Angels and Devils (Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Chapter 1. Wish It Was Not Always Him

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 faded with a little time.

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. 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, turning 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. For a moment, he felt light-headed.

"Harry!" Hermione said 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, staring at her palm.

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

The expression in his friend's eyes was very worried. The stabbing pain was, once again, gone, but Harry was well aware 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.

~*~

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. They were protective of their own, especially when it came to Harry.

The fact that he had survived at all was something of a miracle. His housemates took looking after him very seriously. 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. It 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 stranger. Poppy had muttered something to herself, sent Hermione and Ron off with platitudes, and then pulled screens round the bed.

"Please remove your 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, 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.