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.

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. 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. That was enough of a relief to make him put off asking awkward questions.

"The bleeding is superficial," Poppy said efficiently as she carefully examined him, "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. 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 hell.

It took about thirty seconds for the needle like sensations his nerves were sending him to ebb away into blissful numbness, at which point 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 the burning question that no longer allowed him to ignore it.

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

There was worrying silence from the school nurse. Harry swivelled his head to try and look at the woman even if it was awkward. 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 tone. "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. Obviously, he had been wishing for the impossible.

Whatever potion Poppy had used on his back had eased the discomfort. 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," Poppy 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 the sound of footsteps made it to Harry's ears. 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 Madam 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 with that annoyingly stoic way he had before nodding.

"It is quite straightforward, Harry," Dumbledore told him, "you are growing wings."