Harry Woke Up

The days that followed Harry's departure from the facility and his therapy program were a flurry of activity. He was bustled around as his friends made every attempt to settle him into his new life. They were kind, generous, and accommodating.

But he wasn't exactly happy.

While he genuinely cared for his friends and appreciated their efforts, they would never understand how weak, helpless, and useless it made him feel to have someone constantly trying to do everything for him. Ginny wanted to walk him into every single room of the Burrow. Hermione was always reading things to Harry, despite the fact that she had seen his wand spell work perfectly fine for reading text. Ron, on the other hand, was constantly getting things for Harry.

Did he need something to drink? A towel? Could he find where Ron put his suitcase? How about a place to sit? And did he want Ron to go get his dinner for him?

The next thing Harry expected was an offer for someone to fed him. Absolutely not. It was frustrating. To some degree he had been a leader and instigator of activities among his friends. There were moments now that he felt like their pet, instead. He wished they would leave him alone sometimes, and see that he was perfectly capable of living on his own, and doing everything he had always done before.

Except see.

Had Malfoy understood this because he was so overly independent and didn't want his deafness costing him his independence either? Malfoy. Why was he thinking about Malfoy again? Harry sighed, toying with his wand in his hand. Some things had been much easier, living with Malfoy. Other things were easier, being with his friends...

Was one better than the other, though?

Harry refused Ron's very kind offer to stay long term on his and Hermione's sofa. As close as they were, he didn't want to spend his time worrying about intruding upon their privacy within marriage, which try as they might to include Harry in everything, there were some things he didn't want to be a part of.

He also had a disaster nearly every time Nick and Oliver came out to play with him. Their toys created a minefield across the entire home, until Harry had to walk so slowly that it took him nearly five minutes to join his friends in the kitchen for tea. If Ginny was around, she would try to steer him through the wreckage, but he had still stubbed several toes that way. Ginny would apologise and Harry would just stand there, wanting to be left alone.

Ginny, that was another change in his life.

Their friendship was slowly growing into more of a friendship. When she had arrived at the facility to fetch Harry and take him to St Mungo's to meet Ron and Hermione, they had had a short and meaningful conversation. Ginny was straight and to the point. Harry was honest and gentle. She didn't want to be strung along, and was even considering looking at her other options, especially knowing that she was soon to be assigned to one of the International Quidditch teams to work as their on staff mediwitch. She needed to know where she stood with Harry.

Harry, in return, kindly informed her that he cared about her, but it just wasn't working for him, and the last thing he needed at that moment was a relationship. He also supposed that even if there were a better time to try again with Ginny, he didn't foresee a lot of hope for them. She took it really well, appreciated his honesty, and seemed, in Harry's opinion, to have suspected this turn of events.

Ron, for his part, didn't even get angry at Harry for leading his baby sister on for far too long. The man had enough on his plate, and since Ginny wasn't upset, the whole thing had moved along smoothly. That, at least, was something to be pleased about.

Soon following this conversation with Ginny, she had offered Harry room at her flat. It was small, but her last roommate moved out and she had spare room should Harry want to stay with her. He, however, didn't consider that the wisest decision, for several different reasons. Their new friendship, he felt, could use a little more time before they started stretching its limits. Also, as helpful as Ginny was, he could not endure her helpfulness every day, all day long.

So Harry found himself moving into a place that had always felt like a home to him. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about living there, but its residents were a perfect match to his needs.

The Burrow was his new home.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were more than pleased to have Harry stay with them. All of their children had moved out of the home, and Mrs Weasley just didn't feel herself without someone to cook and clean for - someone besides her husband, of course. The main advantage to living at the Burrow was that Harry would have help if he needed something, but Mrs Weasley resolutely refused to do everything for him.

On his first visit back to the Burrow, he sighed and huffed while the various Weasley children flustered around him, moving him, getting things, and helping him.

"You children stop that this instant!" Mrs Weasley nearly growled. "Harry is a grown man and he doesn't need you to cut up his meat for him! How would you like it if your father still cut yours for you, Ron?"

Ron immediately fell silent in his offers to Harry.

"And Ginny, I do not hold your hand every time you cross the street, much less when you go upstairs to your room. Don't you dare keep that up or I shall start doing the same to you!"

"But-" Ginny tried to protest; it was useless.

"No, not another word! And Hermione, don't read labels to Harry. Just tell him what we're eating and leave him alone. Fred, George, if you move the salt away from Harry one more time, so help me, you will be drowning in salt! Now, everyone, can we please eat a meal together in peace and stop this nonsense? I'm sure Harry appreciates you all, but enough is enough!"

Harry grinned in Mrs Weasley's direction. He immediately liked the idea of staying at the Burrow for awhile. He planned to get his own flat in time, but he wasn't in a rush and he wanted to look into the options for more Independence Education as well as going back to work as an Auror.

