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Serendipity and the fallen seraphim	By : Gemma Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1373 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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"So much the more
His wonder was to find unawakened Eve,
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest."

I can still remember the rough yet pleasant texture of the envelope beneath my fingers.
I held it in a gentle grip as seated on my windowsill I peered out into the darkness. My fingertips caressed the edges, occasionally pausing to run over the fluid line of ink that read 'Serendipity'. My name. The lack of surname adding an intimacy to this address that thrilled and perplexed me.

I raked a pale hand through my black hair, and heard once more that captivating masculine voice from my dream, "My raven-haired, beauty."
He had claimed me at that moment, and to wake to find that he had graced me with a correspondence, was altogether too much for me to comprehend.

My mouth was still filled with the ghostly remnants of that bitter chocolate and sinful cream, and the skin of my arms still tingled and burned. I knew as soon as my gaze fell on the envelope that it would be he who had placed it in my beloved book, and now I held temptation in my hands. I was unwilling to fall so easily, and so I paused and allowed my mind to drift in thought once more.

The day I first began to develop symptoms of the illness that had threatened to kill me all those years ago, was a day of realisation, a day of dark discovery.

My cheeks unnaturally flushed and my eyes too bright, I had chased Sylvester the feral cat from the house, terrified that my father would discover us at play and ban me from feeding the big rugged feline I loved so much.

Sylvester was the size of a small dog, his face large and expressive. He had only one ear, the other long gone, leaving nothing but a silver-pink scar. I imagined that the noble, brave Sylvester had fought another rangy tomcat for the love of a beautiful, sleek female. Perhaps a pure white elegant longhaired Persian, or a slinky Russian blue.

Susanna had laughed at my tales, and suggested that maybe Sylvester was a vicious alley cat who fought hard for his territory. That sounded magical somehow too, and so whenever I pulled the lanky cat into my arms, I would whisper into his remaining ear, telling him what a big brave kitty he was, and how he would always be my little 'bruiser'.

On that day years ago, I chased Sylvester's mangy, slightly crooked tail into the grounds of my family's estate. It was Autumn time, and the lawn was covered in a blanket of dieing leaves of orange, red and yellow, bursting forth with stunning colour in their final moments of life.

The sky had been grey and overcast, the large voluminous clouds holding my attention long enough for me to notice the varying shades, and the burnt orange of the sun which was fighting to push it's way to the front of the clouds, like an eager child desperately wanting to be the first in an ice cream queue.

Sylvester was too quick for my short coltish legs, and in no time at all it was just I on the lawn, left alone in this burning, dieing world, the trees reaching out skeleton fingers for me to grasp, as if seeking for comfort and the warmth of the living.

Aimlessly I wandered across the grass, kicking the leaves in my way so that they flew up in small clouds of swirling colour. I laughed, though I felt too warm despite my cool dress and ankle socks that left my legs open to the chilly damp air.

Wiping the beaded dew from my little leather shoes, I licked away the moisture as only a carefree child can do, a smile on my pink cherub's mouth.
The wind blew forcefully into me then, and I threw out my arms, laughing joyously and spinning around until the world was nothing but a multi-coloured blur. I ran after that, giggling as my dizziness caused me to waver, spin and finally fall in a happy feverish lump of cotton dress and cascading golden hair.

When the dizziness retreated and my blue eyes opened to take in my surroundings, I realised that I had drifted quite a distance from the house. Wide eyes searching for a familiar landmark, I realised that in this coloured scattered world of dead leaves and skeleton trees, I knew not the way home.

Lower lip trembling slightly and my head beginning to ache and pound, I stood on shaky legs and began to walk.
"Sylvester!" I called tremulously, and then gradually louder, my voice rising to a panicked crescendo.

My little heart began to pound and as the ache in my head increased, fat tears rolled down my flushed hot cheeks.
"Daddy, daddy!" I cried in a panic, my little legs racing across the grass. Every tree looked identical and the brash colours that encircled me seemed too garish for my panicked gaze, and feverish vision.

"Help, Daddy help me!" I cried, sobbing freely now. All I wanted was for my father, the man I knew to be strong and capable, to come and find me. And when he did he would lift me up in his strong arms, kiss my face free of tears and transport me safely to my bed, where Susanna would read to me and I could fall asleep in the cream coloured, soft plush duvet, my sleepy eyes staring up at the high ceiling, decorated as it was with images of cherubs, angels and young girls with wide blue eyes and golden hair.

But my father did not come, and eventually the ache in my head grew so great that I sat down on the grass, leaves wetting the hem of my dress and my small girlish knickers.
My socks were also soaked and the biting wind bit into my skin, the cold creeping into my body, though still my cheeks burned.

I sat there and cried, fingers splayed over my face, my pink mouth held open as the sobs wracked my small frame. And then as if summoned by some magical force, a cloak was wrapped around me and strong arms pulled me to a warm body.

Lifted in this embrace I managed to stutter out a faint, "Daddy?" But when I turned my eyes up to those of my rescuer's I did not see my father's familiar green. Burning blues met my curious, frightened gaze, the corners of pale skin creased with concern and mild annoyance.

I reached a shaky hand to touch the impossibly silky and platinum blonde hair, my eyes growing steadily wider.
"Angel." I whispered, though I am still unsure whether he heard me or not, so frail was my voice.

I was shivering violently though my saviour's body and cloak were deliciously warm.
"Shh, quiet now, little one." His voice crooned, and as if bowing to his greater will my eyelids began to droop, heavy as they were with sleep and fever.

But the moment before they closed I noticed something marring the perfection of his pale smooth cheek. It was a dark drop of something, which reminded me of the wine my father drank each evening in a large beautiful glass with a stem that twisted and caught my eye.

Without thinking I shifted in his arms and raised my face, licking away the tiny droplet as Sylvester would lick food stains from my giggling mouth. My angel's eyes widened in shock, before those beautiful lids fringed as they were with the palest eyelashes, became hooded once more.

A metallic salty taste assaulted my senses, and I wondered where I had tasted something similar before. So deep was I in my childish, confused thoughts that I was barely aware of us moving, and it was only when the estate came into sight that I became aware of the motion of his long even strides.

Sighing softly, I nestled further into his embrace, feelings his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. I snuffled into his chest, feeling so blissfully safe in the arms of an angel. My angel.

Of course, my illness grew steadily worse after that event, the cold escalating the symptoms and filling my lungs with a chill that made me cough and writhe.
But I was unwilling to think back on that terrible time once more. Hadn't I thought over it so many times in my lifetime?

Instead, I turned my gaze back to the cream envelope which appeared so simply yet symbolised so very much. Had I always been destined to hold this decision in my hand?
Once touched by an angel could a mortal ever ache for anything but the repeat of that blissful, sinful moment?

Blue eyes fixed on the sloping writing that spelt my name and called to me in a voice so seductive that I almost shivered in the dim light of my room. Glancing once more at the darkness of the night, my head filled with captivating visions of burning wings and fevered cheeks, I slipped one long finger under the closed end of the envelope, and eased it open.
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Serendipity and the fallen seraphim