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Angels and Devils	By : Beren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 16944 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Title: Angels and
Devils

Chapter: Discoveries 01/10

Author: Beren (aka Didi)

Email: beren.writes@gmail.com

LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=beren_writes

Wordcount: 5158

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created
and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money
is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warnings: This story is set post OOTP and therefore has SPOLIERS. If
you don’t want to know anything that went on in book five do not read this
story.

Summary: Harry defeated Voldemort: his act of heroism is famous throughout
the wizarding world. He’s trying to finish his final year at Hogwarts in
peace, but something peculiar is happening to him, something he never would
have expected. It's all rather embarrassing and making his life very complicated.

Author's Notes: This fic has Veela!Draco and lots of other things that
appear to have become fandom clichés, which was part of the point in
writing it :). I've had great fun with this fic, trying to explore ideas in
a slightly different way than I have seen before. It may have Veela!Draco, but
it is all from Harry POV in case you were wondering. I will be posting in two
blocks, the first five parts now (05Jan05) and the second five parts next week.
Thanks go to Soph for the beta. I've actually had this one hanging around since
I was writing GTS.

====

Chapter 1 Discoveries

Harry sat up away from
the back of the sofa and stretched, but it did no good, the ache that felt as
if it was coming from under and between his shoulder blades failed to go away.
At first he had thought that maybe he had pulled something in Quidditch practice,
but usually aches and pains just went away. A trip to the hospital wing had
crossed his mind after a couple of days, but Harry didn't like to bother people
with minor things. If growing up with the Dursleys had taught him anything it
was to be self-sufficient, and a minor back pain did not warrant any fuss.

"You okay, mate?"
Ron asked from where he was currently trouncing Neville at chess.

"Back ache,"
Harry replied and climbed to his feet to see if that would help at all.

"Still?" his
friend said with a small frown and turned to face him fully.

Ron had noticed his discomfort
the previous day and Harry had put him off with something about wrenching his
shoulder while flying. From the expression on his friend's face now though,
Harry doubted that he was going to get away with the same this time. All he
really wanted was for the annoying ache to go away. Being a wizard he thought
that he really should be able to cope with a simple pain, but so far the muscle
relaxant potion he had made in detention the previous week was not working.

As he shifted his shoulders
in an attempt to dislodge the dull throbbing it suddenly became a sharp stabbing
pain. The agony shot through his back and down his spine causing him to give
a startled, pain filled cry and for a moment he felt light-headed.

"Harry!" Hermione
said worriedly and shot out of her seat to his side.

His friend placed one hand
under Harry's elbow and one gently on his back as she offered her support. Almost
instantly she pulled one arm back and he looked at her to find her staring at
her palm.

"Harry," Hermione
said very slowly as if trying to remain calm, "we need to take you to Madame
Pomfrey."

The expression in his friend's
eyes was very worried and it occurred to Harry that the pain was gone, but the
ache had increased considerably. At his questioning glance Hermione turned over
her hand and revealed a deep red palm.

"You're bleeding,"
she said evenly.

====

Ron and Hermione had both
insisted on accompanying him to the hospital wing and it had only been both
of their firm stances on the matter that had stopped half the seventh year from
following them as well. Ever since the end of the war they had been a very tight-knit
group and they were protective, especially when it came to Harry. The fact that
he had survived at all was something of a miracle and his housemates took looking
after him very seriously. The fact that he had been in a coma for two months
after his victory over Voldemort and the whole year in his house had visited
him in rotation the entire time seemed to have made him central to their lives.
It had been over six months ago and Harry was as back to normal as he ever had
been, but Gryffindor house did not seem to see it that way.

The moment they had entered
the hospital wing Poppy had sat him on one of the beds and lifted the back of
his black t-shirt to take a quick look. That was where things had become a little
stranger. Poppy had muttered something to herself, sent Hermione and Ron off
with platitudes, and then pulled screens round the bed.

"Please remove you
top and lie face down on the bed, Harry," the woman said in a fair impression
of her normal calm tone, but missing it just slightly.

