Owl Eyes

Owl Eyes

Chapter Fourteen:

The News

Words are more than blotches

Of ink, on a scroll of parchment.

They are memories, or suggestions,

Or facts, or philosophies.

It all depends on what one wants to write.

They may bring fear of icy fingers and jagged blades.

The reassurance of a mother's touch.

The passion of a lover's grasp.

They are yet still words, and nothing more.

We cling to them, no matter their news, and believe

Or question them, no matter our age.

Words are important in this time,

At this place in the world.

The Daily Prophet was full of news of the battle in Hogsmeade. Personal accounts cluttered several pages of the newspaper complete with pictures of the people writing them, standing with their families. Everyone looked relieved to have survived and grateful to have one another, Hermione had told me. Obituaries had come out in the first issue after the attack. These only included those of the physically dead. The news of those who had received the Dementors' kiss would come later. With that news, there were numerous articles about Soul Saving Contracts. Copies of old forms of the contract were included, information on laws regarding it from different countries, law makers proposals of what might happen now that some had received the kiss, suggestions from ministry officials on how to complete and file a Soul Saving Contract, and an article explaining the contract itself. I already understood this last so didn't read it. It was simple, you signed the contract and if you were kissed a ministry official was permitted to feed you poison so that your body would die as your spirit had. They had not been needed for at least one-hundred years while the Dementors had been under control.

The ministry had not attempted to cover anything up. Even the fact that sixteen Death Eaters had escaped prison along with mass murderers and others was now common knowledge. It was surprising to my friends and I.

"They haven't even bothered to try to make a cover story," Harry commented, his mouth full over breakfast.

"There's something strange about it," Hermione whispered as she leaned across the table.

"Like what?" Neville whispered, edging closer to us to be part of the conversation.

"I don't know. Fudge had been so determined to pretend that the, well, You-Know-Who, didn't exist. I don't know why he's come around."

"His name is Voldemort," Harry said.

His comment was received by gasps then silence from the nearest half of the Gryffindor table. I couldn't understand why everyone called him You-Know-Who and didn't blame Harry for correcting them. It seemed to be some sort of mild war between Harry and others. I would be sure to call him Voldemort.

"What about him?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, is there more news of what he's up to?" said George.

"No," Hermione answered. "It's just The Daily Prophet."

"Well, they have to write something," George said.

"They can't leave us all hanging."

"They may as well write the real thing."

"No use in making up fake stories."

"We're off to see Ron," the twins suddenly said in unison.

"I wonder how long he'll be in the hospital?" I asked, when the twins had gone.

"Don't know," Harry replied.

"It still doesn't look so good," Hermione reported.

"He's moving better though, right?"

"Yeah," Hermione answered me.

I finished my breakfast in silence. I had little to say. So many of my fellow students went on as if nothing had happened. We were at war and they seemed relaxed, giddy even. It wouldn't last long. They'd get grumpy after no Hogsmeade weekends were forthcoming and many of them would spend the Christmas holiday at Hogwarts. Parents wouldn't want their kids at home, if they had the option of leaving them at one of the safest places in the world. I hoped I wouldn't have to remain here. I had friends I cared about now, but I really missed my parents.

The sound of squawking and tearing of envelopes brought me back to my senses. It was the owl post. A strange owl delivered me a letter which I was not expecting.

Dear Lucinda,

Your mother and I were so worried about you. We heard about the attack in the village near the school. Dumbledore contacted us, but today the news is in our own paper. I am so relieved to hear you're okay. Be sure to thank the Professor who removed you from the situation. We couldn't bear to lose you, Lucinda. You are what we hold most dear. Your mother and I both agree on that point.

We are prepared to relocate. When you next write your owl will not have far to fly. It will no longer be necessary for her to fly to international customs for help with transportation. I cannot say more than that. I cannot give our location but we will look forward to seeing you soon. It is most unfortunate that Hogwarts doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving because you will not receive time off for it. No matter, we will be together in spirit.

Love,

Dad

I was excited at the news that my parents were definitely moving closer. It would increase my chances at seeing them over the holidays. I would not have to travel overseas to do it now.

We made our way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. I hoped Professor Wiggins hadn't heard how Snape had taken me back to Hogwarts when the fighting in Hogsmeade had started. If someone had mentioned it to her she would certainly bring it up during class. I wasn't sure anyone really knew though. At least not anyone that would be sharing the secret with Wiggins. Well perhaps it was news and not a secret.

