Harry was so distracted by the feeling that he ought to recognize the odor of whatever potion Ms. Carrow was brewing that he sat in knitting class too distracted to follow any instructions at all. The Professor droned something about reaching a trance state while knitting. He held the wooden knitting needles in his hands, the yarn looped haphazardly around his fingers, sure that knitting would always be a mess of tangled yarn and dropped stitches. He felt weird to hear the professors rhapsodize about the scrying potential of knitting. It seemed so out of character for them and more like something that Professor Trelawney would be advocating.

Luna muttering a charm under her breath next to him didn't help his focus at all. No doubt she was still trying to extract the Nargles from her yarn. He wasn't exactly sure what it was that Nargles did to yarn or what exactly a Nargle was. Luna's amorphous description had left him with more questions than answers and since Professor Carrow had begun the class, he didn't have a chance to ask any more about them.

He was still wondering if the reason he couldn't get the hang of knitting had anything to do with Nargles, when one of the professors stomped toward him. Harry looked up at the looming shadowy figure approaching him, assuming it was Professor Alecto Carrow, although he never felt totally sure. The twins were nearly identical in size and both stank of dragonhide. It was only the slight difference in their growling tones that helped him distinguish which one he was addressing. They also tended to hang around in each other's classrooms when they didn't have a class of their own, a practice he had found peculiar at Durmstrang.

"Potter! What is this mess?" Professor Carrow snapped, grabbing the needles from Harry's inert hands.

"Professor, I can help him get it sorted out," a nearby female voice said.

The irate professor must have given the unknown helper the wool and needles, because she stomped away to harass some other student while the person who'd spoken up slid closer to Harry on the bench.

"It's really not that bad, Harry," she muttered.

"Er, sorry. You are…?" Harry whispered back, feeling the heat rising in his neck.

"Oh, right. I'm Torie Brocklehurst, Ravenclaw, sixth year. My sister Mandy is in your year. She's also in Ravenclaw," Torie said quietly as the Carrow siblings loudly made their way around the room, checking the work of the students. "Here, I picked up the stitch you dropped. Try again."

Torie brushed the back of his hand with the small fragment of knitting suspended on the needles. Harry felt along the wood, running his fingers over the evenly spaced stitches looped over the needles and found the points, then the strand of yarn. He looped it over his index finger. Torie tugged on the yarn he was holding and he looked up toward her, drawing his eyebrows together.

"I'm untangling your yarn. It's okay. Oh, and wait. If you loop the yarn like this and hold it with your pinkie finger, you'll have more control over the tension," Torie said as she rearranged the yarn in his hands. "Now, find the next loop and bring the yarn through it. See? That's better."

"Oh, yeah. That is, thanks. I can keep the yarn tighter so that it doesn't slip off the needle," Harry said as he felt the new loop that he'd just transferred to the working needle. "Maybe you can help Luna sort out her Nargles?"

Torie snorted.

"What?"

"There's no such thing as Nargles," she whispered conspiratorially.

"No, I'm sure they are real," Harry said, feeling defensive on Luna's behalf even though he had wondered the same thing.

"I'm sure they aren't," Torie retorted.

"What's the point of this, anyway?" Harry asked sourly, to change the subject, as he started in on a new row, slipping the needle point under the first loop and trying to remember which way to wrap the yarn around it.

"It's to help to reach Flow," explained Torie, her needles clicking in a soft rhythm. "Once you reach Flow, the magic can happen."

"Flow? Magic?" Harry asked. "You mean scrying magic? Like knowing things or divination? It sounds more like Trelawny stuff."

"Not divination," Torie said, her words almost in rhythm with her needles. "Flow brings a special magic of its own. You can Travel, for instance. Kind of like the Travel you do with a book. Or a painting. Have you ever Traveled in a book?"

"Err, I don't think so," confessed Harry, who hadn't been much of a reader even before the pain-in-the-arse which was Braille. He slid the right-hand needle back through the loop, wondering if he successfully caught the wrapped yarn or not. Sight would sure be handy in this instance, he thought, staring at the soft gray blur in his hands.

"Well, when have you reached Flow?" Torie asked impatiently.

"What's Flow?" Harry queried, clenching his teeth as he slipped the loop off and pushed the needle through the next one, mentally counting, two done, ten thousand more to go.

