Harry walked through the dim, winding corridors of Hogwarts, his footsteps soft but deliberate on the stone floor. Stheno, his ever-watchful companion, was coiled comfortably around his wrist, her presence a familiar weight that guided him when needed. Tonight, her guidance was especially important as Harry made his way toward one of the most powerful people in the wizarding world—Albus Dumbledore.

They had been walking for several minutes, the cool air of the castle brushing against Harry's face as he mentally counted the steps. Finally, they reached a stop. Stheno hissed softly, her tongue flicking the air. "This is it, human. The entrance is here."

Harry stood before the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office, unsure what to do next. His brow furrowed as he glanced around, though his eyes, of course, saw nothing. "So, what now?" he muttered aloud to himself. "Do I knock... or say something?"

Stheno shifted slightly, coiling tighter around his arm. "The gargoyle will open when the time is right. Be patient."

Harry was about to respond when, with a low grinding sound, the gargoyle began to rotate, revealing a spiraling stone staircase. Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Before he could gather his thoughts, a familiar, calm voice drifted down the stairs.

"Come in, Harry," Dumbledore called warmly. "I've been expecting you."

Harry smiled and stepped forward, guided by the rotating steps. He ascended the stairs with a sense of purpose, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement building within him. Dumbledore had always seemed like a distant, almost mythical figure, but now Harry was about to ask him for something very real—help.

As Harry reached the top of the stairs, Dumbledore's office opened before him, a place filled with mysterious objects that hummed softly with magic. The scent of parchment and lemon drops filled the air, and the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth added warmth to the otherwise cool room.

"Welcome, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, his voice full of warmth and curiosity. "Please, have a seat."

Harry found his way to the chair in front of the desk, his hands brushing lightly against the carved arms as he sat down. Dumbledore settled into his own chair across from him.

"Would you care for a lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered, the sound of the small, sugary candies being unwrapped echoing faintly through the office.

Harry smiled politely. "No, thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully as he popped one of the candies into his mouth. "Very well. So, how are you finding your classes, Harry? I trust you've been managing, though I imagine there have been some challenges?"

Harry nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I've been getting along fine, sir. But... that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Dumbledore's eyes, though hidden from Harry's view, twinkled with curiosity. "Ah, I see. Please, go on."

Harry hesitated for only a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The only reason I've been able to get through the classes so far is because of Daphne Greengrass. She's been acting as my guide—taking me to lessons, helping me in Potions when I need it. And most importantly, she's been reading to me. A lot of the books don't have Braille versions, so she's spent hours reading them aloud to me."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "Yes, I'm aware. In fact, I was the one who arranged it. Given Daphne's status as the heiress to a prominent family, and as a member of Slytherin, I thought she would be a fitting guide."

Harry's lips tightened into a small frown. "That's the problem," he said quietly. "Slytherin. The politics in that house are... complicated. And I've already got a target on my back. I'm worried that target is going to land on Daphne too, and she doesn't deserve that. She's just helping me, but I can handle my own problems."

Dumbledore listened intently, his face growing more serious. "I understand your concerns, Harry. But at present, the arrangement seems to be working. And I cannot change it based on a hypothetical situation. Has Daphne expressed any desire to step away from her role as your guide?"

Harry shook his head. "No, she hasn't. But I don't want to rely on someone else for the rest of my life. I'm blind, sure, but we live in a world of magic. There has to be something out there that could help me. Some way to stop depending on everyone else."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. His bright blue eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he considered Harry's words. "Indeed, you raise a very important point. In my many years, perhaps I've lost some of the ambition I once had." He smiled softly. "But hearing you speak of these things reminds me of something important. Magic is meant to grow and evolve with us."

Harry's head tilted slightly in curiosity, listening carefully as Dumbledore continued.

"I was once an avid creator of spells and magical innovations," Dumbledore said, his voice taking on a tone of nostalgia. "In fact, it was a trade I left behind many years ago. I daresay my old mentor would be most disappointed in me for letting it go. Perhaps it's time to revisit it."

Harry's heart quickened slightly. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

Dumbledore smiled, though Harry couldn't see it. "Yes, Harry. I will reach out to my old mentor, Nicolas Flamel. Together, the three of us will work on this. We shall find a way to tackle your blindness."

A broad smile spread across Harry's face, the weight of his earlier frustration lifting. "Thank you, Professor. That means a lot."

Dumbledore nodded, his tone warm. "But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, let us focus on something more immediate. You mentioned your struggles with reading books that aren't in Braille. That, I believe, is something we can address fairly soon."

