Author's Note: In extending thanks once again to those who reviewed, I address two thoughtful questions.
First, does it matter how accurately a wand is aimed in regard to a Summoning Charm -- or any spell? In a general sense, we've seen that spells usually shoot straight from a wand. Aim is therefore a factor. GoF was not specific, but if any of us were Harry, would we not have pointed our wand directly at Gryffindor Tower, being as that was where his Firebolt was? Hermione said that distance was not a factor; if, therefore, Harry's spell had missed the tower, it might well have continued on until it encountered the first Firebolt on its line of fire, regardless of the distance. Standing on the Hogwarts grounds, Harry was likely well within sight of Gryffindor Tower. He need only have sighted down his arm to hit his target squarely. And in BNF, Harry was hardly so precise as to adjust his angle by a thousandth of an inch. In essence, Harry was standing in the center of a gigantic circle, slicing it by degrees as one would a pizza. It requires only a slight variance of the cutting tool to increase the size of the slice dramatically. In Harry's case, a half-inch either way would widen his target area by dozens of yards, enough to make even a continually expanding spell less accurate as distance increased. That is assuming, of course, that Muggle geometry applies to magic.
Next, is Hermione out of character in being so pragmatic and unemotional? Maybe -- and maybe not. I am taking the license here of modeling Hermione after her mother. Granted, we know very little about Mrs. Granger. But we have it from J.K. herself that the Grangers are deadly dull to the point that she won't even bother devising back stories for them. Hermione's mother is thus painted as a career woman with nary a trace of Wingardium Leviosa in her soul. And before she was saved by Harry and Ron from the mountain troll, Hermione was well on her way to becoming a clone of her mother. I have simply reverted her to her old pattern for the sake of the story.
I appreciate people giving such deep thought to this little ficlet. Thoughtful criticism is a harder medicine to swallow than the sugar pill of praise, but like all medicine, it does the body (in this case, the creative soul) more good in the long run.
Right, then. On to Chapter 4.
With the passing of his elation at the recovery of his broomstick, Harry's lethargy returned with a vengeance. As weariness assailed his cogitative processes, he abandoned any thoughts of a potion, choosing instead to employ Madam Pomfrey's preferred method of treatment. Having so decided, he settled back against his tree and relaxed as best he could, conserving every bit of physical energy for the task of healing his battered body.
He hadn't long to wait now. The sun was painting crimson brush strokes along the Western horizon. Within an hour the sky would be a velvet canopy splashed with stars. Harry hugged his Firebolt to him, caressing its handle absently. In his present state -- which did not seem to be on the verge of improving any time soon -- Apparating was not even a consideration. At best he might travel a dozen yards before falling unconscious, perhaps awakening with a mouthful of bamboo splinters. At worst, he could be splinched into a scattering of body parts resembling the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. If he was to get home -- and oh, how he wanted to get home! -- it would be by broomstick, or not at all.
Fresh droplets of perspiration beaded his simmering forehead, running down to sting his eyes. His left hand locked fast to his broom handle where it lay across his knees, he slid his right hand up along his face to wipe his eyes.
A short laugh rose unbidden to his lips, his face splitting in a smile of genuine mirth.
He had not worn his glasses for more than a year now, and still he could not break himself of the lifelong habit of reaching for his eyes covertly from under a pair of lenses.
Still laughing, he rubbed his eyes, remembering thereby the delicate touch of other fingers than his not so long ago...
Harry lay on a bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing, his eyes closed. In a chair to his left sat Hermione. She held his left hand in hers. The first two fingers of her right hand lay upon Harry's left eye. Her own eyes, like Harry's, were closed, her face set with concentration.
Harry felt a subtle pulsing sensation in his left eye. The instinct to panic lay dangerously close to the surface of Harry's mind; few things stir panic like a threat to one's sight. But Hermione's soft hand holding his was worth a hundred relaxing potions or tranquilizing spells. He knew it was there solely as a point of contact, as part of the spell; but to Harry, Hermione's touch was magic of a singular kind, one not to be duplicated by any means, supernatural or otherwise.