Harry had spent months
recovering under Poppy's care after he had defeated Voldemort and he knew her
very well. That was why when there was no one else around he always called her
'Poppy' and she always called him 'Harry'. It was also why he knew something
was not right. He had come to know the healer very well over the weeks he had
been bed ridden after the coma, and the summer holiday where he had stayed at
school to catch up with all the work he had missed while unconscious, and his
instincts told him something was bothering her as she busied about doing her
job.

Lying down on his front
with his arms under his head he was very nervous about what Poppy had found,
but he had not yet worked up the courage to ask. He found that the position
was actually far more comfortable than any he had used as of yet and it eased
the ache somewhat, which was at least a relief.

"The bleeding is superficial,"
Poppy said efficiently and he felt her gentle touch on his back, "but it
is messy. I shall clean the wounds first, it may sting a little."

Before Harry could ask
the obvious question of 'What wounds?' the healer moved away to retrieve her
supplies and almost as soon as she returned something cold and painful touched
the skin between his shoulder blades. He groaned and buried his face in the
pillow as whatever Poppy was using did, as suggested, sting like buggery. It
took about thirty seconds for the needle like sensations his nerves were sending
him to slowly ebb away into blissful numbness and Harry slowly relaxed. The
healer's touch was gentle and as she cleaned the injury and the rest of his
back he was lulled into a thoughtless daze.

Only when the swabs were
replaced by the slight pressure of fingers did Harry remember his burning question.

"What is it, Poppy?"
he asked as the healer efficiently probed his back. "Why was I bleeding?"

There was worrying silence
from the school nurse for a few moments and Harry swivelled his head to try
and look at the woman. Poppy was staring at his back seriously and he did not
like the expression on her face. He really didn't like it when she stood back,
noticed he was looking at her and gave him a forced smile.

"Nothing to worry
about, Harry," she said in a far too cheerful voice. "I'll be back
in a few minutes: there is just something I need to check from your medical
records. You lie still and relax."

And with that Poppy pulled
the blanket from the end of the bed up over him, turned, and left him in his
isolated little world inside the screens. For about ten seconds Harry tried
to peer over his own shoulder and see what had caused the healer such discomfort,
but of course it was futile, and it hurt. Eventually he collapsed back onto
the bed and stared at the headboard wondering what on earth he had managed to
do this time.

After the defeat of Voldemort
Harry had hoped his days of lying in the infirmary were over, but obviously
he had been wishing for the impossible. Whatever potion Poppy had used on his
back had eased the discomfort and he managed to stay alert for five minutes
waiting for her to return before the relief let his mind drift. It had been
three days since the ache had started and at least Harry could enjoy the fact
that it was gone for a while.

He was not sure how long
he was alone, but he snapped back to reality when he heard the familiar tones
of Professor Dumbledore and Poppy. They were talking quietly and their voices
were very low, but if he strained hard he could just make out some of their
conversation.

"And there is no doubt,
Poppy," the headmaster was saying calmly, "this is not someone's idea
of a joke."

"No," Madame
Pomfrey replied in kind, "I checked for hexes and potions: this is a natural
phenomenon."

"With no signs of
complications," Dumbledore sounded as if he was confirming something the
healer had already told him.

"They look perfectly
healthy," the woman told the old wizard firmly. "The poor dear must
have been in pain for days. I sometimes wonder what that boy's been though when
something like this didn't bring him running the moment it started."

Their voices dropped much
lower suddenly and Harry could not hear what they were saying. He was intrigued
and a little worried, but it didn't sound as if he was about to die or anything
like that, which put pay to his worst fears.

"Ah well," the
headmaster's voice rose again, "I suppose we should give Harry the news.
I do wish it was not always him."

Poppy made an agreeing
noise and then Harry could hear the sound of footsteps. He swivelled slightly
as the screens rustled and his eyes met those of Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Harry,"
the headmaster greeted warmly, "I do hope you are not feeling too dreadful."

"Whatever Madame Pomfrey
put on my back has helped a lot thank you, Professor," he replied while
trying to gage Dumbledore's mood. "What's happening to me?"

Harry did not want to play
games and he did not want anyone trying to break it to him gently; he just wanted
to know. Dumbledore looked at him calmly for a few seconds and then the headmaster
nodded.

"It is quite straightforward,
Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, "you are growing wings."

The desire to laugh rose
in him at the absurdity of the headmaster's statement and it took him long seconds
to realise that the man was not joking.

