Author - Chibi / Warlordess

Disclaimer - I don't own JK Rowling's masterpiece, Harry Potter. All of the credit and my obsessiveness is thanks to her. No. . . Really. . .! Also, the part where Crookshanks ends up on Harry's head; that part is all thanks to my friend and mini-beta, Silverflare; thanks, babe!

Dedication – This chapter is dedicated to Silvie because of all of her help in the making of it.

Notes - I just wanna let the readers know that this fic takes place during the trio's sixth year. Yea.

Summary - When one of Malfoy's and Harry's rows gets out of hand, Hermione ends up injured. Harry, once known as "The Boy Who Lived" is now "The Boy Who Saw" as he offers to be Hermione's eyes. But can he manage his schoolwork, his Quidditch training, and keep his friend from running into everything at the same time? A Harmony fic.

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Harry Potter - Blind

Chapter Three

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Later that night, Harry felt as though he would have surely accepted Cho's offer to help him, had he known what Hermione was willing to put him through. Perhaps she didn't know what she was doing to him, but Harry's mind was wearing down by the end of the day, and it was all because she had made sure to keep up with her studies. . . Meaning that he spent over four hours reading curses, counter-curses, jinxes, and descriptions and definitions of their abilities to her so that she could be sure to be ahead in Transfiguration and Charms. Thankfully, she hadn't even begun discussing Arithmancy or Care of Magical Creatures or any of her other many classes, as Harry was sure his head was about to split into two.

". . .Alright. . ." He sighed, continuing from the page he'd left off on. He'd just spread the word to the rest of the Quidditch team (as he'd been elected for the captaincy) that they'd be having their first practice the next morning. Ginny and a few others had signed up for Chaser try-outs and he'd hoped for everyone to have a full night of rest so that they'd all have a clear head tomorrow, ". . .'Upon actively transfiguring an inanimate object into something vital, concentration is key. If not fully attentive, the witch or wizard may indeed end up'. . . Hermione, this is obvious, second year work! I know that you've known this for awhile now!" He couldn't help but glare at her, even though she couldn't see to return it, "Really, now, if you're willing to be so far ahead, maybe it's worth actually learning something that you haven't known since your first day!"

"Harry, N.E.W.T.'s take place next year, and after that, we're shifted into the wizarding world to make our own way. If I can't pass these exams by making positive that I know all that I can, then I'm going to be nothing out there. You should be one to speak, in any case; these lessons are good for you."

"Yes, but I'm supposed to be helping you learn, not vice-versa. How come it seems that I'm just in the middle of a self-tutoring session?" He replied exasperatedly. Hermione looked down and turned slightly pink, as though upset with his temper, "Ah, I'm sorry, 'Mione. But we both know that you're smarter than this. Why don't we just move onto something more challenging for you?" Yes, and ignore the ravaging ache in his head. . .

"Fine; here." She gave a slight sniff, as though she was conflicting between the knowledge that she hadn't gotten her way, and the thought that he knew she could be studying something so much more advanced, as she knelt for her bag and held it out for him, "Do you think you could find my Advanced Charms guide? I'd like to work on pre-apparation spells. They're good study for our Apparation exams next summer."

"Sure; yea. . ." Harry yawned slightly as he pulled out the textbook she had been looking for, which, quite luckily, was on top of her bag of things, "Okay. . . Um, it says here that you have to know the object, and it's appearance and whatnot, that you want to transfer, so – wait – what's that?" Harry stopped abruptly and screwed up his brow in concentration, overhearing a desperate 'meow' come from somewhere near the door to the girls' dormitories.

"It sounds like Crookshanks. . . His tail's trapped in between the doors again, isn't it?" Hermione sighed and cautiously got up from her seat, before remembering that it was more likely for her to fall out the window than to make it successfully over to her cat, "Harry, do you think you could get him for me and bring him over here?"

". . .Well, let's say that, for the sake of practice, we use him as our object of transportation?" Harry knew the idea wouldn't be exactly pleasing to Hermione, and he was quite right, of course.

"Or how about I just transport your head to the toilet, you – you—" She seemed unable to come up with a name horrible enough to describe the mention of his crime, "—I can't believe you'd even suggest that, Harry! Really; I thought that you had a heart! Or are you just lazy?"

