Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! This chapter came along fairly quickly, surprisingly, so I'll be able to get started on the next one fairly quickly. Harry gets into the air in this chapter.

Enjoy!

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to Malfoy's goons."

"Wearing the sunglasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. He could feel eyes on him no matter where he went, and he wished they wouldn't because he was trying to concentrate on memorizing his routes to his classes so that he wouldn't get lost once Blaise was no longer his official guide.

And getting lost was a very real danger. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones that were sure to give him nightmares; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was hard to remember at times because things tended to want to move a lot, and Harry had more than one run in with the coats of armor.

Worse than all of that was Peeves the Poltergeist, especially if you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you invisible, grab your nose and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" Thankfully for Harry, he made the temperature drop in the area just like any other ghost, and he quickly learned to threaten the horrid little creature with Baron Malfoy.

Even worse than Peeves, if it were possible, was Argus Filch. Harry and Blaise got lost on their very first morning and ended up at the third floor on the right side, and neither of them realizing it. They were trying to get in the door and Filch wouldn't believe them that they were lost and hadn't realized it. Or rather, he believed Harry because Harry was blind and started accusing Blaise of trying to get him into trouble. They were finally rescued by Professor Quirrell, who happened to be passing by.

And he had a cat, Mrs. Norris, who was just as bad, and she could get Filch to appear in seconds after spotting you if you were breaking a rule. The students all hated the both of them, regardless of house, and many held it to be their dearest ambition to give Mrs. Norris a good swift kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry had known, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Harry was excused from Astronomy, of course, but he became the favorite student of Professor Sprout, who taught them Herbology, where he learned from a master how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for. He often went to the greenhouses to study and wasn't surprised at all to find that Richard had made his way into them. The little snake found himself paying very close attention to Harry's herbology lessons because some of the plants would have killed him if given half the chance. He was rather out of place for a little Muggle snake, and he was being kept on his toes.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, Harry typing away with his Braille writer. The other students learned quickly that either he or Hermione were the ones to come to if you'd fallen asleep and needed the History notes for the day or if you got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. The first time he'd called roll for their class, when he got to Harry's name, he could be heard to give an excited squeak and then collapse behind the desk.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig, which Harry could hear snorting, and back again. The class were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Gryffindor Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match and she still hadn't completely changed it. Harry's biggest problem was that he didn't know what any of it looked like, only what it felt like. Professor McGonagall had promised to do some research on blind Transfigurists for him. She'd also done a spell to translate his Potions book into Braille for him. He'd spent an extra hour with her learning that spell by heart, as it was obviously one he was going to need. She had been very accommodating, even though he was a Slytherin.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. Fred had told him that the Professor's turban ("Ghastly purple thing. Be glad you can't see it, Harry.") was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was relieved to find that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. In fact, Harry'd had more indication than most as his sense of magic tried to compensate along with his other four senses for his lack of sight. There was so much to learn that even people like Malfoy didn't have much of a head start, no matter how he tried to brag about things he could do.

Friday, the Slytherins had double Potions with the Gryffindors. Blaise had told him that Snape tended to favor his house in class, but Harry was skeptical. He hadn't had much chance to read the Potions book as McGonagall had only translated it for him the previous day, and he'd read every other book he had at least once. He was likely going to flounder quite a bit at first.

They were at breakfast that day and Harry had learned not to jump at the hundreds of owls flitting about his head. They were delivering the mail, and with so many students, there was a lot of mail. Not that Harry ever got any, but that was all right. Hedwig would sometimes come by and nuzzle him anyway, but today she actually had a note with her. Harry opened it immediately, but while he could tell that there was ink on the paper, he couldn't read it. "Blaise, can you read this for me?"

"Sure. If I can, this person has very bad handwriting." Then he began to read, haltingly, trying to pick out the words from the handwriting.

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry grinned. "You have a quill handy?"

"Yeah, you want me to write your message for you?"

"Yeah, thanks. Just say, Yes, please, see you later."

The note was sent off with Hedwig, and then the boys were off to Potions.