"I'm what?" Harry
asked incredulously.

"You are growing wings,"
Dumbledore replied evenly. "The pain you experienced earlier was the nubs
breaking through the skin."

Harry's brain rebelled
and completely failed to believe the headmaster, but he knew Albus Dumbledore
far too well to consider the possibility that the old wizard had finally lost
it, even when his own psyche told him this had to be true. Human beings did
not grow wings, not even magical human beings, unless they were under a spell.

"This cannot be happening,"
Harry said more to try and calm the thundering of his heart than because he
thought it was true.

"I'm afraid to say
it is," Dumbledore said kindly, "but do not worry, my boy, it is perfectly
natural."

"Natural?" Harry
almost lost it at that moment, but managed to bring himself under control before
he yelled the place down. "How can wings be natural?"

He tried to turn over at
that point, but the headmaster's firm hand on his shoulder prevented that.

"Lie still, Harry,"
Dumbledore said gently, "you do not want to aggravate the wounds until
they have sealed in their new form. I shall come and sit where you can see me
and then I shall answer all your questions."

There was no arguing with
the tone Dumbledore was using and doing his best not to curse the world in general,
Harry buried his face in his hands and waited for the headmaster to sit down.
He heard Dumbledore exchange a few quiet words with Poppy, but he ignored them
as the shock poured through his system. Only at a light touch on his shoulder
did Harry turn his head to find the headmaster watching him from little more
than a foot away.

"Why am I growing
wings?" he asked a little desperately. "Please tell me this is not
some joke of Voldemort's from beyond the grave."

"This has little to
do with Tom Riddle," Dumbledore assured him calmly, "except for the
fact that you absorbed his power, but I shall come to that shortly."

The headmaster paused and
observed Harry thoughtfully, giving him no doubt that the old wizard was about
to go on.

"Harry, my boy,"
Dumbledore began eventually, "this may come as a surprise to you, but this
is not the first time you have had the makings of wings."

The headmaster was right,
that was a surprise, but Harry did not need to voice it as his companion continued.

"You were born with
vestigial wings," was the next revelation to pass Dumbledore's lips, "which
is not as unusual as you may think. There are several wizarding families with
ancestral irregularities that result in such occurrences. The Potter line is
prone to the occasional hint of wings and the happenstance actually delighted
your father, since it is a sign of the strength of the child's magic. Your wings
would never have developed and hence your parents had them removed when you
were only a few days old."

This was enough of a shock,
but the news did of course beg one obvious question.

"Why wings?"
Harry asked; not sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Seraphim," the
headmaster said calmly and Harry blinked at him wondering if he had heard correctly.

"Seraphim," he
said slowly. "Isn't that a kind of angel?"

Harry's religious knowledge
was limited, the Dursleys had not been particularly devout Anglicans, but he
definitely remembered something about cherubim and seraphim. Christmas had been
the one and only time Aunt Petunia had seen fit to drag the whole family, which
surprisingly, until he went to Hogwarts, had included Harry, to church. Looking
back he suspected that it might have been one of his Aunt's vague ploys to de-magic
him.

"I believe Muggles
used the name to mean that," Dumbledore told him thoughtfully, "and
I suppose Seraphim do meet most of the descriptive criteria, but they are in
fact magical creatures. They appear human in many ways and from a distance you
would never know until they unfurl their wings. They are more secretive than
centaurs and very few ever come into contact with what they consider the lower
races. One of your ancestors found her way into one of their hearts and the
heritage has descended through the Potter line."

"But why now?"
there were hundreds of questions floating in Harry's mind and he chose one at
random.

It was a reasonable enquiry
and one which the headmaster took time to think about.

"Because of how powerful
you have become, Harry," Dumbledore explained kindly. "Seraphim are
much more than simply magical: they are magic. For Seraphim to reproduce takes
a great deal of raw power and when one combined with a human line the amount
of magic required was not available. That is what I meant when I said that any
hint of wings was a sign of a wizard's potential. That you exhibited any indication
of Seraphim heritage at all as a baby showed a staggering magical ability on
your part, Harry. When you absorbed Voldemort's powers you, shall we say, initiated
the previously dormant subsection of your nature."