"No; Hermione, seriously… After all, what object's appearance do you know more than your own cat, right?" It seemed that the explanation had finally won her over. She still seemed angered by his insinuation that she loved the thought of casting spells on her pet, but, for the sake of knowledge, she seemed more in agreement to follow his direction.

". . .Alright; fine." She took out her wand, "So, what else? What's the incantation? The wand movement?"

"The book says that it's not unlike the movement used for the levitation charm, "Wingardium Leviosa". Huh; then this should be quite simple for you. All we have to do. . ." He drew in a small breath as he continued reading, ". . .Is play the wand movements in reverse order – flick and swish – flick again, and concentrate on the object you'd like to move, and the place you'd like to move it to. So, Crookshanks and your lap, right?" He questioned her. After she nodded, he went on, "That's it. The phrase is 'Imotrani Lite'. It sounds simple, but –"

"- Like I don't know the complexity of N.E.W.T. level spellcasting, Harry. Really. Just move a bit out of the way so that we can try and make sure nothing goes wrong, and let me at it. . ."

"Yea; sure. . . Thank goodness. . ." He muttered, but Hermione heard him.

"What's that mean?"

"Well, after all of that studying, it's an amazing feeling, being able to get to my feet, stretch a bit, and relax my head—" He stated, hoping it wouldn't upset her anymore. Girls' were complex things in themselves, after all.

"Oh. . ." She seemed intent to ignore the statement he'd made and held out her wand arm, "Alright; I'm ready to give it a go. . . Er. . ." She cleared her throat, closed her sightless eyes, and concentrated on the necessities, "'Imotrani Lite'. . ." The next thing Harry knew, something large and fluffy with claws had landed on his head and proceeded to rip away at his scalp.

"Argh!" He attempted to rid his head of the bloody animal, but it seemed that Crookshanks was intent on his position until further pleased, "Get off of me, you!" Finally losing his mind, Harry pulled out his own wand and poked at the feline in the ear. The ginger fluffball finally found it in him to jump to the side, landing on the table Harry and Hermione had been using. Upon hearing his shout, Hermione panicked. What could she have possibly done now?

"Oh, no; Harry, what's wrong!" She tried finding him by holding out her arms and wandering blindly around the room, but Harry couldn't care enough to help her out.

"You know all of the wand movements, and you know what your cat looks like, and you know the bloody incantation! How could you have gotten that wrong! You're Hermione!" Harry yelled at her, not feeling immediately sorry about it.

"Well, I hate to add to your guilt trip, but it's all thanks to you that I'm having difficulties!" Hermione replied loudly with a shriek, still hoping to get to him and find out what had gone wrong, "What happened? Where did Crookshanks go?"

"Oh, that's right! Worry about your cat! Who cares about the boy he just tried shaving the flesh off of!"

". . .Is-is that what I did. . . ?" Her voice had suddenly dropped about ten decimals, and it was very short and timid, "Oh, Harry. . . I'm so sorry. . . Maybe your helping me was a bad idea. . . I mean, it's not like I can't do this on my own, really. . . Perhaps Ginny would be better. . . She's already helping me with my personal issues, and we all know that she's just a bit more focused on her grades than you and Ron are. . ." She sniffled at the thought, uncomfortable with the ways things were, "I really didn't know. . . And I'm sorry about what I said. . . It's not your fault. . . I guess that the humanity in me can't help but feel a bit venomous about everything. . ."

". . .And why not? It's my fault that you're like this. And it's my trouble to help you out." Harry let a small grin crack his otherwise furious expression, "You know, a moment ago, we almost sounded like you and Ron. . . I don't think we've ever been like that before. It actually feels quite strange. . . Almost relieving to know that we can have a normal type of friendship where we actually fight out loud like this. But I think I prefer actually staying friends." His grin widened.

"Definitely. . ." She gave small laugh, "Now, really, how bad is it?"

"What?"

"What Crookshanks did to you. I mean, do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey now, too? Or did that 'what?' signify that you're now just as deaf as I am blind, making it useless for me to try and talk to you?" She asked him, aware that she was rambling.