A slight chill filled the confines of the classroom. It complemented my mood. I folded my arms across my chest once I was settled in my seat. It would have the effect of keeping me warm as well as sending a silent message to Professor Wiggins that I didn't really care what she had to say. The woman hadn't taught me a thing about defense thus far. I was leaving my education on the subject entirely up to Professor Snape and he hadn't yet disappointed me.

Wooden chair legs scraped against the stone floor as my colleagues seated themselves and pulled in their chairs. Book bags were set down, parchments shifted and unrolled, books open, and quills scratched momentarily probably writing down date and course information. I waited patiently. I was already prepared to take notes. I braced myself for the moment when Wiggins would enter the room.

"She's late," Hermione commented from beside me.

"Maybe she's not coming," Harry said hopefully.

"That'd be nice," I agreed.

"I'm sure someone would have told us," the ever logical Hermione stated.

We waited.

Footsteps approached the front of the room. The class had had a calm hush about it before but now it had a deadly silence. I was sure Wiggins had arrived.

Thud!

She had slammed her book on the desk as usual.

I jumped and gasped in reflex, my hand going to my wand instinctively.

"Jumpy, are we, Miss Lee?" she said mockingly.

I did not answer.

"Five points from Gryffindor for being so fearful of an ordinary thing." She had come out from behind her desk and was pacing the floor. Her heels clacked lightly making little pinging noises as she walked back and fourth. "To defend oneself one must know when to react and when to keep still. When to expend energy and when to conserve it. But most importantly, one must know when a wand is needed and when it isn't. Miss Lee has failed on all counts."

The room was silent and again I did not reply.

"Turn your books to page three-hundred-fifty-six," Wiggins barked. "We are moving ahead for a time."

Books cracked open, pages flipped, whispers started and stopped abruptly.

"Werewolves," she breathed. "I hear one of your former professors is one."

"But we've already gone over werewolves, Professor," Hermione said.

"Five points from Gryffindor for not raising your hand, Miss Granger, and another ten for challenging my syllabus."

Gasps could be heard around the room accompanied by small murmurs of protest.

"Is there anyone else who would like to challenge my teaching style?"

No answer. The silence was so complete that time could have stopped without anyone noticing because nobody moved and many held their breath in anticipation. The woman seemed quite deadly.

The rest of the class consisted of Professor Wiggins asking questions and not awarding points for correct, well thought out answers. We left without gaining back the points Hermione and I had lost.

"Snape is a sweetheart compared to her," Lavender said as soon as we were clear of the door, and on the way to our respective electives.

"You can say that again," Neville replied. His voice sounded shaky.

"I wish she'd get fired," Harry groaned.

I couldn't agree with him more but said nothing.

Then suddenly,

"Look out!" Lavender squealed shoving me to the left.

"Do you mind?!" I roared. "Everyone is always pushing me around, grabbing my arm. I'm sick of it. I'm not a child or a toy. I'm a human being and I understand directions like stop, go left, and take my arm please."

I hurried off pushing through the slight crowd.

"Wait!" Hermione called after me.

I ignored her plea.

"Please," Lavender said panting from the effort of matching my stride. "I didn't mean to. It was just that Mrs. Norris was-"

"Did you ever stop to think that I could teach her a lesson about tripping up students?" I spat.

"Well, no, Lucinda, I didn't," she answered honestly.

I had to give her credit for her honesty.

"Look," Hermione started, "we didn't mean to upset you. It's not like...I mean we don't, see someone who is blind every day. You can't expect us to-"

"I'm sorry," I apologized before she could even finish.

"It's alright. I understand you're frustrated."

"We just don't know what to do," Lavender said, exasperated.

"I know," I replied. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I'm gonna be late to class," Hermione said, startled. "Can we talk about this later?"

I nodded.

She ran off in the other direction. I had no idea where Lavender was or had gone. I didn't care. I pressed on, focused on my Muggle Studies class.

***

Severus Snape, professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, took his role as spy quite seriously. The truth of the matter was that he had no choice. He could be a diligent and careful spy or lose both his job and his life. He happened to hold both quite dear. His efforts to intimidate the students each year were not a representation of his liking for the position. His work was his life. His life, by his account, wasn't the greatest, or best possible, or even acceptable at times, but most days he relished it enough not to dispose of it carelessly. It would not be hard to end it, not at all, and if he chose to, no one but the Headmaster would call it suicide. The roomers would fly once someone examined the body though. A Death Eater teaching at Hogwarts would not be accepted by most of the wizarding world. If Severus was ever found out many would call for Dumbledore's resignation.

