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CHAPTER 1

Harry sat on the swing in the park quietly, content to listen to the world at large as he waited for the Dursleys to cool down so that he could return to them without being injured too badly. He'd done it again; his freakishness had gotten the better of him. He wasn't sure how he ended up on the roof of the house, but however he'd done it, he was sure that it wasn't by normal means.

He wondered how he'd come to be like this, sitting on a swing, freaky, strange, and unloved. Maybe other people had guardian angels. It would explain a lot. Certainly, if anyone needed an angel, it was him.

Freaks don't get angels, he told himself pointedly, even though Petunia hadn't said that. You don't deserve that. It was probably true though.

And yet there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that maybe he should have an angel. Maybe he just needed to prove he deserved one.

Just then, he heard a feminine cry, and the way it cut off broke into him and tore at his heart. He knew that tone, the tone he himself had used so many times, and so he got to his feet and raced through the trees at the edge of the park, determined to protect the girl who'd cried out.

He stopped again at the edge of the trees, peering out, and waited for an opportunity. The girl was small and fragile-looking, her hair bushy and brown, and she was sobbing over a torn-up book while a few boys watched on, laughing all the while.

He gasped quietly when there was a burst of light, and suddenly the boys had writing all over their bodies, from head to toe, covered in black words. They screeched and cried out, swearing their revenge, and ran off, leaving the girl behind to stare, gobsmacked, at where they had been.

Harry was a bit worried, but he quickly made sense of what was happening. This girl was like him, a freak of nature who needed an angel.

Quietly, to himself, he wondered what to do. Obviously this girl needed an angel; but where to find one? And how would he convince them she needed one? No, better that he protected her where he could…

He felt another burst, and he toppled back into the undergrowth with a groan, watching as the girl ran off, her torn book in hand. He was about to follow her when he realized there was a weight on his back.

Turning around to look, he gasped. On his back were two fluffy, white wings! He reached out and caressed them gently, feeling the feathers on his fingers, and tentatively tried to use them.

The first few times, his attempts were clumsy, unguided, and altogether failures, but after the fourth or fifth attempt he realized what he needed to do. He stretched them out, flapped harshly a few times, and finally rose a few meters into the air.

He dropped to the ground again with an agonizing 'oof!' but while his headache was worse his smile was bigger. Things were starting to make sense. Perhaps he was an angel, awakened now that someone needed him? It made sense. Then again, perhaps it was just his freakishness again, but he didn't really mind. If he could use it to protect the girl, he would.

It was a few hours later that Harry was flying, flying far above his little world and seeing the world beyond. It was a wonderful feeling, flying, and he hoped he'd have many chances to fly, again and again. It only occurred to him as the sun began to go down that he couldn't return to the Dursleys with two large wings on his back; they'd accuse him of freakishness again and kick him out for good, so he may as well jump the gun and head out instead of taking his chances at the hands of his aunt, uncle and cousin.

He stretched his wings, breathed out, and rose.

Hermione Granger sat in her room and took deep breaths, her favourite book - Matilda - on the floor next to her. Shuddering, she reached out, and after a few moments the book rose slowly and hovered into her waiting hands.

Somehow, she doubted what she could do was the same as what Matilda could do.

It always happened when she was being bullied, or when she was really distracted with a good book. She knew her parents had noticed; the milk would pour itself, the pages in her books would flip on their own, after the first few times bullies would avoid her like the plague. She didn't blame them for keeping their distance; if she were them, she would too.

She curled up on her bed and held the book to her chest. Normally she'd immediately begin reading it, but today she felt like watching. For what, she wasn't sure, but she entertained the thought that perhaps tonight something magical would happen, just like in her stories.

She stared out the window at the moonlit darkness. It was really rather pretty, now that she thought about it. The backyard, with its tall, green trees and weed-littered lawn was glowing with moisture in the moonlight, the angel in the tallest tree ruffling his feathers….

Angel?

ANGEL?

Leaping to her feet, she dropped a book for the first time in her ten years and glued her eyes to the glass. It wasn't her imagination; there really was an angel in her backyard!

She watched him for a few more seconds. He had shaggy black hair, and his wings were fluffy and white as snow; he looked rather thin, but perhaps that was normal for an angel. Taking a calming breath, Hermione raced downstairs into the living room, where her father sat working on his laptop, which was malfunctioning again, and her mother read a cookbook.

