A/N: So, this is written for the: Twenty Chapters in One Year; The Longest Competition Ever! I think it's rather self explanatory :). So, this is going to be exactly 20 chapters long :). Also, somehow I managed to describe a woman's period o.O Just read, you'll know what I'm getting at ;). Also, it's complete coincidence that it's actually the 31st of July, and therefore Harry's birthday... And I guess I'm ready to face the cliché a Veela fic brings... But I love those, so why shouldn't I try it myself?

Summary: Something odd is happening. On a specific day. Especially when you suddenly sprout wings when you haven't before. Creature fic! Veela!Harry. HP/DM. Set in 'eighth' year. By DW.

'Something's definitely wrong,' thought Harry, while he staved off his nausea. He had been feeling ill all day, and it steadily got worse. 'What a great day for your birthday,' he thought edgily, while he squirmed on his bed. The dark haired teen turned to look at the clock and huffed. It was eleven o'clock PM. In an hour he would be turning eighteen.

He was excited, of course. But his day started out rough. He had woken up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, unable to fall back asleep. At first he had just shoved the thing off on being at Grimmauld Place. But how could it be that he never had any trouble with the previous nights? After a tiresome night, he had gotten out of bed at eight AM. That's when the shaking started. It was damned annoying, because he had spilled his tea right on his trousers, and he now had a bright red spot on his right leg. The cold sweat started at four PM, and he really thought he might be getting ill around that time. Even the shower he took next did nothing to banish it. Harry just kept on shivering, and three hours later a pounding headache tried to make his brain dance out of his skull.

Dinner was not an option, and instead he tried to sleep the day off. If he was indeed getting ill, he might as well get some rest.

The first two hours he thought his symptoms might be receding, and he nearly dozed off into a light slumber. But he couldn't be more wrong. Besides the headache, dizziness took its residence right behind his eyes. He'd moaned and curled up in a tight ball, while trying not to claw his eyes out in frustration. This was starting to be his worst day ever, except for the second of May, of course. Nothing could beat the horrid day where he stood face to face with Voldemort. He shivered, and wasn't entirely sure if it was because he didn't feel alright.

And now, two hours later, he was a sweating, dizzy mess. He didn't know when the nausea started, just that it did. It all started to become a hazy blur to him, and he wanted to surrender to the sweet bliss of oblivion. But no such thing was granted to him. So he just grit his teeth, and tried not to lose his mind. When he looked at his clock again, which was becoming steadily blurrier, he noticed that it was half past eleven. Half an hour to go until midnight. His shoulders started to itch, and he scratched, but got no relief. Harry even turned around and wriggled around, so the sheets were causing friction, but even that didn't help, so he rolled back on his stomach and braved the storm. The nausea pressed down on him like an icy blanket, and it took all of his willpower to keep his breakfast and lunch inside, glad he decided not to eat dinner. He shivered and curled back in himself again, trying to keep warm, even though it was Summer and hot air was pressing in all over the place.

When it all became too much, he rolled over and emptied his stomach on the floor of his bedroom. He grimaced when all he could do was dry-heave after a while. He felt miserable, and now his shoulders started to tingle, too. As if his day couldn't get worse. Just as he faced the clock again, an earth shattering scream filled the room. It only took him a few seconds to realise that he was the one who was screaming his lungs out. A cutting sensation ran through his body, and in a daze he realised that it focused on his shoulders. Fire crept along his shoulder blades, and Harry really was afraid for a moment that he was on fire. Rational thought stopped then and there, when something pushed against the skin of his shoulders. He screamed again, and tears dripped from under his eyelashes. He just wished the sensation would stop, and that he would be left alone. Wasn't it enough that he had defeated an insane Dark Lord? He sobbed, and when it felt as if his back was splitting in two, he finally tumbled into sweet oblivion.