Tell Us Again, Please!

It was after dinner time a few days later when Harry came again. Fred and George had visited Hermione in the afternoon and had even stayed to eat dinner with her. Hermione had nearly fallen out of her bed after a fit of laughter over the funny noises they kept causing her food to make. They had magicked her potatoes and the gooey dessert somehow. It sounded rather disgusting. Fred had also brought in some of the candies they always bought in Hogsmead or on the Hogwarts Express. Where they had found the candies, Hermione wasn't sure, but they had also been a laugh. Each flavour would turn either Fred or George into a different animal and Hermione had to correctly guess which animal based upon the sound Fred or George emitted. She had again been dissolved into a fit of un-Hermione-like giggles. And once George really had fallen out of his chair in laughter.

One thing was certain: they knew how to lighten the mood and help things not seem so serious all the time. But they had left and now Hermione was alone again. She knew the Weasleys couldn't always be in her room, but she still hated being left alone. She felt so far away from everyone. She had never been alone, without Ron and Harry, for quite so long. Sure, they were separated during summers between years at school, but they always owled one another. She was never left fearing for their lives and well being while also unable to communicate with them. She missed them. She worried about them. And each moment alone only gave her more time to worry.

She had been running her hands over a textured children's book that one of the Healers had given her when she heard footsteps. She listened carefully to see if the footsteps were coming toward her. They were. She stilled herself as much as possible and tried to use her senses. She thought the footsteps didn't sound like a Weasley, at least not the ones she was familiar with. It wasn't Mr. or Mrs. Weasley, nor Ginny, Fred, or George. It wasn't a Healer, because they always announced themselves. Hermione tried to be patient and wait for the person to speak.

"Hey." It was the familiar, quiet, gentle, gruff voice. She felt herself smile.

"Hey, Harry." She tried to imagine him again in her mind. She was glad when he came to visit.

"How are you?" he asked. He was much closer now, almost to her bed.

"I'm fine, I guess," she told him. She felt Harry's hand slide over hers. She loved that he would touch her when he spoke to her. Sometimes when people would visit, Fred and George for example, they were just voices in the room. Hermione felt so distant and alone, like she was miles away. But Harry, he would touch her hand, or some part of her, so she knew he was close. She found that lacking her vision made her really appreciate touch where she hadn't before.

Harry and Hermione began to talk for awhile, but Harry had no new news on Ron. Hermione was still quite frustrated, but Harry told her she wasn't missing anything. Harry grew tired of standing by her bed, and instead climbed up onto the bed, and they both sat crossed-legged facing each other, talking, Harry always resting a hand on her somewhere to constantly remind her of his presence. It became quiet for a moment as Hermione was thinking. She wondered what Harry was looking at. Did he look at her when he spoke? Or did he look around the room? Did her eyes look different, since she couldn't see out of them?

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" he answered. He sounded as though he was looking at her, like he normally would.

"Do I look any different?" she started slowly, but fumbled as her self-consciousness rose, and her speech quickened. "I asked Ginny, but she said I look the same as always and she wouldn't really answer me. Do my eyes look funny? Do I have any scars? Am I horribly disfigured and no one is telling me? Can you tell that I can't see?" Hermione envisioned herself looking into Harry's eyes, but really had no precise idea as to where to pretend to look. After all, she wasn't really looking, just moving her eyes. Just pretending.

There was only a split second of silence, but the small portion of a second seemed like long, agonising minutes in which Hermione continued to berate herself for sounding so vain.

"You look like you, Hermione," Harry began in a soft and tender voice. She loved hearing his calming voice and the reassurance that came with it. She felt him stir and was momentarily alarmed. She felt the warmth around her changing. Was he leaning closer to her?

"You have a new scar here," Harry said quietly, and Hermione felt the fingers of Harry's right hand trace a line from her chin all the way along her jawline, almost back to her left ear. The skin was tender, but tingled slightly at Harry's touch. Rarely did anyone touch her face. Healers kept their work mostly to her arms, and on occasion they poked and prodded her eyes. But this gentle grazing of Harry's finger sent soothing chills through her body in a way she hadn't felt before.

"And, you have a cut up here." Harry moved his hand from her jaw to her right eyebrow, and traced a small line. "You'll probably always have a scar there, a line in the middle of your eyebrow," he laughed gently. Hermione tried to imagine herself with a bald line through her eyebrow. She wasn't sure if she was glad she couldn't see it, or not.

