Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Chapter 19:

Harry was thoroughly nervous when it was time for the spells that would hopefully correct his eyesight. He cooperated, but was silent, nervous. He trusted them all, of course he did. But he would be sleeping most of the time for nearly a week, quite unable to defend himself. He didn't like that bit, but when the spells were done, and he looked around the room, he was stunned at the clarity of everything around him. But even before he could comment, the Healer was firmly instructing him to take the potion, and then there was a blindfold, and he was steered to his bed. And except for a daily quick shower, still blindfolded, and necessary trips to the toilet, it was where he was to stay. Even his meals were taken in bed, small meals since he was so inactive.

But the potions were effective, and he slept most of the time, and didn't worry about Dumbledore, Voldemort or anyone or anything else.

Brandon and Sonia looked after him as much as was needed, which wasn't much. Connor kept away as instructed, but Annalise was still fascinated by him, and was prone to sneaking in and just watching him sleep until hunted out by one of the adults. He was Harry Potter. She may not have been reared on stories of the little Boy-Who-Lived as some children of her age had been, but she knew the story. The baby who had somehow defeated an evil wizard that people didn't like to name. And now he was almost a brother, a cousin who lived with them.

Two letters arrived and were left on his desk, waiting for him. Annalise resisted the temptation to open them for two whole days, and then yielded, picked one up and started to read. Hi Harry. Dumbledores gone. They say he got too sick to work, so McGonagall is in charge now. Theres a new Defence teacher. Someone said he used to be an auror. His name is Professor Trimble and he seems okay. I hope your still coming back when you said. Oliver wanted to know for Quidditch. Ron.

She started to open the other when her mother caught her. She glanced at Harry. He had his back to them. She didn't want to wake him, and so pulled her daughter out of the room before giving her a stern lecture about privacy, and forbidding her to enter the room except on specific invitation from Harry. "And that will obviously not happen until he is up and about again."

Annalise hung her head and said sorry, and Sonia sent her off. She was upset that her daughter had opened someone else's letter, but blamed it on her interest in the boy. She went back into Harry's room, carefully resealed both letters, though noting with surprise the elegant handwriting on the second, so different from the careless scrawl on the first. She wondered who Harry had been writing to, but put her own curiosity firmly aside, and put both letters into a drawer in the desk, though stopping in surprise when she saw the book tucked away there. 'The Great Houses of Britonaum.' She'd never even seen one. She may have been born a Carlyle, but only the Heads of Houses were supposed to have one of those books.

Carefully, she put it back, letters on top, glanced at the clock, and went to get Harry a meal. Quite often, he had to be roused to eat, and then he never wanted to eat as much as he should and had to be encouraged. She didn't want him losing weight during this enforced bed rest.

Later, when Connor and Annalise were occupied with lessons, she mentioned to her husband that she'd put Harry's letters away, so as not to tempt Annalise. "You know she adores him."

Brandon grinned, "It's a good thing they're not a few years older then."

"He's not pure-blood. Would you object to the match if it came to that?"

"I like Harry, and it's not as though it would affect the Greaves' blood status."

"Anyway, I put the letters away for him in his drawer. And there was something there that really surprised me."

"Yes?"

"I've never even seen one before - it was the 'Great Houses' book."

"Well, that's a surprise. He said he'd never had anything from his parents or ancestors."

"I'd like to know who he's corresponding with, as well. An adult's writing, old-fashioned script."

"Reared like that, probably secrecy is a part of him."

"We should not ask?"

"No, I don't think we should."

"You're probably right," Sonia said, though she was very curious. He'd never mentioned any adult who might be concerned for his welfare. Sirius Black? Sirius wrote in a scrawl. They'd had a letter from him to ask when he might see Harry, and they'd said they'd arrange something. So far, he hadn't pressed.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore was in a small and dingy room in Hogsmeade, his brother's establishment, the Hog's Head Inn. Taking up half the room were scores of cartons containing his possessions, which had all been packed up for him. He trusted his brother not to tell the aurors where to find him. Few people even knew that Aberforth was his brother. He was safe enough where he was.

He didn't know how to explain that he'd tried to take the boy. He didn't even know what he'd intended to do with him once he had him in his power. It was just that ideas seemed to get fixed in his brain these days, and then it was hard to think of anything else. But now he was thinking of a particular artefact that he'd valued, one of those that had gone missing in those weeks when he was being tormented, possibly by a house-elf, but he thought more probably by a human. House-elves did not take action on their own initiative. The Bonds of Magic that kept them enslaved made sure of that.

The Thinking Cap. Velvet, with elaborate embroidery of gold thread, heavy with untarnishable silver. He'd had it from Persia in those days when he and his close friend, Grindelwald, had travelled widely. Grindelwald had duelled its former owner, killed him, and then stolen whatever he chose. But that had been so long ago, and Grindelwald was far away, imprisoned, maybe even dead by now. Dumbledore still thought of those halcyon days of his youth - they'd had such fun, he and Grindelwald. They'd been brothers; they'd been lovers.

