12/31/2020 Author's note: This is the continuation of my long fic, Basilisk Eyes... so if you haven't read it yet, you'll want to start there. The series is called, "Venom and Tears."

I wish you all a happy and healthy New Year! Thank you for your reviews and favorites - they make my day!

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Harry Potter sat on his bed in the smallest bedroom at Number Four Privet Drive, leaning against the headboard. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as his fingertips brushed over the dots emerging on the small slate balanced on his knees. He laughed out loud without a thought of stifling his laughter and then felt along the top edge of the slate until he had his fingers aligned over nine impressions on the surface, one for each finger and a longer depression in the center for both thumbs. His tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he started pressing into the divots in patterns and then paused every once in a while to run his fingers over the six-cell patterns of dots that had emerged on the slate below allowing him to read what he'd written. Assured that he hadn't flipped his i's or e's, he continued writing.

Though Harry's understanding of braille was growing, he was still very slow. He was determined to get faster before the start of term (still over a month away) because he wanted to avoid having other students overhear him working on his assignments or having to fiddle with silencing charms. Communicating with his friends through the slate was the perfect way to practice. And the connection the slate provided helped ease his despair that was fueled by the stifling miasma of bleach mingled with Petunia's perfume.

The slate had been a gift from his friends Gemma Boot and Petro Sinistra just as he was leaving the Perenelle Flamel Adaptation Center unexpectedly. The Center—where he had acquired a lot of useful skills for getting around since he'd been blinded by basilisk venom in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of May—had been forced to close after it had been attacked and compromised by a wix who had been hades-bent on ruining the life of another resident at the Center and her family. Also, there was the little matter of an escaped Death Eater who was purportedly trying to kill Harry even though the two times he'd managed to get close to him, he inexplicably ran away. All of this happened in the last two months and in a trice, Harry found himself back at Privet Drive. The slate in his hands was helping him hang onto the reality of it all.

But Privet Drive was different this time and Harry was trying to explain this to Gemma. She was peppering him with questions… first with an onslaught of demands… she wanted to know why Professor McGonagall had whisked him away from the Center and back to the Dursleys. Why did he have to go back? Why couldn't he have gone anywhere else? Why couldn't he go home with her? She didn't seem satisfied with the answers Professor McGonagall had given him and it made him wonder if he should have fought harder for another solution.

I did try, he reassured himself. He felt his cheeks heat up as he remembered how he had even hidden from Professor McGonagall in an attempt to talk to Healer Jordan alone… to plead his case.

Load of good that did.

He shook his head trying to dislodge the resentment. Professor McGonagall was in the sitting room right now telling Aunt Petunia how it would be and Aunt Marge was being magically detained in the kitchen.

Harry cocked his head. He could still hear Ripper's occasional whimpering and wondered again what Professor McGonagall had done to the dog. While one part of him felt a smidge bad for the bulldog—after all, he was just a manifestation of Aunt Marge's bullying—another part of him couldn't resist taking some pleasure in knowing that Ripper was getting his due. The skin on his leg tingled with the memory of Ripper's teeth around his ankle.

Harry shook his head to dislodge the unwelcome thoughts and turned his attention back to his conversation with Gemma. Now she was telling him about their friend Aminah who, with her mother, was trying desperately to secure the release of her father from Ministry of Magic custody. The real culprit of the attack on the Center had vanished without a trace to an eternal punishment of his own making. This happened when the magical vessel that he, Bill McCarthy, had stolen and loosed on the Center had been returned to its sacred place in the world. The void of magic disappeared, magic returned to the Center, and McCarthy had been pulled along with the vessel.

But then the Ministry had blundered in… after the mischief had been managed… and took the wrong man. Just remembering it made Harry so angry… that coupled with the memory of the Aurors grabbing and pulling him in all directions without so much as a by-your-leave let alone any kind of warning. There was something about being blind that made people think it was okay to yank him around. And not being able to see them grabbing for him made it even worse.

He shook his head again and tried to focus on the conversation underneath his fingertips. But Gemma was signing off. Her mother had just arrived at the Center to take her home.

"All right. I'll talk to you soon," Harry conceded and sighed as he stashed the slate in his staff.

What he wanted was to be back at the Center, in his dormitory with his friends. He wanted to feel Gemma's signs under his cupped hands, her vitality pulsing through her movements, her friendship warm next to him. He wondered how far the navigation charm would work? Could he ask his staff to take him to Gemma no matter where she was in the world? He flicked it out of the holster on his arm.

"Navigant Gemma Boot," he demanded. Its silence was his answer. He flicked it back into place next to his wand. He sighed as he swung his feet over the side of his bed and found his trainers with his toes, shoving his feet into them and adjusting the tongue and laces so that they were comfortably on. He stood up, careful of the tea service that Professor McGonagall had sent to his room, and reached out for the small table that stood under his window and next to his bed until his knuckles grazed it. He reached across it to the fluttering curtains that were being sucked outside by the warm July air and felt the intensity of the sun on his outstretched hands. He closed his eyes against the brightness.

