Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 12 - Blind Fortune

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The air was warm for fall, yet the sky was a heavy grey. Flying with the charms of his Caduceus P2 off, Harry could feel the wetness in the air. He knew it would rain soon and that, more than anything else, focused his energies on finding the Snitch. It had been hard concentrating. Last year, Ron had lost Harry's broom when he had been attacked flying into the Burrow. So this year he was riding the latest model of Caduceus, the new P2, "P" for Potter. Cleansweep was paying him a small fortune to use his name for their new broom, monies that Harry was using to assist the families who had lost loved ones in the war. That didn't seem to matter much. Even his own house was ribbing him for the branding of his name and it didn't help that smack in the middle of the visitor's stand was a ten foot by twenty foot crystalline portrait of Harry flying the new broom and waving at the crowd. Every so often words would appear: The Caduceus P2. So fast it'll blow the competition away.

It was a play on the story run by the Daily Prophet about Harry's defeat of Voldemort. The story said that the spell Harry cast was so powerful, not only did it destroy Voldemort, but it nearly took the Ministry down with it. Even now, the Ministry was digging out and repairing the gaping fall into nothingness that remained after the floor of the death chamber fell away, swallowing whole the Curtain of Phenolem and the dais upon which it stood. Harry glanced again at the huge sheet of crystal, his own image smiling back at him and waving, and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He'd been distracted all day and most folks thought it had to do with first game jitters. He was Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain this year and nearly everyone believed it to be foolish decision. Since the attack on the train, the whole school knew that he was going to be fighting the Dementors when the war with the Centaurs came. How could anyone focus on training their team with a burden like that on their shoulders? Indeed, even Professor McGonagall thought that Ron Weasley might make the better choice - she told Harry so.

"If I can't have your mind on the game, you're no use to the team, Mr. Potter," she had said in confidence. "Ron Weasley bleeds Quidditch and his mind is sharp when it comes to analyzing the other teams' weaknesses." Harry had nodded and turned to leave her office when she stopped him. "But no one commands loyalty like you, Harry. It takes seven to win a Quidditch match and all of Gryffindor would sooner fly into the lake than let you down. The question is -- can you keep from letting all of them down?"

"No, ma'am. I mean yes ma'am," Harry sputtered. "I mean..." He sighed. "I won't lie, professor. Ron's the better strategist, and there's no one better in northern Britain when it comes to keeping a Quaffle from skewering the rings. Dennis Creevey is the fastest in all Hogwarts and is starting to come up with plays I could never dream of. Jack Sloper's put on thirty pounds since last year and he can knock a fairy off a fencepost at fifty meters. Slytherin was the only team that had a prayer to beat us, but with Malfoy gone they don't have a chance. The team doesn't need me to lead them ma'am. Anyone can guide us to the cup." McGonagall looked at Harry over the top of her glasses.

"Is that so?" she had asked. "Well then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you'll do then. I want the team roster, to include the player replacing Katie at Chaser, and the weekly practice schedule by tomorrow morning. And, to keep you motivated since this will be such an easy year, let's say that if we don't win every game by more than one-hundred fifty points, you'll be back in my office the Sunday after to write a three scroll report on one of my books detailing the theories and strategies of Quidditch." She pointed to a long row of texts on one of the shelves behind her. Not one was less than three inches thick.

"But--"

"I know, you're thinking that you'd like to write the reports anyway. Well, let's just see how the first game goes. Shall we? Good-day, Mr. Potter."

Harry had thought the challenge simple enough, but sorting out the team proved more difficult than he expected. They couldn't find a good Chaser and when Jimmy Peakes tried out for Beater he played ferociously, unseating Hooper from the team. Finally, Harry selected Demelza Robins as Chaser, if for no other reason than she was particularly good at dodging Bludgers. The shuffle caused a lot of growing pains and hurt feelings, but after three weeks of practice Harry was confident once again that the team could not be defeated.

