#slay though i went over to hers on friday night and she was wizard high it was incredible to see

[joyridingmp3]

must...... not..... do.... drugs...

[hegemoneapple]

Basilisk Eyes: Chapter 12: Hope is a feathered thing

Crossposted: Basilisk Eyes by Hegemone | Completed: Chapter 12 out of 157 | T | AO3 | FFN | WATT | HPFF

Summary: As Harry Potter slays the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, blood and venom get in his eyes, mostly blinding him. While Harry learns to adapt, he makes some new friends. But this is more than a story of adaptation and friendship as there are threats... and Harry isn't the only one with a past that haunts him.

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Though each day at Privet Drive was a slog, they were passing. Another evening was approaching and Harry was getting nervous, anticipating the arrival of Uncle Vernon from work. His first hour or so after work was always Uncle Vernon’s worst. Harry found himself trying to escape the worry by fantasizing about what he'd be doing at that moment if he hadn't blinded himself with Basilisk venom—which was a bit of torture in and of itself.

Weeks of school with no exams and the end of term not until the end of June seemed like a paradise compared to what Harry was enduring. Everyone would be in high spirits and he could imagine the intense chess games, late-night kitchen raids, and all the pick-up quidditch games he'd be playing. Imagining these scenes was like poking a stick in an open wound.

Dwelling on what was fair or not fair was not an activity Harry indulged often, mostly because he understood early on that it never swung the balance in his favor. He forgot that hard-learned lesson momentarily as he thought about all his classmates enjoying the respite from exams and the beautiful weather (even Draco and the Slytherins!) while he was stuck inside cutting onions and trying not to slice his fingers. He was the reason they had a break. He slew the Basilisk, but his reward was eternal darkness… 

Well, except it’s not dark. It is light and dark, but mostly just nothing. 

Eternal nothingness and a ball of frustration that he just couldn’t do things as easily as he had done them before.

I didn’t know what I had until it was gone.

He wanted to pound and rage and throw things, but he couldn’t because if he did, he’d bring the wrath of Vernon down on his head, shoulders, and back. He closed his eyes against the onion fumes, but not soon enough and tears squeezed underneath his eyelids. The knife slipped on the slick onion skin landing perilously close to his fingers. He took in a deep breath and cast around for something else to think about. He’d end up losing fingers, too, if he kept up the brooding.

Aunt Petunia was also working on dinner in the kitchen, bustling around in her efficient manner. She was humming a little melody that sounded familiar to Harry, but he couldn’t place it. She had lined up the vegetables and utensils needed to process them on the counter for him, which in the context of his history with her, was an unanticipated act of kindness and generosity. It unnerved him. It outright scared him. 

More than Aragog. 

It was terrifying because it was so unknown. He didn’t know how to respond to this new Petunia.

All he could do was keep an ear out for clues while he worked his way through the vegetables. The humming was definitely a clue if he could only figure out the melody.

His thoughts drifted to a recurrent narrative in his life: getting away from Privet Drive. How many times had he schemed and planned to run away to have his plans thwarted and his dreams dashed… that was until a hairy kind giant showed up and told him he was a wizard.

Where’s Hagrid now? 

He couldn’t just wait around to be rescued. He needed to do something and in order to do something, he needed to be able to walk away from Privet Drive… 

What about fly away? 

His heart constricted painfully as he remembered the feeling of soaring through the air on his broom—the air whipping through his hair, the swoops, dips, and spinning around. It was a freedom he’d never felt before. Maybe there was a spell that would help him avoid obstacles in the air just as he imagined there was one that would help him avoid them on earth. 

There are fewer things to run into in the air. 

This thought kept him from sinking into a pit of despair.

His staff was supposedly set up to help him navigate and do other things—maybe he could fly on it, too. He wished he’d been able to focus when he’d been at St. Mungo's—he was sure that Healer Smethwyck had told him exactly what spells he needed to use to make the staff a useful tool, but he couldn’t remember any of it.