He wasn't sure if the ministry would actually consider employing a blind Auror, but he figured they owed it to him to at least hear him out. Ron, of course, was certain that if any blind man could be accepted as an Auror, Harry Potter definitely could.

Lucky him.

Ron and Hermione were doing much better these days. It had been a few months since baby Evelyn's tragedy. There had been long days in St Mungo's, and long periods of mourning. Occasionally Harry had had to step in to comfort Hermione when everything hit her again and Ron was away at work. Their boys, Nick and Oliver, had taken the situation well, though Harry doubted if they really understood.

Ron was anxious to try again soon, but Hermione seemed hesitant. That, however, almost bordered on too much information for Harry. Then again, they were all grown adults and where exactly had he thought the boys had appeared from? Certainly a fairy or an elf on a broomstick hadn't brought the babies by the house one day as a gift.

For a few months, Harry had meetings three times a week for Independence Education. Healer Divitz still worked with him often, and he had been acquainted with Healer Stonewry as well. He had learned skills such as cooking, cleaning, and common chores, all done blindly. Stonewry was also helping him relearn potions making, but that was going almost as dreadfully as it had with Snape, only for very different reasons now. Potions had never been easy for Harry, and trying to mix everything exactly just by smell and feel and sound - that was excruciatingly difficult.

He also had long duelling sessions with Stonewry. Those first few had left Harry in a heap on the grass near the Burrow, heaving for breath and casting minor Healing Spells, unless of course he had been otherwise body-bound or Stunned. But by now, he took pride in his ability to protect himself from nearly all of Stonewry's attacks, as well as shoot off enough well aimed spells to guarantee himself a win in the friendly duel.

"You're doing extremely well, Mr Potter. Thank you for releasing me from the Body Bind Curse." The Healer chuckled warmly. "Soon we'll have to work with you on more advanced duels and attacks. If you really mean to try and reapply as an Auror, you'll be faced with loads of scenarios where you won't know the duel is coming. We should try several opponents against you, and some surprise attacks."

"We should," Harry nodded seriously. She was right. He really needed to work harder and really challenge himself.

"And next time Healer Divitz comes, she's going to work with you on sound identification. I was thinking if you could train your hearing, since it's much more sensitive now without your sight, you could be able to differentiate all sorts of sounds and background noises."

"How would that help anything?" Harry asked sceptically.

"Oh, it would be vital to the ministry! Imagine a scenario where the only clue we have to a location is a vague recording or surveillance log of some sort. By listening to the smallest, most minute sounds in the backgrounds, or by listening to the voices and catching small variances, you'll be able to help determine locations, atmospheres, room sizes, and even impostors or liars. I think you could, anyway. You could be brilliant!"

If Harry could do it, it did sound like a good advantage. He grinned and nodded to Stonewry, who was quickly becoming something more than his Healer and yet less than his friend. She was eager to find information pertaining to the Ministry and its policies with Aurors. She was doing everything she could to help prepare Harry for his upcoming reapplication and interview for the job he had always wanted and was so afraid of losing forever.

But Harry's progress wasn't the only thing he was rather proud of himself about. He was also remaining resolutely detached from Malfoy and any mention of him. While he had once, at Hogwarts, been accused of being slightly obsessive over the boy, he was now pursuing the opposite extreme.

Rarely did he allow his thoughts to stray to his blond friend.

Friend.

All right, Malfoy could be called a friend. He was willing to admit that, but that was only under hypothetical situations. In the very real situation he was currently in, Malfoy was in no way involved in his life anymore so he couldn't really be called a friend now. Not really.

But Harry wasn't supposed to be letting himself think of his previous roommate. Why was that? Because... Well, because... Things had just been a little too weird for Harry to figure out and it seemed the best course of action was to not try and figure them out.

For the most part, he was doing an excellent job of that. Except, on those few rare occasions like last Saturday when he had gone out with Ron, Hermione, Nick, and Oliver to the Muggle park nearby. The boys wanted to play and Hermione insisted it would be a wonderful experience for them. Ron just seemed delighted to spend half a day playing.

Harry, meanwhile, indulged only a bit of playtime with his godsons before setting himself to work. It was a new task he was practising, learning to study his environments and push himself to function without aids. He would make guesses about his surroundings, the people nearby, goings-on in the distance, and anything at all he could manage to learn from listening, feeling, smelling, and if possible, tasting.

But last Saturday he sat on the park bench, listening to the children nearby and basking in the warm sun delicately wooing him into thoughtlessness... And suddenly he found himself no longer at the park.

He was remembering.

