At his first meet, the coach blew the whistle and yelled, "Potter! No glasses on the track! Lose them or get lost!"
Harry took them off and put them in his back pocket. He set his feet and looked ahead of him at the completely blurry world. The one thing he could see was the two white lines on either side of his row.
"Set!" Blared the coach, and the whistle sounded.
Harry was off, but right away he was behind all seven of the other players, and finished a full eight seconds behind the slowest one. His coach gave him a few words of encouragement, but they were the same words Harry had told to the players who tried out for Quidditch and never made it.
He pulled his glasses out and put them back on.
"Coach, I can't see the ground where my feet land. How am I supposed to run at full speed like this?"
The coach blared some nonsense at a group of gaggling boys there – Harry assumed – to watch and report back to his Dorm Leader.
"Let me keep them on for just today," Harry begged, but his coach was having none of it.
"You can't wear glasses on the track, Potter. That's the rule. Either run without them or walk away."
The group lined up again and Harry took a deep breath. He looked ahead of him at the curve of the track, then down at his own feet. He toed the ground and jumped a couple times.
"Some kid tripped and fell on the track," said one of the other players quiet, glancing over at Harry. "His glasses broke and went into one of his eyes, and he was blind. Coach saw the whole thing."
Harry looked back at the Coach, who was preparing his whistle. He quickly removed his glasses and prepared his feet.
"Set!"
Harry took a deep breath and concentrated on the finish, not the path. The whistle sounded and he was off, this time not as hesitantly. He finished fifth.
"Better, Potter!" Coach yelled and Harry felt quite proud of his self. By the end of practice he had gotten the hang of running blind and it wasn't so bad. Better than actually being blind, he supposed.
Overall, the weeks at Smeltings did improve after that first week. Kenny became a little overbearing, ordering Harry around and telling him to do everything from shape up to get some sleep. Harry could admit, if it wasn't for Kenny, he'd spend all his time looking at walls and freezing to death because he forgot his jacket. It had started snowing the last few days, but it was mostly melted by midday. Kenny took to leaving Harry's jacket on the door handle so he wouldn't forget it.
Worse of all, Harry's stressful nightmares hadn't changed since the day he left Hogwarts. He could be fretting over Ron or his homework just before bed, but then dreaming of Lord Voldemort the next second. While Harry used to be able to hide his nightmares from his roommates with those large Hogwarts curtains, he wasn't allowed to do magic here, and there weren't any curtains on these beds. A dozen times already, Harry awoke to Kenny shaking him and shoving a glass of water to his lips.
Harry didn't bring this up to Marty in counseling, but he did say Kenny was more like an annoying big brother than a roommate these days. Marty explained it that he was the Dorm Leader for a reason, and it was because of his years of helping boys in need that he was recognized and promoted to his position.
"Have you ever been recognized for a talent and given special privileges?" Marty asked him, running with the conversation like she was rather good at.
"I was captain of a sports team before I came here. We hadn't played any matches yet, though, but I chose the players."
"Did your team respect you?"
"I had the most experience, so yeah. Guess so."
"Do you miss being the captain?"
Harry shook his head. "I left my best friend in charge, and I know he's doing a good job."
Marty looked a bit surprised at what he said. "You have a best friend? You haven't mentioned that before. What's he like?"
Harry swallowed hard. Overall, this wasn't the way he wanted this conversation to go, but he missed Ron, and talking about him felt good. "Funny. Strong. Smart - not as smart as our friend Hermione, but no one can beat him at chess."
"You get along well, I take it?"
"Yes."
"And you miss him?"
Harry nodded, and then shrugged indifferently. "But he's probably doing better without me."
"Why would you say that?" she said worried.
"Because…"
"Because…?"
Harry was really unwilling to talk about the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and the brains that nearly killed him, and the death of his godfather. All those things centered on magic, and Marty had so far found his belief of supernatural things very unusual; there was no need to make things worse.
"Because I'm not there to get him in trouble," he said instead. It was still the truth, he reasoned. "He'd never had had these scars on his arms if it wasn't for me. But…he brags about them. No matter how much they hurt to get, he still laughs. I like that."
"Harry…do you mind if I make an observation?"
Harry wondered if she was going to tell him he thought too much of himself, but shrugged anyway. "Go ahead."
"It sounds like you trust Ron more than anyone else you've ever talked about, but this is the first time you've ever mentioned him, or your friend Hermione." Harry bit his lip and rubbed his forehead, wondering if he really wanted to continue this conversation. But he didn't, really. "Did something happen between you three?"
"Yes," he said hesitantly.
"What was it?"
"I started feeling jealous."
"Of Ron?"
"Of Hermione."
Marty pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, offering him her best doe eyes and concern.
"Because…of Ron?" She asked, and Harry nodded in consent. "And Hermione found out that – you had feelings for Ron? Or…Ron found out you had feelings for him?"
Harry didn't really know one way or the other, all he knew was that once he kissed Ron because of those plant toxins, he couldn't stop his affection from showing itself. Furthermore, he didn't want his affections to go back in the closet. Either way, they both thought it was just the plants; they didn't know the toxin was nearly out of his system when Harry had sex with the pseudo-Ron.
"No. Neither. They never really found out the truth."
"So, you kept it a secret that you were falling for your best friend?"
"No. I never kept it a secret. I just never had the chance to tell them."
"Why?"
Harry looked at her, almost angry that she didn't realize. He gathered up his bag and stood up. "Why do you think?" He asked spitefully.
"Harry," she said before he made it to the door, "is there any chance that Ron would reciprocate your feelings?"
Harry stopped with his hand on the door, thinking about it. Ron was a Prefect, from a large family of proper wizards, childish and naïve sometimes, and now saddled with the glory of Quidditch captainship. He had everything except Harry, and that wasn't even such a bad thing. Not to mention, Harry loved him and he loved Hermione long before he started having a crush on Ron. He wouldn't – almost couldn't – hurt her in the way he would if he told her he wanted Ron. She might let him have him; worse, she might never try to have him.
None of that mattered now, though, because Harry was at Smeltings a million miles from Hogwarts. He was out of the picture.
Finally, Harry looked back and said with certainty, "No. He'll want Hermione."
And he left.