Tell Us Again, Please!

The seconds ticked by slowly and monotonously. A popping sound from the hall would not cease. Footsteps padded in different directions down a corridor, but it was a distant noise. A child was crying somewhere even further away. Something mysterious was tapping at a steady pace. The seconds that ticked by indicated that the mysterious tapping happened at intervals of eight seconds. The air felt stale and stuffy in the room, as though it longed for an open window or a fresh breeze. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. Somewhere in the hallway, one Healer was firmly reprimanding another. The sound became muffled, and it was apparent that someone had stepped into the room's doorway, blocking the sound from being clear. The obstruction moved. A strange sound rang out. In the far distance, a door shut. Something gave a loud CRACK! And somewhere in the air the smell of the wonderful flowers that Fred and George had brought were producing their insistent pleasant and intoxicating fragrance.

Hermione listened to everything she could. She tried to hone her senses and pick up on every detail, just in case the Healers never did find a way to heal her. She wanted to see again, but the longer the Healers delayed, the less likely it seemed. Instead, Hermione tried to figure out everything about her surroundings just by listening, feeling, and smelling. She knew there were Muggles who lived blind their whole lives. But how could a witch? Would she be a useless witch if she remained a blind witch? The thought nagged at her no matter how many times she pushed it away.

Fred and George had been around to visit Hermione not too long after Ginny had seen her. At least they were good for a laugh, even if their own brother was lying in St. Mungo's with a big question mark over his fate. Fred and George had been as successful as always at making Hermione both laugh and scowl. She did appreciate them, no matter how many differences of opinions they had had over the years.

Mr. Weasley had also come down to visit. He had tried to help fill Hermione in on the news, but there didn't seem to be much. Harry and Ron were both still in critical condition, and the Healers still weren't allowing hardly anyone near them. St. Mungo's Healers dealt with many incurable jinxes, lots of spell damage, and even some things no one had never seen before, but when it came to unknown curses, care of You-Know-Who, well, they weren't taking any chances. The Healers were worried that the hexes could have problematic side effects, and even contagious tendencies. They couldn't explain what exactly the spells had done, so they wanted to keep everyone on the safe side.

Hermione didn't understand, then, why everyone was being allowed to visit her. When she asked Mr. Weasley, he had said that the Healers were nearly ninety percent certain that the curse she sustained was not contagious, but it could perhaps be incurable. They were keeping Hermione, Harry, and Ron apart until they were more certain what the spells were doing to their bodies.

Hermione had also asked Mr. Weasley if he thought the Healers would find a way to heal her. She had always trusted him and his advice. He didn't answer for a moment, but finally was honest with Hermione and said that he was doubtful. He admitted to having researched blindness in the Muggle medical field, but it seemed that even Muggles didn't have a technique to completely cure blindness. That was exactly what Hermione had thought, but she wondered why Mr. Weasley had been looking up information on blind Muggles. Sure, he was intrigued by Muggles, but half the information he had was faulty. Maybe he could be wrong on this, too. However, Hermione had to admit to herself that she wasn't all that hopeful either.

She began to wonder if anyone had told her parents. Mrs. Weasley was talking with Hermione one day and discussed with her the problems of telling her parents. It wasn't a good idea to bring her Muggle parents to St. Mungo's. There were simply too many potential problems, and it was too much of a liability. Hermione had been relieved, however, to know that Mrs. Weasley had already owled them and was attempting to continue with updates.

Hermione had started to suggest that she could take over that responsibility when the reality hit her before the words had completely left her mouth. She couldn't write any more. All her writing and reading, all those wonderful words - they were all gone. She felt like the biggest nerd of all time as she found herself depressed at the thought of losing all the marvelous words. Never again could she smooth back the dusty pages of Hogwarts, A History, smell its old book smell, and let her eyes caress the midnight black ink that had so carefully and delicately put down the words that held the history of the most wonderful place on earth. A nerd, a bookworm, ridiculous. Maybe she was those things, but her heart ached. Gone was one of her favorite, most beloved past times.

When she had brought the idea up to Ginny, Ginny had laughed and told Hermione how lucky she was. She would never be forced to do book reports or essays ever again! Hermione had scowled and reminded Ginny that she was finished with schooling, anyway. Ginny had tried to take Hermione's complaint more seriously and had asked Hermione if blind Muggles did any reading or writing. Hermione searched the crevices of her mind looking for some ancient piece of knowledge. Yes, she thought that blind Muggles did read. Hermione furrowed her brow by old habit, thinking that she remembered some language or special writing they had. She determined to search this out whenever she was free of St. Mungo's.

Professor Lupin had come by later in the week, and Hermione had enjoyed a wonderful private chat with him. He had come by to check on everyone, and fancied a talk with Hermione. He had been a true friend to her, Ron and Harry in the past year. During that time, they had worked very closely with Lupin, and had depended on him in several ways. Yet Lupin hadn't treated them like children, but he had almost accepted them as his peers, his equals. Hermione thought he was a very humble man. In all this time, she had never felt like a 'mere child' to him. He had respected them when he was their professor, and ever since then, he had respected them as a witch and wizards. In the last year, Hermione often had grown to think of him as an older brother.

Spending an afternoon talking with him had made it one of Hermione's better afternoons in St. Mungo's. He had filled her in on updates from the Order and changes in the Ministry. He had brought a few Daily Prophet articles that talked about the battle and about the survivors. Hermione was delighted as Lupin proceeded to read them out loud to her. His voice had been so warm and soothing, it had almost lulled her to sleep. But Hermione fought the desire and relished the hearing of written language.

