Harry hurried up the stairs—he was still getting used to the staff and he had to think carefully as he said the navigation spell so that he pronounced it precisely and thought carefully about where he was going. It definitely made him feel more confident moving around the space outside his room. Before he put everything he'd had stored under the floorboards in his room into the storage compartment of the staff, he tried using the summoning charm to remove some items.
What if I can't get them out?
He was still struggling with the summoning charm, but eventually, he was able to summon his charms book, his wand, the invisibility cloak, and his broom. He returned all of them to the compartment, though he spent a bit of time just feeling his broom as he leaned against his bed. He loved the heft of it, the feel of the grain against his fingertips and longed to try flying, but resisted the urge—sure that the Ministry of Magic would show up if he started flying around Little Whinging. Maybe he and Ron could try out flying this summer at the Burrow. Maybe he could escape there for a bit.
Finally, he returned the broom to the compartment and then felt around in the floorboards for the other items he had stored there. He found the bit of parchment that Healer Smethwyck had given to Madam Pomfrey and grabbed the anagnóstis to read it.
"Adaptation Course at 56 Charing Cross Road, London.
Adaptation Residency: 29th of June through 30th of July, 1993.
Registration on the 29th of June at 9 am. Questions, contact Healer Jordan at the Residency by Owl."
Harry sat back and sucked in a deep breath. This meant that he only had to make it through Saturday and Sunday and then he could leave the Dursleys for a month! Maybe after the training, he could go to the Burrow instead of returning to Privet Drive (on my birthday!). He held onto the note hardly daring to breathe.
It is a ticket out of here!
He didn't care what kind of training it was, it was away from Dudders, Vile Vernon, and endless chores. He felt like he was floating! He listened to the message a few times to commit the address to memory. If he had to walk there on his own, he'd do it.
Next, he listened to Professor Dumbledore's message to Aunt Petunia—it was very much like the letter Dumbledore had sent to Harry—and a little subdued, he put it and the rest of the items from under his bed in his staff, pushing away his fears that he'd not be allowed back at Hogwarts.
He tried out minimizing the staff and using it in his pocket—it was a nice feature—rather like having Nio hus cherio kisa wrapped around his neck, but not nearly as comforting or companionable. He restored it to its normal size to go to the park because he felt more confident feeling the ground with it. It was only 2:30 pm—surely he had time to get out for a little bit. He could listen to the other leaflets later. Also, he had planned to use the time to learn how to navigate around the house without reaching with his hands, and now he could simply put the staff in his pocket and listen to the directions.
Maybe Dudley won't notice that I'm blind. He is pretty dense.
As he was heading down the stairs, the doorbell rang.
Harry froze on the steps. Who could it be? He was tempted to pretend that he wasn't home, but it was likely that whoever it was had already seen him descending the stairs through the window by the door. A very clean window!
He walked slowly down the rest of the stairs and opened the door, "Hello?" he asked to the space outside the door. He was still holding his staff and remembered the directions for a description of the space around him. He held it off the floor and squeezed it firmly twice and the voice in his head started describing the doorway and front porch… "and a short older woman with wispy gray hair wearing a worn purple housecoat and carrying a grocery bag on her right arm." He squeezed it again so that the voice was silenced.
"Mrs. Figg?"
"Harry, how are you?" she asked, worry lacing her voice.
"I'm okay, Mrs. Figg. Thank you. My Aunt and Uncle are gone, they are getting Dudley from Smeltings."
"I know. That's why I came over now. I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"The Dursleys said I couldn't let anyone in the house while they were gone."
"It's okay, Harry. I understand. Maybe you can come outside?"
"Sure, I think that would be okay," said Harry. He started opening the door wider so that he could go out, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight.
"Why do you have a white cane, Harry? And sunglasses?"
I guess the Muggle disguise for the staff works.
"I got some…er… stuff… in my eyes at school. I can't see now," he explained as he stepped onto the front porch.
"Oh. Dear. That's awful. When will it clear up?" Mrs. Figg sounded jittery.
"Um. It's permanent. No cure," Harry said.
"What? Oh my. Well… is that why you have bruises on your face?"
"Yeah. I've been running into things," he sighed. "But I'm figuring it out and on Monday I'm going to an Adaptation Training to learn how to get around better."