Harry leaned forward, eager now. "Yes. If I could just read the books myself, it would make things so much easier. I can handle getting to classes on my own, and Potions... well, I'm getting better at that. But being able to read on my own would change everything."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a newfound determination. "Then that will be our first priority. With Flamel's help, I'm confident we can create something that will allow you to read any book, regardless of format. And who knows, perhaps we'll discover other solutions along the way."

Harry smiled, feeling a surge of hope. "Thank you again, Professor."

"You're quite welcome, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write to an old friend." Dumbledore's voice was gentle but full of purpose. "I believe we're on the verge of something important."

Harry stood from his chair, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. "I'll leave you to it, then. I have some studying to do myself."

As Harry made his way toward the door, Stheno slithered up his arm, her voice curling into his mind once more. "Well done, human. We're getting closer."

With a final nod to Dumbledore, Harry stepped out of the office and back into the corridor. His mind was buzzing with thoughts of what was to come.

As he descended the staircase, a single question echoed in his mind: Who is Nicolas Flamel?

(Scene Break)

The golden rays of the setting sun stretched long and low over the Hogwarts grounds, casting an ethereal glow across the landscape. The Black Lake shimmered like a vast mirror, reflecting the warm hues of the fading day. Though Harry could not see it, he could feel the serenity of the scene all around him—the light breeze brushing against his skin, the distant chirps of birds making their way back to their nests, the subtle rustling of leaves in the trees.

He made his way down to the lakeside, following the familiar path that he had memorized with Stheno's guidance. For weeks, he had come here to think, to read, and to escape the constant presence of people in the castle. Nature was one of the few things left that Harry could still appreciate, even without sight. The sounds, the smells, the sense of the world being alive—it brought him a comfort that the castle's cold stone walls couldn't.

Sitting beneath his favorite tree, Harry sighed contentedly. The shade here was cool, the ground beneath him soft from years of fallen leaves. He reached into his bag, pulling out the latest documents from Gringotts. These were the Potter family accounts, painstakingly transcribed into Braille by the goblins. It was dry work, filled with numbers and long-forgotten investments, but it was important. Harry knew he had to understand his family's legacy if he was going to restore it to what it once was.

His fingers moved deftly across the raised dots, reading through details about properties, vaults, and assets scattered across the wizarding world. It was overwhelming at times—so many things left unattended since his parents' deaths—but Harry was determined to sort through it all. He had to. It was his responsibility now.

As he read, the soothing sounds of the lake surrounded him—the gentle lapping of water against the shore, the occasional call of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. He didn't need sight to appreciate the beauty around him.

But then, there was another sound—footsteps. Light and careful, but distinct against the quiet backdrop of nature.

Harry's head turned slightly in the direction of the sound. He didn't need to ask who it was.

"Harry?" Daphne's voice reached him, soft but clear, carrying a note of curiosity.

Harry smiled, recognizing the familiar cadence of her steps even before she spoke. "Hey, Daphne," he said, setting the Braille papers aside. "What brings you out here?"

Daphne stopped a few feet away, her gaze briefly sweeping over the serene landscape before settling on Harry, seated beneath the tree. "I saw you out here," she said, her tone casual but laced with curiosity. "What are you doing?"

Harry patted the Braille pages beside him. "Going through the Potter accounts. Trying to make sense of everything my family left behind. It's a lot to take in."

Daphne tilted her head slightly, her expression softening with interest. She knew how important this was to him—his desire to reclaim his family's legacy. It was something they both shared in a way, though Daphne rarely spoke of her own family's expectations.

"Mind if I sit with you?" she asked, her voice almost hesitant, as if unsure of how he'd respond.

Harry's smile widened, his face lighting up with genuine warmth. "I'd love that," he said, his words gentle but sincere.

Daphne blinked, caught off guard by the simple sincerity of his response. A faint blush rose to her cheeks, surprising her. She quickly looked away, though Harry wouldn't have noticed her flushed expression. She composed herself and sat down beside him, smoothing her robes as she settled into the soft grass.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the only sound being the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of birds. Harry leaned back against the tree trunk, feeling the rough bark press against his back. He could sense Daphne's presence beside him, the faint rustle of her movements as she adjusted her position.

"Actually," Harry began, breaking the silence, "I have some news I wanted to share with you."

Daphne turned her head toward him, her curiosity piqued. "What kind of news?"

