Blindness

Chapter 6: Sapphire Bindings

A prophecy is not a simple manifestation of magic itself; it is, instead, something very different indeed. It is a knot in the web of fate, a fact, a point in time that can not be avoided no matter how events conspire.

So why, then, do mortal men try so very hard to make them come about? Why try so hard to repudiate their fate?

Prophecies would have no power if they could be avoided.

But still, humanity fights against them, and in the end changes very little.

-O-O-

Harry Potter no longer felt alone, as he had many times when he was younger, lost in a world of illumination and yet darkness. Unable to be part of conversations about simple things like the raggedy look of a neighbor's dog, the new paint on a mailbox, the black eye another teen sported from some fight. He could not say whether a girl others fancied was pretty; he could not give an opinion on a peer's new car or fashionable clothes.

But with Hermione, magic became their little secret, their studies a game played only between the two of them, one with words and movements only they could understand and no one else.

"You sure picked a cute one." Dudley commented from somewhere near the doorway, and Harry only raised a brow from where he sat facing his desk.

Dudley coughed. "I mean, well, she is pretty, if you're wondering. Her hair's a bit wild, but well, so's yours." He shifted. "I mean, not that wild is bad, it's not. It's kind of... cool. Yeah, cool. All the girls think so. "

"Thanks." Harry replied dryly, and Dudley's weight shifted again before he leaned closer with a whisper.

"You want me to describe her, man? I mean, I guess you know the logistics, but there's some things only us guys can understand, you know? She's growing up, if you get my meaning. In her, ah, well, chest area..."

"Okay, alright." Harry broke into the awkward commentary, shaking his head. "I don't want you looking at her chest, thank you very much. Please."

Dudley cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah, well, right. Wouldn't want you checking out my girl either. Don't worry though, I got your back. I'll let you know if I catch any guys eyeing her."

His cousin trundled away from his doorway with an off key whistle, his heavy tread emphasizing that his cousin was still very much large for his age.

Indeed, the Dursley boy's deep brown hue spoke of a physical strength that would surely keep growing. Probably why the boy was now the star of the Smeltings Academy's boxing team.

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair.

He had completely lost his train of thought.

-O-O-

Harry was fourteen, and as a fourteen year old boy, thinking about girls was not only normal, but expected.

The only problem was Harry couldn't really remember how people were supposed to look. To him, a person was a pattern and a color, some brighter and some duller, some beautiful hues and others frankly nauseous. There was a professor of science whose yellowish brown tint made his stomach roll; and another biology teacher whose nearly pearlescent pale blue pattern he could stare at for hours in devotion.

And it was hard for him to remember that others could see him staring, and that looking at people's patterns often made his eyes roam to places not proper to look at in public.

He took to wearing sunglasses, and spent more time than he ever had before comparing the female lights around him to one another.

But none did he study as often or know as well as Hermione Granger's.