"Harry, don't give him a knut of your attention," Professor Lupin said after he made sure the door was securely shut again. "I shouldn't say it, but since we're technically not colleagues yet and what he said was rather mean spirited—I'll tell you that he takes pleasure in the discomfort of others. It reflects rather more on him than on the people he is trying to cut down."

"Yeah?" Harry said hopefully and a bit surprised that Professor Lupin would actually criticize a peer, but he was still feeling rankled—there was truth in Snape's cutting words. How am I supposed to do well in class if I can't even tell if my shield is invisible or rainbow-colored?

He shook his head trying to get rid of the thoughts. He'd never cast a shield charm before he lost his sight. He was learning so many things at the Center and a lot of it was way above the level it was taught at Hogwarts.

Snape should go hump the Whomping Willow. The image that blossomed in his mind's eye made him snort and he tried to cover it with a cough.

"And your shield charm was impressive. I doubt a sighted student would have had the reflexes to cast one so perfectly and quickly. And did you do it nonverbally? I don't remember hearing you mutter the incantation," Professor Lupin said. "And you're not even a third-year student yet. Amazing."

"Did I? I don't think I cast it nonverbally. I don't know how," Harry said. "I think it was my staff."

"Did you cast it with your staff or your wand?"

"Oh, I dunno," Harry said, and then realized that he was holding his wand. He must have flicked it out. His staff was in his other hand. "Both?"

"It could have been the combined effect—hmmm," said Professor Lupin. "You said your staff cast a protection charm that saved you from a lorry, right? Was it also colorful?"

"I dunno. No one said so. I don't think it was. I don't think they saw it," Harry said. "They couldn't see me, either, I was disillusioned at the time."

"Well, these are things that we can explore and work on in these sessions. Healer Jordan said that there's a reporter from the Daily Prophet who seems to be breaching the Privacy Act and that some of our work this summer can focus on learning how to detect threats as well as mitigate them."

"Professor…" Harry paused.

"What is it, Harry?"

"Well, I'm just not sure. I mean, it seems like you know a lot, but then you haven't worked with blind wixen before… so how are you going to help me? I mean, wouldn't this be a job for someone with experience with what I'm facing?" Harry stumbled through his concern.

"That's a very good point, Harry. And, yes, it is true, I haven't worked with people who've lost their vision before, but I have had life experiences that have prepared me for defending myself and also evading detection when needed. How about I make you a deal? You let me know if I get something wrong or something needs to be adjusted and I'll do my best to give you the tools and support that you need?" Professor Lupin said. "And if it doesn't work, then we'll talk to Healer Jordan and figure out another arrangement."

"Okay, I guess we could try that," Harry said, shrugging.

Harry heard Professor Lupin striding over to him so that he was standing right in front of Harry. Harry wasn't sure what he was doing. "Are you holding your hand out to me?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side as he tried to hear more clearly. He stuck out his hand—just in case.

"Er, yes, and I'll remember to let you know next time. Let's shake on it, okay?" Professor Lupin said, grasping his hand firmly and shaking it.

"Okay, let's get to work on your shield charm—so that when you cast it when you're surprised—you are conscious of whether or not it is transparent. It has to do with intention and visualization. I'll have to do some research about what might be causing you to subconsciously visualize a rainbow now. I take it that this is a new development that came about after you fought the Basilisk?" Professor Lupin asked.

"Yes—er, well, I never cast it before… so I don't actually know," Harry said.

"So, when your staff protected you from the lorry—that must have been a strong charm, because that was a very large physical object traveling at speed. I can't imagine that a magically-imbued staff on its own would be able to protect you from that, even if a powerful wizard cast the charm. Hmmm. But you also had your wand with you?"

"Yes, Figora said that my staff, wand, and broom are all made of the same wood—holly—she said that it was unusual," Harry said, suddenly remembering and wondering if that had anything to do with it.

"Figora?"

"Yes, she works at the Center. I don't know her last name. Actually, do goblins have last names? But yes, she mentioned that when we were making the silver tip for my staff," Harry said as he tapped the silver tip on the floor. "I really like it."

"She's a goblin?"

"Half-goblin, I guess," Harry shrugged.

"Hmmm. Can I see your silver-tip?"