Harry couldn't help the slight grin that tugged at his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees "I went to see Dumbledore today," Harry said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. "He and his old mentor, Nicolas Flamel, are going to help me. We're going to work together to make sure my blindness doesn't hold me back anymore. The first thing they're working on is a way for me to read on my own—so you won't have to be my guide anymore."

Daphne's initial reaction was shock, but it quickly morphed into something more complicated. She felt her heart drop, a strange heaviness settling in her chest. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her expression turned sour, though she quickly masked it.

Part of her was relieved. If Harry could read on his own, it meant she wouldn't have to spend hours going over books with him or guiding him through the castle. She would have more freedom, more time for herself. But the other part—the part she refused to acknowledge—was bitter. The thought of no longer spending time with him, of not having a reason to be around him, left a hollow feeling in her chest.

Because if she wasn't his guide, there would be no excuse to be near him anymore. And if people saw her spending time with Harry without an obligation, it would only raise questions. In Slytherin, friendships—especially with someone like Harry—were scrutinized, and alliances could easily be misunderstood. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself.

Still, Daphne was too proud to let any of this show. She refused to admit—even to herself—how much she had grown to enjoy Harry's company. So, instead, she focused on something else.

"That's... good," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "But what about getting to your classes? You can't exactly do that on your own, can you?"

Harry chuckled softly, clearly amused by the question. "Actually, I can," he said, his voice taking on a playful tone. "I've got something to show you. But you have to promise not to tell anyone."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "Okay," she said slowly, folding her arms across her chest as she waited for whatever secret Harry was about to reveal.

Harry lifted his hand, and slowly, Stheno began to uncoil from his wrist, slithering out from beneath his sleeve. The dark green snake, with her sleek black underbelly and subtle spikes along her spine, moved gracefully, her amber eyes gleaming as she emerged into the open air. The sunlight caught on her scales, creating a faint shimmer of different shades of green.

Daphne's eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching for a moment. She had heard about magical familiars, of course, but she had never seen one quite like this. Stheno was... mesmerizing. There was something both beautiful and dangerous about her, a quiet power that radiated from her in subtle ways.

"Stheno," Harry said softly, resting his hand gently on the snake's back. "She's my bonded familiar. We have a telepathic connection, and she helps guide me. She acts as my eyes."

Daphne blinked, still taken aback by the sight of the snake. "She's... beautiful," she finally said, her voice softer than she intended. She leaned in slightly, her gaze fixed on the way Stheno's dark green scales shimmered in the evening light. "What kind of snake is she?"

Harry gave a small shrug. "I don't know, actually," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Even Stheno doesn't know."

Daphne looked at him incredulously, her brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you not know what your familiar is?"

Harry let out a light laugh, the sound warm and genuine. "Because I can't see her, remember?" he said, a teasing tone in his voice. "Besides, Stheno's never told me what she is, and it seems she doesn't know either."

Daphne stared at him for a moment before shaking her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "Unbelievable," she muttered, though her voice held a note of amusement. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to figure it out together someday, won't we?"

Harry smiled at that, his face softening with warmth. "I'd like that."

Daphne's heart did a little flip at his words, and she quickly looked away, focusing on Stheno instead. But the smile that had formed on her face lingered, despite her best efforts to maintain her usual composure.

However, that warmth was quickly overshadowed by the realization that if Harry could now navigate the castle with Stheno's help—and soon be able to read on his own—there would be no more reason for her to be his guide. No more reason for them to spend time together. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, though she refused to show it.

She stood up abruptly, brushing her robes off as she prepared to leave. "I should probably get back to my room," she said, her voice returning to its usual cool, composed tone. "I have a lot of studying to do."

Harry tilted his head slightly, sensing the change in her demeanor but unsure of its cause. "Alright," he said, a note of confusion creeping into his voice. "We'll talk tomorrow?"

Daphne forced a smile, though it felt hollow. "Yes. Tomorrow."

With that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps quiet but purposeful as she left the lakeside. Her mind was a swirl of emotions—relief, confusion, and a faint, nagging sadness that she couldn't quite shake.

As she walked back toward the castle, she replayed their conversation in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more conflicted she felt. She should have been happy. No longer having to be Harry's guide meant more freedom, less responsibility. But for some reason, the thought of not spending time with him anymore—of losing that connection—made her chest tighten.

Daphne shook her head, trying to push the thoughts aside. She was a Greengrass, and Greengrasses didn't get emotional over such trivial matters. She had her own responsibilities, her own future to worry about. Harry Potter didn't factor into that equation. Or, at least, he shouldn't.