The funny thing about memories as a blind man was that his memories, since becoming blind, didn't consist of faces, looks, expressions, rooms, clothing, hands, or eyes. Instead his memories dwelt upon soft breath against his face and warm fingertips lingering against his skin, separated only by a thin T-shirt that did nothing to hinder the heat between flesh. He vividly remembered the gentle, but possessive and provocative handling of hands grasping against his waist...

Soft lips lingered so closely to his own, they radiated heat, energy, and anticipation. Then there was a delicate touch, hesitant and shy, almost like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, afraid to remain still too long. Then the smooth skin was gone, as though it had never been there at all.

Next came a whole flood of memories. A smooth voice gently lulled him into peacefulness with an enthralling narrative. A hand held his chin still while a cloth brushed against his tender skin. Punches railed against his body, but were accompanied by a presence sitting over Harry, warm and solid, aggressive and passionate.

An awkward hug assaulted Harry next and he found himself mortified for the hundredth time. Why had he done something so absurd? He and Malfoy were not on hugging terms. Then again, there were a lot of other terms he had most definitely not considered himself to be on with Malfoy, but that hadn't stopped such strange things from... sort of, happening anyway.

He had known as soon as Malfoy's chest was against him that the hug had been a terrible idea, a reaction best not to follow. It had seemed like a decent idea at the time. It's certainly what he would have done for Ron or Hermione, or even Ginny. He had lived with the wizard for three months, after all.

But blokes didn't hug, not really.

He and Ron did, sure, on those rare occasions like goodbyes, or returns, or really emotional moments... And, in all fairness, it had been Harry's goodbye with Malfoy, so in mind it didn't seem so bad. But in practice, it left him feeling humiliated every time he remembered it.

Harry didn't hug Malfoy; that sort of thing just didn't happen.

Malfoy didn't like hugging. He didn't even like touching, though he had very generously tolerated Harry's need to feel. Really, the whole Malfoy issue was just a bit too much for Harry to figure out by myself. Hence why he had made the decision to ignore the situation altogether.

No harm done, right?

But then there was that one final memory that sneaked into his mind - the only visual memory he had from the better part of the last year. Blond hair. Unusually soft grey eyes, trained on him. Pointy features, and a gentler version of that old familiar smirk.

His one and only memory he could actually picture was Malfoy's face. And it tended to linger in his mind, as though reminding him of the sight he was missing...

Reminding him....

"Let's go hooome!" Nicholas's voice rang out near Harry. He righted his thoughts and then felt a small hand clutching at his.

"Mum says we're going home. She's making spaghetti and then we have cake!" Nick informed Harry.

"All right, Nicky, let's go," Harry grinned, agreeing that spaghetti and cake most definitely sounded wonderful.

"Oh no, not you, too, mate! I told Hermione enough with that 'Nicky' stuff! He's a boy and we can't give him a complex! Come on, you've got to stick with me on this," Ron pleaded, his voice indicating he was standing nearby. Harry heard another squirming figure and knew it must be Oliver.

"Let's go boys," Hermione's voice echoed behind Harry.

"All right, all right. Come on, Nick. Show me the way, then," Harry said, standing up and allowing the little boy to guide him. Harry didn't mind humouring the children and allowing them to feel useful. They almost never were actually useful, but he would never admit as much.

Hermione's spaghetti was to die for. She had learned both Muggle cooking and magical cooking, so when she combined the two, the meal was nearly always absolutely superb. Only rarely did some of her experimentation go awry, but tonight's meal was not such a case. Harry ate two helpings and barely stopped himself from getting a third by remembering the cake she had baked earlier that day.

Ron and Hermione had this funny thing they liked to do, something about celebrating on absolutely normal days. The boys loved it, of course, because they never had to wait for a birthday to have cake or find a random gift on their bed. Sometimes Ron even made up new holidays. Last month Harry clearly remembered celebrating Inside-Out-Clothes-Day.

Ron was an amazing father, and Hermione's mothering was a perfect match.

He was proud of them, happy for them, and perhaps at some moments a little envious of them. They had the deep friendship, the happy marriage, the beautiful children, the quaint home, steady jobs and a bright looking future. The war had been hard on them all, but life afterwards had been, for the most part, quite good to them.

And Harry thought a little home, a steady job, a bright future, and someone to share those things with sounded, well, perfect.

Now, to put the ad in the Daily Prophet announcing Harry Potter's quest for a suitable partner... He laughed at his own idiotic joke. It really didn't matter. Those things came, or they didn't. He didn't believe they could be forced, and Harry would just be content to live his own life, until the right person came along. Besides, it wasn't long ago he had just told Ginny he wasn't looking for a relationship...

But he might be, some day.

"Hey," Ron whispered across their quiet sitting room, later that night as another soothing voice poured from the wizarding network's radio program. Harry gave his attention to his friend.

"We're going to carry the boys to bed. They're both asleep. Then I've got some things to finish tonight before Hermione has my hide for it..."