Now, flying high over the pitch, Harry wasn't so sure. Trying to ignore his own face, he glanced at the scoreboard to find Gryffindor up by forty which, as far as Harry was concerned, was pathetic. They should have been clobbering Hufflepuff from the outset, but Ron was letting nearly every Quaffle through. Having heard that the coach of the Magpies, Bernard Bennegin, was coming specifically to scout his performance, Ron was a nervous wreck. To make matters worse he was suffering from a hangover and was having trouble seeing the Quaffle, let alone stopping it. The only good news was that Jimmy and Jack were keeping the Bludgers off the team while Dennis and Demelza were scoring nearly at will. Ginny could have been too, but she was so busy yelling at Ron for being such a git she hadn't scored a single goal.

Harry scanned the skies once more, searching for the Snitch. The Hufflepuff Seeker, Summerby, had seen it about an hour earlier. Harry had been well out of position, and if it hadn't been for a well placed Bludger by Sloper, Gryffindor would have lost. It was then that Harry had turned off the charms of his broom, hoping that he might better sense the Snitch's location. Suddenly, the yellow side of the pitch erupted in cheers; Hufflepuff had scored. Harry forced himself not to look at the scoreboard. He had to remain alert, but before you could say snicklfritz the crowd erupted again - another score for Hufflepuff. Finally, Harry called a timeout.

The team gathered over by Ron, whose ears were flaming red with embarrassment. Ginny began to tear into her brother.

"So help me, Ron!" she yelled, "The next Quaffle that goes through one of those rings is going to find its way up your--"

"Hang on!" Harry interrupted. "We're not here to fight with each other; we're here to find a way to win."

"You could be looking for the Snitch!" snapped Ginny as she pulled out her wand. "So help me, if either of you two drink on a game night again, I'm going to hex you both back into Professor Trelawney's class!"

"You think you can threaten me?" yelled Ron at his sister as he pulled his own wand, however shaky his hand was.

"Stop it!" yelled Dennis above the fray. With a no-nonsense voice that commanded attention, Dennis Creevey, who was still the smallest on the team, began to point out what needed to be done.

"Ron, they're constantly feinting right and shooting left. If you move higher in the air and hold position just a little longer, you'll stop them. Ginny, we could use a little more of your attention on the Hufflepuff side of the field. Dem, they're starting to catch on to Harry's first few plays." His eyes dotted to Harry who nodded in agreement. "I think we should move on to what he was showing us last weekend."

"But we've only flown that three or four times," argued Demelza.

"Dennis is right," countered Ginny. "At the worst we'll have given them a new look. At the best we'll score three or four before they catch on."

"Jack, Jimmy, you guys have been flawless. Just keep the Bludgers off our backs and we'll score for sure." Then Dennis looked at Harry. "Harry, I don't blame you if you tell me to sod off, but..."

"Go on," said Harry.

"Well, it seems like you've been day dreaming up there, Harry. I know there are a thousand things you should be thinking about besides Quidditch, but we're gonna need the Snitch today, and if Summerby sees it again we've lost. Are you with us?"

Harry had to smile at the new general on the field. "Our own little Napoleon," he thought. Madame Hooch blew the whistle for play to resume. Hufflepuff broke their scrum and began to fly into position. Harry looked down on the pitch below. There was nothing he loved more in the world than flying.

"I'm with you," he said with confidence. "Summerby won't have a chance. I swear." Harry shot into position just to the west and a little below Summerby. If anything, the sky was growing darker and the air colder, but he resisted the temptation to engage the charms of his broom.

Dennis had been right. Over the next forty minutes or so, Ron had blocked six straight Hufflepuff attempts while the Gryffindor Chasers had scored four times. Still, they would need the Snitch. He flew over by the Slytherin stands and heard a handful of hisses, and one cheer.