As she disappeared into the shadows of the castle, Stheno's voice curled into Harry's mind, her tone gentle but curious. "She seemed sad, human."

Harry frowned, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the Braille papers in his lap. "Sad?" he repeated, confused. "Why would she be sad?"

Stheno's coils shifted slightly, her amber eyes observing Harry intently. "Because she likes spending time with you, and now she believes that time will come to an end."

Harry's frown deepened. He hadn't considered that. Daphne had always been distant, composed, and a little hard to read. He hadn't thought she cared much about their time together, especially since it was technically an arrangement made by Dumbledore. But maybe... maybe she did care, in her own way.

He shook his head lightly, pushing the thought aside for now. He had other things to focus on—like figuring out the mess that was the Potter accounts. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many pieces of his family's history that he had to understand.

With a quiet sigh, Harry leaned back against the tree, his fingers returning to the Braille pages. The evening air was cool, and the sounds of the Black Lake were as soothing as ever. But for the first time in weeks, a new kind of uncertainty lingered in his mind.

(Scene Break)

The soft light of the Sunday morning filtered through the high windows of the Slytherin common room. Harry sat at one of the tables, idly running his fingers over the Braille pages of the Potter accounts. It had become a part of his daily routine—sitting quietly, sorting through the labyrinth of family history, finances, and assets that had been left unattended since his parents' deaths. Each day he learned something new about the legacy he was now responsible for, but today his mind wasn't entirely focused on the numbers.

His conversation with Dumbledore the previous night had left him in a state of anticipation. The idea of creating something new, something that would allow him to finally read books on his own, had left him eager but also uncertain. Could it really be possible? He had lived his entire life relying on others to fill in the gaps that his blindness left behind. Now, Dumbledore and this mysterious figure, Nicolas Flamel, were offering him the chance to change all of that.

Just as Harry's thoughts began to wander, a soft, silvery light appeared before him, filling the quiet common room with a gentle glow. He turned his head slightly as the shape solidified into a glowing phoenix—Dumbledore's Patronus.

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice echoed warmly from the Patronus, "please come to my office. The password is 'Lemon drops.'"

The Patronus dissolved into silver mist, leaving Harry sitting there in stunned silence for a moment. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to act so quickly. His heart quickened with excitement as he thought of what this meeting could mean. Nicolas Flamel—the legendary wizard who had mentored Dumbledore himself—was waiting to meet him.

Stheno, coiled around his wrist, shifted slightly, sensing his excitement. "It is time, human. Dumbledore is waiting."

Harry nodded, quickly gathering his things. "Right. Let's go," he said softly, his voice tinged with both eagerness and nerves.

As he made his way through the castle, the familiar weight of Stheno on his wrist brought him a sense of comfort. Her subtle guidance and the quiet presence of the castle around him allowed him to move with ease. The whispers of other students echoed in the corridors as they passed by, but Harry paid little attention to them. His mind was racing with thoughts of what lay ahead.

When Harry reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office, he paused, feeling a flutter of nervousness in his chest. The silence of the corridor seemed to stretch as he stood before the stone sentinel, the cold air of the castle brushing against his face.

"Lemon drops," Harry said, his voice steady but expectant.

With a low grinding sound, the gargoyle shifted, revealing the spiraling staircase behind it. Harry stepped forward, ascending the stairs with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The steps felt cool beneath his feet, and each one brought him closer to a future that could look very different from the one he had always imagined for himself.

As he reached the top of the stairs, the door to Dumbledore's office opened with a soft creak, and the familiar scent of parchment and lemon drops filled the air. The room was warm, with the crackling of a fire in the hearth providing a comforting backdrop. Harry could sense the presence of more than one person in the room. Dumbledore, of course, and someone else.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore's voice greeted him warmly, as it always did. "Please, come in."

Harry stepped forward, feeling the smooth wood of the floor beneath his feet as he entered the office. There was a quietness in the air, a sense of expectation that made his pulse quicken.

"I'd like to introduce you to my old mentor, Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying a note of pride and affection.

Harry's head turned slightly toward the second figure in the room. There was something about Flamel's presence—something ancient and powerful. It wasn't something Harry could describe easily, but he felt it. It was like standing near a fire that had been burning for centuries, its heat and light ever-present, yet gentle.

"Harry Potter," Flamel's voice broke the silence, deep and resonant, with an unmistakable warmth. "It is an honor to meet you."

Harry hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

"It's... nice to meet you too, sir," Harry finally said, his voice quiet but sincere.

