Bright Lights

Madam Pomfrey proved to be both right and wrong. She concocted a potion that she applied to my eyes over three fifteen-minute periods. There wasn't an immediate reaction, though I swiftly fell asleep.

I woke in the middle of the day. The whole Hospital Wing was filled with a bright looking—well there was nothing else to call it—air, as if the particles themselves were made of light. To my right, I could see the dark shapes of three people, silhouetted against this bright air. There was a giant man, and a woman, who I assume was Madam Pomfrey as she tended to a student. The student was the blonde Slytherin boy who'd laughed at me on the train, Lucas Morgan. He whimpered in the arms of the giant.

"Tried to break into me house," said the giant man. "Witherwings didn't like that."

"I expect the Slytherins put him up to it. You know, with their stupid initiations," Madam Pomfrey said.

She raised her wand and something odd happened. I could see a bright yellow light circulating around her wand. It was too bright. I couldn't look directly at it. As she brought her wand down and pointed at a bed, a piece of the light broke off and shot out faster than I could follow, at the bed. The blankets were surrounded by this light, manipulated by it as they untucked and prepared themselves for the boy. Her wand started to glow again, and she pointed it at the boy, whose arm was covered in the light. His cuts bound together and the blood on his arm cleared. Another light burst shot from her wand, and Lucas was momentarily covered in it, and made to sleep.

"I'll keep him here tonight," Madam Pomfrey said. "He'll be fine in no-time, but I dislike the idea of sending him back down to his common room. Will he be receiving a detention?"

"I reckon enough damage has been done," said the Giant. "He won't forget about breaking in, not after a Hippogriff got him."

"Very well Hagrid. I'll tend to him before going back to bed."

It was only now that I realized Madam Pomfrey was in a nightgown. But it was the middle of the day? Wasn't it?

"Right you are Poppy."

The giant called Hagrid left the room. His dark shape stomped past me and he thrust open the doors. They slammed behind him. I fought with myself—deciding between telling Madam Pomfrey about my condition, or letting it go and hoping it'd be gone in the morning. She had enough to deal with without me.

I waited and after two more spurts of pure sunlight from her wand, she went back to her quarters. And again, I wondered why? It was day, wasn't it? I hopped up from bed—sure Madam Pomfrey was not going to come out. I tip-toed to the window and peered outside. The castle looked as if it was bathed in sunlight, but the sky was dark, and there was only the tiniest sliver of a moon.

It took a moment to realize that it wasn't light I was seeing, but magic.

But how?

That was easy enough. The mixture of the two spells had altered my vision somehow—maybe Madam Pomfrey's potion had compounded the issue—but physiologically my eyes were different than anyone else's. I rushed to a mirror atop a long desk at the back of the room. I wanted to see my eyes, see if there wasn't a noticeable difference.

There was. And it was instantly noticeable. My eyes were a reddish-pink color in the irises. A strange smoke of the same color rose from them—would they always be like that? Or did they smoke just because of how fresh the injury was?

But I began to think about the symptoms. Able to see magic. I was already getting a headache from the light around me. My eyes could see it, but they couldn't take it. I needed water. I reached into my pajamas—a blue and white striped set—but my wand lay on the bedside table. I thrust out my hand for it. It didn't move. I made a mental note to look up if Wizards could summon their wands without their wands in hand. I'd read somewhere about indigenous American people who used magic long before being introduced to wands, but I couldn't remember if they could summon things.

I could see magic.

That thought kept coming back to me. If my eyes hurt now, I couldn't imagine what it would be like in the morning with a thousand students hurling magic around. Classrooms would be unbearable. And there was the problem of having pink eyes. Not only would people ridicule me, but the evilest wizard of the age had, well not pink, but a red hue. Would people fear that I was becoming a dark wizard?

But seeing magic… I couldn't remember reading about it. Father would be fascinated, and I could imagine the practical uses if I ever dueled anyone—able to see nonverbal spells before—

But my head seemed to split in two as the room became especially bright. I covered my eyes and bent down. Madam Pomfrey had come into the room and lit all the torches with her wand. "Mr. Husher you really should—Mr. Husher?"

I was sobbing. How embarrassing—my first night in Hogwarts and I was crying like every other first year, sad their mommy wasn't around.

"Mr. Husher, what is it? Let me see." She knelt beside me and peeled away my hands.

"Extinguish the torches, please," I said.

She did so. It helped, but it felt like my brain was going to push right out of my skull. I opened my eyes and Madam Pomfrey gasped. I saw her grasp at the pink smoke. "But—oh my." She had her nails of one hand on her teeth. "You should have woken me immediately. Can you see, Mr. Husher?"