Harry could think of few Hogwarts women besides Gabriella Darbinyan able to withstand the taunts and jeers of Slytherin for being Harry's girlfriend. Of course, there were no taunts or jeers, because all of Slytherin was deathly afraid of Gabriella. Perhaps because she came from a school known for its dark magic, but more because any comment usually meant the commenter had a one-way ticket to the hospital wing. Harry looked down and saw her smiling up at him.

"Go, Harry!" she cried. Harry waved back, smiling and giving her a thumbs-up. "NO! GO!" she yelled, pointing her finger. The gesture and the gasp of the crowd told him at once that the Snitch had been seen. He spun to see Summerby plunging toward the turf at the north end of the pitch. Below him was a glint of gold, racing low and heading toward the visitors' stands. Summerby was ahead by at least fifty meters when Harry began to charge.

"You bloody idiot!" Harry cursed at himself as he clenched his teeth. "You flobberworm sucking idiot!" The wind roared furiously at his face. The Snitch was flying low to the turf and Harry could see that it would have to turn or rise once it hit the stands on the opposite side of the pitch. Even as good a flyer as Summerby was, he would not reach the Snitch until it hit the wall. Harry leaned forward, accelerating his broom. "It will rise," Harry whispered to himself, focusing wholly on the gold globe that was coming closer. "It will rise." He chose to fly the straight line to intercept the Snitch where he thought it would be. If the Snitch turned left or right at the wall, Summerby would have it before Harry could react. If the Snitch flew up... Harry groaned. At this speed it was still impossible. Harry poured all his energy into making his broom accelerate. The tails of his robes began to tatter in the vicious wind and his goggles were pressing hard against his face. The pressure tunnelled his vision, but he didn't care. He could still see the golden glint growing larger before him. "Faster! Damn it! Faster!"

The pitch below him was a haze; the stands faded to dark and all that Harry could see was the golden Snitch and the trail of yellow that followed it -- the trail of yellow that Harry was passing. Faster! A sheet of purple -- the visitors' stands. The golden Snitch flying upward. Yes!

Harry's fingers pressed firmly against the winged Snitch when he heard the screams of terror. They conflicted with his own sense of joy.

"We won!" thought Harry, feeling the hard metal in his clutches. "Why would anyone be--?"

Then everything went violently red... just before he lost consciousness.

Waking, and still feeling a bit groggy, the first thing Harry recognized was the sound of plastic being unwrapped, torn and then crumpled. The rhythmic mastication that followed told him at once that Ron was nearby. Harry smiled. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. He leaned to his right side and felt a dull ached that ran up the left half of his body. With his right hand he felt the sheets about his chest, the pillow behind his head, the bandages that wrapped his face.

"He's awake," whispered Gabriella out of the darkness. A warm touch took his hand. "Hi, sweetie," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey, mate," Ron added before Harry could answer. "Erm.. don't worry; Madame Pomfrey will have you back to new in... in no time." The voice had a bit of a tremor in it and it wasn't because a chocolate frog had found its way down the wrong pipe.

"That's right," added Hermione with a stiff and unnatural tone. And then voices, dozens of voices it seemed to Harry, added their agreement.

"You'll be fine, Harry." "Don't worry, Harry." "Flyin' in no time, you'll see!" "Shut up, stupid." "Hey, I didn't mean--"

"Alright... Alright..." echoed the voice of Madame Pomfrey. "You've seen him move, now be off, all of you."

A number of folks touched Harry's good arm. He felt of few kisses against his cheek. He heard a few cheery Good-byes and Later, mates, but he also heard a few sniffs and sobs. The door swung closed with a deep thunk.

"I'm still here," whispered Gabriella and she took his hand once more. With his sore arm Harry reached up to pry off the bandages that wrapped about his face, just to have a peak.

"No you don't, Mr. Potter!" cried Madame Pomfrey. She grabbed his arm and gently pulled it down. "The bandages are to remain on for the next three weeks if you wish to have any hope of seeing again."