There was a brief pause, and Harry could sense Flamel's gaze on him. He could almost feel the weight of the man's scrutiny, but it didn't feel judgmental—more curious, as though Flamel were examining something far beyond what Harry could perceive.

"You are a remarkable young man," Flamel said after a moment, his voice filled with quiet awe. "Your magic... it is unlike any I have ever encountered."

Harry blinked in surprise, not expecting such a statement. He shifted slightly, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swirling in his mind. "What do you mean?"

Flamel took a step closer, and though Harry couldn't see it, he could feel the shift in the room's energy. There was a quiet power in Flamel's presence that felt ancient and wise.

"I have developed a sense for magic over the centuries," Flamel explained, his tone calm and measured. "Few wizards achieve it, but when you have lived as long as I have—over 600 years—it becomes second nature. And your magic, Harry... it is potent. Very potent. Stronger than I have ever felt in someone so young."

Harry's brow furrowed, a mixture of surprise and disbelief on his face. "But why? Why would my magic be different from anyone else's?"

Flamel chuckled softly, stepping closer until he stood directly in front of Harry. "That, I believe, is due to your blindness."

Harry's confusion deepened. "What? How would being blind make my magic stronger?"

Dumbledore, who had been silently observing, now spoke up, his voice gentle but filled with wisdom. "Magic is not merely a tool we wield, Harry. It is a living force, one that flows through each of us differently. Nicolas is one of the few wizards who has truly come to understand that."

Flamel nodded in agreement, his voice quiet but intense. "Magic is alive, Harry. It has a will of its own, and it grows in strength through three key factors. The first," he said, "is age. Magic, like a fine wine, grows stronger the older it is. The more time it has to mature, the more powerful it becomes."

Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He had never thought of magic as something that could "age," but it made a strange kind of sense.

"The second," Flamel continued, "is imagination. The stronger a wizard's imagination, the more potent their magic. And you, Harry, have had to rely on your imagination your entire life. You've had to picture a world you cannot see, and that has sharpened your magic in ways most people never experience."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The idea that his blindness had somehow strengthened his magic was both astonishing and difficult to grasp. It was a revelation he hadn't been expecting.

"And third," Flamel said, his tone softening, "is intent and willpower. Magic is strengthened by the will of the wizard who wields it. And I suspect that your life, Harry—the challenges you've faced—has given you a very strong will indeed."

Harry was silent for a long moment, processing everything Flamel had just told him. He had always thought of his blindness as something that made him weaker, something that held him back. But now, hearing that it had actually made his magic stronger... it was almost too much to take in.

Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, his tone warm and reassuring. "Harry, you have faced more adversity in your young life than many wizards face in a lifetime. Your magic is a reflection of that strength."

Harry swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of emotions rise within him—gratitude, awe, and something else he couldn't quite name. For the first time, he saw his blindness in a different light. It wasn't just a limitation. It had shaped him, strengthened him, and made him the wizard he was.

"That's... incredible," Harry finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never realized..."

Flamel smiled gently. "You are a remarkable young man, Harry. But we are not here to discuss the nature of your magic today. We have a task ahead of us."

Harry nodded, focusing once again on the reason he had come. "The spell," he said, excitement creeping back into his voice. "The spell to help me read."

Flamel's expression grew serious once more. "Yes. Dumbledore and I have been discussing how we might create a spell that will allow you to read books that are not in Braille. But before we can begin the process of spell creation, there is something you need to learn first."

Harry felt a pang of nervousness. "What is it?"

Flamel gestured toward Dumbledore's desk, where two books lay, their soft leather covers slightly worn from age. "I have prepared two books for you—both in Braille. One is a basic text on magical theory, and the other is more advanced. Before we can create the spell, you need to have a solid understanding of magical theory. You need to know how magic works on a fundamental level."

Harry stepped forward, running his fingers over the covers of the books. His heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and determination.

Flamel's voice was kind but firm. "Study these books, Harry. Master them. When you can repeat them front to back, come back to us, and we will begin the next phase."

Harry nodded, his fingers tightening on the books as if they were a lifeline. "I will," he said earnestly. "Thank you. Both of you."

Dumbledore smiled, the familiar warmth in his voice as he spoke. "We'll be here when you're ready, Harry."

Harry bid them farewell, his heart pounding with excitement as he descended the staircase. As he made his way back to the Slytherin common room, his mind was racing. Not only was he on the verge of learning a spell that could change his life, but he was also being mentored by two of the greatest wizards to ever live.

