Wings of a Wizard (Harry Potter x Winx Club x Fate Winx Saga Fanfiction)

Prologue (PLZ READ 1ST)

Author's Note: Feel free to skip to the middle of the chapter. Just a short summary of HP's life until his rebirth. The rebirth section is where you want to start. 

X - normal text

X - text where Bloom is not present

'X' - thoughts

'#$X#$' - Parseltongue

Prologue: 

I died in my sleep. I'd lived a good life, despite my less-than-stellar upbringing, and my teenage years. Having an immortal Dark Lord after you because of a self-believing prophecy and abusive relatives will do that to you. 

My mother and father were murdered just a few months after I turned one. Despite having hundreds of moving pictures, school stories, and old notes and diaries, it's hard to feel a connection to them. Maybe it was just me, I was emotionally jaded after all. 

My future headmaster made the tough call to place me with my mother's only remaining relatives since all of the family on my father's side who could've taken me in were either in prison, or dead. 

Growing up at the Dursleys was a life I wouldn't wish upon anyone, well, maybe my worst enemies (then again, similar situations had created the people that would become my worst enemies). Ever since I could remember, I was yelled at and shouted at for the littlest to the biggest of things. 

If I was too loud, if I was too slow, if I was in the wrong room, taking too long to do a chore, ruining a chore--like Dudley's bacon, I was harshly punished. I grew up with regular beatings, starved, and looking like a pale half-skeleton, which really wasn't far from the truth. 

When I was seven, Dudley started to do worse in school. I'm guessing all that fat and sugar he consumed finally clogged up the veins and arteries that carried blood to the brain because the fat lump couldn't even do multiplication. 

The teacher was a young, but balding lady who wore a brown wig. She was a childhood friend of my aunt, so naturally, she believed everything the Dursleys said I was and was mean to me. Eventually, I grew so angry that I snapped. Something inside me popped, and then children around me were pointing at her suddenly blue wig. 

That wasn't the only accident either. Dudley trampled a whole flowerbed my aunt had just planted last week while I was weeding nearby. I feared getting caught, as my aunt would likely strike me across the face before locking me up in the cupboard, then when my uncle got back he'd belt me. 

When Dudley went to tattle (he loved getting weak little 'freak' into trouble) something popped within me again, only stronger this time. The flowers grew back, unbroken, tall, and proud, nearly ready to bloom. My aunt couldn't verbally abuse me for the flowers, but she could attack me since I had yet to finish the weeding. 

Another incident was a year later. I was eight, and Dudley had several friends by this time, all of them as fat, mean, and piggy-faced as he was. Their favorite game was called, "Harry-hunting". I learned how to run, despite my serious case of malnutrition. Pain, was the best motivator, after all. 

Of course, Dudley's gang, more specifically, Piers Polkins, was more intelligent than I gave him credit for being. He was the one to direct the other boys when the hunt started, usually during recess, lunch, or right after school. 

Hiding in various places did me no good, as anyone who saw me would snitch--they were scared of Dudley's gang and didn't want to get hurt. As much as I wanted to call them spineless cowards, they were just kids, kids who were still learning the difference between right and wrong and didn't want to get hurt. It's hard to hold that against them.