.
She sobs and hugs her toddler with one arm, raising the other in the air, towards the silhouette of the god, as if to touch him.
He's no longer there.