"Oh; it's, uh, nothing. . ." But he was aware that he was bleeding from one of the scratches he'd obtained from her cat. He didn't know why he couldn't just tell her what was wrong. After all, she probably knew a quick and easy healing spell that would have closed it up immediately (although she'd probably end up blowing off his nose in the process of helping him out). Perhaps he just didn't want to see her tearful eyes again (as he'd never been that great at handling a crying girl), or it could have been that he didn't want to hear Hermione blame him anymore. He doubted that she would, but hearing her say it just once made him feel as though she truly must have believed it, somehow. . . Her words were reverberating in his mind, and he couldn't help but hate that fact, "But how about we just end this for tonight? I know this may sound selfish, but I've got a Quidditch Team to create tomorrow morning, and I need all of the sleep that I can get. . ."

". . .And I'm sure that we're both slightly terrified that I might send you crashing into the fireplace while the flames are still active the next time around, as well." Hermione joked weakly, "Anyways, yea, let's just go to bed. After all, we can just get back to this tomorrow." Harry couldn't help the slight groan that escaped him. It was just splendid to think of three hours of watching potential Quidditch team players blunder their way along the pitch on a broomstick, followed by a shower and then about five more hours of practicing incantations with Hermione. Okay; so Hermione wasn't really the problem. . . But did she have any idea what a toll all of that reading took on a normal-sized brain?

He knelt down to pick up her things and hand them to her, but she just shook her head and told him to leave them behind.

"After all, who in their right mind would want to take on my load?" She finished, and she was quite right. As she yawned and Harry bid her goodnight and began walking up the staircase to the boys' dormitory, she continued speaking, "Okay, Ginny. . . I guess that I'm ready to go now." Only that's where the issues started.

Harry dreaded the knowledge he'd be forced to grasp as he turned around. Ginny wasn't there. Of course she wouldn't be, as he'd advised all Quidditch team members and those who'd signed up on the list to get to bed early so that they'd be as ready as ever possible for the practice session the next day.

"Ginny. . . ?" Hermione seemed unaware that she was talking to an empty Common Room and so Harry helped her out.

"Er. . . Sorry about this, but I don't think that she's here. She must have gone up to bed earlier. . ."

"Oh. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

There wasn't much else to contribute to the conversation and so Harry and Hermione were left standing awkwardly across the room from each other, both silently mulling over who'd be the first to come up with an idea on how to get the bushy-haired Prefect to her dormitory. After all, Harry couldn't walk her up there, what with the age-old law about Hogwarts boys being less trustworthy than girls. . . And, though there was the very slight thought in the back of Harry's mind about offering Hermione his bed for the night, he knew that it wouldn't bode well with her, or any of the guys in the sixth year room that they shared.

"Well, I suppose that the armchair next to the fire will have to do." It was a simple finish to the discussion, and he could have just left it that way, once again bid her goodnight, and continued his walk up the staircase.

But Harry wasn't that witless, or blundering, or daft. He watched the girl as she slowly found the armchair that was about two feet away from her originally, worked her way around to the front, and fell back into the depths of the cushion beneath her. She gave a small groan as she twisted a certain direction, trying to make herself comfortable and then another, attempting the same thing as before. No matter what, Hermione just couldn't get there herself, so. . .

Harry didn't know what it was that made him consider the next thing that came to mind. He didn't know if it was the liability he was feeling for her condition, or the exhaustion and pain in his head from the many hours of studying they'd just completed, or maybe it was the thought that he just wanted her to feel eased after all of the trouble she'd been forced to go through the past day and a half. All he knew was that, next moment, Harry Potter was striding back into the Common Room with only a single thing on his mind, and that was Hermione.

He said nothing as he sat down beside her and helped her up a bit so that they'd both fit slightly easier beside one another, and then he allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. It didn't really mean anything besides the fact that he wanted to be sure that Hermione knew he was there for her, no matter what. It wasn't supposed to be interpreted in any way other than he'd planned on it.

It was just Harry hoping to console his best friend into a night's sleep so that, next day, she'd wake up slightly less nettled than today. It was just Harry playing his part in the recovery of his best friend, of which he'd accidentally injured in one of his idiotic rows. It was just Harry, "The Boy Who Lived", Potter, falling asleep with a girl, and his best friend, "Bookworm", Hermione Granger, in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room, where they could both have been easily spotted by any number of people making their way around the tower.

Gee; and he thought that it would be simple enough to understand the situation.