His torment of the students was little different from how he had been treated as a child at home. He believed it was this treatment that had hardened him through the years. He had survived because he had to at first, not because he wanted to. The want had come later. The desire to live, achieve , and explore. Those things had come once he had learned the first lessons of survival.

He often forgot that the harsh treatment he had been exposed to by his parents and extended family had hardened him so much that he hardly ever loved. He had had three partners, one while at Hogwarts, one lost to the aurors, and a third killed at Voldemort's hand. Most days he told himself that that was enough. Three had been enough for any man. He tried to convince himself that he hadn't loved them deeply, no, not deeply enough. Told himself it didn't still hurt, didn't matter anymore. But he knew too, that love conquered many things, yet thought it best if he could conquer love. He wished to rise above it entirely. It was a faulty thing for lesser men, and certainly he need not indulge in it further.

He saw love in the eyes of his students though. He saw how they'd shine with admiration for one another or a beloved pet. When it happened it was a reminder that he was yet a man with real feelings. If he could recognize love when he saw it surely he could feel it. If he could feel it surely he would welcome it. With welcoming came a great need to grasp it, to cling to it like a climber to his rope even when his hands were raw and split deeply. It was the need for love that made him think of it. His wants were of no importance but if he needed something he must have it or risk not being an effective spy. Not all of his needs were part of Voldemort's knowledge. The Dark Lord would leap at the chance to kill another of Severus's lovers. It was the ultimate punishment.

Severus also forgot that his treatment as a boy had nearly thrown him into the hands of the Death Eaters. By their cruelty and abrasiveness his parents had said, "Here is our son! Take him for your own. Welcome him into your circle. We offer him freely. Make use of our gift. He might do something great and useful for your cause. We have no use for him, but he is of pure blood. Let not his mind and soul be wasted."

Surely, Severus's treatment of the students, or anyone, wouldn't throw them into the hands of Voldemort. Wouldn't it be more likely that his example as a Death Eater and reputation in Slytherin house would do that? His teaching style would simply make it easier for them to survive outside of Hogwarts would it not?

His thoughts were too many. Presently they quelled the pain so that when he pushed them back, pressing them into his subconscious, the pain increased. He forced his right hand over the skin of his forearm with a grimace. Although he had been expecting a summons on this particular evening, he felt no relief in receiving it. It was another test of his endurance and his ability to maintain the façade

With a pop he Disapparated at the edge of the Hogwarts' grounds. He resumed realization in a graveyard. Masked figures stood about waiting for their leader to bring them to order. It wasn't that they were disorderly but they fidgeted and whispered words which expressed their unease. They knew what was about to happen. Some were excited, others indifferent, and Severus wanted to leave. Yet he wanted to stay, to stop the night's activities before they were even started. He could do neither. His hands were tied with heavy chain. Some could see it but most could not. Severus was the only one that would ever understand the limitations brought about by the fastenings around his wrists, the ropes intertwined with his soul.

The circle of robes stirred for one last moment then stilled. When the Dark Lord appeared it was as if a dying body had taken its last breath, yet the men within the robes remained living. Lord Voldemort stood proud. His magisterial figure didn't quiver in the slightest.

"My precious followers," Voldemort said, his eyes sliding around the circle of Death Eaters.

"My Lord," they breathed as they bowed deeply.

The Dark Lord tapped his wand impatiently. He required that everyone bow to him but tonight he didn't want to take the time to wait for them to finish. He had more pressing matters.

"Tonight, I shall have the privilege of marking a new generation of followers. Boys and girls who have been raised to fulfil my every desire and quench my thirst for leadership and power." The Dark Lord paused and waited to see if anyone dared question him even with the smallest gesture. No one moved. "You, my faithful ones, shall have the pleasure of witnessing their commitment to me. Do not let yourselves forget this honor."

Severus couldn't help but notice the change in the man's thinking. When the professor had been a young man Voldemort had marked followers to serve a cause and so that they could help carry out actions that would bring about the changes they all desired. The markings were different now. He had become more cruel and twisted as time had passed. He now marked people who wanted to serve him, not a cause. He looked for individuals who would do his bidding without question. Their wants and desires were disregarded entirely.