But one question still lingered in his mind as he walked through the castle.

Who exactly is Nicolas Flamel?

(Scene Break)

Three months had passed since Harry had first met Nicolas Flamel. In that time, his life had transformed in ways he never could have predicted. What had begun as an eager desire to become independent—to read books on his own—had turned into something far more profound. He had delved deep into advanced magical theory, studied relentlessly, and found himself learning things most first-year students couldn't even dream of.

Each day, Harry's schedule was packed. He'd spent hours in the library with Daphne, reading through Braille versions of the magical theory books Nicolas had given him. Daphne had originally been a reluctant companion, but over the months, their dynamic had shifted. They now spent more time together than ever, not just studying but talking. Their conversations, once stiff and formal, had softened into something more natural—dare he say, friendly. Daphne had even begun offering advice, expressing admiration for Harry's determination. Sometimes, he sensed a protectiveness in her, especially when Malfoy tried to provoke him, though she never admitted it outright.

The hours spent in the library were often accompanied by another frequent visitor: Hermione Granger. Hermione and Harry had grown close as well, their shared thirst for knowledge forging a bond that seemed to grow with each debate over spells, history, and magical theory. She found Harry's insights, coming from his unique experience, fascinating. She would often approach him with a new theory or challenge, and their discussions would grow heated, both trying to outwit the other in friendly competition.

But as with everything good, there were shadows. Draco Malfoy's irritation with Harry had been growing steadily. The more Harry excelled in his classes, sitting at the top of his year, the more Draco seemed to view him as an obstacle, a threat. Their verbal clashes had become common, each interaction sharper than the last. But Harry, thanks to the discipline he'd developed through his training and studies, brushed Malfoy off with relative ease. He didn't have time for petty games. Not with what he was working toward.

It had taken Harry one month of dedicated study to get caught up on the two books Nicolas had given him. He read them, memorized them, and learned them so thoroughly that he could repeat entire passages word for word. It was exhausting, but necessary. The theory behind magic was far more complex than he had anticipated, but with Dumbledore's and Flamel's guidance, he had begun to grasp how magic could be shaped, molded, and refined.

At the end of that first month, Dumbledore and Nicolas had shared their progress on the spell. The two had spent countless hours crafting it—trial after trial, adjustment after adjustment. Finally, two weeks ago, they had made a breakthrough. Nicolas had been able to successfully cast the spell. It worked. A spell that would allow Harry to "read" books by pressing his wand against a book had been created.

Now, the only task left was for Harry to master it.

Harry sat in the quiet of an empty classroom, his hands resting lightly on the surface of a thick book. It was a textbook from the Hogwarts library, "Magical Creatures of the British Isles," a standard but detailed volume that Harry had chosen for its familiarity. The book's worn cover told of many students who had flipped through its pages, learning about creatures like Hippogriffs and Bowtruckles. While Harry couldn't see the illustrations or diagrams, he longed to understand the knowledge inside, just as much as any other student.

His wand lay across his lap, and the room was silent, save for the faint creaks of the castle's old bones and the occasional rustle of wind through the partially open window. The air was cool, filled with the scent of parchment and dust—Harry's usual companions in these quiet moments of study.

For two weeks, Harry had been practicing the spell. He had learned how it worked in theory, understood how the magic flowed, but casting it had proven to be another challenge entirely. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much magic he pushed through his wand, the spell hadn't worked—yet.

Harry pressed his wand against the book's cover, focusing intently as he whispered the incantation under his breath. "Legere Libri." His fingers tightened around the wand as he felt the familiar surge of magic stir within him, channeling through his core and into his hand.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, as before, a faint purple glow appeared at the tip of his wand. It was a small, flickering light, barely more than a spark, but it was there. Harry held his breath, willing the magic to flow. He pushed more of his will into the spell, urging it to grow.

The light wavered, then flickered out.

Harry sighed, frustration creeping in at the edges of his mind. He had been so close, so many times. He knew he was right on the edge of getting it to work, but something—something—wasn't clicking. He could feel the magic build, but he couldn't make it manifest fully.

"I'll try again," he muttered to himself, determination hardening his voice. He couldn't give up now. He wouldn't.

Harry lifted his wand and placed it against the book once more. He closed his eyes, focusing on the flow of magic within him. He had learned so much about the intricacies of spellcasting, the importance of intent, willpower, and control. He had the knowledge. Now he needed to trust it.

"Legere Libri," he whispered again.

