It was hard for her to believe the story he told, and yet its sheer unbelievability made it plausible.
Had she even read of any blind wizards? She had seen a few with glasses, proof that there was no simple magical cure for less than perfect eyesight. But no one truly blind.
And Harry Potter was blind in the normal sense of the word.
She wondered if the wizards had even talked to him long enough to realize that he was not normal anything, really.
"Light? C-c-colors only, or, or… s-s-s-shapes, too?"
Harry shrugged where he sat in the nearly abandoned library, most of the other students in class.
Like they both should be. He might be able to get away with it, butshe was certain she would have a note to bring home to her parents.
But it was so totally worth it.
"I see colors, in patterns and moving at different rates. No two things look quite the same, and I've learned to recognize a lot of the patterns and colors well enough to get by. All people have the same general pattern, though witches and wizards glow brighter. But all have different hues, all over the color spectrum. I saw a woman once, and knew she was pregnant, because she bore another color different than her own inside of her."
"Really." Hermione breathed, finding the thought beyond fascinating.
Harry grinned. "It has its perks, its tricks. But I can't find its true potential. The wizards won't take me into their school, and they have no books I can read. I need help, Hermione. I need another of my kind."
Her heart raced, then fell. "B-b-but, I'm not... I'm m-m-muggleborn, and I was only at H-h-hogwarts for two m-m-m-m-months. I hardly know a-an-any-anything about their w-world."
Harry leaned forward, all humor gone. "I don't care for labels, and I don't need a Hogwarts student. I need someone smart and willing to work with me, to help me find a way to learn what you can just read in books. Someone to guide me on trips to Diagon Alley, and help me with experimental magic."
Hermione bit her lip. "We're not s-supposed to use m-magic outside of school, you k-know. My p-p-parents had to sign special papers at the M-m-ministry to get them to allow m-me leeway as long as I was e-e-enrolled with a tutor. I'm surprised you haven't been c-c-caught by the Trace."
"The Trace?" He asked, and Hermione nodded, then realized he couldn't see the small gesture.
"It's like a b-beacon of some sort, lets them know when we're u-u-using magic without an a-a-adult."
He sighed, absently rolling his long staff between his palms where it was propped against his shoulder.
"I don't know. Maybe it doesn't track the accidental magic of children, and seeing as I was never enrolled in a magical school… maybe it wasn't activated." He smiled suddenly. "You see, you are useful already. I had no idea that the wizards might be tracking me."
Hermione flushed, looking down, words jumbling together in her mind and making it difficult to speak coherently.
It had been a long time since someone other than her parents had spoken to her in that tone of voice. Someone whose good opinion she couldn't help but crave.
That troll knocked more than a few screws loose, she mused, and ground her teeth together.
"What's the matter?" Harry asked, and Hermione blew out a breath.
"N-n-nothing. I'll do it. I'll h-help."
He beamed, and though he couldn't see it, Hermione smiled back at him.
From that day forward, things changed.
She had a friend; and a friend that made the girls who used to snub her begin to crowd around seeking her friendship.
She spurned them all. Harry's friendship was more than enough, more than she could ever hope for, and what he wanted took up all her spare time.
With his funds she bought more books and read, combing through tome after tome for some solution, some spell to meet her need.
And when she found it, her excitement could not wait for the next school day.
And so Hermione Granger met Harry Potter's muggle relatives, who were more surprised at her being their typically antisocial nephew's friend than the fact that she was also, inconceivably, a witch.
It was a simple spell, though at a fourth year level. It simply read aloud any text that one pointed a wand at, meant to help train young wizards how to properly enunciate their Latin.
But for Harry, it opened a new world.
He simply opened up a page, placed his hand upon it, and spoke the word.
"Enuntiare."
And a voice read the entire page.
When it worked the first time, Harry stood, trembling, and reached towards his Viola's light, pulling her close into a hug, his head dropping to her shoulder as he whispered his fervent thanks.
She was stiff as a board; and Harry let her go as swiftly as he had drawn her in.
But he would give her everything he had if she asked for it after that day.
1993
For Hermione, that year passed like a blur of wondrous research and magic of all kinds.
She shared all her tutor's notes and books with Harry, the boy devouring them at a pace that astounded her. Together they practiced magic in her room, her with a wand and precise elegant movements, him with only a rough gesture and a word, one hand on the carved wood of the staff Ollivander had made him.
Harry helped her with her muggle subjects, explaining things in ways she had never thought of; with textures and sounds, mathematical patterns and geometric shapes. They would reserve the labs at school to practice chemistry, Hermione doing the delicate physical work Harry was incapable of, him coaching her in words and gestures.
For her parents, there was never a moment of doubt. The boy who their daughter brought home was the first friend she had ever had; and he was courteous to a fault.
And they didn't need to fear that as a wizard he might draw their girl back into a dangerous world. He was blind, after all, and Hermione had told them that he was not wanted in their world. They didn't understand the wizards thinking, when it was obvious to them the boy could perform magic well enough. But wizards thought in odd ways, and it was none of their business. They were only glad to see their Hermione so very happy again.
But at a school of magic in the mountains of Scotland, there was little peace or happiness to be had.
The school was terrorized by a monster. Ghosts and muggleborns petrified, blood writing on the walls, halls flooded and fear dripped like poison in the hearts of the students.
Ron Weasley's sister disappeared; and later that day, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his phoenix fought off a basilisk in the Great Hall before the terrorized eyes of a hundred fleeing students.
Neville Longbottom, bearing Gryffindor's Sword, helped distract and slay Slytherin's monster before it could wreak more havoc, three friends at his side, dodging and weaving, the Heroes of Hogwarts.
Then the Headmaster struck it down with enveloping fire and a well timed severing curse to its neck.
But five students died from looking into the Basilisk's naked eyes before the phoenix could claw them out.
And one boy was killed in the aftermath, when the great beast fell dead upon him, and later students would say they did not recognize the boy, and in fact, no more mention was made of him.
Only the Headmaster and the Heroes knew the real truth, of the boy Tom Riddle who had boasted so strongly of killing Ginny Weasley to make himself whole again.
Lord Voldemort had returned, for a brief time, and once more left spilt blood in his wake.
Ginny Weasley's body and the mythical Chamber of Secrets were never found.
Harry grew to like Hermione's mind more than even the color of her life. She had ideas, brilliant ones, making leaps of logic that he enjoyed. She read as much as he, getting references to ancient authors and theories that his family could not appreciate.
She wasn't awed by his own knowledge anymore, nor did she treat his blindness like an inconvenience. She was patient, and she was kind.
When she was excited and enthralled in study, her stutter disappeared like the shadows of plastic in his vision, becoming nothing.
And when she finally told him the story of what happened to her, of Halloween and the troll, of the cruelties of young boys, he knew he would never forget the name of Ronald Weasley, who took away the magic and gave only tears instead.
Hermione was brilliant, a shining light that drew him like a moth to open flame, and Harry did not care in the least if he got burned.