Harry felt like screaming,
but he bit his tongue and tried to remain rational. For once he would have preferred
something like this to happen to someone else.

"Can we get rid of
them?" he asked quietly, dreading the answer that he knew was coming.

"I'm sorry, my boy,
but no," the headmaster said gently. "When your wings were removed
as a child they were not developed and hence, were more of an adornment than
a limb. Your new ones, as far as Poppy can tell, are fully functional and have
evolved as part of your physical being. To remove them would seriously damage
you."

Harry couldn't help himself,
he moaned and buried his face in his hands. Dumbledore placed a calming hand
on his shoulder and appeared to be waiting until he was ready to continue.

"How big are they
going to be?" Harry finally asked and turned tired eyes to his headmaster.

"Unfurled," Dumbledore
said calmly, "at least five meters in span. What you must remember is that
Seraphim wings are not natural wings like those of a bird, they are far more
useful and far more dynamic. They are magically controlled rather than physically
and are a powerful defence mechanism. Very few hexes can penetrate a Seraphim's
wings when they are used as a shield. They will of course allow you to fly,
and the best news is that unless you choose to use them they will be no more
noticeable than they are now."

That made Harry mentally
sit up and take note. When he had been told he was growing wings he had imagined
six-foot high masses of feathers or wispy little butterfly wings, and now he
was confused.

"How can wings with
a span of five meters not show?" he asked, not sure how it could be possible.

"Magical wings, remember,
Harry," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "The wing nubs are all
that are physically visible normally. When the wings are unfurled the nubs split
open and the wings are released."

Harry winced: that sounded
unpleasant.

"I believe the wings
are retracted in the opposite manner," the headmaster said brightly.

There was of course something
else that occurred to Harry as he did his best to assimilate the whole explanation.
He did not really want to ask, but he had learnt painfully that not having all
the information was worse than knowing the truth.

"Will the wings be
the end of it?" he asked quietly.

"Quite possibly, my
boy," the headmaster said openly, "but there is no way to be sure.
You are the strongest wizard the Potter line has ever seen and hence you are
the first to ever display this level of integration with your heritage. I would
suggest that we leave crossing any further bridges until they arise."

At least on that point
Harry agreed with him.

====

Harry walked into the Gryffindor
common room feeling sore and a little depressed, although nowhere near as bad
as he had felt the previous evening. The wounds through which his wing nubs
had grown had healed with unnatural speed and although still somewhat raw, did
not send shooting pains down his back every time he moved anymore. Poppy had
helpfully held up a mirror behind him so he could examine what his back now
looked like and it had not looked as bad as he had feared. The wing nubs were
in fact two iridescent ridges about an inch wide that ran just below each shoulder
blade for four or five times their width. If he had not been told what they
were, he never would have guessed.

It was Saturday and still
early and there was no one to see Harry as he trudged across the common room
in his jeans and a regulation hospital wing pyjama shirt. He had not slept well
because Poppy's potion had worn off after an hour or so and the soreness of
the healing wounds had kept him awake. Hence he was very tired and he had been
quite surprised when the healer had released him after an early breakfast. He
had a pot of ointment in one hand, his ruined t-shirt in the other and only
one thing on his mind: fall into his nice comfy bed and sleep the day away.

He made it as far as falling
on his face on his mattress before the plan crumbled.

"Harry's back,"
it was Neville's voice and his dorm mate sounded excitedly pleased.

There were sleepy replies
from around the room and Harry groaned as he heard more than one person slip
out of bed. When the curtain beside his head moved to let in the early morning
sunlight he slammed a hand over his eyes and considered burying his head under
his pillow.

"Go away," he
said petulantly, "I'm trying to sleep."

"Wow, you look rough,
Mate," Ron's uncooperative voice said from close by.

"Too right,"
Seamus agreed loudly.

Knowing a loosing battle
when he heard it Harry slowly opened his eyes and peered at his friends. After
a quick inspection he realised that his dorm mates were gathered on either side
of his bed. He would have turned over so he could see them better, but he didn't
feel like sitting up, and lying on his back was not happening at the moment.

"Funny that,"
Harry said sarcastically and put his head back down on the bed, "might
have something to do with the whole half hour's sleep I got last night."

"Very rough,"
was Dean's helpful input into the conversation.