"I heard that," Hermione whispered from somewhere in front of Harry. He thought she might be crouching near Oliver, on the floor.

"Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow or later on this week I guess. Mum's bugging us to come around because she doesn't see the boys often enough." Harry nodded and yawned.

"I'll be back, Harry," Hermione informed him. "We can chat while you help me clean the dishes." Harry thought he heard a smile on her voice.

"Dishes duty. Of course. I thought I was about to escape without it!"

"Not in this house!" Hermione retorted playfully.

The husband and wife were only gone for a few moments as Harry sighed in the absence of the protestations that usually followed an announcement of bedtime. Hermione was shuffling back into the kitchen in no time, while Ron had been lost forever to whatever chores he was banished to do.

"Get a move on, Harry. I don't want to be cleaning these dishes all night." Harry grinned at Hermione's prod, pleased that his friends were slowly starting to lose their habits to go easy on him and let him off the hook from such mundane and menial tasks. At least, Hermione was relatively quick at picking up on Harry's desire to be treated normally, as always. The others were coming around slowly. That's what Harry told himself, anyway.

Washing dishes was easy enough. He had practised blind washing and mastered the task well enough to occasionally sneak into the Burrow's kitchen to clean up before Mrs Weasley got a chance. Hermione, however, was taking the dishes to task and flinging drippy plates and bowls in Harry's direction, dotting him with drops of water as he worked furiously to dry the dishes at her pace.

Drying was pretty easy and mindless, anyway. The two of them began to talk. For once the conversation was going clear of the boys, which often seemed like such a popular topic. Hermione shared a bit about Ron, but luckily left the updates on their trying for another child out of the conversation. She discussed some troubling issues at the Ministry in her office. She sounded rather displeased but also trapped in an administrative, political trap that was abundant in problems and scarce with practical resolutions.

In short, it was the worst case scenario environment for Hermione.

"But listen to me, rambling on and on. I want to know what you've been up to, Harry. Tell me you're not spending all your time with Mr Weasley, explaining electricity?" Hermione mock pleaded. Harry heard the water from the sink turn off, realising how strangely normal it was to wash dishes with Hermione in the Muggle way. She knew loads of domestic spells, but often if she had something on her mind, she preferred the mindless labour, or the effort it took that could release her stress. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know all that many household spells and was left doing a lot of things in the Muggle fashion. But he supposed being able to spell things clean would make his life a lot easier, since he could never see if cleanliness had actually been achieved.

The towel pulled out of Harry's hands and Hermione's hand was on his shoulder, steering him away from the sink. He knew her well enough to not take offence at the gesture; she wasn't trying to guide him. She was prodding him into action.

"Have you been spending time with Ginny or going into Diagon Alley at least? Doing something besides practising blind magic and eating all of Mum's meals you can get?"

Harry grinned, remembering how strange it had first sounded to hear Hermione refer to Mrs Weasley as 'mum'. It had started soon after the wedding, at Mrs Weasley's insistence, and in no time it became old hat. After all, they had all practically grown up under Mrs Weasley's ruling authority. Harry, himself, nearly found himself calling her mum, but something always hindered him from doing so.

Perhaps he felt it to be a bit of betrayal to his own mum. Or a cheapening of the term. Either way, 'mum' hadn't yet escaped his lips, and usually he was torn between Mrs Weasley or Molly. Though she insisted Molly was perfectly acceptable, it just felt wrong.

"Harry, for Merlin's sake, where are you tonight?"

"Sorry, Hermione."

"I'm trying to milk some kind of details out of you and you're off in dream land." Hermione punctuated her statement with a tired yawned.

"I was thinking about Mrs Weasley, actually."

"Oh, Harry. Please stop before I have to get you help. You can not be day dreaming about her!"

"No, no! Not like that!" Harry protested. Hermione giggled. Harry liked it when she did that, but he immediately felt ridiculous.

"I know, I just mean, if you spend your free time contemplating her, I think you need some help. How about some friends? Besides us? Maybe Ginny? The twins? Or some non-Weasley?"

Harry frowned, considering Hermione's choice topic. He was content, and always found something to do with himself.

"Whatever happened to Malfoy, Harry? You two were getting to be friends, weren't you? It might be good to spend some time with him."

"And why is that?" Harry asked evenly.

"Because, I would think he might understand a bit of you that maybe we can't. And you two did live together. If you became friends, surely you must miss not seeing him at all."

"Miss Malfoy? Have you gone mental?"

"Well, the better question is, are you or were you two friends? If the answer to that is yes, I can't see any justifiable reason you could have for ignoring him during the last few months." Her tone alone made him feel as though he were caught in a very pointed look.