"I am pleased with our demonstration in Hogsmeade. The Dementors have served me well, as have you, my servants. Unfortunately," he drew out the word, "Harry Potter is still alive. He must be killed. We will continue to demonstrate our power to both wizards and Muggles."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Bring the young ones forward," The Dark Lord hissed. "We will start with your son, Lucius."

"Thank you, My Lord. It is an honor for him to begin the marking ceremony. We are pleased."

A man's dark figure had stepped forward and was bowing deeply, his head near his feet.

"I care not if you are pleased, Lucius. Only that you are loyal."

"Yes, My Lord, as always," Lucius answered.

"Come, young Malfoy," the Dark Lord beckoned.

The young man stepped forward. He wore a dark robe but no mask and no gloves. His pale face was framed by his golden hair turned silvery in the half darkness. He was so pale his skin tone matched that of the Dark Lords. He attempted to steady his trembling form before the Dark Lord's feet. Slowly he crept forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. He backed away too quickly for the man's taste though.

"Do you dislike me such that you cannot linger in my presence, young Malfoy?"

"No, my Lord, n n no."

"Good, we cannot have you disrespecting me. Such things are not acceptable. Do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord."

The Dark Lord turned away from the boy nearly dismissing his confirmation. His look was angry as ever.

"Wormtail, have you forgotten your duty?"

"No, My Lord," the squeaky voice replied.

"Are you waiting for a reminder?" The Dark Lord raised his want threateningly. Then, "Crucio," he finally said.

The fat man convulsed wildly on the dirt before the Dark Lord's feet. His screams disappeared into the night, swallowed up by the silencing charms that were part of the wards surrounding this section of the graveyard. His limbs stiffened, flailed, and contracted in turns. Finally the curse was over. He silently rose to his feet after obtaining a nod from the Dark Lord. He set to work before his master. He summoned a fire in a large cauldron that had been sitting in the center of the circle. Shadows now danced about the cast iron container. Another iron, the brand, was thrust into the flames, its handle resting on the cauldron's rim.

"It is as you wish, My Lord," Pettigrew reassured.

Hissing could be heard from the cauldron's depths as the iron heated. After a minute had passed Voldemort approached the flames.

"It is time," he growled his lips pressed into a cold smile.

He removed the iron from the cauldron where it was being heated and held it before him.

"Lucius, you will do the honors. I assume that you are grateful for this reward?"

"Yes, My Lord. I am most grateful to you. You provide me with all things that are good."

Voldemort handed the long iron to Lucius and stepped back to watch his favorite form of entertainment.

Draco knelt bravely before his father at the height of his foolishness. He thrust his left arm forward and stared with wide, unblinking eyes. The iron was pressed firmly to his flesh. Suddenly his eyes were squinched shut and he arched his back bellowing in pain. The Dark Lord cast a freezing charm so the boy could no longer move. His mouth was left open, the terrible noise from within it continued. The sizzling sound the iron made as it burned through his flesh was audible many feet away. Finally the branding was finished. Voldemort removed the freezing spell and the boy collapsed on his right side. He clutched his left arm but was afraid to touch the skin anywhere near the mark. He opened and closed the fingers around his arm over and over again hoping that somehow the pain would ease. Severus knew from experience that that particular pain wouldn't ease for days.

"We are not finished young Malfoy," the Dark Lord reminded.

Lucius stepped forward, grabbed his son by the shoulders and hauled him into a kneeling position once more.

"Your father is kind to you. You will not always have such luxuries."

Draco lowered his head probably more out of pain than respect for his new master.

"Do you swear to serve me fully and loyally and understand the consequences if you fail in doing so?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Again he thrust his left arm forward. It trembled with pain and he nearly reached out with his right hand to support it but thought better of it and withdrew. It was never good to disappoint the Dark Lord and show him one's weaknesses. Suddenly Voldemort's wand was upon the boy's flesh. He screamed and clawed the air. The man spat fourth a string of Latin which Severus had never bothered to translate. The young man shook violently at his feet. Then the wand was drawn away, a soft line of blue light following it. As it was drawn back the boy screamed even more passionately and blood spurted from the fresh mark. Voldemort held his wand steady for several minutes then dismissed the beam of light with a flick. The boy had passed out and lay motionless on the soil, which was now darkened with his own blood.

"Remove him from my presence," the Dark Lord told Wormtail.