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"Harry. . ." Someone muttered, prodding him in the shoulder. Harry almost swung out to meet the person's hand and swat it away, but he was still too deeply interested in the dreamless sleep that he'd been in the middle of moments before, "Harry, wake up. . . It's, er, time for you to eat breakfast so that you can head out to the pitch. . ." He was finally able to distinguish the voice as Ron's and, blinking once, Harry peered blearily at his mate and attempted to stretch himself fully before getting up. . . Only, something was holding him back, "Er. . . You might want to wake Hermione and ask her to get off of your arm." Ron's tone seemed slightly chilly now as Harry attempted to digest the information he'd just been fed.

Hermione. . . ?

On his arm. . . ?

But a comment like that would only make sense if the two of them were. . . Oh, bloody Hell. . .

His understanding was enough for Harry to jump to his feet, accidentally knocking Hermione back onto the other half of the large armchair and causing her to almost fall off of the edge. Ron ended up catching her by the shoulders and cautiously pressing her back into her original position before the two boys turned their attention from her to each other.

"W-what time is it, again?" Harry questioned, yawning tiredly.

"It's. . ." Ron's suspicious glance turned to his watch for a split second to confirm the reply he was about to give, "Almost eight. Tell me, mate, what was that all about? You know – you and Hermione. Laying there. Together. In the same chair." With every segment of a statement, Ron's tone seemed to become slower and more careful, as though he wasn't sure how it'd come out if he didn't fully control it.

"Oh; that? That was nothing. . . ! Really; Ginny forgot to wait for Hermione to go to bed, and she couldn't get comfortable on her own last night and I couldn't just leave her there so—" Harry was interrupted.

"Really?" The redhead's expression was doubtful, "Because you two looked mighty comfortable, let me tell you."

"No; really. It was nothing. I mean, she's Hermione, after all."

". . .I resent that, you know." A new voice stated, and the two boys turned to look at the third member of their trio once again as she moaned and cleared away the sleep from her eyes, pulling on her robes so that some of the wrinkles from her night on the chair flattened themselves out, "I mean, if you're going to talk about me that way, the least you could do is do it somewhere where I can't overhear you."

If anything positive came out of Hermione's waking up, it was that Ron didn't ask Harry about the situation anymore while they all readied themselves for the day and ran down to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast, before making their way onto the pitch. It wasn't that Harry didn't know what to say. Actually, knowing that his peers could interpret the happenings a different way, he'd already created a full explanation to clear them up. After all, this was what you had to do when your every detail in life could be found plastered in the morning paper by some underhanded sneak of a reporter.

Down in the Great Hall, the group met up with Ginny, Andrew Kirke, Jack Sloper, Neville Longbottom, and a few people who'd also requested a chance to perform their Quidditch abilities in front of an audience that consisted of the Wizarding World's savior. Harry, aware that he wouldn't be able to keep the best of eyes on Hermione and the snitch at the same time, asked Neville to simply help her into the stands and give her a sort of play-by-play of what was going on during the session while he was directing the others out on the field. Of course, Neville agreed, pleased that he could be helpful for once, and Harry felt slightly more content to eat a fully healthy breakfast, even knowing full-well who he was forced to count on.

In the Gryffindor dressing rooms, Harry didn't feel much up to giving those around him a pep talk. After all, knowing that the Slytherin team had no idea about their first training day was probably allowing enough confidence in itself (he'd told all of those who'd agreed to be there to keep it to themselves so that no one would come and find the time to distract them). And so the stream of students filtered onto the pitch and checked the clear and light conditions of the morning. A still ground for a good kick-off, a clear sky without too much sun or sleet. . . It was like someone was trying to force the thought of a good day upon them.

As they took off into the air to get a feel of the weather, Harry made sure to glance into the stands and keep a quick eye on Hermione as Neville helped her into a seat near the stairs leading back to the ground. He could tell they were chatting, or, at least Neville was, as Hermione kept nodding her head affirmatively to tell him that she understood what he was saying.

"Er. . . Harry, maybe we should set out a Bludger so that those two. . ." Ron got his attention by coming around on his Cleansweep and shoving his face in Harry's; he was currently pointing to Kirke and Sloper, ". . .Can regain their paces on the field. And Ginny and the others can pick up the Quaffle and practice throwing it to one another before heading off to the goal posts and having a go against me."

Harry allowed himself a grin, "And why, again, was I made the captain?"

Ron turned almost completely red, allowing his mouth to open up and emit some sort of strange groaning noise, as though he were speaking as slowly as possible in order to come up with the perfect response. In the end, he just shrugged and took off for the goal posts, shouting that he'd be waiting there when the group was ready.

