Blindness

Chapter 26: Pink Blood on Purple Stone

Harry had thought the brunt of the financial responsibility would fall to himself and Neville Longbottom.

He had forgotten that he was not the only wealthy pureblood who cared about those considered less than human.

Lady Griselda Marchbanks, her dark blue soul a slow pulsing light, was the one to first pledge money for the endeavor of building a private safe haven for those whose humanity had been mutated by lycanthropy. She was followed closely by the two Wizengamot elders she had invited to the impromptu meeting.

Lord Brown and Lady Gamp, their hues as old as their friend, did not often care to tie themselves to current debates. They were generally neutral, their seats not far from Harry's own. The two liked to argue, and more often than not would vote against one another for sheer spite and amusement.

But in this one thing, both could agree. No one should be killed simply because civilization was not civilized enough to find a humane solution.

Of the fifteen wizards who gathered in Grimmauld Place, the three eldest donated nearly all of the money required for the creation and warding of a wide tract of land owned by the Longbottom family. To the rest was given the task of spending said money, finding wizarding builders and warders who could prevent a werewolf at full strength from escaping said wards or buildings built on the property.

Lord Tiberius Ogden, the most business-minded of the group, began to brainstorm ways to set up an impromptu town, and how best to employ any who gathered inside.

The sheer amount of detail required was massive, and the time they had to work with very, very little.

Kreacher and Kraken came and went, serving tea and refreshments as the hours passed late into the evening, their yellow lights flickering between the many rainbow hues present.

They argued. They agreed. They argued some more. Harry could only think of it as democracy at its best and worst as they tried to make everyone content with the overall outcome.

By the time they reached a consensus and broke to go about their set tasks, they were all exhausted.

As the last visitor left, Harry walked to where Hermione stood, blue-violet light slumped. He reached out to gently pull her to him, sighing in relief when she melted into the embrace.

"I didn't mean to shout." He murmured. "Earlier. I just think we might need to be more careful with those articles. They wield a far greater influence now than they ever have."

She pulled away, her light tilted up at him. He saw it streaming through the pattern of her face, its humanity so delicate and beautiful.

"I'm not mad. We're going to argue, right? We're not carbon copies of one another. We're going to disagree, especially about methodology."

"I still don't like arguing with you." Harry confessed, and began to grin with tired slowness. "I'd rather have a peaceful discussion that ends with me being right."

She laughed, ducked her face to absently caress his neck with her cheek, a soft fleeting touch.

"I'll think of a good reply to that when I'm not so drained. Don't stay up too late thinking about all of this. We've got a good plan now."

"Yes." Harry agreed, and watched her apparate away after a last farewell kiss.

Then he went to lay in bed under the Cloak's starry night sky, the palm that held the Stone a heavy weight behind his head.

When he went to sleep, he dreamed for the first time that he could remember, of a place where colors went to die and be reborn, vibrant strands connected in a nexus of cold heat. They were spun out one by one, so many hues with names he could not define, each unique and yet similar to one another, related simply because they were all pieces of a greater whole.