Okay. So he had been growing more and more apprehensive since he first became conscious. And the bandages were starting to freak him out... just a bit. Something in the back of his mind had said the word, but he had pushed it back down. Only problem was... the dark corners of Harry's mind were shouting now.

"See again?" he asked. "What the hell does that mean? I... I'm blind?" he asked weakly. Madame Pomfrey let out a tremendous sigh.

"Oh, dear," she said quietly, "I didn't mean for it to come out that way." Gabriella's hand tightened about Harry's and he felt her shudder.

"It was the crystal portrait, Harry," Gabriella said sadly. "You slammed right through it, sending splinters of glass everywhere. They shattered your goggles and your... your..."

"Your eyes were shredded, Mr. Potter," cut in Madame Pomfrey. "I wish I could say I've seen worse, but I haven't. I had Healer Sventstein from St. Mungo's perform the operation. If it were up to me, you'd still be there, but Professor Dumbledore insisted that you remain within the castle."

"You've b-been out for two days, Harry," said Gabriella, another shudder of sadness cracked her voice. Harry reached up and touched the bandages wrapping his face.

"Mr. Potter," snapped Madame Pomfrey. "If you keep touching your wraps you'll assuredly disturb their charms! I will not have you go blind! Do you hear me! If you keep moving your arms I will immobilize them." Her voice was husky. She'd been crying; Harry could tell. The sadness in the room was almost overwhelming. Finally, he turned his head in the direction of Gabriella.

"Did we win?" he asked.

"What?" she replied, still dazed.

"Did we win?" he repeated. "I did catch the Snitch. Hooch saw that, didn't she? We did win, didn't we?"

"Harry, how can you--"

"RON!" Harry screamed. In a flash the door burst open.

"What? What is it, Harry?" Ron called nervously.

"Did we win?" Harry asked. Without Harry saying another word, Ron began an exposition that was nearly poetic. At least... he thought it was.

"Blimey, Harry," he began, "it was amazing. There you two were, screaming across the pitch to the north. Everyone was standing, even Professor Snape. Although, who he was cheering for, I don't know. But he was screaming just the same. Summerby was flying low to the ground, his robes flicking up dried grass and tossing it into the air. The blowing dust made it look as if his broom was on fire.

"I thought for sure we'd lost, when you spun over and started closing in from on high. The Snitch was flying just to my right and I could have sworn there were sparks flying out the tail of your broom. It was glowing red. Heading toward the stands, it was clear you were going to pass Summerby, but you were too high; everyone could see that. But it didn't matter. No one has ever seen someone fly that fast at Hogwarts... ever! Crimey, maybe in all Britain!

"When you passed Summerby, I thought you'd dive to avoid the stands, to grab the Snitch that was still screaming low to the ground. But you didn't; you stayed straight on. When the Snitch darted up toward you..." Ron sighed in ecstasy. "It was a miracle, mate. Like you were calling out to it and it obeyed. Pop! Right into your mitt." There was a long pause. "It's when everyone's eyes popped up with the Snitch that we saw what was going to happen. That's when the screams began." Ron walked over next to Harry's bed. "Summerby smashed into the supports down low. Broke his leg and lost a couple teeth. He got out of hospital yesterday. You... you..." Ron swallowed hard.

"You held on, mate. Yeah, we won, alright." Ron patted Harry on the chest. "Best damn Seeker in all Britain."

"And Europe? You still think Krum's better then, do yeh?" asked Harry with a smile. Ron sat back down next to Gabriella.

"Well, now," Ron answered, "I know you've had your fair share, Harry, but I still think Victor can handle a shot to the head with a Bludger better than you."

"That's because there's nothing up there to hurt," added Gabriella.

"Okay, okay you three," said Madame Pomfrey. "Mr. Potter needs his rest." She shuffled the two friends outside the room, but not until Gabriella kissed Harry on the lips.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear. "Whatever happens, I love you."

When the door closed, Madame Pomfrey walked over to Harry's bed. He was wondering if he'd ever look into the dark pools of Gabriella's eyes once again. He was scared.