Ginny flew down to the box containing the Quidditch balls and opening it up, revealing the snitch in her hand, "We'll let this go first. Give it a head start!"

Harry couldn't help thinking about how the Weasley's seemed to be gaining control of his team.

While he allowed the snitch a chance to round itself around the field, he turned to the few new-comers who were waiting their turn and asked their names and year. They looked slightly intimidated by his appearance, but answered none-the-less.

"Ashley Crummer. Fourth year."

"Allen Crummer. Fourth year."

"Garret Wilson. Third year."

And all three of them were here for Chaser try-outs. . . Harry hoped that he'd have a better choice from those elaborated to him by Angelina the year before. . .

"Alright, you three. I want you and Ginny to hang around the middle of the pitch and I'll keep an eye on you to judge your passing skills. In about ten minutes, we'll move on to flying up and down the pitch and passing to get a feel of the movement. And then we'll take a shot at Ron," Harry finished in what he hoped was an authoritative tone. They all nodded and climbed their way slowly into a higher lift. Ginny joined them and hurriedly handled the Quaffle into Garret's arms. He proceeded to pass it to Allen, who stumbled a bit as he knelt to catch it, gave a half-terrified glance in Harry's direction, and shoved it at his sister.

Harry didn't know what it was, but he found that he was deeply impressed with Ashley's and Ginny's skill. Perhaps the two girls had talked in secret about what it was like on the team, but Harry knew almost immediately who his first two choices would be.

After they'd gotten all of the practice they could stand, Harry told them to head over to the opposite side of the pitch that Ron was on and continue sweeping towards the Keeper, passing the Quaffle almost constantly to one another. The four of them weren't brilliant together, minus the chemistry that Ginny and the other girl showed, but Harry couldn't help feeling the decision was mostly making itself.

Now he took another chance to look to Hermione, who was talking to Neville. It was almost obvious that the blundering boy had given her a poor interpretation of the drill, as she seemed to be the one speaking while he was the one nodding, forgetting that she couldn't see him to make sure he was listening.

Suddenly, four anonymous blurs on broomsticks flew past him and gained his attention once again as they worked their way around the pitch for the fifth time. Seeing that they were boring themselves with the second part of the exercise, Harry shouted to get their attention and they returned to his place beside him.

"Alright. You all can take a five minute break while I go check on the Beaters, okay?" After they all gave him the thumbs up in approval, he swept off towards Ron's side of the goalposts, where he was entertaining Jack and Andrew with an animated tale of how he once took on a mountain troll in a simple girls' bathroom. It wasn't true, obviously, but the way he told it, Harry had been nothing but a doormat, and Hermione had been a lovely French maiden who'd somehow gotten herself lost on the way to preach to Dumbledore about something or another. He was holding one of the clubs that the Beaters had leant him and was running his hands over the wooden form almost affectionately.

"Really; these things are easy to handle, if you've got the skill. And the Weasley's have always been a group of wonders at Quidditch, so it's nothing for us, you know?" He was saying.

"Hey, Ron; here's your chance to prove it to them. . ." Harry replied, as he pointed past the redhead towards the loose Bludger that'd finally decided to make itself known. It was winding its way around the middle goalpost and was speeding towards him.

"Er. . . !" Ron turned pink as he twisted on his broomstick, preparing to whack the ball in whatever direction he could.

Swinging the bat, he came into full contact, and the Bludger changed direction almost entirely, this time heading towards a high column in the stands, and exactly where. . .

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, horrified, as he watched her turn confusedly towards him.

Neville was stumbling around, poking at his robe pockets for his wand, but Harry knew that he'd never find it in time. . .

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Notes – That's it; I quit. Really. I'm done. I can't do it anymore. Lol. I worked for, literally, days on this chapter and I was really pleased with the last one, but a couple of really brilliant people reviewed it and told me about some obvious subjects that I know I'll have to get around to explaining a lot about later on and I can't take it and I'm rambling, I know, but this is infuriating. . . Lol. I'm okay; really. Just give me a couple of days to recuperate from the whole situation.

Um; reviews would be much appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one should, hopefully, be up within a week. Maybe. If I feel like it. And if I haven't chosen to admit that I'm nothing for Harry Potter fan fiction.

So, until then. . . !