Harry started cataloging spells that might work on his staff just as Tempus had worked. Of all the charms he’d learned in Professor Flitwick’s class, the only one that was coming to mind right now was Wingardium Leviosa, which could be useful if he needed to carry something heavy, but it could also be disastrous for him if something floated away from him and he had no idea which way it went.

It was bloody brilliant the way Ron had used the spell to stop the troll from killing Hermione in their first year—it made him smile to remember how Ron had stood in shock, incredulous that the spell had actually worked.

He remembered Ginny used a spell in the Chamber of Secrets that brought his glasses whooshing to her hand… 

Axo or something like that. That one could be handy. 

He sighed thinking about how he had spent precious minutes that afternoon trying to find his trainers in his bedroom while Aunt Petunia shrieked about needing to get the rubbish to the curb before the garbage collection arrived. Of course, he’d never would have been able to use magic to locate his shoes while she was watching. He was glad he found them else he would have had a wet sock in addition to cuffed ears. He dragged the rubbish out to the curb in a circuitous path until he found the edge with the grass and then kept one foot on the soaking lawn and the other on the driveway. All the while Aunt Petunia was berating him from the porch. 

What does she do while I’m at Hogwarts? 

He shook the thought from his head, he really didn’t want to know.

He wondered if Alohomora would work with his staff… maybe he could use it to get into the cupboard under the stairs and get some things from his trunk. 

Why is it taking Hermione so long to write back? 

He remembered Hermione fixing his glasses with Oculus Reparo and wondered if he’d be able to cast a spell to fix something he couldn’t see. He could feel that his glasses were cracked, maybe that was enough? 

How much of spell casting is visual? Will Hogwarts let me come back in the fall? What if they can’t figure out how to teach me or just don’t want to go to the trouble? 

He had to reel in his thoughts. I’ll figure it out, he told himself firmly, I can’t stay with the Dursleys… 

He was certain that Hermione knew loads of spells that could help him get around more easily. He couldn’t wait until he heard back from her. He just had to make it through… what? … the evening? … the week? … the summer? … without pissing off his Aunt and Uncle… which was a pretty tall order as usually it was just his existence that made them mad. And now it was a lot harder to sneak around pretending he didn’t exist.

Harry managed to make it through dinner without doing much to set off his Uncle. He did knock over a glass of water accidentally when Uncle Vernon had moved it and didn’t think to tell him. Miraculously, Aunt Petunia had stepped in before Uncle Vernon got violent and Harry didn’t get whacked around or sent to his room without dinner. How many times now had she stepped in on his behalf? Uncle Vernon seemed as stunned as he was.

Harry picked at his food in the ensuing silence, sodden as it was and with water dripping in his lap. I should really eat something, he told himself in a tone that reminded him very much of Ron’s Mum. He chased a few bites of chicken around his plate with his fork trying to stab them, finally cornering them with his knife, while Aunt Petunia broke the eerie quiet with discussions of when Dudley was coming home from Smeltings.

Harry was feeling deflated until he heard, “Remember, Vernon, we’re driving out to Smeltings on Friday, June 25th in the afternoon to pick him up. You secured approval to leave work early, right?” Harry sucked in his breath and tried to calm his breathing. It was weeks away.

They’d never take Harry with them. He’d be left alone in the house. He’d be able to do things… call Hermione? 

Not yet, she’ll still be at Hogwarts. 

Get into his trunk. Summon a wizard or witch to help him? 

How do I summon someone? Maybe by then, I’ll have an answer from Ron and Hermione. 

Wisps of hope wound around his heart. He worked on making a mask of his face, on not letting his elation show. He thought about Dudder’s stinking socks in the laundry to achieve the expression he needed.

Later that night, after the dishes were washed and dried and put back in the cabinets, the kitchen wiped down and swept, Harry wearily climbed the stairs to bed. While Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were watching the evening news and then their favorite shows, Harry leaned against the window sill feeling the evening air on his face and straining to hear Hedwig’s wings beating as she approached.