"Flow!" Torie repeated as if giving him the word again would somehow define it in his mind. "The state of mind when you're completely absorbed in something and you lose track of time and when you come back you feel like you've been somewhere else, you know?"

"Err, of course," Harry said absently, slipping the second stitch off the end of the left-hand needle.

Torie continued, ignoring his inattention. "Knitting achieves a special kind of Flow. You can use it for all kinds of things. Like Traveling."

"Traveling?" Harry asked, feeling as stupid as he had when he'd first entered the Wizarding World.

"Some people Travel through paintings," Torie explained. "You go where and when the picture was painted. Meet the people, talk to them…"

"Really?" Harry looked up, suddenly interested.

"But with knitting you can do even more," Torie continued, but her words were cut off by Professor Carrow approaching the bench where they sat.

"Enough you two!" she said sourly. I don't believe your schedule says Flirting Class. "Concentrate on your own work."

"Sorry, Professor. I was just trying to help Harry…" Torie began, but her words trailed off, apparently dying under the professor's stern glare.

Without a word, Professor Carrow pivoted on her heel and stalked away, her flat shoes slapping the stone floor.

Harry managed to finish all the stitches in his row before class ended but he doubted he'd ever become adept enough at knitting to achieve anything but a headache.

[break]

Two weeks later, Harry finally relaxed and began settling into his classes. He still felt completely baffled by knitting class. To combat his boredom, he charmed the yarn to change colors; although he couldn't see the colors himself, the students around him had begun to look forward to finding out what his project would look like that day.

Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor common room one quiet Saturday afternoon before dinner reading one of his ponderous braille books. He found with satisfaction that his braille reading speed had begun improving as he was forced to read the notes he took in class as well as longer and longer assignments. His fingers had begun to move smoothly across the page and he was able to transition from reading the beginning of the line with his left index finger (the other fingers tracked the line) to transfer his reading to his right hand near the middle of the line and read to the end, leaving his left hand free to find the beginning of the next line. He had learned, too, that brushing lightly across the tops of the dots made reading faster and easier. When he was called upon to read in class, he could read almost fast enough to speak smoothly.

While he read, he stretched out his stockinged feet toward the dry heat of the fire, which chased away the dampness of the day.

All at once, Ron burst through the door, talking before he'd fairly gotten into the room.

"Harry! There you are!" he said breathlessly. "I've been looking everywhere!"

Harry doubted this, since Ron rarely entered the library or classrooms unless he had to. He turned toward Ron with a grin, marking the page in his book with a clip.

"Hiya," he said easily, as though all of Ron's fuss and pother were lost on him.

"Sirius and Professor O'Carolan are here!" announced Ron. "They're down in the Entrance Hall."

That did get Harry's attention. "Oi, mate! Why didn't you say so?"

"I did, you prat," protested Ron. "Now, come along!"

Harry rose, feeling for his shoes with his toe and slipped them on. Leaving the book on the chair, he shook out his cane and followed Ron out of the portrait hole and down the stairs.

He had hardly reached the bottom step when Sirius charged at him with the force of a happy Newfoundland dog and engulfed him in a warm hug. Harry grinned again, although an unexpected touch still surprised him, and hugs felt foreign and uncomfortable. He'd not had enough hugs in his life.

"Harry," said Professor O'Carolan warmly, finding his hand to give it a shake.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked Sirius when he'd got his breath back.

"Homer has been asked to serve as your mobility instructor at Hogwarts! And I thought I'd use the excuse to come up and see you," explained Sirius, and Harry had to think for a minute to remember that Professor O'Carolan's first name was Homer.

"Brilliant! Are you also teaching other classes?" Harry asked, turning toward the Professor, but then he snapped his head back toward Sirius. "But, Sirius! Aren't you going to get lonely at Grimmauld Place if we're all here at Hogwarts?"

Professor O'Carolan coughed softly, and Harry realized his gaff.

"Ow! Oh, sorry, Sirius. I should have thought that through," Harry said as his ears grew warm. He reached out for Sirius, but he had stepped away and Harry felt his stomach drop. He thought that maybe Sirius had left, but then he heard him thumping someone on the back and laughing and realized that Remus had also joined them in the hallway. He wished he could tell whether or not he had offended Sirius, but without seeing his face, he lacked enough information to tell, and decided the most prudent course was just to drop it.

