Hello, new story here, I hope you enjoy. Reviews are very appreciated.

Regards,

Seoul81

"Lucifer, you are my brother, and I love you, but you a great big bag of dicks."

Harry jerks awake, breathing shallow and rapid, with his pupils dilated, and the distinct knowledge that something had changed. He remembers flashes of pain. A deep scar stretching from his left hip to his right shoulder blade- something stabbing through his heart, and darkness. He feels the jerk of something unlocking before the burning starts.

.

.

.

It starts when he is ten with small bumps sprouting just above his shoulder blades.

Dudley's hand-me-down clothing is always itchy and catches on his skinny frame, so Harry doesn't notice the long scratches across his back until his bathroom day. He sighs in relief as the irritating fabric pulls away from his skin- and gapes.

Between long rows of inflamed scratches and a patchwork pattern of bruises, two tiny red bumps show plainly in the bathroom mirror, pulsing with thin purple veins streaking across the surface. They twitch as if in accordance with his shock.

Turning abruptly away from the mirror, Harry draws a shaky breath and turns on the water (cold, as always). Willing himself to believe the strange growths are a figment of his imagination. During one of the rare times the Dursleys watched something other than game-shows on color tv the medical show had been talking about cancerous growths. It explained that overweight people were more likely to contract medical symptoms and how some people developed skin cancer. At the time, Petunia had been flippant complaining how the doctors loved to make up new non-existent medical conditions.

The bumps numb in the cold water and he struggles to stop the water, no matter how cold it is. A banging sound shakes him from his thoughts and the appearance of the two strange forms are quickly forgotten in favour of washing away the dried, scabbed blood from his knees.

Nobody could know about the growths. Least of all the Dursleys, lest they try and "normalize" him.

.

The next few weeks were filled with scratching.

The irritated skin around the two nubbins burning even more fiercely than the slow growth of bone and sinew. It nearly drove Harry mad. Aunt Petunia had started wondering about the specks of blood on the back of her nephew's shirts (though she loathed to admit it).

Two tiny solid lumps of bone, flesh, and tendons shown tauntingly from his back the next Thursday. They were lightly feathered, clumps of grey down fluffed to a ridiculous degree, making Dudley's old sweater puff out like a fine pillow. They looked somewhat like the roasted chicken wings he was made to prepare every Wednesday, little bits of fluff clinging to flesh pink skin. The pockmarked skin beginning to fill out with tiny primary and secondary feathers.

Now, it was almost painful to sleep on his back as the soft joints screamed in pain when pressed down on the thin mattress of his closet. When the things sticking out of his back kept on growing, he stole the bandages that aunt Petunia kept for "patching up her dear Dudley-Dums" and bound the stubby limbs.

They were growing too big. Too big, yet he couldn't bear to cut them off. They were beautiful. They were his. Not a cast-off of Dudley's or something picked up from charity, but his.

Soft russet brown feathers ruffled as if agreeing with his thoughts, flexing slightly and twitching near the wing tips.

"BOY! Get down here!"

The wings flinched as Harry startled, and he rushed to bind them.

.

The primary education school nurse is checking weight today in the infirmary. Harry had never been as tense as he was right now. What if they discovered the wings? Would the extra weight clue them in?

The day of the exam, he's trembling violently in Dudley's hand-me-downs. The nurse asks him to take off his shirt to use a stethoscope and becomes frustrated after he continually insists on keeping his shirt on. The commencing tug-of-war between the nurse and himself causes all sorts of materials around them. The posters of body anatomy begin to tear while cracks appear with the noise of breaking glass sounds without anything touching the bandage and lollipop jars.

It's a lengthy struggle, and one that causes attention from outside of the nurse's' office. Just as the nurse manages to tug off his shirt, the lock on the office door jiggles loose, and a worried school teacher rush in.

The sight of wings the size of a small buzzard on the back of their student serves to stun them. With a shriek of terror, Harry wills his teacher and nurse not to remember the event.

The two adult figures abruptly drop to the ground like puppets released from strings, faces pressed against broken glass and pieces of plastic-covered paper.

Harry riffles through the rest of the students medical files and finds his cousin's papers. He writes Dudley's heart rate per minute and blood pressure, hoping that the school officials won't notice. He then flees the scene, returning to his classroom peaky, but in the strange knowledge that his secret is safe.

When the nurse awakes, she finds the mess in her office, and assumes the unconscious teacher had wrecked havoc on the office while drunk before being knocked incoherent by the jar of needle points shattered on the floor. The teacher is abruptly fired while the nurse can only wonder how one of her smallest patients had a blood pressure to match his obese cousin's pressure.

The new teacher is at least sixty years old, arthritic joints and severe cataracts that render him nearly blind. He is old, but ludicrously religious; reciting christian prayers during class instead of teaching maths, condemning students of different races to turn to christianity.

He never notices the small green-eyed boy with two massive bumps on his back.

.

Three more weeks passed in this manner, and Harry began to see the results of waiting.

Golden brown plumage with yellow secondary feathers aired plainly in the pale light of the bathroom window. He tests them, beating the limbs and feeling brisk air flow between the under feathers.

It's magical.

Harry beats them harder, wings falling into a constant rhythm he'd oft seen the tiny starlings outside the window do. What little dust buffets into the corners of the bathroom, crashing sounds as towels and soaps and bottles of shampoo knock askew. Harder and harder, maneuvering the wings into a slightly curled position. Leaning forward and feeling the joints creak with sudden pressure before realizing that he's hovering!

With what limited space there is in the bathroom, he manages to fly shakily toward the window, wanting to see the sky and follow the undefinable urge to shed some sort of barrier. He's partway through forcing the window open when he realizes that he's bleeding sluggishly from a piece of glass from the shower door is sticking through his foot.

...And that Petunia is at the bathroom doorway, face white as death and grip loosening on the broom in her hands.

The magical feeling abruptly stops as he halts the beating of his wings and crashes to the linoleum floor, unmindful of the glass shards scattered on the floor. A moment of stunned silence rings throughout the room.

He'd been caught.

He'd been caught! What if Vernon caught word of this? He couldn't-couldn't lose his wings- not right now. Not right after the freedom of the air; the casualness of flight a wonder to him after being grounded.

Petunia started screaming and the silence broke abruptly.

The pounding of heavy steps and lighter ones followed the choked off scream and resounding boom from the bathroom.

Harry doesn't know what he does, but the deep feeling of loathing lashes out in a flash of blinding light.

There's the instinct to grab Petunia by the face and he does so, through her shrieks of agony. He vaguely notices the drywall and metal of the sink, the closet almost disintegrating from the light, and his male relatives being flung in a blast radiating from his person while Petunia's eyes and mouth stream with light.

The moment passes as soon as it began. Petunia drops, slumped to the ground with her eyes glazed and wide open. Harry looks on in apathy as Vernon roars in rage over the body of his spouse. He has half a mind to smite the obese man as well for the healing belt marks on his back, but chooses to take flight instead. Golden wings spread wide in flight, he nearly cries at the sheer joy running through his veins.

He's free.

Vernon and Dudley Dursley would swear that they saw an angel take Petunia to heaven.

Particularly knowledgeable christians would say they saw an avenging angel smite a woman's soul into non-existence.

Nurses at the hospice would whisper about the unresponsive husk of a woman's body.

Harry doesn't know why, but he thinks that a brown haired smiling man named Gabriel would say that his aunt got "just desserts".

P.s: Edit made on chapter on April 19th, 2016