Even with his glasses magically modified to block out the bright light, the sun was too bright to allow Harry to keep his eyes open. It was all the vision he had left… some light perception and light sensitivity if it was too bright. Healer Jordan at the Center had explained how the venom from the Basilisk that had gotten into his eyes when he stabbed the giant serpent with the sword had damaged his optic nerve. Only Fawkes' tears had managed to preserve his light perception… (well and his life). He was glad for it, even when the sun was too bright, because, at least he had a sense for what time of day it was and could orient himself in a room with windows. And he could still see the moon at night.

Hedwig had flown off to hunt after arriving at his window and his little snake friend, Nio, had slithered off to reunite with his family in the garden. But Professor McGonagall's sharp Scottish tones were audible as they drifted up the staircase. It sounded as though his Aunt Petunia was not giving in easily to the prospect of Harry's unexpectedly early return from the Center… especially given that Professor McGonagall had likely informed her that she would also be staying.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley didn't seem to be home at the moment… and then Harry remembered that it was still the middle of the day. Uncle Vernon was still at work and Dudley was no doubt out terrorizing the neighborhood.

"Harry, would you please join me and your Aunt in the sitting room? We have some things to discuss." Professor McGonagall's voice sounded so close to Harry that it made him jump and a shield erupted around him, pushing the tea service away from him in a clattering of china and silverware.

When the Professor didn't say anything else or comment on the fact that he had swivelled and crouched into a defensive stance with his wand flicked out in his hand, he realized that she must have sent the message magically. As his embarrassment threaded up his neck, he ended the shield charm and reached out a hand to steady the rattling tea service. He gritted his teeth to resist the urge to shove it out of his way. He knew that Professor McGonagall had placed it there so that he could enjoy some refreshment by himself while she dealt with Aunt Petunia, but he was still feeling resentful about being forced to return to the Dursleys at all.

He edged around the tea service and walked deliberately to the stairs, listening carefully to the tone of the conversation as he made his way down the stairs. His thrumming heart taking up all the space in his chest and leaving no room for his breath.

Wary that Aunt Petunia might have shifted the furniture in the sitting room since he left, Harry shook out his staff when he reached the last step and swung it out in an arc in front of him until the silver tip tinged against the wall and then he followed the wall until he found the entrance to the sitting room.

Aunt Petunia and Professor McGonagall were sitting in heavy silence and Harry paused just inside the doorway, suddenly cognizant that they must be both staring at him. His throat started to close and his skin tingled with the urge to run away. He thought about his broom tucked into his staff… he could just pull it out and hop on it. Fly up into the clouds as high as he could go and then cast the Navigant spell to the Burrow… surely the Weasleys would take him in.

"Morgana's shift… they are in Egypt still," he remembered. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to walk over to the sofa where a bony hand grasped his outstretched hand to pull him down to a seat. He resisted the urge to pull his hand out of Professor McGonagall's and swallowed his irritation that she still couldn't remember to warn him before she touched him.

"My apologies, Harry," she muttered when he flinched. He tried to shrug it off as he settled on the sofa and collapsed his staff, flicking it back into the holster on his arm. He tucked his hands under his knees and leaned forward.

Aunt Petunia harrumphed and shifted in her seat across from them, stirring her tea vigorously.

"Thank you for joining us. Your Aunt and I have been working on terms for our stay. I believe we have reached an agreement," Professor McGonagall explained in clipped tones. She sounded more exasperated with Aunt Petunia than she'd ever sounded with Harry… even after the incident with the troll in the bathroom or the dragon on the astronomy tower.

Harry's legs jumped a bit, but then when Aunt Petunia made another disgruntled noise, he calmed down… if she didn't like it, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad for him.

"Mrs. Dursley, would you like to explain our agreement to Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked in a professorial voice.

"No, I would not," Aunt Petunia grumped.

Professor McGonagall sat in stony silence and Harry could imagine the thin-lipped staring battle that was occurring between them.

"Oh, all right then!" Aunt Petunia gave in. "Harry, you and this… witch… will reside at our house and continue to work on your training in the room upstairs."

"And?"

"You will be treated with respect," Aunt Petunia spat out like a bitter seed.

"Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?" Professor McGonagall said as if she were speaking to a petulant first year.

Harry was sceptical about the "being treated with respect" bit. He imagined that Professor McGonagall had a different definition of the concept than his Aunt.

"Now, I will deal with the other Aunt and her beast." Professor McGonagall stood up swiftly, smoothed her rustling robes and vanished the tea service with a pop.

"Could you vanish my tea service as well?" Harry asked quietly as she stepped past him. He wasn't sure if she heard when the echo of her hard-heeled boots receded down the hallway.

Harry and his Aunt sat in uncomfortable silence as they both strained to hear what Professor McGonagall was doing with Aunt Marge. Harry was surprised that Aunt Petunia hadn't followed Professor McGonagall down the hall berating her for taking matters into her own hands in her house. Maybe Professor McGonagall had performed a sticking spell and Aunt Petunia was stuck to the upholstery. Harry tried not to smile at the thought.