The few times he'd met Professor Snape, he'd gotten the feeling that the man didn't like him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder than the Slytherin dorms and it seemed damp some how, slimy. The place seemed designed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stick up.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle could be heard to snigger. Snape seemed to echo the presence of his dungeon, cold and slimy, an amphibian demeanor rather than a reptilian one. That's what this felt like, a frog hole. A poisonous frog's hole.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with it's shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry just raised an eyebrow. Full of himself, isn't he?

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry thought about it. "I'm not really sure. Both are very powerful sedatives, though. You might not wake up from it."

"Hmm. Not entirely correct, but close. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know that one, sir."

"Didn't read the Potions manual, eh, Potter?" Harry could hear the sneer in the voice, and he felt his eyes narrow.

"No sir, as I was only able to get it translated into Braille yesterday."

"Ah yes, you're blind, aren't you. Well, how, then, do you expect to pass a class which has a largely visual component?"

Harry was getting tired of the man's attitude, and his own snarkiness came to the fore. "I do have four other senses, Professor, as well as an excellent memory."

Harry heard a bare growl and knew he was getting to the man. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There isn't one. The plant is also known as aconite. Are you through picking on me or are you going to let Hermione answer a few questions since she seems to be hopping around over there to get your attention?"

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Potter! For your information, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death, and a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. And why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "I suggest you watch your step, Mr. Potter. And read the book!"

Snape set everyone into pairs and had them mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around the room, his cloak making more noise than his shoes, watching as the students weighed dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acidic smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in peoples shoes. Blaise warned Harry and he got up on his stool when everyone else did, grabbing his Braille writer off the floor so that it wouldn't be ruined. Neville could be heard moaning in pain.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape. Harry felt the heat from the creeping potion dissipate and knew that Snape had gotten rid of it. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Neville whimpered painfully. "Take him to the hospital wing!"

Suddenly Snape was back in Harry's face. He had to resist the urge to smack him. "I wasn't aware that sunglasses were part of the school uniform, Potter! Get rid of them."

Harry grinned evilly. "As you wish." Harry took the shades off his face and pocketed them, keeping his eyes closed as he did so, then opening them suddenly. The sight would become legend overnight. Harry's dead gray eyes stared into the obsidian gaze of the Potions Master in a staring contest that the sighted man could not win. He didn't flinch, as he'd stared into worse eyes, but he seemed surprised, as if there were something in the sightless grin that he hadn't expected to see.

"I think we can make an exception in your case."

Harry's grin turned into a smirk. "Thank you. They're for other people's comfort, not mine."

"Hmm."

With that, class was dismissed. As he got on the other side of the door, Ron nearly tackled him. "Way to go, mate! I can't believe you stood up to him like that!"

"I can't believe he attacked me like that. What on earth is his problem? I'm one of his own students!"

Blaise was on his other side. "Don't know, Harry, but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. You held your own very well."

"Yeah, but he's going to be the one grading my papers."

"Cheer up," said Ron. "At least he didn't take off any points. He's always taking points off of Fred and George."

Blaise sniggered. "And they didn't deserve a bit of it, right?"

Ron chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure they did. But if you think about it, so would Harry for talking back. Hey, you're going to meet Hagrid later, right? Can I go with you?"

"Sure, you too, Blaise."

"Thanks."

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest, and when the school year was done, so would Harry.

When Harry knocked on the front door they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang -- back." Hagrid's voice became clearer. "Hang on. Back, Fang."

He let them in, and Harry could tell that there was a very large dog right next to the big man.

As Harry tripped over something in the floor, he could tell that Hagrid was going to have to be educated on the realities of living with a blind person. Things had to remain in their place, not littering surfaces and floors. But that could wait. There seemed to only be one room, with food smells coming from the fire and strangely from the ceiling. There was massive furniture all over the place, and Harry thought that the object he'd tripped over might have been a boot.

"Make yerselves at home, lads." The dog settled down beside Ron and a slurping sound could be heard. Clearly, like Hagrid, Fang was not as fearsome as size would indicate.

