Author: Morgan
Email: Lshallot@juno.com
Rating: PG
Summary: Harry can't see.
Feedback: Every flavor.
Disclaimer: Not mine- JKR, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, and loads of other rich people.
Note: I should have known I'd get sucked into this fandom. You'll notice I'm not making a fuss about it.
****
The headaches were getting worse.
Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes with his grubby fists. He had always thought headaches were for grown-ups, but his were getting more painful every day, and he was only seven years old.
"Harry- hey Harry Rotter! Where are you?"
Harry caught his breath as Piers and Dudley ran past his hiding spot. They would find him eventually, but the crawlspace under the gymnasium should keep him safe for at least a few weeks. It was cramped and filled with dust, but it was better than curling up in a ball while the other boys kicked him and the girls looked away. Normally, feeling safe and invisible would be a wonderful feeling, but his head wouldn't...stop...aching...
The recess bell rang, and he closed his eyes. At least in class they couldn't touch him.
****
Harry sat in the nurse's office, his feet swinging several inches above the floor. His teacher had sent him out of class with a note, and he was afraid he would be getting in trouble again. The last time it had happened, the secretary had called Aunt Petunia, and Harry hadn't been given anything to eat for two days. His stomach started to hurt just thinking about it.
Miss Helen walked into the room with a friendly smile on her face. "Hullo, Harry- Ms. Spenser told me she noticed you squinting a bit in class, so we thought we'd just give you a bit of an eye examination, okay?"
He squirmed in his chair. "I haven't studied."
She laughed a little, putting an elegant hand on his shoulder. "No, silly- you're just going to read some letters off a chart, alright? No problem."
She took him to a different chair and shut off the lights, asking him to read rows of letters which got smaller and smaller the further down he got. As the shapes became too small to read, he took wild guesses, not wanting to disappoint her any more than he already did.
He blinked quickly when she turned the light back on, and she sat down opposite him. "Harry, have you been having headaches lately?"
He nodded, wondering how she had known.
She smiled. "Okay- it's looking like you're nearsighted, but I don't have the tools to give you an accurate prescription here. I'll write a note for your aunt and uncle, and they can take you to see a proper eye doctor so you can get some nice glasses. That way you'll be able to see everything clearly- doesn't that sound lovely?"
His heart sank. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never take him to a special doctor, and they would certainly never buy him glasses. And even if they did, Dudley would smash them to bits or make sure all the other children laughed at him. It wasn't enough being a charity case with a weird scar and mad hair- now he had to wear glasses too? He had to tell her that it was just a waste of time. "No- don't write a note. They won't-"
"Ah, you tend to lose them, do you? Alright, I'll just ring them up. Back in a moment- you sit here and have a lollipop, okay?"
He took the sweet, but only because he knew it would be his last food for awhile. Getting calls from the school made his aunt and uncle furious, because it just meant he was failing at his attempts to be normal. He heard Miss Helen on the phone- "Mrs. Dursley? Yes, it's Helen Foster from the school. No, no, Dudley's fine- no, he isn't having a bad reaction to chalk dust. I'm calling about Harry- no, he hasn't done anything wrong. I'm not sure what you mean, I wouldn't call him a troublemaker by any means, he seems very quiet to me- well, no, of course I don't know him as well as you- look, I'm calling because Harry's teacher noticed he couldn't see very well in class, and I'd like to recommend you take him to see an opthamalagist. I think he needs glasses- what do you mean, not necessary? Mrs. Dursley, your nephew can't see to read the chalkboard, and the effort is giving him chronic headaches. No, he isn't making it up! What makes you think- I beg your pardon! Hello? Hello?"
Harry slumped down further in his chair. He definitely wouldn't be getting any dinner that night.
Miss Helen swept back into the room, her cheeks flushed and her chin trembling a bit. "Well, Harry, your aunt isn't quite convinced of the seriousness of your condition, so I'm going to see what I can do. I might be able to find you a pair which will help, even if they aren't exactly right. I mean, I cannot believe- well." She expelled a gust of air. "I'll look into it. You pop back to class- here, have another, the orange are very good- and I'll speak to your teacher this afternoon."
He walked back to class with a sticky mouth and slumped shoulders.
****
As soon as he arrived home that afternoon, he was greeted by Aunt Petunia's sour face. "Glasses, eh? Blind like your pathetic father. Weak genes, you know. And do you have money to pay for your glasses?"
Harry shook his head. "No, Aunt Petunia."
She nodded grimly. "I rather thought not. Well, you can earn it- and you can start by trimming the hedges."
He shuffled glumly out to the garden. The hedge clippers were huge, sharp, and heavy, and he lived in mortal terror of dropping them on his head, spilling his brains out, and then being forced to clean them up before Uncle Vernon came home. He'd miraculously managed the giant blades every time before, but he didn't really understand how. He supposed the right grip made any job easier- even the impossible ones.
****
That night, after a paltry dinner of a few Weetabix (and the suspicion that he would be financing his glasses through half rations), Harry lay in bed, holding the stuffed cat Mrs. Figg had given him a few years before, and wished he could sleep for a month. His arms were aching from the hedge trimming, his head was pounding once more, and his shin was bruised from Dudley tripping him when he walked through the kitchen to go wash his hands.
All he needed was a pair of glasses. He didn't care what they looked like, so long as they fit on his face and helped him to read. He smiled to think that his Aunt had accidentally told him something about his father, and now he was a bit like him. Perhaps he would dream of him tonight- not a nasty dream about the car crash and the green light, but something nice about the circus and they would play with elephants and ponies and the creature he imagined with lion hindquarters and an eagle face...
He dropped his cat, and leaned over to get it, hoping a spider wouldn't bite him. As he grabbed Itchy, however, he felt something scrape beneath his hand. He didn't remember putting anything in the small space beneath his bed, so he scrabbled around a bit, picking up the object and pulling on the cord to the light.
His heart gave a lurch as he looked at a pair of black glasses. They seemed familiar, for some reason, but Harry was certain he had never seen them before. Holding his breath, he unfolded the two arms and slipped them over his ears. They fit like they had been made for him, and oh, even in a dusty cupboard it was glorious-
He could see.
****
The next morning, his Aunt shrieked when he walked into the kitchen. "Where did you get those? Tell me now!"
"They were under my bed," he answered defensively.
"Don't tell lies. How on earth did you get your father's glasses- we never took any of his things!"
"These look like his? Really?"
In retrospect, probably not the best question to ask. And Dudley's predilection for punching Harry in the nose meant that their eventual breaking was inevitable, and Harry made do with tape because he would never have another pair. After all, they looked like his father's.
****
Sometime during fifth year, Harry looked up to see Hermione examining his face. "Where do you get your glasses, Harry? It's amazing you manage to get the same frames every year."
He gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean? This is the same pair I've always had."
She shook her head slightly. "Harry, that isn't possible. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but you're quite a bit larger now- and your glasses fit you as perfectly as ever."
Ron scoffed. "Hello, Hermione? There's this little thing called magic- perhaps you've heard of it. I hear it's mentioned briefly in Hogwarts, A History."
She rolled her eyes. "Patronizing doesn't suit you, Ron. Besides, those are Muggle glasses. It doesn't make any sense."
Harry smiled to himself. He rather thought it did.
****
fin