"It'll be okay," he added as it sounded as though she was dissolving into tears.
Better than digesting in the innards of a Basilisk…
He reached out a hand and found her housecoat sleeve and then placed his hand on her arm to soothe her.
"I was worried that your Uncle… well, when I saw those bruises on your face… well. He's just such a sour mu- man," she sniffed.
"I'm okay," Harry said. "Thank you for checking on me, Mrs. Figg. It is really very nice of you."
"Well, I better be going. Mr. Tibbs will be expecting his supper."
She shuffled off the porch steps and Harry listened to her steps as she walked away down the path and then out on the street toward her house. He waited there for a while and then squeezed the staff to listen to the surroundings. The staff didn't mention anyone else on the street.
He wondered if he could get to the park without asking for directions from the staff. He knew the way, of course. He'd gone there on his own as often as he dared—it offered a bit of peace from Number 4 Privet Drive.
But can I get there without seeing my way? Without seeing the Ash tree on the corner where I turn or the house with the funny lawn ornaments near the entrance to the park?
He'd never really paid attention to how many streets he crossed on his way there, he just knew the way.
He used his staff to walk down the walkway, holding it at belly-button level and letting the arc swing out wider than he'd used it in the house. Tap, tap. Left foot, right foot. He reached the end of the walkway and could feel the difference in the paving stones. The staff described the Agapanthus and the curb. He turned left and walked toward the park, keeping to the side of the road. There were square stones along the gardens in the street, and he kept close to them, tapping them reassuringly as he made his way to the park. It seemed a lot farther than he remembered but guessed that was because this was the first time he'd done it with his eyes closed.
After walking for a bit he realized that he wasn't entirely sure where he was.
Have I gone past the house with the pink stone birdbath where there was an entrance to the park between houses?
He decided to whisper, "Navigant park on Magnolia Road" to his staff and was relieved to listen to the confident voice guide him and especially when he reached a part of the road that had paving stones, uneven though they were. The staff warned him when he needed to step up. He wasn't as far along as he thought he was.
A little dog surprised him, yapping out of nowhere, but the staff described a fence that kept him from charging, so he kept going.
He passed a hedgerow that smelled strongly of lilacs and inhaled the fragrance, remembering the purple blossoms and knowing he was nearly there. Then he could hear the shrieking chains of the swings and the rhythmic pounding of the see-saw and children squealing in delight as they ran around the play structures.
He'd made it. He felt a sense of accomplishment. And he felt a bit exposed in the park. He hadn't really thought through the fact that there would be moms and children too young to be at school at the park and that soon primary would be out and more kids would be at the park. He did want to swing and swallowed his apprehension. He wondered if there was a free swing or if they were all occupied.
He moved closer to the play structures, his staff's tapping muffled by the grass. The uneven ground was harder to move across—he had to go more slowly and the staff wasn't really good at describing the bumpy terrain adequately. He reached the sand that surrounded the play equipment.
He held up the staff and squeezed it and learned that there was a free swing directly in front of him, just a few feet away, so he walked toward it.
"Duck!" The staff yelled, and he dropped to the sand—the staff flung to the ground, out of reach. He felt something graze over his head—some child in a swing, no doubt—just missing his head by a hair's breadth.
"Oh my goodness, are you okay? How did you miss getting hit?" a motherly voice asked him, pulling him up by his elbow.
"I dunno," Harry mumbled. "I just wanted to swing a bit."
"Oh, are you blind, dear?" she asked as she brushed sand off his jeans.
"Er, I guess so," Harry said as she pressed his cane into his hand. "Thank you."
"The swing is over here. Where are your parents? You're not here alone, are you?"
"They are around," Harry lied. Too many times he'd been questioned about his alone-status at the park—he knew he had to fib if he was going to be left alone. The Dursleys always took it out on him if someone started poking around too closely in their business.
She had pulled him over to the swings and put the chain in his hand. Harry minimized his cane and put it in his pocket hoping that what the leaflet had said about how it would appear to muggles was true.
He sat on the swing and leaned back, rocking gently back and forth until he was soaring a bit and it seemed like he'd left the earth for a while to roam among the clouds.