Chapter 2
Harry woke up feeling slightly better. Not nearly better enough to bring himself to let go of Malfoys jumper but better enough to no longer feel at risk for a cosmic implosion.
He forces his eyes open and is met with the sight of St. Mungos. Hermione and Ron are speaking quietly with a healer off to the side. The healer glances down at his chart and says something to them.
“What?” Ron asks incredulously, “But he’s not pretty?”
“Ron.” Hermione hisses, punching him in the shoulder.
“Am I wrong?” Ron rubs his shoulder with a frown.
Harry coughs, “Rude mate.”
Hermione gasps, “Harry,”
“Mr. Potter, you’re awake,” The healer smiles warmly, “I am Healer Green- I was assigned to you under several privacy vows, what we are about to discuss will remain in this room,”
Harry nods, grateful at least that whatever is wrong with him won’t be splashed across the front page of the prophet.
“It appears you’ve come into your creature inheritance.” Healer Green glances at his chart, “Abnormally late, though I’m sure we could attribute that to the war.”
Harry stares blankly at the healer momentarily before blurting, “What?”
“This may come as a surprise to you Mr. Potter but I assure you it’s true, we’ve done extensive blood and magic tests, and the signs all point that way.”
“What creature,” Harry couldn’t think of a single creature he was like, honestly in the moment he couldn’t think of a single creature at all.
Hermione and Ron share a glance, Ron seems to take it upon himself to enlighten Harry, “Well mate, It looks like you're a Veela…”
“That's absurd.” Harry says, shooting up, “There is no way in hell I’m a Veela.”
“We’ve seen the tests, Harry,” Hermione says gently, “They seemed pretty definitive.”
Healer Green waits for Harry to slump back down before continuing, “We at Mungos provide rather rudimentary pamphlets for newly awakened creatures so I highly encourage you to do your own research, but we will give you a starting point.”
He waves his wand and a small bookshelf stocked full of pamphlets appears in front of the group. Healer Green starts muttering something about prejudiced nutjobs on the board and rifles through the little pamphlet library.
Harry buries his head in his hands and breaths in deeply, keeping Malfoy’s sweater draped across his knee, “What the actual fuck.”
“It does make sense for you to have repressed it until the end of the war, Harry,” Hermione says, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. There wouldn’t have been much opportunity for you to express it.”
Harry only stares at her.
Ron sympathetically pats him on the back. “At least you have an excuse for your stalkerish tendencies now.”
“Huh?” Harry turns to Ron.
“Oh you know, Veelas tend to follow people about when you’re worried.” When Harry continues to stare blankly at him he continues, “You never noticed yourself following ‘Mione and I around during the OWLS?”
“I was helping you guys study?” Harry frowns.
“Sure if that's what you want to call it,” Hermione elbows Ron in the side making him wince, “It’s true, Fleur does it all the time, she gets anxious and then she starts following people around.”
Harry furrows his brows and Healer Green finally finds the pamphlet, “Here we are,”
Harry takes the pamphlet numbly, folding the corner of the page between his fingers.
The cover of the pamphlet had a stock image of a pile of white feathers, Harry can’t help but wonder briefly when the wizarding world discovered stock images. He reckons whoever taught them was the same person who taught them of Adobe Photoshop. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem they stuck around to teach them graphic design.
A generic template was used, one targeted towards a much younger audience than a 28-year-old saviour of the wizarding world.
In large text flashed across the front it says “Look At All Those Feathers!” Harry looks over his shoulder.
Harry looks over his shoulders to where he figured the wings would be if he did in fact have them, “Doesn’t seem like I have wings?”
Healer Green gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, “In part you are right,”
What type of medical professional is a cryptic bastard? Harry waits for him to continue.
“Unfortunately, the long-term repression of your Veela instincts may have done some permanent damage to your biology…” Healer Green wordlessly encourages Harry to stand up, “You’re going to need to take off your shirt Mr. Potter.”
Harry pulls the Weasley jumper over his head, Healer Green casts two mirror charms, one behind him and the other in front. When Harry looks in the mirror his back is reflected at him, in what appears to be dark, splotchy ink wings that bloom across his back.
“Wicked.” Ron gapes at his back and reaches out to touch it.
Adrenaline courses through Harry's veins, when Ron’s fingers come centimeters away from the place on his back where the splotchy wings sit he wandlessly and wordlessly apperates to the other side of the room.
When he lands (splinch free) his chest is heaving and he feels nauseous.
“Ron you idiot, you know how Fleur gets when people do that,” Hermione stomps on his foot. He seems to be receiving a lot of abuse from her today on Harry's behalf.
Harry clutches Malfoys sweater, which he had taken with him when he apparated, to his chest For a moment Harry feels like a trapped animal but the feeling quickly fades.
Hermione picks up the pamphlet from where he had abandoned it on the ground and reads over it briefly with a frown, “There aren’t any suggestions for which books to find?”
He then grabs his jumper from where it had fallen to the ground and yanks it on harshly.
“Can I go?” He asks, admittedly still feeling a bit tetchy from the close call with Ron earlier.
Healer Green smiles sympathetically, picking up a clipboard of what Harry assumes to be discharge papers, “I don’t see why not, however, you will need to be coming back here for a weekly check-up.”
“Sure whatever,” Harry takes the clipboard from his hand trying his best not to snatch it signing it messily and storming out of the room.