Pettigrew stepped forward as gracefully as a fat, incompetent, fool could, and lathered a salv onto the boy's arm. He held it roughly and spread on great lumps of the ointment with carelessness. When he had finished Lucius helped him drag the boy out of the way, so that the next young soul could be marked. A gurgling sound could be heard coming from Draco's lips as he was carted off. Severus knew from experience that the boy would be quite sick by morning. Other students would follow, a handful of Slytherins, two from Ravenclaw and one Hufflepuff.

It went on as so for several more hours.

Crabbe and Goyle took the mark, their fathers bursting with pride. They would increase in Voldemort's favor, their loyalty confirmed by their gifts thrown at the Dark Lord's feet. Severus was surprised to see Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot making a commitment to the Dark Lord. He had always viewed both students as quite sensible. They were two who understood cause and effect and usually thought through their decisions quite thoroughly. Justin Finch-Fletchley had not been a surprise at all. The boy tended to question everything and often appeared to be with drawn from the world.

The thought that Albus could do nothing to expel these fledgling Death Eaters was unsettling. In doing so he would reveal Severus as a spy and the Order would then be lacking in important information. None of the students would pose a threat to Potter alone but as a group they could be deadly. He was sure that Malfoy knew enough hexes to curse an army, at least one that wasn't fighting back. Miss Lee would be in danger as well. Their training would have to increase in its intensity and they must be prevented from moving about the castle alone. Severus wished that Potter was the sort to follow rules, more than he ever had before. He waited for his dismissal from the Dark Lord's presence with anticipation. He wanted to report to Albus immediately.

***

Ron shuffled in to the common room just as we were all leaving it to go to breakfast. His steps sounded unsteady and he moved slowly.

"Ron, you're back!" Hermione screeched.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, are you trying to kill me?" he said in a muffled voice.

"Of course not," she apparently pulled back from their embrace. "I'm just happy to see you out of the hospital wing."

"Good to see you, Ron," Harry clapped his best friend on the back.

"You too, Harry,"

"I'm glad you're finally out of Madam Pomfrey's clutches," I told Ron.

"It's practically a family reunion," Neville said, coming up from behind me.

"Yeah, but I don't see Fred and George," Ginny said as she appeared out of nowhere to give her big brother a hug.

"I'm starved," Ron exclaimed.

"Don't they feed you in there?" Neville inquired.

"Nothing worth eating," Harry answered before Ron had had a chance to.

"Your face looks terrible, Harry," Ron commented.

"It really does," Ginny put in.

"I know," Harry said.

He sounded as if he were looking down at his feet. I imagined it had to be hard for him, looking so disfigured. He already had one scar on his face and more would make him further set apart from his peers. Everyone would want to know how it happened. People just couldn't stay out of Harry's business. I felt sorry for him.

"We'd better get to breakfast," Hermione said. "We're running late."

"Are you walking okay on your own?" I asked Ron.

"Well," he started, looking down at his feet, "sort of."

"Don't worry," Hermione said brightly. "You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"I hope so."

"Come on," Harry encouraged.

We made our way to the Great Hall with Ron shuffling along like an old man. I hoped he'd get better but didn't know if I should approach the subject with him. There was a chance he wouldn't recover fully or wouldn't be healed for months. He explained to us that Madam Pomfrey had designed a strict course of therapy for him. He had potions to take, exercises to do, and he was required to soak in a hot bath every evening. His time away from his broom was already turning out to be the most difficult thing he would have to endure.

"Malfoy came into the Hospital Wing early this morning," Ron explained once we had sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"What for?" Harry asked.

"He was vomiting blood. Madam Pomfrey drilled him with questions but he just said he felt a little off."

"Vomiting blood?" Hermione thought aloud. "People don't just vomit blood."

"Not unless they've been cursed," I agreed.

"What do you suppose happened?" Hermione asked anyone who would answer her.

"Beats me," I said.

"Some of the Slytherins aren't at breakfast," Harry pointed out.

"Maybe they're visiting Malfoy?" I questioned.

"No one was with him when I left," Ron said.

"What time did he come in?" Harry asked.

"About four in the morning. Woke me up."

"What would he be doing awake at that hour?"

"Must have gotten woken up by the barfing," I commented. It wasn't exactly great breakfast conversation.

"Something seems suspicious," Hermione said.

We were all silent and thinking when Fred and George arrived which interrupted our thoughts.