"Oh, you think this is amusing, do you?" Aunt Petunia sneered.

"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, his amusement freezing after being blasted with her icy tones.

"Well, mark my words. Your witchy Professor can't be with you every moment of every day…"

"Actually, I can," Professor McGonagall said. "And I will. Was that the onset of a threat?"

Harry jumped and Petunia squeaked, her teacup rattled precariously.

"How?"

"You need not concern yourself with how. Just know that I am watching over Harry now as I should have from the moment he was placed on your wretched doorstep."

Harry was turning his ear toward Professor McGonagall's voice, trying to determine if her body was close by or if she was doing the disembodied voice thing again. He hadn't yet been able to discern a difference and it was disconcerting. While he was glad for the potential protection from the Dursley's constant haranguing, he didn't at all like the idea that Professor McGonagall was going to be watching him constantly… magically and without him even knowing. His face felt hot as he thought about having an audience while he used the toilet. He couldn't hold it forever.

"Don't worry, Harry. You'll have privacy as well. The spell I've cast, well, it allows for that."

Harry wondered now if Professor McGonagall was able to read his mind. He pointed his other ear toward her voice, listening hard. He had a lot of questions for her… but not right now in front of his Aunt who was sputtering in response to the constant reference and use of magic in her house.

From the kitchen came the scrabbling noise of Ripper's toenails on the tile floor accompanied by more whimpering. Aunt Marge was strangely silent.

"What have you done with Marge?" Aunt Petunia asked in a tremulous voice. The way her voice was pitching around the room it sounded like she also was searching for the source of McGonagall's voice.

"As she is a muggle who is not to know about the wizarding world, I've used a common and harmless muggle repelling spell on her. It is not as effective on dogs, so I've had to contain the hound using other methods. Rest assured, they are both being handled with more respect and consideration than you've ever afforded your nephew."

Aunt Marge's thunderous footsteps vibrated in the hallway and then went marching mechanically up the stairs to the guest room. Harry could hear her rummaging around above their heads.

"What is she doing?" Aunt Petunia asked again as Professor McGonagall's footsteps rejoined them in the sitting room.

"Packing," Professor McGonagall's voice reverberated in stereo for a second and then there was a barely audible pop and Harry guessed she'd ended the spell that amplified her voice in two spaces at once.

"Vernon won't like this!" Aunt Petunia warned.

"I'm not concerned about that. What I am concerned with is… Why is it that the guest room is more comfortably outfitted than Harry's room?"

Harry tucked his chin to his chest and braced himself for a tirade that didn't come. He cocked his ear in his Aunt's direction, wishing that he could read the expression on her face. Then sighed, feeling grateful that actually he couldn't see her face and the inevitable disdain that would be etched on it as she thought about Harry's place in her house.

"Well, that and many things are going to change around here," Professor McGonagall said. "Harry will be receiving many visitors so that he can continue his training. We will create a secure passageway so that they can come and go without notice.

"What? I will not stand for this! Your kind are not welcome here! They can not come and go as they please!" Aunt Petunia's voice had risen to its most shrill. "I will not have my house turned into a freak joint!"

Harry flinched and shrunk into the sofa.

"Mind your tongue or I will mind it for you!" Professor McGonagall's tone had risen in severity as she took a step closer to Petunia. "If the protection your sister placed on Harry didn't require your presence, I would send you off with Miss Dursley and her beast. As it is, it is within my rights and inclination to silence you if you cannot manage to speak and act with respect toward Harry and his kind!"

Harry tried to wedge himself between the cushions on the sofa. He wasn't sure why Professor McGonagall wanted him present for this.

There was a stomping on the front stoop, the door slammed open announcing Dudley's arrival. Harry gritted his teeth and shrunk into himself even more. His arm tickled as he thought about summoning his invisibility cloak from his staff.

"Mum! I'm hungry!" Dudley demanded as he stomped toward the kitchen.

"Just a moment, Duddikins. I'll be right there," Aunt Petunia's voice was now lilting.

But his footsteps stopped abruptly at the kitchen.

"Mum? What's going on? What happened to Ripper?"

His voice proceeded his pounding footsteps down the hallway to the sitting room. He stopped again at the threshold, his breath ragged.

"Who? Who are you?" he gasped. "And why's the freak here?"

There was a pop of magic and then Dudley sighed and turned and his heavy steps made their way slowly upstairs where he started rummaging around in his room… making similar noises to Marge.

"No! What did you do to him?" Aunt Petunia seemed to be struggling to rise from the sofa. "Let me go after him! Didn't you hear? He's hungry!"

"He'll survive a good while without anything to eat, I dare say. And he can go with Miss Dursley as far as I'm concerned. Your presence is the only requirement. We don't need to suffer any more fools than that," Professor McGonagall said primly.

Harry sat up a little straighter.

"And Uncle Vernon, too?" he asked.

"And Uncle Vernon, too."