"Sure," Harry said as he held his staff out to the professor.

"Hmmm. So, had you made the silver tip—this is goblin silver, right?—when you were almost hit by the lorry?" Professor Lupin said as he returned the staff to Harry's outstretched hand. Harry was relieved to have it back. He felt adrift without it. He tapped the silver tip on the ground again—and felt the reverberation of the sound move through his body.

"Yes, it is goblin silver and yes, I was using it then. But the rainbow stuff—that started happening while I was at the Dursleys. I cast a repair charm on a burned napkin and turned it rainbow colored—Aunt Petunia was really mad," Harry said.

"What? Petunia… Dursley? Who do you live with, Harry?" Professor Lupin asked with a sharp intake of breath.

Harry gulped and took a step back, raising his hands in front of his chest, palms out.

Professor Lupin seemed to inhale deeply. He breathed out slowly with a bit of a shuddering breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I was just surprised," Professor Lupin said more calmly. "I apologize. I should have asked earlier… Harry, who do you live with?"

"I live with the Dursleys—my mum's sister and her family," Harry said slowly. "Why?"

"Oh, my. Merlin. I thought that Lily didn't want you to live with them. How did this happen?" Professor Lupin muttered as he stumbled toward his desk.

"What? Did you know my mum?" Harry asked following him.

"Er, yeah. I probably should have informed you of that first thing," Professor Lupin said as his chair squeaked as he sank into it. "Here, let's sit down."

Then Professor Lupin was jumping to his feet again and guiding Harry rather clumsily to the wing-backed chair. "I'll get us some tea. I think we have a lot to talk about. More than I realized."

There was an edge to his voice—like he was almost choking on something and Harry wondered if he was using getting tea as an excuse so that he didn't have to talk for a bit. He had hurried out of the room and Harry could hear him drawing water into the echoey chamber of a metal kettle and clinking china in another adjacent room. After all, Professor Lupin was a wizard. He could summon tea.

Harry was left sitting in the cushy chair rolling his collapsed staff between his fingers and running his thoughts over the words they had just exchanged while trying to convince his heart to stop hammering in his throat. It was rather uncomfortable. He felt the prickle of sweat on the back of his neck and under his arms—it smelled rather rank.

Harry was tempted to summon his braille work out of his staff just to have something to do while he waited, but he suspected he'd just be running his fingers raw over the dots, but not making any sense of it. Instead, he summoned the bottle of dittany and rubbed a bit over his sore fingertips and sighed in relief as it soaked in and relieved the slight burning sensation residual from his braille lessons earlier.

He thought about all the times he had ignored little cuts, bruises, and burns sustained while living with the Dursleys. Now he could just summon a little jar from his staff and apply a little ointment and the pain was gone almost instantly.

He relaxed a little into the chair, though he listened attentively to the noises coming from Professor Lupin's kitchen. Harry winced when he heard a small crash like something delicate had fallen and shattered followed by a muttered string of cursing. He sat up wondering if he should offer to help out, but then sank back into the chair, figuring that he'd just be in the way. He turned his attention to the room around him. He heard something gurgling like it was underwater and the sound of scratching on glass that reminded him of Dudley's tortoise—it was coming from behind the desk. Harry asked his staff to describe more details of the room than he'd asked for initially. The staff told him that there was a wall of shelves containing a number of books and large jars. Harry guessed that there was something alive in one of the jars and wondered what it could be. He was tempted to move closer to it to get a better description. Just as he was edging forward to stand up, Professor Lupin came back into the room—the china clattering a bit on the tray that he must have been carrying.

Harry could smell the aroma of a strong Darjeeling tea and something else … something spicy.

"How do you take your tea? I also cut some ginger spice bread. I was feeling like we needed something sweet," Professor Lupin said, almost apologetically.

This was definitely not what Harry had expected from this lesson. Though what he expected, he couldn't quite articulate.

"So, Harry," Professor Lupin said once they were settled with their tea and ginger spice bread (which was so crumbly that Harry resorted to pinching off small pieces rather than lifting the entire piece to his mouth). "I should have told you straight out—your parents were dear friends of mine—we met at Hogwarts. I was especially close to your father, James."

"Oh," Harry said quietly as a strange resentment built in his gut.