"These are Ron and Blaise," Harry told Hagrid, who was puttering around in the kitchen portion of the hut.

"Another Weasly, eh? I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest. An' I don' believe I know ye at all."

"Zabini's my name."

The three of them talked companionably with the huge man about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes as he tried to politely enjoy the rock cakes which were living up to their name.

All three boys were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her -- Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid told him not to worry about it as Snape didn't like hardly any of the students.

"Well I can handle him, but he seemed to simply hate me. What I'm worried about is my grades."

"Rubbish! Why should he hate you?"

Hagrid started talking to Ron about his elder brother, Charlie, and the work he was doing in Romania with dragons and Harry was searching with his hands for the tea pot. He found it, and his hands brushed against a paper. It was a newspaper. Harry whispered the translation charm that Professor McGonagall had taught him and went to reading what was on the paper.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringott's, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date. Harry decided not to mention anything about it. He didn't want to put Hagrid into a position where he'd have to say something in front of the other boys when he wasn't supposed to say anything about it to anyone. But Harry didn't think it was a coincidence that Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen. Had the small item Hagrid had pulled out been what the thieves were looking for? If so, it had been done just in time. And just what that meant, Harry had no idea.

Harry had met many bullies in his time, and Draco was just another bully to him. He took every opportunity to foster the horrible rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. When the notice was posted that flying lessons started on Thursday and that it would be held with the Gryffindors, Malfoy was gleefully anticipating getting some points deducted from their house. He had left off baiting Ron specifically, but he tormented any of the others that he could. Harry decided that, even though that was a free period for him he would come and "watch". He didn't hold with the stupid rivalry and he kept his friends in both houses, refusing to allow them to fight in his presence. The Weasly twins still pulled pranks, but they did it in a non-partisan manner, which Harry had no quarrel with. They'd tried to prank him more than once, but he was, so far, too fast for them. Ron had actually become friendly with Blaise, and had come to realize that his prejudices against Slytherin house might have been unjustified. Not everyone was like Draco.

To hear Malfoy, he'd been flying since he could walk, but none of them really believed it. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a loud argument with Dean Thomas at breakfast about soccer.

Blaise had never flown and neither had Neville or Hermione. No one was sure if Crabbe or Goyle ever had, but Harry hoped not.

The current argument over the game was interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Harry hadn't had a single letter since Hagrid's note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home which he had to gloat over.

Neville got a package dropped in his plate. He opened it and said, "It's a Remembrall! Gran knows I forget things -- this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red -- oh..." There was a pause. "...you've forgotten something..." Neville had stopped to try and remember what he'd forgotten, when suddenly, "Hey!" Harry grimaced. Where's Malfoy?

Realizing what was going on Harry stood, but Professor McGonagall's voice rose over the incident. Satisfied that she would handle it, Harry sat back down to enjoy the rest of his breakfast.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry and Blaise met up with Ron and headed down to the flying lesson, meeting the other first year Gryffindors and Slytherins there. It was a warm, breezy day, and the grass hissed around their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees caused the wind to whistle at them a bit.

Soon, everyone was there, including Madame Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch coach. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. " Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up. You, too, Mr. Potter."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. She wanted him to fly!? "Are you sure, Madame?"

"Yes, I'm sure." She walked over to him. "Give me your hand." He held up his right hand and she took it and put something in his palm. "This is a whistle, Mr. Potter. When I'm done with you, if you show any talent for flying at all, you should be able to navigate on a broom, provided you don't move too quickly. But the first part of the lesson won't require any of that. You'll just be getting hold of your broom and hovering a bit."

Still a bit unsure, Harry said, "Okay."

Blaise guided Harry into position next to one of the school brooms. "Sorry 'bout this, mate."

"It's all right. Not like you knew anything about it." Harry nervously collapsed his cane and stuck it in a pocket.

Malfoy seemed nervous as he said, "Potter? What're you doing?"

He shrugged. "Madame Hooch wants me to try it." Harry shook himself, getting rid of the nervousness. After all, he could only try.