And now the Thinking Cap was his, but missing. It was supposed to aid clear thinking. He'd never used it himself, knowing he didn't need it. He thought further than others, his plans more devious. He knew that was so, and had known it was so for over a hundred years. Still, it had been beautiful, and now maybe he did need it What had he been thinking when he'd tried to take Harry, not just take him but to do it in front of so many witnesses! Some muddled idea of using him as a bargaining chip to keep his position as headmaster? It was such a part of him, that post, that he didn't know how he would live without the adulation of all of those students under his control.

He was careful not to be seen as he prowled Hogwarts that night. He knew he was to be arrested once found, and he wasn't sure just how loyal McGonagall was to him. He'd had to make her forget certain things at the end of the previous year, and still she'd seemed to disapprove of him.

He made his way to his office, now bare. One of the portraits of a previous headmaster stirred, and said in a sneering voice, "Kidnap, Albus? That was a bit foolish, was it not?"

Dumbledore silenced him, and then made another spell that put him to sleep, then did the same it to any other portrait who dared utter a word, and a few who didn't. He didn't want any of them to report his presence.

But the office was bare of his possessions, his living quarters were empty, and even the three hidden caches - his 'hidey-holes,' were empty as well. He'd fully expected to find something there. No-one had ever known of their existence. He looked suspiciously at the sleeping headmasters in the portraits. He guessed they might have seen something.

Only a very powerful wizard can make a 'Don't Notice Me' spell as effective as invisibility, but Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard. Neither Filch nor his cat noticed him pass by, a pair of seventh years seeking some privacy were oblivious, a half dozen Hufflepuffs with supplies for a midnight feast ignored him, even when one almost touched him.

He wandered the corridors of the old school, wondering how to find the stolen items. Where would the mischief-maker hide something? Old and disused class-rooms, a large area once used as a general common room, separate from the common rooms of each House, the third floor, even the hole where he'd had the replica of the Philosopher's Stone. The children had done well getting past those traps. He'd planned it well, and the Boy-Who-Lived had faced and vanquished Voldemort for a second time.

The seventh floor, where a door smoothly opened beside him. He almost missed it, walking and thinking. But the movement caught his eye, and he turned and entered the magical room he'd never known existed. And there, just to the left of the doorway, were the missing items. He crowed to himself that, as clever as he was, he'd been bound to find them. He conjured a bag, made the items smaller, and packed them. But then he looked around for the Sorting Hat. He couldn't see it, but there was so much here. The corridors were piled high with things, mostly rubbish, and seemed to go on forever.

Intrigued, he started wandering, picking up something here, something there, sometimes putting it into a newly conjured bag. There was so much here! Textbooks, broken furniture, an old and tarnished tiara. A tiara? He picked it up and inspected it. There was a taint of dark magic, but it didn't seem to be active. A tiara. A diadem? It couldn't be Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem, surely. But maybe it was. He'd always had these strange strokes of luck in his life, and put it down to his being a special person, so that even the spirits favoured him.

He checked the time. He'd been wandering for too long, and could not afford to be caught. He would come back. Maybe there would be more fabulous discoveries.

The following night he went back. But no matter what he did, the room did not appear for him, though he was certain it was the right place. Another night he tried, but the next night, he found he could not enter Hogwarts. It seemed that someone else had control of the Hogwarts wards, and he, the true headmaster, might never see it again. Albus Dumbledore grieved for his lost position.

xxx

Harry thought blearily that he'd never had such pleasant dreams. It wasn't so bad sleeping all the time when there were no nightmares, not even strange dreams of flying motorbikes. But that day, instead of a new potion after he'd eaten, Sonia smiled at him, and told him that Healer Vanden was to arrive soon, and decide whether the blindfold could come off.

"How long's it been?" Harry asked.

"Six full days, and you've been good as gold. I can't see any reason why there should be a problem."

Harry beamed, "I'll be able to see again, maybe better!"

"Maybe better," but she cautioned, "Don't count on it, though, Harry. Troy Vanden's the best, but it's like he said, changing genetic inheritance can be difficult."

The lights in the room were dimmed before Vanden removed Harry's blindfold and instructed him to open his eyes. He blinked, and then beamed. There were real edges, not blurry edges, but real edges. Aunt Sonia had a few lines on her face. He hadn't known she had lines. His gaze wandered. Everything looked different. The polished wood of the furniture had marvellous patterns, much more than he'd known. He said, marvelling, "You were right. I thought I could see fine with my glasses. It's different."

Vanden nodded, and said, "We will raise the light level now. Just say if it is uncomfortable."

It wasn't uncomfortable, and when Harry joined the other children outside, it was hard to stop smiling. It was a dull day, but everything was so clear, the colours more colourful, the light and shade more of a contrast.

Troy Vanden counted it another triumph that would enhance his reputation. He said casually, "I'll send the account," and Brandon nodded. He counted it another triumph that Harry hadn't tried to insist that he would pay. He'd been far too independent for a child, but now he was acting as if he really was a child.

xxx