One only had to look at Number Four Privet Drive to know something was wrong with it.

The date was late July 1991, and the house was covered in butterflies.

"I am not sending him to some school to become a fairy!" A voice roared from within. There was a ripple of colored wings that could have been construed as a communal titter.

"I—I'm not sure we have a choice, dear…" a female voice sounded resigned.

"There's always a choice!" A man roared back.

"Well, if you can think of one, why don't you grace us with your idea, Vernon?" She snapped back as she gestured to the boy in front of them. "How can we hide him when he's gone off and sprouted wings?!"

The boy was small for his age, with messy black hair, bright green eyes, and glasses. He also had a pair of brilliant gold and burgundy wings sticking out of the back of his shirt.

"Well, your sister could keep it under control, couldn't she? She had to have!"

"Only after she went to that place and they taught her how," the woman said bitterly. "We had to hide her in a closet when the neighbors popped by until they came to get her."

"Well, how long until they can get come get him?"

"We write a response on the leaf they sent us and then we blow it into the wind," the woman told him. "Then they'll send someone at nightfall tomorrow."

"Downright primitive if you ask me." The man harrumphed. "How does it know where to go?"

"Fairy magic." The woman shrugged. "But that's how it works. He'll be gone."

"I'm not sure we can pass up this chance," the man said eagerly. "It'll save us quite a bit of bother and money."

"Then I'll write them back right now," the woman said, as if the boy wasn't in the room. She rose to her feet and went to look for a pen.

"Go to your room, boy," the man said sternly, and the boy slunk out of the parlor and down the hall to the bedroom he shared with his cousin.

He opened the door and a heavy-set blond boy a few years older than him sat up on the lower bed of a set of bunk beds. "What did they say?"

"They're sending me to that school. They finally have a way to get rid of me." The smaller boy said in a small voice.

The other boy sucked in a breath. "Maybe I can come with you?"

"How?"

"As your thrall."

"Are you insane? We just found out about this and you want to be a thrall? You don't know what that means! I don't know what that means!" The boy thought for a moment. "I'm not even sure how you do it."

"Isn't it just a promise?"

"Can't be. You bet me yesterday the Tigers wouldn't win and you're supposed to be my slave for the day. If it was that easy wouldn't you already be my thrall because you're pledged to me today?"

The other boy looked downtrodden. "You're probably right. We probably have to do a blood oath or something."

"I'm not cutting my finger open for you."

"Harry! Dudley!" The voice was sharp.

They looked at each other in bewilderment.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

"Besides sprout wings."

"Shut up."

"What's this?!" Vernon burst into the room, startling the boys and waving a large leaf around. It had gold writing on it.

"What is a thrall and why are they insisting Dudley register himself?!" Vernon demanded, his eyes bulging.

"It's all my fault, dad," Dudley spoke up eagerly. "Entirely."

Vernon turned on his son. "What do you mean it's all your fault?"

"I said the Tigers would win yesterday and Harry said they'd lose, so I bet him that if they lost I'd be his slave for the day…" Dudley trailed off as he saw his father's shoulders slump.

"We didn't know," Harry spoke up nervously. "We'd never have done it if we had. I swear."

Vernon tried to throw a dirty look at his nephew, but he looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He sighed deeply.

"Well, then it looks like the both of you are going off to school."