Invisible to the Eye
Harry/Draco [PG, 2541 words]
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and co own everything. I'm writing for fun and not for profit.
A/N: Unbeta'd, first try at a one-shot and not a drabble, possibly some Americanisms tossed in, and a sappy ending. Written for the prompt: glasses, and title inspired by The Little Prince.
Summary: Harry doesn't need to have his vision corrected, thank you very much. After all, the things Harry values most are invisible to the eye. His boyfriend wholeheartedly agrees.
Invisible to the Eye
"Well, Mr Potter, what do you think?"
Harry looks around the room at all the pairs of glasses lined on shelves with the tiny mirrors reflecting them and bites his lip. Honestly, he's overwhelmed. He's had a long day of trying on endless amounts of new clothes, getting his hair cut and styled, and had only managed to stop Hermione from dragging him to a dentist to get his teeth cleaned and whitened.
It's not that he doesn't appreciate the effort in trying to make him presentable for her wedding, well, Ron and Hermione's wedding, but he's tired of shopping. He just wants to go home and cook dinner so he can relax. The last thing he wants to do is get a new pair of glasses, but here he is, sitting in the optometrist's chair, waiting to see what she recommends.
He's only here because Hermione has promised to not pester him about anything else and that it was long overdue for him to get his vision checked.
"Can't I just keep the ones I have and just put in new lenses?" he asks at last, taking off his glasses. Even though the optometrist is but a blur behind a desk, he can practically see how she frowns at the question.
"Well, that's one option, but there are better ones than getting new glasses," Healer Wilson says carefully. Summoning the visuals to start her spiel, she sits up straighter in her chair and flips open his chart. "Glasses are usually the first thing prescribed because they are the easiest. Other options involve spells and surgeries, but since most of my patients are children, parents don't want to force such a decision on a child. How did you find out you needed glasses?"
Healer Wilson's office is cold, but that's not the only reason Harry shivers in his seat. Bringing up memories from his childhood with the Dursleys is always unpleasant, especially in front of strangers. He remembers life always being a blur as a child, the images hazy and having to squint at everything, and then being scolded by Aunt Petunia because she didn't like the way he made faces everywhere.
"Ever since my first year of primary school," Harry replies at last.
Harry, nervous, but excited, had sat in the back of the classroom on the first day of school. Luckily, Dudley had been placed in another class with Piers Polkiss, so there was no one to tell the other kids that he was a freak. For the first time in his life, Harry had hope of being able to make a friend.
No such luck there.
The first problem Harry had was when he was asked to answer a simple maths question and he couldn't. He couldn't see a thing that the teacher, a young woman with hair the colour of honey and a sweet smile, was writing on the blackboard. All he saw were white lines that didn't mean anything.
Even when he had been forced to sit in the front, everything was still a mess. It didn't take long before he heard snickers and whispers of 'Harry is stupid!' and he tried to squash down the hurt feelings that came with those words. Harry knew he wasn't stupid, he just couldn't see.
After spending the first weekend finishing his homework assignments with ease, Harry had arrived at school that Monday morning resolving to do better. His plan was short-lived when his teacher had asked him to stay after school to visit the nurse's office.
"Nothing to worry about, Harry," she had said, "everything will be alright."
Which was a problem in itself because all Harry did was worry.
The pool of dread that had settled in his stomach had never really left that day, following him as he sat alone in the canteen, or stood against the fence as he watched the other kids play. He wasn't paying attention in class and was more worried about what his aunt and uncle would say. Would the school nurse find out what was wrong with him? Would this prove that he was a freak? And would she tell everyone?
That afternoon, after the last bell had rung, Harry walked silently beside his teacher to the nurse's office. He climbed onto the bed with the white paper crinkling as he tried to make himself comfortable. He didn't even look around the room for fear of finding something the nurse might use on him.
In reality, he shouldn't have been so worried.
