Basilisk Eyes

Chapter 7: Number 4 Privet Drive

Harry was having a really hard time focusing on what Healer Smethwyck was telling him about the wood guide staff he was being given and the resources he could access at some Center to help "ease his transition" as Healer Smethwyck had put it, to this new "challenge" that he was facing. Healer Andy had introduced the senior Healer reverentially and had left to attend to other patients.

Harry fiddled with the stack of leaflets that had been shoved in his hand, resisting the urge to toss them aside, worthless as they were to him. Something in the back of his mind (it sounded like Hermione) was telling him that he should really try to pay attention, that he might need to know this stuff. But he felt as if he were listening to everything through a long tunnel—that someone at the end of it was yelling instructions to him that were important, but that he couldn't quite comprehend them.

In the fog of his despair, Healer Smethwyck's voice seemed to drone on endlessly... "This staff is charmed to help you navigate independently... can warn you of danger in your path... the ministry that the restriction of underage magic should be modified... the spell "----" can be used... some others that you'll receive... after some adaptation courses... when you're out and about among muggles... you live with muggles, right?... to use their tools for the visually impaired..."

At some point, Madam Pomfrey had entered the exam room. She had excused herself for a bit to visit a fireplace for a conversation via floo with the Headmaster. Harry heard Madam Pomfrey responding politely to the Healer and it seemed as though the interview was being wrapped up. Harry felt as though he were listening to all this through layers and layers of cotton balls—it was all muffled and distant. He was catching bits and pieces and guessed that they were talking about the upcoming dates of his adaptation courses and where they were located (some Center in London that Harry didn't recognize) and the name of shops that carried accessibility tools, such as quick quotes quills and book readers. Harry heard the scratching of a quill and the passing of paper and the sound of Madam Pomfrey stuffing the paper in her medibag.

"Here, Madam Pomfrey," he said in a detached voice, moving the leaflets toward the sound of her bag. "Could you put these in there, too? I'll have to read them later," he added with a tinge of sarcasm that she didn't seem to catch.

Listlessly, he hung onto Madam Pomfrey's arm, holding his new staff in the other hand, as they made their way down the echoing corridor. He felt lightheaded and slightly nauseous. He was self-conscious holding the stick with his opaque glasses (were they black?) shielding his eyes and clinging to Madam Pomfrey, imagining how he must look to those they were passing in the corridor. With a start, he wondered if they were heading back to the floo fireplace.

"We're not going to floo again, are we?" he asked.

"Oh, no, dear. That was disastrous," she said, and he could feel the slight jerking of her body as she shook her head. "No, we'll take the Knight Bus to your Aunt's house."

"What? Can't I go back to school?" Harry blurted out in disbelief and stopped suddenly in the corridor.

Could this day get any worse?

"No, dear, there's only a few weeks of school left and with the exams canceled there's not much point in you going back. The school needs some time to figure out how to accommodate your needs and you need some time at home to rest and learn how to get along. Best if you do that at home. Professor Dumbledore and I discussed it while you were meeting with Healer Smethwyck. He's sending an owl to your Aunt and Uncle telling them everything they need to know. Your school things will be packed up and sent home to you, so you need not worry about that," she hurried on pulling him along.

"I need to get back to the school (there was an incident in the dungeons... dungbombs and cauldrons; Professor Snape is tending to the burns, but he doesn't have the best bedside manner) and you really need to rest. You'll have time this summer to learn how to get around and you'll need to learn how to read and write in braille, I suppose. Braille is a muggle form of writing with raised dots that you read with your fingers. Blind witches and wizards find it useful, too. The courses that you're signed up for will be a big help." Harry heard a finality in her tone and found that he didn't have the energy to protest. His voice withered and died. He felt like a dried husk.

They exited the building. Harry closed his eyes against the painful burst of light. At the curb, Madam Pomfrey stuck out her arm and somehow conjured a bus. It popped into the space in front of them with a squeal that set Harry's teeth on edge.

They were greeted with a hearty "Welcome to the Knight Bus!" by an individual with the worst halitosis Harry had ever experienced and climbed awkwardly onboard. Madam Pomfrey paid the fare, Harry told them the destination address at Madam Pomfrey's prompting. He was so tempted to say "The Burrow," but remembered that Mrs. Weaseley would be tending Ginny and probably didn't have time for him, too. The bus lurched forward as Madam Pomfrey was helping Harry settle into a seat and she fell against him.

"So sorry, my dear!" she said as she untangled herself from him and sat in the seat next to him.

Glumly, he leaned against his staff and tried not to tumble out of his seat. The trip was over pretty quickly and though Harry harbored a lot of dread about showing up at Privet Drive weeks before the end of term, he was relieved to be released from the insufferably jerky and bumpy ride. He wasn't sure which was worse, transportation by floo powder or by Knight bus. Had he been in a less despondent state of mind, he might have marveled at how incompetent the Wizarding community seemed to be when it came to creating comfortable transportation.

And then they were standing on the front stoop of Number 4 Privet Drive, listening to the chimes of the doorbell echo through the house. Harry had had to feel around for the bell because Madam Pomfrey had no idea what he was talking about when he tried to explain the concept of a doorbell to her.

"What are you doing here?" was the greeting Harry received from his Aunt. He stood there numbly as the familiar odor of Number 4 Privet Drive engulfed him. He felt as though he were drowning.

Startled no doubt by the abruptness, Madam Pomfrey introduced herself, "Hello, Mrs. Dursley. I'm Madam Pomfrey, Matron of Hogwarts. Did you get the owl from Professor Dumbledore about Harry's, um, accident?"

"No," Aunt Petunia tried to deny, but then sharply reversed, "Yes. I did."

"Might we come in? I can share some information with you about how to help Harry... "

Petunia spoke over Madam Pomfrey, "I suppose you better come in."

Harry felt his Aunt's bony fingers close around his wrist as she pulled him inside; he tripped over the threshold but managed to just keep from falling. He was sure her impatience had everything to do with getting them out of sight of the neighbors and nothing to do with welcoming him home.

The conversation with Madam Pomfrey was conducted in the hallway and was very brief. Madam Pomfrey handed over the leaflets and parchment from the hospital and explained quickly about Harry's lack of vision while Aunt Petunia responded with impatient grunts and sharp monosyllabic answers.

Harry couldn't believe that Madam Pomfrey was going to leave him here.

Can't she see how much I'm not wanted here? Doesn't she understand what she was condemning me to?

He felt like he had been mistaken about her character—the trip through the floo network was the first indication.

No wait, that she couldn't cure my eyes—that she didn't even try that hard—she'd given up on me before she even tried.

Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a quick hug, reminded him of the upcoming training, and left him.

His Aunt left him without a word in the hallway, storming back to the kitchen. He heard the rubbish bin lid clang and he imagined she had just tossed all the literature he had received. He shrugged to himself; even if he snuck back into the kitchen in the dead of the night to retrieve the leaflets, he had no way to read them. They might as well be tossed. He also acknowledged to himself that there was no way the Dursleys were going to help him attend the adaptation courses.

Resignedly, he used his staff to find the base of the stairs (he hadn't actually figured out how to use the magical features on it yet, and just resorted to poking around with it until he found the bottom step) and made his way up to his room. He closed the door behind him, located his bed, set the staff to the side, and laid down upon it fully clothed. After a long while of just lying miserably on the bed, he fell asleep.