Everyone knows the stories of the Angels. Hauntingly beautiful women, in clothes dangerously close to indecent forever locked, staring at their flame. The kind of heart would be immediately brought to tears in their presence, the echoing of their despair a physical weight. The cruel would find themselves lusting for their form, only to find their burning wings to be of a true and unrelenting heat.
Fearfully, Harry came upon one deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. An eerie glow from tepid flame shone across her ethereal features. It was as if an angel of vengeance came forth from the skies only to prove to humanity that Angels too have flaws. She was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
She sat upon a great tree root, burning wings never spreading their tongues of heat. A faded white dress adorned her, torn in shreds, one strap half forgotten, but it was her eyes that stole Harry's breath.
She gazed at the reddish tinges of her flame with such melancholy as if it would reveal one day a solution. So great a contrast to her ethereal face was this pain that Prongs, proud, tall, and wreathed in contentment sprung forth from Harry's wand unbidden. Still, the beautiful giant made no recognition of their presence. It was only when Prongs snorted softly over her flame that she finally moved. Moving slowly she leaned forwards, providing Harry a view of the half formed feathers spread across her forearms, and pressed a gentle kiss across Prongs snout. He disappeared then, swirling into her flame, until it turned a soft cerulean hue.
Any sunrise would pale in comparison to the slow rise of the corners of her mouth into a gentle smile.
Harry had met an Angel, and she had smiled.