The purple light flared to life at the tip of his wand, faint at first, but it held. It didn't flicker or waver this time. Harry felt a surge of hope as he pressed more magic into the spell. Slowly, the light grew stronger, brighter, and he could feel the energy pooling in the wand, drawing more magic from deep within him.

And then—words.

It was subtle at first. Just a few words, drifting into his mind like whispers. Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He kept his focus, kept feeding magic into the spell. The words grew stronger, clearer, flowing into his mind one after the other. Then, suddenly, they formed sentences—full, coherent sentences. The words began to organize themselves, taking shape, until entire paragraphs were streaming into his thoughts.

Harry's heart raced. He was doing it. He was reading!

The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave. The words continued to flow, quicker now, more fluid, as if the spell were gaining momentum. Every page of the book was opening itself to him, every piece of knowledge pouring into his mind as if he were reading with perfect sight.

He laughed—a short, breathless laugh of disbelief and triumph. His fingers tightened around the wand as he let the magic continue to work, the sensation of reading—truly reading—filling him with a joy he hadn't expected.

For the first time in his life, he didn't need anyone to read for him. He didn't need to rely on Braille or someone else's voice. He was doing this on his own.

The spell worked.

Harry let out a deep breath, allowing the magic to settle as he withdrew his wand from the book's cover. The purple glow faded, leaving the room in its natural dim light once more. But the exhilaration in Harry's chest remained, his heart still pounding from the intensity of the moment.

He had done it. He had learned the spell. After weeks of study and practice, he had finally crossed that threshold.

The weight of the achievement slowly settled on him. This was freedom. He could now access any book in the library—any book in the world. Knowledge was no longer hidden from him. He could study, learn, and grow entirely on his own terms.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't sadness, but rather a sense of release—a release from the limitations that had shackled him for so long. He had never truly realized how much he had longed for this freedom until it was now his.

Harry raised his wand again, his fingers trembling slightly from the lingering adrenaline, and touched it to the book once more. "Legere Libri," he whispered.

The purple light flared, stronger this time, and the words flowed into his mind almost effortlessly. Page after page, they came faster, more fluidly, until he wasn't just reading—he was consuming the knowledge in the book. He could read more quickly, more easily, with every passing second.

This was it. This was everything he had worked for.

Harry leaned back in his chair, letting the spell fade as he rested the wand in his lap. A slow smile spread across his face as the reality of it all settled in. He had done it. He had achieved something that, three months ago, had seemed impossible.

He owed so much to Dumbledore and Nicolas. They had created the spell, they had guided him—but this final victory was his. He had learned the spell. He had mastered it. He wouldn't take credit for the creation, but the accomplishment was something he could claim for himself.

With this spell, there was nothing he couldn't learn. Nothing he couldn't study. He had the freedom he had always wanted. He could face the world, the challenges, and everything that lay ahead of him—on his own terms.

Harry's smile widened as he stood, feeling lighter than he had in months. He had finally taken that step forward. He was no longer bound by his blindness.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly free.

There was only one thing left, to tell Daphne.

(Scene Break)

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the Hogwarts grounds. The Black Lake shimmered in the distance, its surface rippling gently in the breeze, while the trees swayed quietly in rhythm with the wind. Harry stood by his usual spot—a large, ancient oak that overlooked the lake. It had become a habit for him and Daphne to meet here every Saturday afternoon, a routine they had fallen into without even realizing it. They would sit beneath the tree, talking about their weeks, about classes, sometimes even about their hopes and fears. It was a time Harry had come to cherish.

But today, as Harry waited for Daphne, his heart was heavy with a mix of emotions. The cool breeze did little to calm the anxiety that churned in his chest. This wasn't just any Saturday. Today, things might change, and Harry wasn't sure he was ready for that. The thought of not spending time with Daphne anymore—a thought that had slowly taken shape over the past few weeks—now felt like a painful reality pressing against him.

As he ran his fingers across the cover of the book he had brought with him, Harry sighed softly. He had wanted this freedom for so long—to be able to read on his own, to be independent. But now that he had it, the cost of it felt higher than he had expected. He had worked so hard with Nicolas and Dumbledore to develop the spell, practicing tirelessly until he had finally mastered it. But with that mastery came a bittersweet realization: he no longer needed Daphne to be his guide.

He knew now why Daphne had been sad when he first told her about his plan. She had sensed what he hadn't at the time—that this new independence might drive a wedge between them. He had never imagined that losing her company would hurt as much as it did.