"Mum, Dad! Where's the camera? Quickly, quickly, quickly, or he'll fly away!" Hermione screamed. The two parents hopped to their feet in surprise, but after a few more moments of delirious screaming, Hermione's father pushed a handheld camera she'd gotten for her last birthday into her hands.

"Thank you!" She called, racing back up the stairs. Hopefully the angel would still be on the tree when she got back.

She hopped the last step and stopped abruptly in front of her door. Opening it slowly, camera at the ready, she gasped silently as the door creaked open.

The angel was on her windowsill.

Thankfully, it was turned away, looking at the moon. She raised the eyepiece to her face and peered through it, steadying her shaking hands and pushing down the button.

The flash went off.

The angel bounced away immediately, gliding down and swooping upwards, flapping hard to gain height as Hermione raced to her window and peered out, camera at her side. Soon the angel disappeared altogether, and she sighed sadly, staring at the spot where she'd lost sight of it for a few more moments before finally returning to her bed and collapsing on her sheets.

She pushed a few buttons and began rifling through the pictures. Most were of her house, her family, and the nearby park. Finally reaching the end, she awed at the proof in her hands.

Luckily, she'd caught the picture right before the angel had moved. The flash meant that there was a bit of a glare from the window, but it was still clearly an angel. She'd even caught the moon in the picture. She smiled at the little screen, holding it above her head, and for once books were completely out of her mind.

"I should frame this," she murmured, getting to her feet, holding the camera tightly to her chest. Walking calmly downstairs, she then decided that she wouldn't tell anyone about the angel; surely, when people found things like this, they kept them secret to protect them? Her parents wouldn't believe it anyway, and if she told her teachers she might be sent to the loony bin. No, she'd keep a secret. Her own little secret.

"Dad?" Hermione peeped around the edge of the doorway into the living room. "Could you set up the printer for me? I want to print a picture."

Dan Granger sighed and got to his feet, walking to his printer and putting the pictures on his laptop. He handed it off to his daughter - after all, she was a careful child, and would never hurt his tech - and walked off, rubbing his headache.

Hermione quickly had her picture printed. Nodding once, she deleted the file from her camera and handed the computer back to her father.

Now, to make a frame for it…

Harry took a deep breath and hopped down to the windowsill again. The bright flash, probably from a flashlight, had scared him out of his wits, so he'd taken an impromptu midnight flight to ease his nerves, but he had a mission to complete.

Sitting on the windowsill, he stared into the window of the room. He'd feel bad about it, but he needed to find the girl from before. He'd already checked about twenty houses, but he hadn't had any luck yet. This house was taking longer than the others, but hopefully he'd be able to finish checking it soon and move on.

Then his heart skipped a beat.

There she was, sleeping on her bed, in a room filled with books. He hadn't actually thought he'd find her, but apparently he was lucky. Now he knew where she lived, he could protect her!

He watched her for a while. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be branded a stalker or a creep, but he hadn't really thought this far ahead. What would he do now?

Well, maybe he could sleep for a bit. The roof was suddenly looking very comfortable.

CHAPTER 2

Harry fell into a routine. He spent the daytime on the roof or in the tree in Hermione's backyard, waiting for her to get home, and generally keeping an eye on her. At night, he would fly to his old school and sneak in, pinching a meal from the school kitchens. He'd learned about it one night when the Dursleys had thrown him out overnight to 'think about what he did', which was send a kid flying back even though all he'd done was hold up his arms to dampen the blow.

The janitor kept a spare key hidden in a little box that was camouflaged and pretty much dug into the ground. He simply had to open it, sneak through, grab some food and leave again. Nobody even noticed it going missing, there was so much food there.

Hermione, as he'd learned her name was, was a quiet, bookish girl who mostly kept to herself. What he noticed most about her was that she seemed to have a bit of a grip on her 'freakishness', which he'd decided to call 'abilities' instead, since it was more polite and she was definitely not a bad person like the Dursleys said freaks were. She could levitate things over into her hands and sometimes she'd turn things different colours, however slowly. He was sure there weren't very many girls or boys like him and Hermione, but there had to be at least a few..

One day, however, he learned exactly what it was.

Looking through the window, he watched with bated breath as a tall woman with a severe bun stepped out of the fireplace like it was completely normal. He ducked down and listened, occasionally peeping in through the window in case anything bad happened. Picking up bits and pieces of the conversation, he finally had an explanation.

Words raced past. Magic. School. Wizards and witches.

Hogwarts.

