I do not own Harry Potter, nor any related words/actions/storylines/characters. All are property of absolutely fantastic J.K. Rowling
Aunt Petunia's banging on his door drags Harry back awake and he groans, his muscles protesting as he stands slowly, stumbling slightly as he nears the door.
"Up! Get up Potter!" Petunia says, high voice grating against Harry's cotton wool filled head before she heads downstairs. Grumbling, Harry opens the door and stumbles downstairs, still wearing the clothes from the night before that he'd slept in, his mind still wondering over the events of last night. What had caused that pain? It didn't feel like one of Voldermort's attacks, the Cruciatus wasn't a curse that picked at certain spots as the pain had been.
Entering the kitchen, Petunia points at the stove for Harry to serve out breakfast, not bothering to look up at him. Both Vernon and Dudley were sitting munching already on part of Breakfast, Vernon reading the newspaper and complaining. This time it was about same sex marriages and how the government was thinking about making it legal.
"Bloody poofs shouldn't be allowed to marry. It's not natural." Vernon grumbles as Dudley looks up to begin the daily bullying of Harry. And chokes.
"What's wrong son? Down the wrong pipe?" He asks with a chuckle, thumping Dudley on the back, the piggish boy still staring at Harry who shifted nervously. Vernon turns to look at Harry, glower forming on his face before it fades completely, his jaw dropping. For about five seconds.
"What the… I've told you Potter, I don't want any of your… your abnormality in this HOUSE!" Vernon screams, leaping to his feet, vast stomach rocking the table violently. Petunia turns, takes one look at Harry and shrieks, dropping the coffee mug she'd been drinking from. As the mug shatters, Harry bursts into action, running upstairs and into his room, closing and locking the door with a flick of his wand. Gasping, he wonders what madness had gripped the Dursley's this time as he looks around the room. And freezes as he catches sight of his reflection.
Staring at the pale boy in the mirror, there were several things that shocked him. One was that his hair had grown just past his shoulders and had light streaks through out it. His eyes, though still green were silver around the pupils, the colour blending into the green, looking similar to solar flares around his pupils. Though the most unnerving change was the fact that over his shoulders, he could see that he had somehow grown a pair of large black, bat-like wings. Stepping back, he heard a crunch and pain shot up his leg from his bare left foot. Lifting his foot, he found the remains of his glasses where he'd left them on the floor the night before. Also, his pants-the ones that he'd always needed to roll up to the mid-calf of the pants to be able to see his feet, were long enough for him, even showing a hint of ankle.
"This is freaky, even for me." He says to his reflection before pausing. And opens his mouth wide. His teeth weren't as he remembered them. Before they were fairly white and straight, now they were extremely white and sharp, like fangs think baby Norbert teeth.
His thoughts are interrupted as a louder crash comes from against his door as Uncle Vernon's weight runs into it, trying to force the door open. With another shudder, the door crashes off its hinges, thumping to the floor. Harry immediately assumes a form of battle stance, knees bent, fingers curled like claws and held ready, teeth bared and wings half open-as wide as he could get them in the small room, Harry's wand held in one hand, pointed towards Vernon. Vernon's expression changes from rage to fear.
"I want you out of this house boy. You don't scare me with that. I know you'll get kicked out of that freak school if you use it." His confidence fades dramatically as Harry straightens and smiles coldly.
"Now see Uncle, that's where you're wrong. As Professor Dumbledore said last year, I turned seventeen, and that is the legal age to start using magic freely." Harry says, stepping forward, Vernon hurrying back until he stopped, the wall of the hallway pressed against his back. Petunia and Dudley were watching from the stairs, horrified as Harry follows Vernon, stopping close to his face, still smiling.
"I've looked forward to this day for seven years ever since I found out that I was a wizard. Ever since I found out the truth, I've been looking forward to when I can take revenge on you and your pitiful family. But now that this day has come, I have realised something. Do you know what that is?" He asks, voice low and gentle. Vernon shakes his head, not blinking as he stared at his nephew who he'd bullied and undermined for years.
"Then I'll tell you. You are tiny. Obviously not physically, but you are weak and pathetic. You have never accepted anything that is different. I despise you and I should destroy you, but that would be too easy. I will not waste my time and power on you Vernon Dursley." He says before turning and entering his room. Opening Hedwig's cage, he sends her to the one place he considers still safe before, with a flick of his wand, everything he owns is neatly placed in his trunk, the lid closing with a solid thump. With another flick, he shrinks then pockets his wand. Turning again, he heads out of the room, the Dursleys hurrying down the stairs to get out of his way.
"I can't say it's been fun, nor that I hope to see you again." He says before opening and closing the front door, hopefully for the last time. Realising he was in broad daylight with wings sprouting from his shoulders, he cast a quick glamour over his wings so that they seemed to not exist before he heads down the street.
After a walk, he turns into a side alley; the alley where Dementors sent by the spiteful Dolores Umbridge had attacked him and Dudley. Scanning the alley, the only other occupant is a drunkard, half unconscious with a bottle in hand. Lowering the glamour, he stretches his wings, rolling his shoulders as if releasing a cramped muscle. Raising his wand, he cast a disillusionment charm and takes flight, rejoicing in the feeling of soaring over the buildings without need of broom or spell.
The drunk muggle stares at the spot where Harry had been, mouth open before he glances at the bottle of scotch in his hand before throwing it away from him.