As Ron shifted beside the
bed, a shaft of sunlight that had previously been obscured by his friend found
its way through and hit Harry squarely in the face, at which point he reconsidered
shoving his head under the pillow. It was an extremely close thing.

"How's your back?"
Ron asked in a very concerned manner. "Not serious I hope."

"If it was serious
Madame Pomfrey would have me chained to a bed in the hospital wing," Harry
pointed out as his mood failed to improve, especially with the mental images
he had just conjured for himself.

His annoyance failed to
encourage his friends to leave him alone and part of him was grateful, but most
of him just wanted to sleep.

"So what was it?"
Ron asked sounding a little put out.

Harry really did not want
to explain everything to his dorm mates, if at all possible he never wanted
to explain, which was why he picked a white lie.

"Wings," he said,
which was the truth, "someone hexed me with wings," he elaborated
in a lie, "Madame Pomfrey fixed me up, but it hurt like hell where they
came through for a while."

"Really, you had wings?"
Neville sounded surprisingly delighted by the idea. "I've never heard of
a hex that grows them like that though."

Sleep was beckoning Harry
with open arms and he honestly wanted to simply close his eyes.

"Probably Snape's
idea of a joke," he mumbled into his pillow and let his eyelids droop.

Somebody asked him something
else, but it didn't make a lot of sense. The growth of wings had taken more
out of Harry than not allowing him to sleep for one night and he drifted from
the waking world gratefully. He barely noticed that he was still holding the
small bottle of ointment.

====

When he woke up Harry felt
less sore, and this progress in his health improved his mood somewhat. As he
tentatively shifted and slowly climbed off the bed he was not surprised to find
Ron sitting on his own bed reading a Quidditch magazine. Harry didn't really
mind, although he knew his friend was keeping an eye on him.

"Welcome back,"
Ron said with a cheerful smile, "feeling better?"

Harry nodded and slowly
stood up, experimentally flexing his back. There was a slight twinge as he moved
his shoulder blades, but that was all, which was even better than the morning
had been.

"What time is it?"
he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and picking up his glasses from where
he had thrown them.

"About two I think,
Mate," Ron replied, standing up as well. "I tried to wake you for
lunch, but you weren't having any of it."

As if to point out that
this had been a bad thing, Harry's stomach grumbled quite loudly.

"Guess I'll be taking
a trip to the kitchens then," Harry said with a half smile. "Sorry
about this morning, it was one hell of a night. When I'm cleaned up, have found
some food, and can put two thoughts together, you, me and Hermione need to have
a long talk."

At that Ron walked up to
him and seemed torn as to whether to be worried or not.

"So what you told
the guys wasn't true?" his friend asked seriously.

"Not completely,"
Harry replied, deciding that honesty was the only way to go with his closest
companions, "it's a bit more complicated than that. Nothing terrible, but
let's just say I could live without it."

Ron gave him a sympathetic
thump on the shoulder and Harry winced as this gesture caused another twinge,
but smiled anyway.

"Never mind, Harry,"
his best friend said supportively, "I'm sure we'll figure it out."

Since the defeat of Voldemort,
Ron had turned out to be surprisingly optimistic about most things; his faith
that everything would work out was a great comfort to Harry.

"Yeah," he agreed,
feeling much better about the whole situation than he had earlier, "let's
hope."

And with that he stretched
again and then bent down to rummage for his wash things in his trunk. What he
needed right now was a nice hot shower.

====

Showering and letting the
house elves feed him and Ron until they burst improved Harry's mood even further
and he was feeling much happier by the time they tracked down Hermione and convinced
her to leave her Potions homework and follow them to an empty classroom. It
was not as if he was pleased by his new anatomical additions, but he had faced
much worse and it was not as if this was a life or death situation. All he had
to do really was forget about them and get on with life.

"So what is it, Harry?"
Hermione asked after she closed the door. "Ron said something earlier about
someone hexing you with wings."

"It wasn't a hex,"
he said honestly, "but it was wings."

Although he had not explained
much, this answer seemed to please Hermione.

"Well that at least
explains why I've never heard of a hex like that," she said firmly.

Ron did not seem to share
her opinion.

"Hexes are usually
instantaneous," Hermione explained calmly, "Harry was showing symptoms
for days according to what you told me. Now if it had been a long term curse
I could have understood it but..."