Harry frowned, his thoughts swirling. Daphne had always maintained that they weren't friends—that they couldn't be friends. Slytherin politics, she had said, were too dangerous. Harry had accepted that on the surface, but deep down, he had never truly agreed. He did consider Daphne a friend, his first real friend in this new world. She had been with him through the hardest moments, guiding him, supporting him, even when she acted indifferent.

In Harry's mind, Daphne wasn't just his guide—she was the person who had been closest to him, the one who understood him better than anyone else. If today was the end of that, it would be a loss he wasn't sure he could handle.

The sound of soft footsteps on the grass snapped him out of his thoughts. Daphne was approaching, her gait as steady and graceful as ever. She came to sit beside him beneath the tree, just as she had done every Saturday. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet sounds of the Black Lake filling the space between them.

"How's your day been?" Daphne asked after a moment, her voice calm, but there was a certain weight to it—as if she knew something was coming.

Harry, biting back the nervousness building in his chest, gave her a triumphant smile. "It's been... well, I think you're about to find out," he said, his tone teasing but hiding the anxiety beneath.

Daphne raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "Oh? What are you planning to show me?"

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a book—a volume on Arithmancy, thick and bound in leather. He could almost hear the way Daphne's breath hitched, and he knew that she understood what this meant. The book wasn't in Braille.

She watched in silence as Harry set the book down in front of him. His hand trembled slightly, more from anticipation than nerves, as he placed his wand against the cover of the book. Daphne's eyes widened as she watched, her heart sinking as the reality of the moment began to settle in.

"Legere Libri," Harry whispered softly, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.

The tip of Harry's wand glowed a soft purple, the same familiar light she had seen many times over the last few weeks as he practiced. But this time, it was different. This time, the light didn't flicker out. Instead, the pages of the book began to flip rapidly, as though the magic was searching through them, pulling the words into Harry's mind.

Harry didn't keep the spell going for long. After a few moments, he pulled his wand back, the purple glow fading. He turned to Daphne, his expression a mix of pride and relief. "I did it, Daphne," he said, his voice soft but filled with joy. "I can read."

Daphne stared at him for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She should have been smiling, celebrating with him, but instead, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to fight them back, but the sadness was overwhelming.

"I guess..." Daphne said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to remain composed, "I guess that means you don't need me as your guide anymore."

The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Harry's triumphant smile faded into a bittersweet expression. He had known this moment was coming, but hearing her say it made the reality hit harder.

"I guess so," Harry replied quietly, his voice laced with regret.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was thick, filled with unspoken emotions that neither knew how to express. The sun continued its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the lake as they sat together, each lost in their own thoughts.

Ten minutes passed in this quiet, painful silence, before Daphne suddenly turned to Harry, her expression serious yet conflicted.

"Do you remember," she began, her voice soft but carrying a weight that made Harry listen closely, "when you offered to protect me? That day you met me... you said you'd protect me with the full force of the Potter family if anyone came after me for being your guide."

Harry nodded instantly. "Of course I remember," he said, his voice steady. "I'll never forget that day. I promised you I wouldn't."

Daphne gave him a small, bittersweet smile, the kind that would have made Harry's heart clench if he could see. "Did you really mean it when you said you'd protect me?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. "Because... I can't do this alone. Not if I'm going to be your friend."

Harry froze. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly. Friend? Did she say friend?

"What did you say?" Harry asked, his voice almost a whisper, his heart racing as hope flickered inside him.

Daphne looked at him fully now, her eyes meeting his, and for the first time, there was no coldness, no guardedness. There was only sincerity. Not that he saw any of that. "I said I can't do this alone if I'm going to be your friend."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face, a feeling of warmth and relief flooding through him. "Of course I meant it," he said, his voice stronger now. "I'll always protect you. I promised that, and I'll keep that promise, no matter what."

Daphne smiled back at him, this time more genuinely, though there was still a glint of determination in her eyes. "Good," she said with a firm nod. "Screw the rest of Slytherin. If they want to come after me for being your friend, let them. We'll take them on together—you and me."

Harry's grin widened as a sense of joy and relief washed over him. After all these months, he could finally call Daphne friend. She had been the closest person to him during his time at Hogwarts, and now he didn't have to let go of that bond. They were in this together—Slytherin politics be damned.

"Together," Harry agreed, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "We'll take them on together."

And in that moment, as the sun dipped lower behind the horizon and the shadows grew longer, Harry felt something he hadn't felt in a long time—contentment. He had gained the freedom he had longed for, but even more importantly, he had gained something far greater. He had gained a true friend.

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