"You have a burn, here." Harry grazed a spot on her neck, and Hermione winced slightly. Yet the small pain on her neck didn't hide the tingling in places on her face that seemed to dance with feeling as after effects of Harry's fingers touching her skin.

"Also, there's a bandage on this arm." Harry took a hold of her left arm. She had felt the bandage, but didn't know what was under it. Now she felt his grasp along her forearm, gentle yet firm.

"Can you see what it looks like underneath?" she asked him softly. She felt tape begin to tear away from her skin and suddenly thought maybe she didn't want the bandage to come off. Harry opened the bandage as gently as he could and described to her what was underneath.

"It's a really bad burn, but the Healers have something working on it to close it up. I think it'll be fine, but you'll always have a mark there." He tenderly ran his fingers along the skin of her arm, then replaced the bandage and tape.

"And you have lots of cuts and scars just here, and here, and here." Harry began to trace small lines all over Hermione's fingers and the tops of her hands. The brushing of his fingertips along her skin was soothing and placid. Then he held her hands in his.

"And no, you can not tell that you can't see. In fact, sometimes when you look at me, I think you really can see me. I forget, sometimes. You're not disfigured, nor anything else. You look just as beautiful as always." Hermione felt herself blush at Harry's words. He had never called her beautiful before. She felt vain and stupid for caring how she looked now.

It was quiet as Hermione sat thinking for a moment. She so desperately wanted to see, but all the wishing in the world wouldn't help her, she supposed. She felt Harry's hands still holdings hers. Did he look different? Did he have scars or burns?

She gently slid her hands out of Harry's and began slowly edging them up his arms. She felt the hair on his forearms and then felt the sleeves of a St. Mungo's shirt. It was stiff and scratchy, so she knew it wasn't his own clothing. Her hands came to his shoulders. He felt just like Harry. Then her fingers came into contact with the skin of his neck. It was soft skin, but she could feel a couple of lines, perhaps cuts or scrapes. Slowly her hands crept upward, while Harry neither moved nor spoke. Her thumbs grazed a wide cut on the under side of his chin. Gently she let her fingertips glide over the skin of his face. It was smooth, but not smooth like a girl's face. It felt very much like a boy's face, or rather a man's face. She could even feel the trace of facial hair beginning to grow since the last time he had shaved. She had never really thought about Harry shaving before.

Her thumbs touched his lips, and she felt the soft skin there. As an after thought it occurred to her that touching Harry's lips could be awkward, but his was her way of seeing now. He was remaining very still as her thumbs glided over the delicate skin so packed full of nerve endings. His lips were soft and smooth, and a strange feeling of intimacy shocked through her as she envisioned herself touching his lips. She felt his lips part slightly, perhaps accidentally, and a small breath fell onto her fingers.

Continuing on, her fingertips moved on to graze the skin of his cheeks. Her hands bumped his glasses and she smiled. Harry reached up and pulled his glasses off. Her hands continued their progress up his face, her fingertips feeling his closed eyelids and his eyebrows. She imagined his striking green eyes peering out from under his eyelids. Her palms brushed along his cheeks and temples. Then her left thumb slid over the familiar scar on his forehead. She traced it with her fingers, not realising she was smiling again. His forehead was void of any new scars.

Her fingertips felt the edge of his hairline, and she couldn't resist feeling of his hair. She was still smiling as his impossibly messy hair tickled her palms. Then her right hand felt a patch of missing hair. She ran her fingers over his scalp and could tell the hair had been shaved there. She felt a line, or a bump, a gash or some blemish. She heard Harry breathe in a painful hiss as he pulled slightly away from her touch.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, alarmed. Her hands were still frozen in mid-air where Harry had pulled away.

"Just a wound that hasn't closed up yet," Harry answered nonchalantly in a quiet voice. Hermione thought about this and let her hands trail down the sides of his face, down his neck, and finally she dropped them into her lap. Harry replaced his hands over hers again. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Well, I'm afraid I have to go," Harry almost whispered.

"You do?" Hermione asked, hoping he wasn't serious.

"Yeah."

"Will you come back?" she asked.

"Of course." Hermione imagined him smiling at her. She felt his weight shift and could tell he was climbing down off her bed. The bed shook for a moment, but then felt empty. She didn't understand why he couldn't stay with her longer if he was well enough to travel about the hospital. Or, why couldn't she go with him? It didn't make any sense.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Harry spoke, squeezing her hand.

"G'night Harry," she answered. She felt his hand slowly slide off of hers and listened as his footsteps faded into nothingness.