"Ignoring him? Hermione, we... we aren't friends. I mean, we were just stuck there together, and we tolerated each other but... It's not like he was one of my mates..."

"Really? You certainly seemed rather thoughtful on him a few months ago. Harry, there is nothing wrong with being his friend. Few people are willing to take such a risk on him. And what could be so bad? He might torment you just like he always has?"

"It's... its not that simple," Harry responded lamely. A dozen other things had sprung to his mind, but all of them died on his lips.

"Explain it to me then. What is it you're not telling me?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Harry flexed his fingers back and forth.

"Liar."

"I swear-"

"Liar!" she interrupted him sharply. "Stop that this instant, Harry Potter. I know when you aren't being truthful. Now look here, I am one of your best friends, and there's nothing you can't tell me."

That might be true, in all honesty. But by default, anything said to Hermione also echoed itself to Ron and while Harry trusted him immensely too, his reaction worried Harry a lot more than Hermione's.

Harry sighed, drumming his fingers and buying himself more time to put his thoughts together. He heard Hermione shifting the cup of tea in her hand, her ring chinking against the ceramic.

"It's, erm... kind of awkward, and embarrassing. And weird."

"I won't laugh," Hermione replied solemnly. Laughing wasn't really what Harry was afraid of. He couldn't do this. He couldn't actually tell her. Though truthfully, he'd been desperate for someone to talk to about Malfoy, and this seemed like a golden chance, no matter how mortifying it would be.

"See, we... we're not friends but... you know, flatmates. Talking together, living together... Working on tasks together and generally commiserating together over the program and the facility. I don't know, it was sort of working between us. And then..."

"Then what?" Hermione asked in the pause. "Oh no, you two fought!"

"N-no..."

"Look Harry, we're all getting older and getting on with life. You can't hang on to childhood prejudices for the rest of your life. Malfoy was a git and you were hopelessly naive. But people grow and change. I'll be the first to admit that Malfoy was a changed boy when he came over to the Order. Something had spooked him and set him on a different course. And now I expect he's a changed man. You two can share in your losses together in a way no one else can. No one understands what I felt when Evelyn was lost. And no one can understand what you've lost, but maybe Malfoy can come close.

"You say you can't trust him, but I think you're afraid to, Harry. Give him a second chance. Yes, in the end you might come out hurt. But that's a chance you take with anyone. If you spend your life in fear of that, you'll never have deep friendships, closeness, or intimacy."

"But I already have you and Ron and the Weasleys. What does it matter? Why does Malfoy matter?" Harry protested.

The pause that lingered briefly only helped further emphasise Hermione's response.

"You tell me," she levelled at him meaningfully, speaking slowly and pointedly. Harry was shocked speechless by the tone of her voice. The words were heavy and layered in obscure subtexts, as though Hermione knew something she wasn't telling.

But that was impossible.

That conversation had plagued Harry for another couple of months. It was running through his mind as he found himself in a quiet waiting room at the mysterious facility where he had previously spent so much of his time. He had a consultation with none other than A. H. S. himself, and wasn't sure at all what to expect.

Stonewry had scheduled the meeting because she was concerned with Harry's condition, lately. While things seemed to be progressing initially, recently Harry had been suffering intense pain in his eyes, as well as a decline in his magical abilities. He had nearly mastered duelling with Stonewry when suddenly he started having dizzy spells. It was all very frustrating.

Stonewry thought perhaps there was something else that could be done for Harry.

"Mr Potter?" A healer Harry didn't know was calling his name to enter A. H. S.'s office.

He was led toward the door and seated in a stale smelling, terribly quiet office. It was only a few moments before the door opened again and Harry was meeting the mysterious and elusive A. H. S.

Harry tried to imagine what he looked like, but from his games with Malfoy and the DVDs, he knew he was awful at it. A small part of him almost wished Malfoy was there to describe the infamous A. H. S.

"Mr Potter," he said. Guessing from the sound of his voice, Harry would estimate his age to be in his late forties. He could also tell that he was a tall man, and that he wasn't very heavy or stout. Harry felt pleased with himself that his skills of non-visual observation were kicking it.

"Sir?" Harry replied, still listening carefully as A.H.S. sat in a squeaky chair.

"Healer Stonewry said you've been having problems?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dizziness, decrease in magical strength, headaches and pain in your eyes, disorientation..." He was listing them off casually, as though none of it concerned him much. Or perhaps it was objective and clinical to him, since it wasn't his life.

"Yes, sir. Do you know why this is happening?" Harry asked.

"Healer Stonewry informed me that this was a recent change. Has anything in your life changed recently?" He sounded as though he were leaning forward.

"Not that I know of," Harry answered unsteadily.

"Nothing in your mind, emotions, or surroundings?" It sounded as though he didn't believe Harry.