I nodded. Should I tell her? Of course, she's my caretaker—if this was dangerous, she ought to know. If it was not—but the pain in my head increased momentarily and I blurted it out. "I can see the magic, all of it, your wand, the spells—it's all bright and gold and—"I cut myself off. I was blathering, complaining like a child my age.

"You can see…see magic?"

A bright white light made me shut my eyes as it sped past me. It seemed only seconds later that Professor McGonagall. She wore a dark blue nightgown and pointed cap. "Yes, Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey stood and turned me by the shoulders to face the Headmistress. "There is heavy magical scarring, I think we should send him to St. Mungos for immediate removal."

Professor McGonagall stared at the smoke rising from my eyes and looked on the verge of agreeing before Madam Pomfrey added, "He's saying he can see magic."

Professor McGonagall's nod switched to a shake. "No."

"No?"

"No, Poppy."

"It hurts," I said.

"Fetch Filius for me, would you Poppy?" McGonagall said. She peered at Madam Pomfrey, who hesitated then left the hospital wing. McGonagall turned towards me and sat on the edge of my bed. Each line in her face was deepened in the light of all the magic around me. She looked old, especially around the eyes. I could see veins and lines going every which way. "You can see magic?" she asked.

I nodded. From her wand, a light shot out and hit a bed post three down from me.

"Which bed did I attempt to repair just now?" she asked. I pointed to the correct bed. She nodded, peering at me. Her glasses glowed—she had enchanted them. Behind the glasses I could see her eyes, surrounded by what seemed like millions of wrinkles. They were creased in the same way they were when she sat in my living room, scolding me for apparating. Was she going to scold me again.

In a minute Professor Flitwick—the small man, with a graying mustache, dressed in a white night shirt and long white nightcap—came bustling into the room with Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall did not let him speak, but immediately said. "Filius, thank you. This boy's vision is being altered by magic. It's scarred, possibly permanent. Is there a way to filter it out? Or do you think he can—"

"Oh certainly Minerva!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "Met a man in Greece who had something similar happen. Got bit by a Keket right in the eye while traveling in Egypt."

Professor Flitwick walked over to my bed and stood where McGonagall had just sat on the bed, looking down into my eyes.

"He survived but the venom infected the one eye, and after that he could see the location of whatever snake or snakes were near him. Said it was useful for a bit, but when he was traveling in the amazon, it got to be a bit much. Said he preferred not to know." He opened a lid with one hand. "Yes, I think a shield charm should work, imposed on—" he flicked his wand a pair of black square spectacles popped out of nowhere—"these."

I closed my eyes at the sight of all the magic.

"Forgive me, Mr. Husher." Then came the spell, "Protego. Here try this."

I felt the spectacles slide onto my face, and I opened my eyes. All was normal through the—I slid a finger onto glass. It was not perfect. On the other side of frames, the air was filled with bright lights—though it was not enough to hurt. It was incredible the difference between the dark hospital wing, where I could barely make out the face of Flitwick or McGonagall, and the magic light—bright as day—in my peripheral vision.

"Bring these to me every couple of days," Professor Flitwick instructed. "The charm will wear off. And—"he waved his wand again, but I saw no bright light—"you'll be wanting this too." He conjured a plump sleeping mask and charmed it as well.

"Thank you Filius," McGonagall said again. "Poppy will that suffice?"

"Yes, Headmistress."

"And the Morgan boy, he is well?"

"Yes Headmistress."

"Very well, I think we may all go to bed," said Professor McGonagall. She sounded relieved. "Mr. Husher do you require anything?"

I shook my head.

"Goodnight then."

"I will accompany you back to your office if you'd like Minerva," said Professor Flitwick. The two set off together—the very stout man next to the tall-thin woman. I watched as Flitwick took three steps for every one of McGonagall's.

"It works quiet well then?" Madam Pomfrey asked me.

I nodded again. "Can you—"I felt stupid asking the question, "can you see my eyes through the glass?"

"You mean, does the coloration show?" Madam Pomfrey's jaw relaxed and her cheeks sagged a bit as she looked at me. "Yes, Mr. Husher. I'm afraid that may be permanent." She conjured a glass of water beside me. "Goodnight."

She turned and walked back into her quarters. I waited for several minutes before placing my bare feet on the cold stone floor of the Hospital Wing. I walked over to the mirror again. The glasses were the perfect shape and size on my face, and I wondered if Flitwick had made them to grow as I grew. Madam Pomfrey was right, even through the shield charm the pink irises were notable. Yet, at the moment, that was not my main concern. I was thin, gangly, black haired, bespectacled and—what was that? I brushed at my forehead, removing a hair that was jaggedly shaped and pointing down my face. No scar on my forehead—good. Still I wondered how many people would tell me tomorrow that I looked like Potter.

No doubt the comparison would be even more accurate now that I was a—dare I even think it?

In Gryffindor.

Bleg.