"Harry," she said softly. "We'll do everything possible, but you need to give them time to heal. The wraps will stay on for at least three weeks. Your lids will be sealed longer still. Even when you can open your eyes, Harry, I don't suspect you'll see more than shades of light and dark. Once we know what you can and can't see, Healer Sventstein can begin making the proper corrections. You'll have to be patient, my dear, very patient."

He could hear her folding some papers, putting trash away he thought, and then she stepped over to the side of the room and poured something into a glass or goblet.

"I need you to drink this," she said, helping him sit up and wrap his hands around the cup. He winced when she held his left arm. "Yes, the whole left side of your body was pretty much hamburger meat. We've summoned out all the glass shards we can. There may be a few that aren't responding. I'll work on that more tomorrow." She sounded tired, so Harry decided not to argue about the drink and swallowed it down in one long draught. The pain running down his side ebbed away and the apprehension about his vision faded. Soon he was asleep.

When Harry woke, he found himself confused and disoriented. He couldn't understand why he couldn't see and he began to flail around, rising out of bed, the stone floor cold beneath his bare feet. He was about to reach up to his face when a hand took him by the arm. At first he was startled, but the voice settled him at once.

"Easy there, flyboy." It was Sirius. "Bad dream?"

"Sirius?" Harry asked to the darkness, reaching out and touching Sirius' face.

"Afraid so," Harry's godfather responded. "I was in the area; thought I'd stop in." Harry began to move forward.

"Hold on! Hold on!" Sirius stopped Harry from running into the candles hovering at his bedside. "Let's er... let's get you back in bed." Sirius helped Harry climb into bed and pulled the sheets back over him. "There, that's better." He patted Harry's good leg and remained standing at his bedside.

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Not quite three in the morning."

"Three in the morning?" He paused, rising up on his elbows and looking about the room. "Anyone else here?"

"Just you and me little brother. How are you feeling?"

"Blind," Harry answered flatly, dropping back against his pillow.

"Yeah," agreed Sirius smartly. "That's what I hear." Harry could hear Sirius sink back into his chair and sigh. "I have to admit, Harry, that was the fastest I've ever seen a broom fly, and I've seen quite a few Quidditch matches in my day. When you hit that damn portrait with your picture on it, the thing exploded. It was like a giant crystal firework. And that you still held onto the Snitch... well, it's been all over the papers. Most figure you broke the record, but the folks from Cleansweep want you to come out and perform a fly-off against Comet -- twenty thousand galleons to the winner's charity." Harry turned on his side, his back toward Sirius.

"Like that's ever going to happen," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Harry answered curtly. "If they've told anybody, they've told you. I'm blind and I'm... I'm going to stay blind."

"That's not true, Harry," began Sirius. "Madame Pomfrey---" Harry spun and faced Sirius. Sirius didn't need to see Harry's eyes to know the look he was getting right now. He sighed. "Ten percent is not zero percent," he whispered.

"Yeah, right," Harry replied and dropped back down again. Likewise, Sirius sunk back into his chair, crossing his arms and searching for what to say. There wasn't much he could say. Harry, after all, was correct. Once a witch or wizard lost their eyes there was often little that could be done--eyes simply held too much magic. Healers could re-grow many things, but the eyes... the eyes, particularly of a powerful witch or wizard, were nearly impossible to repair. Sirius let out a low groan as the silence stretched between them. After that, the flicker of candlelight was the only noise that accompanied their breathing. At last, it was Sirius who began talking again, even though he wasn't sure if Harry was still awake. His voice was unsteady, recalling a part of his past he had never shared with Harry.

