Third POV Limited
Continuation of Rated R-ness until the end of the book- sorry!

Harry sighed in pleasure as he felt his muscles loosening under the warm spray of water in the shower. Cool, smooth wings rested on his back and he twisted his head to look at them, amused with himself for not noticing them earlier. They were made of scales, the same that were on Harry's arms and legs. At the top of his wings, the scales were black, but they slowly melded to green and then, at the bottom, a solid white. Harry smiled to himself and started humming a soft, happy tune, so as to occupy his mind.
After Harry had finished showering, being careful with his antlers mind you, he toweled off, looking in the mirror. He finally noticed that a certain pair of glasses were not resting on his nose, yet he could see perfectly. Harry frowned slightly, but then realized that this must have been the work of his magic as well. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry quickly grabbed his wand to cast a glamour to hide his new, unique appendages (since he was allowed to use magic now that he was of age, thank Merlin), and finished up his morning routine in order to go back to his room and wait to be called down to make breakfast by Aunt Petunia.
An hour later, Harry heard one of the dull beats from before start to quicken as footsteps could be heard rustling against a carpet. The feet and beat both slowly started to get louder as the time passed. The feet were headed in his direction and they stopped when a soft knocking sounded on his door. Suddenly, it clicked with Harry that his hearing had been improved as well. Quickly opening the door, Harry ducked to avoid getting punched in the face. "Sorry Ma'am." Aunt Petunia just scowled, contrasted by a slight confusion in her eyes. "Get breakfast ready freak. Omelets, bacon, and sausage are on the menu today." Harry mentally shrugged off Aunt Petunia's facial direction and nodded, quietly walked down the stairs until one creaked loudly, making him wince. Once he got downstairs, he started up the stove and began making his relatives' breakfast.
After most of his chores were done, Harry took the pleasure of weeding the garden and enjoying the nature around him. He could deal with the hateful comments and actions, the burning sun, the many chores, the nightmares, and stubborn weeds, as long as he had his garden. Harry gently began humming again, as it was one of the only ways to keep his thoughts from becoming dark. The tune was a soothing one, calm and cool; it made Harry feel more mellow. As he kept working and humming, the plants slowly started to move in a nonexistent breeze. Harry didn't notice, but he was grateful that it was suddenly easier to pull the weeds out. Unknown to Harry, he was singing an enchanted tune. The magic that had coated his throat to heal the damage done by Vernon had sunken down into his vocal cords, giving him a legitimately magical voice. Harry obliviously continued his chore, instead, counted his lucky stars that Merlin took pity on him today.
Once the weeds had been taken care of and the garden looked immaculate, Harry stood up on shaky legs and wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling tired and overly sweaty in the heat of the burning sun overhead. He looked up at the sky quickly, noticing he had to start dinner quickly. He hurried inside, asking his Aunt Petunia for the order before beginning to make the food. After he watched yet another meal be shoved down the ungrateful throats of Uncle Vernon and Dudley, he went to his room. About an hour later, Uncle Vernon came in with a very obvious problem from his new sensitivity, and continued to torture Harry for and with it. His following day's continued like this- miserable, disgusting, tiresome, repulsive, and empty. Harry wished he would have to bear no more, but every day, that wish was destroyed. Never a break, never an action, never a look, never a sound, it continued on. Harry would sometimes wonder if life and fate was against him, if death laughed at the fact that he had to carry such a burden instead of sleeping forever, peacefully with his parents and loved ones. His thoughts would get violent, sometimes suicidal, but he never let himself touch any tool of such a thing. Neither would have his magic if he had really tried to. The only upside to the whole tragedy was that Uncle Vernon had not found out about his new appendages... yet. Harry knew that there was little use to hiding it, if not to at least postpone his beating for a little while longer. As Dudley's birthday came, Uncle Vernon presented Harry to Dudley as a type of 'right of passage', so Harry gained another sexual abuser. He could no longer feel whenever something like that happened, all he would do was retreat into his mind, trembling within his magic's warm and comforting embrace. A whole month passed before his daily routine was suddenly ripped in half. The turning point was the day before his birthday.