"You look just like your dad, you know," Professor Lupin said with an unsteady voice. "Except for your eyes—you have your mother's eyes."

"Oh, well, yeah," Harry said, raising his hand to adjust his glasses on his nose and then slumping forward as he leaned over his knees—his teacup rattling.

"James was such a good friend to me. We, well, we did everything together—him and … well, we had some other good friends, too. We were a bit rowdy sometimes. And then he fell in love with Lily and they got married and had you. Those were good times. Really good times. They were so happy. Even the war didn't dampen their love… well, until…" Professor Lupin stopped—his voice strained. "Well, I suppose you know what happened then. I'm so sorry that you didn't get to spend much time with them. They did love you so much."

Harry could hear the sorrow in Professor Lupin's voice, but a question burned his tongue as he held it back.

Why haven't I met you before, then, if you were such good friends with my parents?

Maybe it was apparent on his face.

"I should have sought you out earlier, Harry…" The statement hung between them as Harry waited for an explanation… an excuse… something.

Harry finally shrugged.

"So, you live with Lily's sister and her family? And how is that?" he said with an attempt at cheer. "She has a son your age… right? I imagine you're great pals… more like brothers."

Harry couldn't keep the pain of that assumption from flashing across his face.

I wish I had a brother. Ugh. I did have a brother … or a sister…

"Um, no," Harry stuttered—his voice mired in emotion. He reached out for the desk with his left hand, found the edge, then slid his teacup and saucer onto the surface while balancing the ginger spice bread plate on his knees. Then he slid it next to the teacup. He was going to go off tea if it was always going to be the catalyst of angst-filled conversations.

"No?" Professor Lupin probed.

"No."

"Well, I guess not all brothers get along… Sirius…" Professor Lupin stopped.

"Serious?" Harry asked.

"Never mind. So, you're not hungry?"

"No, er, sorry," Harry muttered.

"It's my grandmother's recipe…" Professor Lupin offered.

"It's very good, sir, it's just…" Harry trailed off.

"No, it's okay. I understand," Professor Lupin said. "Okay, so let's go back to your rainbow-colored repairing charm. Can you show me?"

"Yeah, I guess. Do you have something broken that needs to be fixed?"

"As a matter of fact, in my rush to make tea, I did drop a teacup. I was in a hurry and figured I'd fix it later. I just left it in the kitchen. I'll summon the pieces here to the desk and you can show me your repairing charm," Professor Lupin said as he summoned the broken teacup. They landed in a tinkling pile on the desk.

"How come they didn't go to your hand?" Harry asked.

"That was part of the intention of the charm I cast—I thought about where I wanted them to land," Professor Lupin explained. "If they had gone to my hand, I could have been cut."

"Oh, Tony could use that," Harry said softly.

"So, you're going to cast the spell with your staff?"

"Yes, that's what I did the first time this happened. Of course, I didn't know I had until Aunt Petunia… well, she told me about it. But I've tried it again and people say the same thing—that they are fixed but rainbow-colored. A friend of mine is researching it."

"Go on then, let's see it," Professor Lupin encouraged.

Harry pushed his collapsed staff across the table until he heard it make contact with the shards. He muttered, "Reparo teacup," and listened as the fine porcelain pieces came grinding together and the cup rattled on the desk as if someone had spun it like a top. He picked it up and felt it for tattletale signs of having been repaired, but could find no seams or chips.

Professor Lupin gasped in delight, "Oh, it's rather superb! Even better than before. I should break all my teacups and have you repair them. This is such an improvement over the drab design they sported before. Well done!"

"So it did it again?"

"Yes. Now, have you tried this with your wand?"

"Yes, same thing. And I repaired a pop bottle and it was filled with liquid which Ron drank, but he said it was horrid," Harry retold.

"Filled with liquid? Really? Was there some in the bottle? When you're repairing the item, what are you thinking about?"

"It was just a shard of glass and I'm just thinking about it being whole again," Harry said.

"No liquid at all? You're not visualizing it?"

"Well, I thought about a teacup of the same weight and size of the one I had been drinking with earlier," Harry said.

"Well, but this one was a completely different design—and yet it maintained its original shape. Do you mind if I floo call Professor Flitwick and see if he can join us? Maybe he'd have some ideas."