"I don't know. I don't think so, sir. I'm still living in the same place, seeing the same people. Still thinking about the same things... I think..." Harry scratched at the back of his neck.

The other wizard sighed and 'hrmph'ed and began shuffling papers.

"Do you think it's dark magic or something?" Harry asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No, no I don't. Mr Potter, I think there is something you should know." Harry really didn't like the sound of those words or the voice proclaiming them. It was ominous.

"Professor Creyson informed you several months ago that the potions you were experimenting with also had many agents used in various emotion-driven draughts. A lot of the reactions discovered in such potions, we found could be manipulated and used to trigger responses in our patients, often times bringing about physical changes, such as regaining functions of limbs, removing chronic headaches, and we were hopeful, regaining your sight."

"Yes, it made sense, sir," Harry said quietly.

"Right. What Professor Creyson didn't tell you is that these experimental potions could be just as tricky, finicky, and sometimes as dangerous as other Emotion Draughts and even Love Potions. It was pertinent to keep you under observation, and carefully monitor any reactions you were having."

He paused for a moment, and Harry shifted.

"While you were in our facility, we quickly learned that you and our other patient, Mr Malfoy, were having affects on one another. While you most certainly had some kind of history, it was obvious that something was causing the experimental potions to flare up and affect responses. Mr Malfoy was capable of making you feel a number of different things, and the feelings tended to add to or detract from the particular agents similar to those in the emotional draughts.

"In the first couple of weeks, when we were not seeing the results we desired, you and Mr Malfoy were struggling to be in the same room together. You had rather the explosive fight, as I heard it. The moods and emotions were causing a deterioration in the effectiveness of your potions. In fact, it was also stirring up a bout of depression and intense headaches. After the fight, new emotions, passionate emotions, were triggered and your blindness became light-perceptive.

"I admit, I was tempted to end the experimental therapy quickly, until we saw the flicker of hope with your light perception. When you returned to your room, the moods and emotions were vastly different. Regardless, there wasn't enough there to continue triggering a response with your light perception."

"So," Harry cut it, "because I got angry at Malfoy, the potions responded to that?" It was a bit weird and confusing.

"In layman's terms and highly simplified, yes. But it wasn't so much the anger, as it was the passion. This is where things get a bit... sticky, Mr Potter."

"What do you mean?" Harry shifted again, sitting straighter.

"I must confess, that from this moment on, it was our goal to bring back the passion and emotions stirred, and see that altered and manipulated into hopefully some state that would trigger greater responses, healing responses, with the potions. In other words, even though every other hope seemed futile, we purposely kept you and Mr Malfoy much longer than we needed to, or ought to have, for the purpose of observing you two pushing each other into emotional states that would trigger the potions."

"You kept me in that room with Malfoy so he could make me angry and the potion would let me see again?!" Harry asked in exasperation.

"Yes," he drew out the word.

"But that's-"

"However, that's not the worst of it. There came a point in time where we were merely holding you and Mr Malfoy longer in order to observe changes in the potions, to test and experiment with their limits, even though we had no hope that any permanent change would ever take affect."

"You kept us without telling us, just to test your potions?!" Harry asked, growing outraged.

"Y-yes," the other wizard answered, faltering for the first time.

"I can't believe it," Harry muttered.

"However, something very interesting did occur," he said, pausing before continuing. "No longer did the passionately angry emotions stir up in you two. Instead, there were internal struggles with an equally passionate and equally strong emotion. As these feelings were growing, we saw greater fluctuations in the test potions administered during examinations. At one point, you were actually able to see your surroundings and Mr Malfoy, if only for a short time. Mr Malfoy was able to hear your voice for just the smallest moment.

"But, it was apparent that both of you were fighting against what we felt would be the trigger emotions. No amount of time spent keeping you two locked in our facility would improve the situation, or yield any better results for our experimentation, nor certainly for your conditions, at least not permanently."

Harry sat still for a moment, trying to comprehend all the information. There was so much said about emotions, and it was all very unsettling.

"So, do you mean to say, if I found Malfoy and we experienced... emotions, or passion, or something, then I would be healed and could see again?" He couldn't help the blush rising in his cheeks. He knew what he meant by 'passion' but he also knew how it sounded now that it had left his mouth.

"Ah, herein lies the problem, Mr Potter. I do feel certain that such a healing would not happen. Of course there is always a slim chance, but I would be very surprised. The length of time you and Mr Malfoy spent together under the potions, stretching its limitations and triggers, also meant that in time you would form an immunity if no reactions were occurring."

His voice stopped short, bursting any bubble of hope Harry may have had. While the idea of experiencing 'emotions' or 'passion' with Malfoy - whatever exactly that would entail - was not a pleasant thought, if it would guarantee him his sight, he felt almost certain he would do it in a heart beat. But there was no such promise.