When the school nurse walked in, she had him stand many feet away from the wall. He was told to cover one eye and try to read the letters off the chart without squinting his eyes. Harry tried, his voice shaky as he called out letters, making some up when he didn't know the correct ones.
The nurse made no comments other than telling him to cover his other eye while she scribbled down notes on her paper. When he was done at last, she smiled at him and told him he needed a pair of reading glasses.
"How old were you?"
Harry blinks and remembers that he's in an optometrist's office and not in a school nurse's office. "I've had them since I was four," he says at last, looking up from his lap where he's had his fingers clasped around his glasses.
"That's a very long time to have the same pair," Healer Wilson says, then hurries on when she sees Harry frown. "I mean, an Auror like yourself needs to be able to do his job without worrying about eyeglasses breaking, falling off, or getting in the way. Have you considered getting your vision fixed?"
Of course Harry's thought about it. Magic has certainly worked wonders with things he's never dreamed of fixing.
"Hermione, my best friend, taught me spells that prevent everything you've said, so there's no danger of that happening. And I've had glasses all of my life…" he says, trailing off when he sees the blurry hint of disbelief cross her face. Don't you want something better her expression seems to say.
Truthfully, if Harry admits to himself as he holds out the glasses and unfolds the frames so that he can take a better look at them, he doesn't. He likes his glasses. They're still round and black, with scuff marks on the frames, small chips missing from everyday use. He's not careless with them, per se, but he's also not constantly worrying about them. They stay on his face all day with a semi-permanent Sticking Charm. So what if he wears them to bed because he's still reading and forgets to take them off and he wakes up the next morning on top of them?
Harry smiles. The only times he takes them off is when he showers or has sex, but only because Draco insists for some odd reason.
Yet they've survived all of these years- survived even Voldemort, survived even death- and with only the simple exchange of lenses and prescription, they're still the same ones, only expanding them with a spell Hermione had taught him when they were too small for his face.
Still, these glasses are the first thing Harry had chosen for himself.
After years of getting Dudley's cast-offs, it was a nice change. He remembers going to an optometrist's office in Surrey, where he couldn't make up his mind because everything was so new and shiny. There were so many different frames, made of plastic and wire, square, oval and circle-shaped, and different colours that made it difficult to decide. After a while, much to his aunt's frustration, he had a small pile of glasses that he had tried once before setting them aside because they weren't the right ones.
Yet, when Harry had picked up these particular frames, he knew immediately those were the ones he wanted. They had a warmth that spread from his fingertips all though his body and he smiled for the first time since discovering that he needed glasses. Even more so when his Aunt Petunia had taken one look at him and scoffed, "Never had any taste, did you, boy? You're just like your father, right down to the glasses and wild hair."
And, to a young Harry, hearing those words meant the world to him. It's hard to let go of the idea that he had a piece of his father with him, as well as having his mother's green eyes.
So, no, he doesn't want new glasses, and tells the Healer that.
Healer Wilson lets out a huff of air then fills out a piece of parchment and has him sign it. "I've placed the new prescription order so it should be ready and owled to you by tomorrow morning." She holds out her hands and Harry drops the glasses into them, wincing a little when they disappear.
Harry reaches into his pockets to take out some Galleons and Healer Wilson waves him off, telling him that he will be billed later. Just as Harry is about to leave, she clears her throat and says, "However, if you insist on using the same glasses, I need to give you a temporary vision correction until then."
He nods, if only to stop her nagging, and the Healer gives a small smile of satisfaction. With a flick of her wand, Harry feels the spell busy at work. It makes his eyes cold, like they're being dunked in freezing water, and he has to close his eyes, because suddenly there's a small burst of pain that is gone as soon as it had started.
"How are you, Mr Potter?" Healer Wilson asks, and after a moment of hesitation, Harry opens his eyes. For the first time in years, he can see properly. The world is clear and bright, but it feels so wrong without his glasses.
"Fine, thanks," he says, nodding once before getting out of his chair.
"It'll get some time getting used to, that's all," she assures him, "but otherwise everything should be alright. Don't hesitate to owl me should you have any questions."
