I can see? I CAN FIGHT!

-Harry-

"Welcome everyone, to the start of this year's dueling club!" Professor Dumbledore called out grandly, students from all years and all houses gathered in the great hall for the sole reason of getting to blast each other with spells or fight with weapons. Some of the more arrogant purebloods looked down on the weapon fighting but to most they felt like his new friend Ron did, 'If it's good enough for Godric Gryffindor, it's good enough for me'. All around him, Harry's fellow first years were cheering excitedly, the blurs around them being the only real indicator of who is from what house as he squinted, attempting to see things clearly. The world had been a frustrating blur to him for as long as he could remember, having had to always be right up on anything to see. It had always made classes hard and escaping from Dudley's games of 'Harry Hunting' even harder but he'd managed to make do.

"Now, today's meeting of the club shall be run by our very own illustrious Professor Snape." Dumbledore stated happily and Harry assumed the old man was smiling a senile smile. The Ancient wizard had to be senile if he thought putting that bully in charge of a combat club where he could let older slitherins beat up younger Gryffindors was a good idea.

"Indeed." Snape sneered as he paced about "How about a little interhouse match to get everything warmed up. Potter, Flint, onto the dueling platform." Oh look, his guess about what would happen was right. Seeing Dumbledore make no protest at a malnourished first year fighting a known to be violent part troll seventh year, Harry grit his teeth and slowly made his way up, finding the platform mainly do to just how big a blurry blob it was as Snape threw a training sword into his gut. Harry had barely got his fingers around it properly when Snape shouted "Fight!" The blur that was Marcus Flint charged, swinging something too fast for Harry to see the blurred shape of, a blunt weapon catching him and sending him flying off the ring. "Well, well, fame truly isn't everything is it Potter?" he could swear Snape was smirking like a cat who got the canary "Makes me wonder just how real your legend-"

"Oh stuff it Severus." The irritated voice of Madame Pomphrey cut off the Potions professor as the students, or at least those not in Slytherin, cheered.

"Not Poppy, you know I prefer my staff keep any disagreements to themselves and not out in public." Dumbledore scolded the nurse for sticking up for Harry, yet another tick mark against the old ass.

"Not now Dumbledore." The nurse ignored him "Alright Mr. Potter, how many fingers am I holding up?" when he tried leaning in to see through the blur she stopped him "From there Mr. Potter."

"But everything's too blurry from back there." He protested as the woman made a confused noise and cast a couple spells.

"Sweet Merlin your eyesight is atrocious. Young man, did your family never take you to a Doctor to get your vision tested?" the nurse sounded shocked and outraged as she finished her spells.

"Aunt Petunia always said taking me to any kind of doctor would be a waste of her money and the Doctor's time." Harry answered, making sure it was loud enough that it would be overheard. Let that bite Dumbledore in the ass!

Madame Pomphrey rummaged in her bag, muttering several very unflattering things under her breath before pulling something out "Alright young man, here are some standard self-adjusting glasses. Try them on."

Putting them on, after a great deal of fumbling and more than a little assistance, Harry blinked as he looked around stunned his reedy little voice echoing around the hall "E-everything's so clear! I…I can see!" suddenly, his voice deepened "I CAN FIGHT!" feeling compelled and not sure why, Harry went with the feeling, grabbing his robes and tearing them away, his tiny malnourished body shooting up to the point he was as big as Hagrid, rippling muscles gleaming in the torch light and his once short messy black hair now flowing crimson locks. If he had a mirror, he'd have seen his mother's eyes now resembled his father's. Picking up his dull training sword, which started glowing in his hand, Harry pointed it at the now pale Flint "HAVE AT THEE VILE BLAGGARD!"

*RECORD SCREECH* Please note, the following scene has been deemed too violent for viewing audiences. Please accept this random and in no necessary order sound clips from the censored fight.

"Heeeeeelp!"

"My Scapula!"

"Not the face! NOT THE FACE!"

"FOR GRYFFINDOR!"

"I CAN FIIIIIIIGHT!"

"Why? Oh sweet Merlin why?!"

"That doesn't bend that way!"

"THAT doesn't bend THAT way!"

"Moooommmyyyyyyyy!"

*RECORD SCREECH* Thank you for your understanding.

Standing proudly, crimson locks still flowing, Harry smirked as the lump of bruised flesh that had once been Marcus Flint waved a white flag that he'd gotten from…somewhere. "Um…Winner is Harry Potter?" Professor Flitwick offered, Snape too busy thrashing on the ground in incoherent rage to properly call the match.