Wings of Sun

A Surprising Birthday

Harry had always known that he was a freak. Uncle Vernon had enforced that quite enough. But this, this would have to be the icing on the cake.

Stepping closer, Harry turned sideways, looking at the copper brown wings that protruded from his back. They looked like a bird's wing, sort of like an golden eagle's, something that Harry only knew from the bird book he had managed to sneak from the school's library.

He folded them, testing their flexibility, then stretched them out to their full span, folding against the walls of the bathroom. He touched them, running his hand down the outer feathers. They were soft.

As if burned, he quickly retreated his hand.

This was bad. This was very bad. If Uncle Vernon saw, he would be punished severely. It was one thing to make things happen unexpectedly, but it was something else entirely to be a mutant freak.

He tucked them close to his back, as tight as he could without it being painful. He put his shirt on and made sure the fabric covered his wings completely. There was a small lump near his shoulder blades, but it would have to do.

Quietly, as to not disturb the sleeping occupants in the next room, he tiptoed to his cupboard. He undid the latch, and folded himself into the small space. Huddled in the corner, he shut his eyes.

~'~

The next morning was eventful to say the least. Letters addressed to him had arrived in the hundreds, some coming from the mail slot and others from the fireplace. One stuck itself through the crack in the kitchen window.

Finally, Uncle Vernon had enough. He ushered them all to the car and went to hotel after hotel. The letters seemed to follow them wherever they went, the addresses changing to where they were. By the end of the day, Harry had found himself on the dirty floor of a house on the rocks in the middle of raging waters, a large storm sloshing the waves over the rocks. Dudley was snoring on the couch, one arm over the side. Scowling and putting a raggedy jacket over his head to block the sound, Harry continued doodling in the dust.

He contemplated letting his wings out, as they were starting to hurt. He listened for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, only hearing rhythmic snores coming from the other room. He took off his shirt, letting his wings unfurl. Oh, that was so much better.

He ripped holes in the thin shirt, right where his shoulder blades would be and put it back on. After a couple of tries, he stuck his wings through the holes he had created.

He double checked to make sure his aunt and uncle were still asleep then turned to look at Dudley's watch.

11:59. One more minute until he would be eleven. He counted down silently in his head.

5...

4...

3...

2...

1...

"Happy Birthday to me," he whispered. Exactly after he murmured that, a loud bang came from the wooden door.

Harry jumped back, and Dudley leaped from the couch to the far wall, completely awake.

Another loud bang and the door broke down. A large thing was standing in the doorway. It ducked down and came into the room.

Harry gasped.

The "thing" turned out to be a very large man whose face was mostly covered by a very scraggly beard. He had on a large dirty beige furry coat with way too many pockets. A necklace of dead chickens hung from his neck.