Harry nods again before Disapparating out of the office.
Draco has a thousand thoughts going through his mind as he steps out of the fireplace after returning from his office on a Saturday. His weekends are normally free, but since he'll be in Australia to attend Granger and Weasley's wedding this week, he went in today to make sure his affairs were in order, especially for his esteemed clients.
He sends his satchel and books off to his home office before taking off his traveling cloak and hanging it up. "Harry," he calls out, making his way to the kitchen where the delicious scent of turkey and spices has filled the flat they share.
Standing in the doorway, Draco sees Harry's back is turned to him, and he's busy chopping vegetables near the sink. His hair is neater, though by no means tamed, and there is a new blue jumper that fits him snug and is made of something soft, perhaps cashmere. He's also wearing a pair of denims that hug his arse and makes it impossible not to stare without visions suddenly going through Draco's mind.
Draco frowns at this 'new' Harry, wondering what brought up this change since Harry usually makes do with a t-shirt and denims when he gets home. He calls out his name again, and he must have startled the man, for Harry lets out a yelp and sticks his finger in his mouth as he turns around.
"Draco?" he asks, eyes very wide and he turns around and puts his finger under the waterspout to rinse the blood away. Which makes Draco very suspicious because Harry usually greets him with generous displays of affection that Draco pretends to dislike, but secretly enjoys.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Until-
"Where's your glasses?"
"Oh," Harry says, and there's a frown on his face, even as he's running a hand through his hair, messing it up. "Hermione took me shopping for her wedding and then to buy me a new pair of glasses. Except she suggested that I could do with a vision correction."
Draco walks over to stand next to Harry, giving him a sideways glance as he healed his boyfriend's finger. Harry had mentioned that he was shopping this week, but knowing his boyfriend, Draco had thought he would put it off until the very last minute.
"That doesn't sound like Granger."
"No, not Hermione," Harry says, giving a small smile. "The healer was just giving me my options and this," he says, waving a hand near his eyes, "is temporary. Just to let me know what it would be like if I wanted to fix my vision."
Saying nothing, Draco fills a cup with water and takes a sip. Harry had never been bothered about his looks before, always teasing that he was fine with Draco getting all the attention when they went out together in public. But to fix his vision was drastic and Draco wonders if something had happened to make Harry want to do this.
He stays silent, watching as a flush spreads up from Harry's neck before asking, "Well, do you? It would help change your appearance drastically, if that's what you're going for, considering that you're wearing new clothes and all. "
"Honestly, the clothes are only for the wedding," Harry says, letting his shoulders slump. "As for my eyesight, I hate this. I'd rather have my glasses and I don't care if you think they're old-fashioned or that I could- mphff," Harry is cut off when Draco leans down and kisses him.
Draco kisses him with a hunger he didn't know he has, and if he stops to take a moment to analyse it, then he'd figure out that he's jealous. No one should have the privilege of seeing Harry without his glasses; that honour is reserved for Draco alone. That is the reason he hides Harry's glasses when he wants to have sex, or to be perfectly honest, make love with Harry.
Because although Harry sees the world better with them, it's Draco Harry sees best without his glasses. Draco has lost count how many times during sex Harry always keeps eye contact with him, reaching out with his hands to turn Draco's face towards him. Even when lost in a sea of haziness and desire, the bright green eyes are always seeking him out, trying to keep that one connection the proves the Muggle expression the eyes are the window to the soul. Harry can't hide anything and it always amazes Draco to see the pure love in those green eyes.
Breaking away from the kiss, Draco knows that it's still true. Harry looks bewildered, but there's a pleased smile on his face and he holds onto Draco as he stumbles a bit.
"Keep the glasses, Harry. You'd be a stranger without them." As Harry laughs, Draco puts all the food under a Stasis Charm to be cooked later. "As for the clothes, they're nice and all, but I'd rather you wear your birthday suit, which goes well for all the plans I have in store for you tonight."