Madame Hooch was ready for them. "Now, stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Madame Hooch walked up and down the rows, correcting seats and grips as she went. Several sniggers had to be hidden when Malfoy was told that his grip had been wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down my leaning forward slightly. On my whistle -- three -- two --"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madame Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork out of a bottle. Harry heard it when Neville's frightened whimpering started getting closer and he knew that the boy had fallen. A thud and a nasty crack and Neville was on the ground. Harry never heard the broom hit the ground and guessed it must have just kept going. Harry knew that the crack had been a bone before he heard Madame Hooch mutter, "Broken wrist. Come on, boy -- it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear." And then she led Neville toward the infirmary.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump." All the Slytherins but Harry and Blaise joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Harry.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson was one of the Slytherin girls, and she was just as bad as Malfoy. "He's just a fat little cry-baby."

"Have you ever broken a bone? Do you have any idea how bloody much it hurts? Shut your hole, Parkinson!"

"Look!" said Malfoy, and Harry heard him moving quickly across the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall. "Give it here, Malfoy. I'll see that it gets back to him."

The sneer was heavy in the other Slytherin's voice. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find -- like up a tree!"

Harry didn't waste anymore words, but Malfoy was already in the air. Morag MacDougal shouted at him to get his arse on the ground before Hooch came back. Harry put the whistle Hooch had given him between his teeth and got himself onto his broom.

Blaise, Ron and Hermione surrounded him. Hermione said, "Not a good idea, Harry." He ignored her, and blew the whistle. No good. Too many soft bodies around him. He needed an echo. He had realized what Madame Hooch intended for him to learn: echo location. Bats used it. They might not be able to see, as they were a night creature and meant for a time when good eyesight meant nothing, but they could still catch their prey midair and they didn't crash into things either. He took a deep breath around the whistle, then tightened his mouth down and blew out in a long, controlled breath. Then he kicked off from the ground.

It was amazing how clear a mental picture he could get from pure sound! He could almost see the way the sound moved through the air. It was exhilarating! This he could do, no teaching necessary. It was like he belonged in the air! He could see through the sounds coming back to him! And he could see exactly where Malfoy was parked in the air, watching him.

As he came level with Malfoy, he ran out of breath. I'll have to see if I can get the whistle charmed. He took it out of his mouth and focused on the problem at hand. "Give it here, Draco. I don't want to hurt you, but I will. You're being an insufferable prat to everyone in this school, and it's only a matter of time before someone has to take you down. You've got to stop before it gets to that point."

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, trying to sneer, but he seemed worried. "My father would--"

"Stop trying to hide behind Daddy. He's not here, and before he could get anywhere near you, you could be a broken heap on the ground. I'm not threatening you, but you've got to realize that, and there's no Crabbe or Goyle up here to save your neck, either. Stop being such a pain in the arse!"

"Fine. Catch, Potter!" Harry heard the Remembrall whistling through the air. He focused on it and his hand came up just in time to keep the little ball from hitting him in the head. "Whoa!"

Harry put the Remembrall in his pocket, trying to ignore the stinging in his palm, and said, "Get on the ground, Malfoy, before we both get expelled."

Speechless, Malfoy did as he was told. And just in time, too. Seconds after the boys had landed and dismounted their brooms, Madame Hooch came back out. The flying lesson continued without a hitch, no one speaking of what they'd seen. No one wanted Harry to get into trouble for it, and that's what would happen if they tried to get Malfoy in trouble, so they were silent. Only Hermione, who held the rules to be unbreakable, might have said something, but she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and she held her piece.

Madame Hooch took Harry aside while the others were practicing to get him started. It turned out that the whistle was already charmed to sound continuously if he told it "Blow!" It was amazing how much detail he could get from the sounds. It probably wasn't quite as good as sight, nor did he get any kind of color information, but it was still magnificent. And somehow, he knew that this wasn't the end of it. Once he got the hang of finding information in the echoes around him, he just knew that he would be able to do this from normal everyday sounds. The flying coach had no idea of the gift she had given him. He almost had his sight back!

Reviews please!