"It's about time you got off your duff and out of the Hospital Wing," George said.

"We were beginning to wonder if you were getting fond of Madam Pomfrey," Fred added.

"A little too fond maybe," George teased.

"Oh, go bother someone else," Ron whined. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Yeah, you're eating like a dragon who's been hibernating."

"What would you know about dragons?" Ron questioned.

"Well, we do have a brother who works with them, remember?" George was bending over Ron's plate now."

He does talk to us sometimes," Fred said.

Just then there was a loud pop.

"Hay, that was my breakfast!" Ron complained, jumping up from the bench. "You're going to get me back in the hospital wing!"

"Ah, it's just a little smoke," Fred soothed.

"It's disintegrated his plate," Hermione scolded.

"I'm sure the house-elves can replace it."

"They already have enough work to do," Hermione protested. "They work day and night and no one is grateful. Wizards can be so lazy and self absorbed."

"Well, we have class."

"Better get going," George added.

"See you later, brother," they said as they dashed off.

Hermione huffed and began stuffing her things into her bag. She was always reading something over breakfast whether it be a book or the Daily Prophet.

"I can't believe those two sometimes," she wined.

"We'd better get going," Harry said, trying to distract her.

"What about my breakfast?"

"Is that all you think about?" Hermione lectured.

"Come on, Ron," Harry pleaded in an attempt to dissolve the argument that was about to erupt.

We walked to class with Hermione complaining about house-elf rights the entire way.

Professor Sprout had us working on an herb garden project. Because of the coming cold weather we would soon have to insulate our small garden plots. We had abandon the green houses for sections of earth. The professor had emphasized the importance of learning to work directly with native soils. I shared a plot with Neville and felt lucky I had done so. He excelled in Herbology and worked at it with great fervor.

"The basil has done well," he commented. "It's a North American variety. Did you grow any plants while you were there?"

"My mom does. I've never taken an interest."

"That's too bad. They're quite interesting you know. Food, medicine, decoration, it's all plants that do it."

"Wonder how Hermione and Harry are getting along?"

"Looks like they're doing fine. They've got quite a few weeds."

"Glad we don't."

"Ron and Dean have a right mess," Neville said sympathetically.

"I don't regret not working with Ron."

"Suppose not," Neville said with a grunt. He was pulling up the few weeds we did have. "Ron is having a hard time bending over, maybe I should go and help."

"That's what Dean is for," I said.

"He's not doing such a good job of it," Neville complained.

"Ron should be coaching him. It's their project."

"I'd think you of all people would understand needing a little help. I mean...I sometimes, well, I sometimes need it to."

"Do you ask for it?"

"No, not always," he admitted.

"That's where we're different," I said bitterly.

"But you want to sometimes."

I busied myself with the garlic chives. I pinched them between my fingers and sniffed dramatically several times as if I was having trouble catching their scent. Then I watered them gently, pretending that the task was taking all my concentration.

Neville was right. I did need help a lot of the time. I wasn't totally independent. I often didn't ask and I had always felt a sense of pride at that. It was really nothing to be proud of though.

"You're right," I admitted.

"Right about what?" Harry asked when he approached our plot.

"That sometimes it's necessary to ask for help," I said. "Or at least that sometimes I'd like to."

"Why don't you then?" Harry asked.

"I'm gonna go see if Ron and Dean need any help," Neville said.

"I try to be independent," I explained. "It's a sense of pride. I'd rather fail by myself then triumph with a leg up."

"What good does that do?"

"It gives me a sense of pride and accomplishment."

"You can have those after getting help too. I did after facing Voldemort. I never could have done that alone."

"That's different. That was something huge to overcome."

"What do you call getting around in a world where everyone can see? easy?"

"No."

"You can't push friends away."

"You sound like Hermione."

"Sorry. I just want to help."

I brushed the dirt off my hands onto my robes nervously. I had real friends now. It felt weird. They just accepted me for who I was. There was no need to put on an act in front of them. I should have known that, after they hadn't spread rumors about my magical abilities. They were trust worthy and their attempts at friendship were genuine.

Harry wasn't as bad as I had first thought him to be. I would take him up on his near offer to help me. I rummaged in my bag for my Muggle Braille labeler. When I finally located it I pulled it out with a flourish.

"Will you help me Braille these plant markers? I don't know them all by smell yet."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "What do I do?"

"Just read me each tag , and I'll make a label for it."

"That's all? Alright."