Blindness

Chapter 13: The Broken Red Soul of Voldemort

Harry stood in his testing room, every wall covered in the golden gleam of defensive charms and protective wards, each distinguishable from one another only by the geometric shape of their patterns.

In striking contrast, the floor under his feet had been changed to deep purple stone, a mimicry of Hogwarts that did not hold Her slow pulsing life, only the steady gleam of rock.

There were no lights; when Hermione came, Harry cast charms in the corners for her to see by.

To him, though, the world was never dark.

By his feet, the small bird he had caged chirped indignant tones, angry at the imprisonment. A common pigeon of the London streets, pale blue light, so alive and flickering with the desire for freedom.

Harry gestured his staff towards the wall, and its red light left him alone in the center of the room, his hands empty and bare, only emerald green fingers of light.

He knelt; and with a touch, let the metal cage fall away as his hands trapped the bird in his palms, its wings beating angrily, its clawed feet squirming.

I'll bring it back, he reminded himself. But I have to know.

The pale blue light stilled, as if it heard his intention like an audible song.

Harry closed his eyes, though the vision before him did not dim. He had never needed open eyes to see; if it was his eyes that really saw at all. He rather thought it was his mind; his brain trying to reconcile the fact that he was seeing by letting him control its vision with ocular muscle movements. But lately, more and more, he had learned to widen his sight far past the constraints of human eyesight, nearly to the back of his head.

He flexed his power and Looked, his own emerald green light filling in the details of wings and feathers and a heaving breast as the bird sucked in panicked breaths.

The bird shrieked at the feeling of his power, animals so much more aware than humans of when he regarded them with his new technique, reacting with fear just as the dogs in the park had, and the cats, and the rats in the alleys and the birds in the trees. Knowing something Looked at them that was dangerous and powerful, a great predator of the world.

Harry sighed, and let the energy fade, the pale light of the bird alone except where his emerald fingers caged her.

And with another breath, Harry willed her light to stop, and felt her struggles cease.

Life, gone, with the stopping of a pattern. He Looked at her, and saw her limp neck and claws, wings no longer pressing tightly against his hold.

With a grimace, he made her lights move again, and the bird shrieked in surprised panic. She fluttered wildly against his palms.

Again, Harry stilled her light; again, she fell still.

This time, he waited, falling to the floor on his knees and sitting upright, staring down at the bird in his lap.

He counted, and felt her body cool, the heat leaving her.

He fleetingly wished Hermione was there; she could take temperatures and readings that could only be read, not listened to audibly. But he hadn't wanted her here for this; hadn't wanted to know himself just how far he could go.

When the bird was stiff with death, he made her light Quicken again, and warmth burst from the cold carcass like it was infused with the sun, the light that had grown paler with aging death deepening to its normal blue hues, pulsing, racing with life.

The bird leaped into the air, free, only to flutter wildly at the nearest wall, unable to see in the darkness.

Harry stood, and with a spell caged her again.