"When I... when I was in Azkaban, there was nothing to see but darkness, nothing to smell but the stench of death, nothing to hear but the cries of lament, nothing to taste but the remnants of tears that had long since died away, and the only thing one felt was the cold breath of despair. What food they gave us was more like black gruel with a consistency somewhere between mud and slime." Sirius chuckled grimly to himself. "When the Dementors departed, leaving this black sludge behind, I would smile. It was the only joy I had, sensing their departure, knowing that however awful the food was, the emptiness that screamed from my belly would soon be staved for another day. That crusty bowl of crap and my pure hatred for Peter Pettigrew were all that kept me alive.

"I never dreamed that one day..." Sirius' voice halted and he had to swallow to gather himself. "That one day... the son of my dearest friend would parlay what little value I had left in this Wizarding world of ours and save me... not from the Dementors of Azkaban... not from the Curtain of Phenolem, but... from myself. I was used up inside, Harry; a shell of a wizard and less of a man, ready to kill no matter the cost. You've shown me, even now as darkness rushes in toward us, how to live again... how to love again. I'm amazed that today, I once again walk the halls of Hogwarts--a free man, not because I'm free of the horrors of Azkaban, but because I'm free of the darkness and hatred that once consumed my soul. Because of you, I'm free to taste the delicious fruits of life once again."

"Erm, surely you're not referring to your cooking?" asked Harry, turning back to face Sirius. Because I think you could start your own restaurant for Black Sludge."

"If I could smack you, I would," shot Sirius, kicking the post of Harry's bed with his foot, a tear sliding down the side of his face.

"Bring it on, old man!" called Harry, rising up in bed and brandishing two fists that were swinging wildly in the air--something akin to a boxer's position. "I can take you with both eyes tied behind my back!" Harry was smiling as Sirius rose to his feet. The older wizard wiped his eyes and then, gently, took Harry's hands in his own.

"You just have to believe that it'll get better, Harry. It will. I know it will." The smile on Harry's face drooped.

"Sirius, if I can't see, I can't battle... I can't fly... I can't...." Harry shook his head and then looked toward where he knew Sirius to be. "So many people are depending on me. I can't let them down. I can't--"

"Enough already! Stop telling me what you can't do! I don't want to hear it anymore!" This time Sirius' voice was heated. "I still wake in the middle of the night grasping for my sheets, fearing that it has all been a dream, wondering if in the nothingness of night I'm really still trapped behind the Curtain of Phenolem. One day the nightmares will end; I know so, because I believe they will. Until they do, I will go to sleep at night, searching for those dreams that will carry me through till morning.

"Harry, you need to believe that one day you will see again."

"But you heard--"

"And more than that," Sirius interrupted, "until the day comes when your vision returns, you'll have to find a way to see through your blindness." Harry's immediate reaction was to let a burst of air push through his lips in scoffing dismissal of Sirius' words. He began to fall back into his pillow when he stopped himself and held fast to Sirius' hand. His heart skipped as he thought back to the words of Ronan and the teachings of Dakhil.

To see through blindness? Might it still be possible?

Not sure what to expect, Harry reached out with his mind as Dakhil had shown him -- to see without seeing. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Almost immediately he could recognize the brightness of Sirius before him. It wasn't an image so much as an aura of light that shown bright. Harry leaned forward in his bed. Reaching out further he began to take in the dim glow of the organic life that clung to the walls, ceiling and floor. Without saying a word he let go of Sirius' hand and rose out of bed.

"Harry, I don't think--" But Harry held up his hand and his godfather simply watched.

What Harry was 'seeing' wasn't so much an image as an imprint of all that was around him. It would take time to decipher the shapes, hues and intensities. There was a glow coming toward them. Harry pointed at the door.

"Someone's coming," he said. Sirius spun, confused. An instant later, Madame Pomfrey walked through the door.

"Harry Potter!" she cried. "Get back in bed this instant!" Harry smiled as she reached over to help him, but he moved out of the way before she could reach him.

"I should have known it was you by your colour," he said happily. "Bright blue -- the colour of a healer's spell." He looked back at his godfather. "Sirius, you're a bit orange right now. You were brighter a minute ago. What's wrong?"

"My god," whispered Sirius. "You can see."