She trailed off and Harry
gave her a little smile for her restraint. As far as he could tell Hermione's
explanation cleared up Ron's confusion, after all there were several hexes that
could give a person wings; the twins had used enough of them over the years
he had known them. Harry watched the interplay calmly and waited for them to
sort themselves out.

"What was it then,
Mate?" Ron asked curiously.

"This," he replied
and turned his back on them while pulling his oversized T-shirt over his head.

"Harry," Hermione
said almost instantly, "those look sore."

He didn't move as both
of his friends moved forward to take a better look.

"They aren't so bad
now," he told them honestly, "but they hurt like hell most of the
night. I have some ointment in the dorm and they're going to be tender for a
couple of days, but the worst is over."

There were a few seconds
of silence and then Hermione asked the obvious question.

"You mentioned wings,"
she said curiously, "is this what's left of them?"

"Those are them,"
Harry replied openly, "what you can see is the wing nubs. The wings are
magical, the come from inside. I'd show you, but I'm a little sketchy on the
details myself."

"Wow," was Ron's
concise opinion.

"Yes, Hermione, you
can touch them if you're careful," Harry said, interpreting the awkward
silence that fell after that.

Delicate fingertips connected
with the wing nubs almost instantly and Harry couldn't help it; he shuddered.
The sensations the light touch sent through his body were not what he was expecting
and he shied away rapidly.

"Sorry," he apologised
quickly, "that tickled."

Which was sort of true,
but he made a mental note that his wing nubs were an erogenous zone and dropped
his T-Shirt back down.

"They feel like a
cross between leather and silk," Hermione commented as he turned back around.
"How long are you going to have them?"

"Forever," Harry
replied with a little shrug and saw the shock register on both his friends'
faces.

It was obvious that even
though they knew it wasn't a hex they had assumed that some other magical method
had created and would remove the wings.

"But if someone did
this to you can't Madame Pomfrey reverse it?" Ron asked and looked worried.

It was explanation time
and Harry chose to perch on a near by desk.

"No one did this to
me, unless you count one of my ancestors marrying a Seraphim being someone doing
something to me," Harry told them and found himself surprisingly calm about
the whole thing. "I was born with vestigial wings, but they were removed
and when I absorbed Voldemort's power it started them off again."

Hermione sat down with
her mouth open; Ron also appeared at a loss to find anything to say.

"Seraphim," the
head girl said slowly, "aren't they very rare?"

"I'm not sure they're
rare," Harry replied honestly, "but considering how much magic it
takes to make one, they probably are. I do know they aren't fond of mixing with
humans; worse than the centaurs according to Dumbledore."

He could almost see his
friend cataloguing everything she knew about Seraphim in her head. He had no
doubt she would be heading for the library at the earliest opportunity. Ron
had been staring at him in amazement, but his expression was softening as he
accepted the facts.

"No wonder you were
in a bad mood this morning, Mate," his best friend said sympathetically.
"So can you fly or what?"

It was just like Ron to
move straight to the point and Harry found himself smiling at his companion's
bluntness.

"Dumbledore says I
should be able to," he replied, "but I won't be jumping off the Astronomy
tower any time soon. I'm going to have to figure out how they work, and I'd
rather most people didn't know I'm even weirder than they think I am."

"You're not weird,
Harry," Hermione said firmly, "you're incredibly magically gifted
and you had a madman after you most of your life; that's not weird it's a combination
of good and bad luck that happened to make you an icon."

His friend's tone was so
resolute and she nodded as if to back up her point, but Harry couldn't help
it; he laughed. Since the previous evening he had been so tense and worried
even if some of his anxiety had eased and Hermione's show of support both touched
him and tickled him at the same time. It was just what he needed to crack the
tension and once he started chuckling he couldn't stop. For a moment Hermione
just looked at him, but slowly she smiled and then she began to laugh as well.
Ron appeared at a loss for a while, but it didn't take him long to join it.

The whole situation was
faintly ridiculous: he had wings; he was related to barely understood magical
creatures; and everything always seemed to happen to him. Harry just let it
all out, and by the time he had finished he could barely stand up.

End of Chapter 1
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Angels and Devils