"So what do I do, now? And why am I having a hard time?"

"Ah, yes. As I said, it would appear to me, that something has changed. Because you were still on the potions from the facility, you were also still affected by them. It looks to me that whatever had been lurking under the surface with you and Mr Malfoy, was still in your mind and emotions, still feeding the potions. My initial guess, at the moment, is that for some reason you have stopped those thoughts and emotions, and the potion is suffering, and triggering ill-effects."

"Then take me off the potion! What good is it now, anyway!" Harry snipped. He didn't exactly like the answer he'd received.

"We certainly can take you off the potions, all of them. They were, perhaps, the only hope, the hope that you might find a suitable trigger before you became completely immune. However, it seems they're only making things worse now."

Harry sat in silence, trying to calm his agitation.

"Do you have any other questions, Mr Potter?"

"No, I think that covers it," Harry bit out.

"Very well. If you ever need to speak with me again, don't hesitate to do so. I will inform Healer Stonewry of the changes, and, as always, if ever anything new comes to our attention that we think can help you, you will be notified."

"Thanks," Harry answered curtly.

"Good day."

Harry stood and made his own way to the door. He was still feeling riled up and angry when he arrived home to the Burrow later that evening. It seemed like he had been sorely mistreated, kept as a guinea pig in the facility, poked and prodded in the hopes of getting an emotional rise. It was all an experiment to get him to react to Malfoy. That didn't seem like science or medicine at all. It sounded like a cockfight, if only they had bet on who would win.

Emotions, passion... A. H. S. had said that both he and Malfoy had been fighting off the emotions inside. Had that been true? What emotions, exactly, had he been referring to? Harry hardly thought Malfoy was capable of any real emotions. His conversations certainly never had been.

But he had to be wrong about that... Something about Malfoy being with Harry had produced some kind of response or reaction, and it hadn't been hatred or enmity, whatever it had been...

..:..

"Harry, you're going! Don't you argue with me! Arthur and I want a night alone, and Hermione is taking you to the banquet!" Mrs Weasley informed Harry in her most motherly and commanding voice.

"Fine," Harry huffed.

Tonight there was a banquet at a special banquet hall the Ministry and magicked into existence. Today was the anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort, and every few years they liked to remind everyone and celebrate. Not only that, but because of the battle against the Death Eaters - the one that had left Harry blind - now the magical community felt completely assured of its safety. All the minions were defeated and all that was left was happy and peaceful living.

Harry had been invited as a special guest, though he had no responsibilities other than showing up and smiling for photos. Hermione had agreed to be his date, so he didn't have go alone, while Ron was staying home with their boys.

Harry didn't really want to go, but Hemione and Mrs Weasley had both insisted. And Harry had learned long ago not to fight with the mothers Mrs Weasley, because they always won.

The night, as Harry had expected, was long and dull. He smiled for photos when Hermione told him to. He clapped for speakers on the stage. He steadily gulped down drinks and snack foods. Generally, he tried to blend in and not be noticed. Funny, because he would never really know if he had been successful.

Harry felt certain the night was drawing to an end as Hermione led him away from the crowded tables into a quieter area. The intense noise around him was difficult to concentrate on, and he immediately liked the quieter setting much better.

"Oh Harry, I've... well, I've just spotted some of my co-workers waving me over. Would you mind us going to talk to them?"

"Actually, could you just position me by the wall? I'd rather just stand and listen a bit."

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Of course, Hermione! Don't get that worried tone with me. I'm a grown man and I can handle standing by myself at a party." He smiled, fingering his glass.

"Right, well, I'll be back in a bit. Don't disappear without me!" And Hermione was gone.

Harry removed his left hand from the wall behind him, confident that it would not move anywhere. He liked to keep himself anchored, especially in new places. He knew it was a large room and there were lots of people present so it would be easy to get lost or disoriented. Hermione had disappeared in the forward direction some where, and Harry was fairly certain he would find the exit of the room a little further along the wall on his left.

He took a drink and listened to the chatter around him, letting the voices wash over him. Mingled with the sounds were strong fragrances rushing at him, filling him with pleasant images of handsome blokes and beautiful women all at their best this evening, at this dress up party made to impress.

But one scent was bothering him.

It was faint as though the owner was farther away or else had walked past long ago. It was assaulting in its strength to conjure memories. A flat. A fight. Reading and watching DVDs. Conversations and silences. A few stolen exchanges of emotion.

Harry didn't think he would be here. Malfoy wasn't the Ministry-Banquet type. But perhaps Malfoy could have a new motive for coming to such an absurd and pompous event.

Harry drank the last swallow from his glass, reached out for the wall again just to make sure it hadn't moved, and placed his glass upon a table he found nearby. He heard a couple of ladies carrying on a rather lengthy conversation near him, but he supposed he remained unnoticed on the whole.