"Well, now that we're all here… how about we head out to Hogsmeade to knock off the floo powder and wet our whistles while we wait for the house-elves to finish preparing my room?" Professor O'Carolan said, his cane tapping a rhythm on the stone floor. "Ron Weasley, is it? Would you like to join us?"

"Er, sure, Professor," Ron stammered.

"Come on, then. Let's go," Professor O'Carolan said, heading toward the great door.

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? Where are you two off to?" An officious voice bounced off the high stone walls. "You can't just leave without getting permission from your head of house!"

Harry turned toward the voice, frowning… he knew that voice but was having trouble placing it. Then it clicked. Madame Umbridge.

"It's all right, Madame Undersecretary," Lupin responded smoothly. "I've already sent a message to Professor McGonagall."

"Oh, all right. I suppose." Madame Umbridge sounded a bit dubious and more than a little miffed at Lupin's obvious use of "undersecretary", but her footsteps retreated.

"Noisy old hag!" Ron whispered into Harry's ear as he swung his arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the others who were now trying to catch up with Professor O'Carolan. Harry shook him off and swung his cane out in front of him in irritation. He was feeling caged, and there was something about Madame Umbridge that made him shiver.

"Mr. Weasley, I'm sure she was just trying to make sure that you two don't get yourselves into any more trouble…" Professor Lupin said.

"Right!" Ron snorted and galloped ahead to pester Sirius about the latest quidditch match in which his beloved Chudley Cannons had scraped a win over Sirius's team, Puddlemere United.

The walk down the hill to the village in the crisp, chilly autumn air did Harry good. He stopped feeling so waspish with Ron, and forgot about Madame Umbridge entirely. He noticed that Professor O'Carolan's health seemed much improved, and he increased his pace to catch up with the elderly professor who still managed to walk at a surprisingly brisk pace, his cane tapping the frozen path in rhythm with his footsteps.

"Hello, Harry," he said warmly as Harry moved to keep pace with him. He had lit his pipe, and the aromatic scent of pipe tobacco drifted along behind him as he puffed contentedly.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, sir," Harry began, then paused. "Wait, how did you know it was me?"

"Second sight, of course, my lad," responded Professor O'Carolan dryly, and Harry laughed.

"Oh yeah, right. So you're here at Hogwarts?" he asked awkwardly. "Are you teaching any other classes?"

"Your divination teacher, Sybil Trelawney, is it?" began O'Carolan, around the pipe stem clamped in his teeth. "I'm apparently assisting her in some way. I have yet to learn the details." He chuckled and blew out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

When they reached The Hogs Head Inn, Harry stood by the door, uncertain where the group would end up after the butterbeers had been ordered. As he waited awkwardly, someone approached him and touched his elbow.

"Potter? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The words were spoken in a low half-whisper, and Harry had no idea who had spoken, except that it wasn't Ron or any of the others with whom he'd arrived.

"Err, sure," he said, and whoever-it-was pulled him a little away from the door.

"It's Finch-Fletchly. From Runes," explained the Unknown, noticing the confusion on Harry's face.

"Oh, hey," Harry said, his confusion not noticeably diminished. What would Justin Finch-Fletchly, a Hufflepuff, want with him? And why was he in the Hog's Head when most students could be found at the Three Broomsticks or Honeydukes? "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just saw you come in, and hoped you would do me a favor," Justin explained.

"Err, I guess so," Harry replied, curious as to what in the world it could be.

"Diggory asked me to pick these up for him when I came down today. Would you give them to him for me?" Justin asked, handing Harry a squashy parcel.

"No problem," Harry agreed, wondering why Justin couldn't just do the errand himself, but dismissing the thought with a shrug. Possibly it had something to do with not wanting to be seen as a lackey for the Head Boy, but Harry didn't care. Cedric probably just didn't feel up to walking to the village.

Justin gave him a friendly slap on the arm in thanks, and ducked back out the door. A moment later, Ron arrived to tow Harry to the table he had chosen, and Remus passed around mugs of foaming butterbeer.