He knew now. He wasn't a freak; he was a wizard. Hermione, she had to be a witch. She'd be going to a magic school, Hogwarts, next September. She hopped around in various states of excitement as McGonagall, the teacher, explained the magical world to her parents.

He wanted to go to this school, too. Surely, since he was magical, he too would be allowed to go?

He hoped so, because he was going to follow Hermione whether they liked it or not. He wouldn't leave her behind.

"Make a wish, Harry," he murmured, blowing at the stars above.

Yes, this was a great birthday.

Then a letter hit him in the face.

This, this was the hardest part. He'd seen Hermione go through; now it was his turn. He followed a young girl with wavy red hair through, wearing a large cloak to hide his wings. He'd get onto the train, and then he'd stow away somewhere and escape. At least, that was the plan.

He was a bit too hasty, and bumped gently into the girl, pushing her forward into Hermione. He stifled a gasp and raced off before they could catch sight of him, instead leaping onto the train and racing through, straight to the back, where he found a storage room. Smiling, he wove his way into the back, underneath a window, and waited for his journey to begin.

Hermione stumbled forward and turned around to see a red-haired girl getting to her feet. Shyly Hermione offered her hand, and the girl took it appreciatively, allowing herself to be pulled upwards.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, quickly looking the girl over. She paused when she got to the girls' feet.

At her shoe was a single white feather.

"I am, thanks. Are you?" Hermione nodded slowly, still looking at the feather. Then, grinning, she turned up to the redhead.

"My name's Hermione. What's yours?"

"Susan, Susan Bones."

Hermione sighed luxuriously as she sunk into her seat on the train, putting down her books to focus on staring out the window as the Hogwarts train let out a wail and slowly departed from the station. Susan finished stuffing her bags under the seat and settled down across from Hermione, smiling.

"What are you looking at?" She asked curiously, peering out the window.

"Looking for," Hermione corrected. "He has to be here."

"Who?" Susan inquired, leaning forward. "Why look outside?"

"The angel!" Hermione explained irritably. "When you fell into me, there was a feather at your feet. It's definitely one of his!" she said firmly.

Susan raised an eyebrow. "Angel. I'm fairly certain those don't exist."

Hermione was about to protest, but then stopped. "Oh, just let me get the picture I took of him." Surfing through her bag, she grabbed it, and with a triumphant grin she handed it to Susan.

"This is a muggle photo, I suppose," she commented, searching the image. "And that definitely looks like an angel. It can't be a Veela, otherwise they'd be blond. I doubt it's transfigured either… alright, I believe you." Susan handed it back to a rather smug Hermione. "Why was there an angel on your windowsill?"

"Don't know," Hermione admitted. "I was focused more on getting a picture before he flew away."

Susan hummed in acknowledgement, turning back to the window. "So you think he was at the platform?" She commented casually.

Hermione nodded. "I've never seen a feather that was perfectly white before then, save for him."

"It could be an owl's," Susan suggested. Hermione deflated visibly.

"I kind of want to pretend that you didn't say that," Hermione huffed. Susan laughed, but she was soon cut off by the familiar rattle of the trolley being rolled down the hall.

Harry cupped his hands over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. In front of him was a creature in ragtag handmade clothes, a small Hogwarts crest embroidered over the heart.

"A stowaway!" the creature gasped. Harry shuddered and gathered his courage.

"Please don't tell anyone I'm here," he begged. "I just wanted to protect Hermione."

The creature raised an eyebrow. "You serve Miss Herminny?"

"Serve?" Harry repeated. "I suppose that's one word for it."

"Wibbles will help you, then!" the creature - Wibbles - announced happily. "You can be in care with Hogwarts House Elves! Take Wibbles' hand to be popping to Hogwarts!"

Harry paused. "Thank you, but I'll stay here. I have to stick with Hermione." Wibbles smiled at him for a moment, but disappeared with a quiet 'pop'.

Two minutes later, Wibbles returned with a silky cloak. "Wibbles is helping you protect Miss Herminny. Cloak of invisibility will let you follow unseen. Wibbles advises Harry Potter to tickle the pear if he is needing help from the house elves of Hogwarts. All house elves is liking Harry Potter."

Harry took the cloak reverently, swishing it gently over himself, and gave Wibbles a bright smile. "Thank you, Wibbles," he said quietly. "I'll try and repay you someday."

"There is no repaying needed," Wibbles replied softly, "for cloak of invisibility is already yours." Smiling sadly, he popped away, leaving Harry in the storage room.