"Potter."

The voice was warm but even. Harry felt the edges of his mouth lift in automatic response. He knew he had recognised that scent in the air! He couldn't forget it after living in it for so long.

Harry raised his head in the direction of the voice, not bothering to hide the edging grin on his face. Slowly his hands reached out until they made contact with a smart-feeling shirtsleeve.

"Malfoy." And the stupid grin persisted.

Harry moved his hands in practised motion and swiftly pulled Malfoy against him, hugging the man warmly. He was instantly reminded of the last time he had seen Malfoy, and the last hug he'd given him. Perhaps he should have made an effort not to repeat it, but it didn't occur to Harry to think about it. Instead he was finding himself rapidly overcome with warmth, scent, tickling brushes of fringe, and tingling sensations from the hands on his back.

Harry's arms were around Malfoy's body, and he clapped him on the back a couple times for good measure, as men often tended to do. He leaned his head slightly and rested against Malfoy's ear, slowly realising that the grin was falling from his face. As the embrace prolonged, Harry's breathing was requiring more effort than he ever remembered having to devote to such a mundane task.

He pulled back from Malfoy, finding that his skin seemed to desire the nuzzling contact against his old companion but he refused to oblige. The smirk returned as he stepped back. He heard Malfoy swallow. Harry's hand lingered on the blond's shoulder, reluctant to place himself back into the isolated, black void.

The air was silent around them as Harry's thumb dragged across Malfoy's collarbone. Words disappeared and instead there was the touch and the scents and a world of life as he had once known it in a flat with someone who understood a part of him in a way that few others could.

Malfoy was still and silent, unmoving, unresponsive.

"Do you have your Speech Writer?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Malfoy answered pleasantly. He seemed not unhappy about their reunion.

"What're you doing here?" Harry wondered what his speech looked like written down.

"I was invited. I didn't think you'd come, though," Malfoy confessed in that tone of voice that seemed so well practised in its evenness, but also characteristically layered with his drawl and a now polite jeer.

"You didn't?" Harry asked. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't meant for them to see each other, although in all fairness, Malfoy had been the one to approach Harry.

"I mean, it's good to see you," Malfoy continued on, sounding vaguely flustered.

"It's good to hear you," Harry laughed. Malfoy echoed with his own chuckle that meant he got Harry's feeble joke but didn't find it a very good effort. Harry took comfort in Malfoy's ability to understand his situation without feeling obliged to offer reprimand or sympathies. It just was. And he understood it. He understood it because it was his life too. They could joke about those things without qualification.

"You might change your mind about that," Malfoy taunted good-naturedly. Harry grinned, feeling inexplicably happy and at ease.

Then he drew a blank.

Nothing came to mind as he stood with Malfoy, in the presence of his old roommate for the first time in months. More detailed memories pushed their way into Harry's mind as he slowly withdrew his hand from Malfoy's shoulder.

Harry crossed his arms, needing something to do.

Malfoy cleared his throat.

"What have you been doing?" the blond asked.

"Loads of stuff, I guess," Harry answered. He uncrossed his arms and slid his hands into his pockets. "Hermione and I worked on researching sensory-impaired wizards. We found a small group of wizards and witches who could offer some training, which I want. I'm still working on getting back into Auror duties, but there have been a lot of adjustments, you know..." Harry pulled his right hand out of his pocket and scratched at his arm.

"Auror, eh? They'll find a place for you?" Malfoy's voice gave away nothing of his thoughts.

"Turns out a blind wizard might still be useful," Harry shrugged, hearing the biting cynicism in his own voice. But the depth of that story could wait for another time. Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling as though he was fidgeting.

"Where are you living?" Malfoy shifted and his shoulder bumped against Harry's left shoulder.

"With Ron's family at the Burrow. Ron and Hermione offered their place, but that just feels a bit weird with your own best friends in the next room. Plus they've got the boys and they always tend to leave traps for me every time I come over so I spend more time tripping than actually walking. But the Weasleys have always taken me in, and most everyone has their own place now so Mr and Mrs Weasley let me stay."

Harry paused and whatever Malfoy was thinking about this situation, he didn't say a word.

"How about you?" Harry offered.

"Oh, they set me up with a small house after I left the program. It's nice."

Again silence made its claim over their conversation and Harry wondered why it felt strangely tense, perhaps even awkward, after they had spent so much time together previously, whether in silence or in conversation.

"Hey," Malfoy said suddenly, "I was on my way out. You want to get out of here? I was planning to grab some coffee and head home. You could see my house if you want." The offer was thrown out like an invitation to look at one's new car or latest toy.

"Sure. Let me tell Hermione, all right?" Harry said, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He did want to leave the party, after all, and spending time with his old companion no longer sounded like such a bad idea.