But now the seconds ticked by. Fred and George had gone to check on their shop. Ginny had gone home to the Burrow to spend the night and had promised to be back the next day. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were probably with Harry or Ron. Hermione envied them while she lay in bed listening to the world in motion around her. The mystery tapping was still present. A door opened and shut. Shoes padded down the hallway. They sounded like they stopped at her doorway. Something was definitely obstructing the normal sounds that came so easily into her room. The shoes were slowly walking across the floor in her room. Someone was coming to see her.

"Hey," a soft, slightly gruff voice called out. It belonged to the person nearing Hermione's bed, and that voice could only belong to one.

"Hey, Harry." Hermione grinned, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Listening," she answered. She didn't really think there was much else to do.

"What do you hear?" Harry asked. Hermione described the muffled pops, the tapping, the feet, the door, and the voices. She paused and stilled herself as she had been training herself to do. She listened.

"I hear you breathing." She smiled in what she thought was Harry's direction.

"You can hear me breathing?" Harry seemed surprised.

"Yes! I've been practicing all day!"

"Practicing hearing me breathing?" Harry seemed skeptical.

"No! Practicing listening to everything. I have to learn to use all my senses," she told him, but the idea of never seeing again and how depressed it made her, hit her as an after thought.

"Well, speaking of your senses, I brought something for you," he said.

"What?" Hermione felt her eyes go wide. She wanted to laugh cruelly at herself. It was useless. Maybe her expressions would mean something to someone watching her, but it was pointless to her.

"Hold out your hands," Harry instructed. Hermione immediately pushed her hands out toward Harry's voice. The thought didn't even cross her mind not to trust Harry. She waited only a couple of seconds before she felt something solid drop into her hands. Her brow instantly furrowed as she tried to figure out what it was.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You tell me," Harry said. Hermione could hear the grin in his voice. She moved her hands over the object, straining to make a picture of it in her mind. It was round. It had some sticks on it. And something bumpy on the edges, but it was some kind of pattern. Hermione worked for a good five minutes before she thought she had it.

"It's a clock!" she called out confidently. Harry chuckled in reply, but before he could say anything the clock in Hermione's hands suddenly shook and felt like something rapidly changing shapes. At last it stopped, but it felt nothing like a clock. Harry was laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asked, confused and scowling.

"That look on your face! You look so..." But he was laughing too hard and never finished.

"Please tell me what this is, Harry!" she begged. Finally Harry recovered his breath and answered her.

"It's something I picked out just for you. Actually I got Fred and George to get it for me. It's a shape-shifter, like those trick wands they sell? But Fred and George worked on this one and made it special. It's some object that you're holding, like the clock. You can feel it and try to guess what it is. When you finally say the right thing, it'll change shape into something else. I thought it might be something entertaining, at least while you're here." Harry sounded pleased with himself, and Hermione could almost envision him shrugging, as though it was nothing really.

"Thanks, Harry. It'll be more exciting than listening to doors and ticking." She laughed. There was a pause in their conversation and Hermione thoughtfully felt over the new item, wondering what it could be.

"Well, I can't stay long..." Harry began.

"You don't have to go already, do you?" Hermione asked. He had hardly been there long at all.

"Just a few more minutes," he offered, and then continued, "Do you know when you'll get to go home?"

"I think I have to stay a bit longer," Hermione answered. "They really want to find some cure. But... I don't know, Harry. I think whoever cursed me, got me good." She thought she sounded a bit depressed, but truthfully it did bother her a lot. She was supposed to be a good witch, the 'brightest witch of her age,' so how had she gotten cursed incurably? Now she could never be a decent witch.

"They got us all. You, me, Ron. It might have even been personal." Harry's voice sounded grave. It was more serious and somber than it had been the entire time he had been visiting that day.

"I guess if it had to be someone, it might as well have been us." Hermione sighed. After all, it was their battle. Better that everyone else live, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione take the heat of it all.

"Yeah. I just wish I could have protected you two." Harry's voice was regretful, and Hermione tried to imagine his face. She felt a cold drop of water land on her hand and wondered where it had come from. She furrowed her brow but then heard Harry sniff and heard the material of his clothes moving.

"Harry? It's okay. We're all fine, right?" Hermione tried to smile, but it wasn't coming to her. "Look, everything's going to be fine. We're going to get out of here and life is going to be great with no more Voldemort hanging over our heads. It was our choice to come with you, Harry. And besides, what's a little discomfort for the three of us, if we can know that you defeated him?" She was trying her best to keep Harry from laying so much guilt upon himself, but she didn't know if it was working. Harry was always hard on himself, taking more responsibility than was really his. Hermione was never sure how to help him or what to say.

"I should have been able to protect you. This was my battle; it was something I had to do...." Harry's voice trailed off into silence. Hermione squeezed his hand and wished she could look at him, shake him, and tell him that it wasn't his fault.

"Well," Harry sniffed, "anyway, I have to go. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Will you come back again?" she asked.

"Of course," Harry answered, and Hermione was glad to hear his voice sounding less serious and distraught.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever... um... if you ever do get to see Ron, will you tell him that I asked about him? That I want to see him?"

"Yeah, Hermione. But... I'm sure the moment he can have visitors, they'll have you there to see him. You'll probably see him before I do," Harry almost laughed. Hermione knew he was probably grinning, and she couldn't help blushing a little.

"I'll see you," Harry replied, pulling his hand away from hers.

"I'll... I'll be here." Hermione spoke feebly. She wanted to see him.