He wasn’t even sure why they let him go to Hogwarts, not really. He wasn’t like everyone else and everything about the school reminded him of it daily, including his “adjusted curriculum” as the headmaster had called it. Hermione had explained to him that there are talking portraits, an enchanted ceiling in the great hall, and even ghosts that float around the halls. It was all incredibly “magical,” as she had put it, even the annoying moving staircases.
All Harry saw was darkness.
He cherishes the memories he had of the light, like a warm blanket on a cold night, clinging to them as the one thread to a world that no longer was. Not since the accident. Not since the Dursley refused to pay for the surgery that could have saved his eyesight. Not since they refused to even buy him glasses, his dim embers of yore green fire on display for all, lifeless to the world.
It had made most he met uncomfortable, his unfocused eyes, but keeping his head down towards the ground helped, at least most days. He may not share classes with most, but he still dined with them, and that’s when he got the most looks. At least he assumed they were looks, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, unnerving him until it went away, whoever it was having sated their curiosity.
He very much wanted to get back to the common room, to the confines of the dorm, but the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations was a big event, marking the true start of this tournament everyone was so thrilled about. Hermione had narrated their arrival, all pomp and circumstance, but now that everyone had settled he just wanted to go.
“Did you hear me, Harry?” Hermione asked beside him, causing him to look up from his meal, instantly freezing. His eyes widened and he thought he must be dreaming, consciously blinked several times. Blinked!
Behind his friend, a fire had come.
A fire so bright he could see colors dance and fly in the darkness that consumed him. It burned, but had a controlled quality to it, as if the master of the it’s light knew exactly what they were doing.
And it was moving towards him. He swallowed as it stopped, looking up at the light as it swirled in his vision, ebbing and flowing, as if searching before finally settling, shining ever brighter.
“Sorry, are you wanting the Bouillabaisse?” the light spoke.