"Sure, I guess so," Harry said.

It didn't take very long for Professor Lupin to have a quick conversation with Professor Flitwick who ended up stepping through the floo, muttering a charm to clean off his clothes, and conjuring a chair that settled gently next to Harry's.

"Mr. Potter—How are you doing?" Professor Flitwick greeted him enthusiastically, pumping one hand up and down in a vigorous handshake while grasping Harry's elbow with his other hand. Harry realized that he was now a little taller than the professor—he must have grown a bit over the year. They settled into their chairs.

"I was so sorry to hear from Madam Pomfrey that the injuries you received were not all reversible. Such a terrible thing—a Basilisk in the castle. Who would have ever thought that it was lurking down there all these centuries? Amazing that you and Miss Weasley escaped with your lives. I imagine it has been a tough adjustment. Professor McGonagall has kept us all informed—she said that you're making good progress and that there are other Hogwarts students in the training as well. Oh, this spice cake is delightful. Thank you, Remus! I'm always so impressed with the training at the Center—their students come back to Hogwarts and blend so well into the student body that we tend to forget that they ever struggled at all. I swear that most of the students are completely oblivious that they are working alongside students who are missing limbs or who can't hear or whatever it is. So very progressive, too. They've been pushing for an Egress connection between the Center and Hogwarts for quite some time. I'm glad that Minerva was finally able to make it happen—what with Albus away for the summer. I think we could learn some valuable things from that Center—for all our students, not just those who have been grievously injured."

Harry wasn't sure if Professor Flitwick drew in a breath. Maybe he knew a charm for breathing while speaking that didn't require stopping.

"Professor Flitwick, here is the teacup that Harry just repaired. Before he repaired it, the pattern was just as dismal as the one you hold in your hand. Why do you think his repairs are rainbow-colored? His shield charm also has a rainbow-sheen—like an oil slick," Professor Lupin said. "Harry, could you cast your protection charm to show us?"

"Oh, okay," Harry as he felt the tips of his ears warm. He stood up, shook out his staff, and walked to the area of the room where he had been standing earlier. He crouched down and muttered, "Protego."

"Ah! Yes!" clapped Professor Flitwick and Harry ended the charm and found his chair again. "Miss Granger wrote me a letter describing this phenomenon! I haven't researched it yet… I've been meaning to do that and get back to her. It's so much better to see it in person."

"So, do you have any ideas about why it is happening?" Professor Lupin asked.

"Well, I'll have to do some reading, but I think it has to do with Harry's subconscious desire to see color," he said as he patted Harry on the knee. "Your injury is very recent and you probably are yearning for color and it is coming out in your charms. It will probably go away once you've stopped mourning the loss of your vision. Totally understandable that you are grieving what you've lost… the person you were before has died and you must mourn and eventually accept the person you are now. Or it could be that the Basilisk venom changed your magic. Hmmmm. It does have a tendency to imbue objects and, well, since most people who are bitten don't have a Phoenix handy for administering tears directly into the wound, well—they die, don't they? So, what do we really know about someone who was imbued with venom and survived? Probably as much as we know about someone who survived the killing curse… which of course, is pretty much nothing. You know, I'm surprised that the Ministry of Magic hasn't quarantined you in the Department of Mysteries. I bet they are dying to get their hands on you. I imagine that Albus had to exert quite a bit of his influence and power to keep that from happening. You're lucky to have your freedom, really."

"Er," Harry managed to say in response to all of this.

"I will just pop back to my study and see what I can find. I'm very intrigued, too," Professor Flitwick said as he hopped up. "May I take this teacup to examine?" He didn't wait for an answer, or maybe Professor Lupin nodded. His rapid footsteps clapped away from them toward the fireplace and the familiar sulfur smell erupted into the room as the professor Floo'd back to his quarters.

"Well, okay then," Professor Lupin chuckled. "Glad we cleared that up."

Harry wasn't sure he thought it was funny. The person he was before has died? That sounded rather bleak. He wasn't sure it really described his experience. Sure, he tended to think of things as before or after the Chamber of Secrets events—but had he really died? Maybe? But then who was he now? And what did Professor Flitwick mean by being imbued with the Basilisk venom?