Harry felt his eye relax. The light pressure of Hermione's fingers eased, telling him that she had withdrawn her hand. In like manner, her left hand released his. Harry opened his eyes and turned his head. A blurred oval that was Hermione's face swam before him. Instinctively he reached for his glasses where they lay on the bedside table.
"No," Hermione said.
Harry withdrew his hand. With a softly spoken, "Accio," Hermione Summoned Harry's glasses and tucked them into a pocket of her robes.
"Now," she said in a professional manner, "sit up and face the far wall."
Harry complied. He tried to focus, but his eyes seemed at odds with each other, and the result made his brain throb.
"Sorry," Hermione apologized. "I forgot, your eyes are out of balance now." Waving her wand, she produced an eye patch and handed it to Harry. He intuitively placed it over his unaltered right eye, and Hermione smiled, a fact he clearly noted as his left eye began to assert itself in the absence of its brother.
Merlin, but she was lovely when she smiled!
"Ready?" she said.
Harry nodded.
Hermione pointed her wand at the bookcase shouldering the far wall. A large book detached itself and hovered. Another wave of Hermione's wand and the book opened, its pages facing Harry.
"Let me guess," Harry chuckled. "Hogwarts: A History. You'll do anything to get me to read that ruddy book, won't you?"
"Might as well kill two basilisks with one stroke of Godric's sword," she smirked. "Now, if you're ready, please read the third paragraph."
At first Harry was doubtful. Yesterday, he wouldn't have bet two Knuts against the Sorcerer's Stone that he could accomplish such a task without his glasses. But now --
"Hold on. How will you know if I'm getting it right? Your eyes aren't that good, are they?
"No," she conceded. "My vision is about 20-30 or 20-25, something like that. At this distance I can make out the capital letters, but not the lower case."
"Then how are you -- Oh, Merlin! Don't tell me you have the bloody thing memorized!"
"Only certain chapters," Hermione said defensively through smiling lips. "Of which this is one. Now, if you please?"
Harry focused his eye, smiling with delight as the page appeared clearly before him. He read aloud:
"Upon his return to Hogwarts following his defeat of Grindlewald, Dumbledore resumed his duties as Transfigurtion teacher. Shortly thereafter, he was appointed to the post of Deputy Headmaster, from which he eventually ascended to the top position following the retirement of Armando Dippet."
"Very good, Harry," Hermione nodded with satisfaction. "Except the second line should read, 'he was appointed to the office of Deputy Headmaster.' I've no doubt you read it correctly to yourself. Thought you'd catch me, didn't you, Potter?"
She laughed, and to Harry it was music more beautiful than any he could imagine.
"This is really amazing," Harry said as he turned his head about to test his enhanced eye on other objects in the room. "Why has this never been done before?"
"It's -- " Hermione began, rising from her chair as she reached a hand toward Harry's face. Without warning she slumped back in her chair, her head falling onto her bosom.
"Hermione!"
Harry leaped to her side, placing a hand to her face to tilt it up gently. He was relieved when Hermione expelled a weary sigh, her eyelashes fluttering.
"It's nothing," she smiled, straightening as she placed a hand to the back of her neck and rubbed. Harry immediately duplicated her action, and her smile grew tender with gratitude. "Wandless magic takes a lot out of one. That's why wands were invented, don't you know. Transfiguration is especially draining."
Harry was now holding Hermione's hands in his and rubbing them gently. Within a minute the full color had returned to her cheeks.
"Nice bedside manner, Potter. Ever consider a career in wizard medicine?"
"No, thanks," Harry laughed. "I'm exhausted just watching you. My gosh, the schedule you've kept these last three years -- you didn't get another Time-Turner from McGonagall, did you?"
"There are times when I wish I had one," she sighed. "If only to catch a hour's sleep now and then. There's just so much to learn..."
"You've done marvelously," Harry said. "Every time I think you can't possibly impress me more, you turn around and do something even more spectacular."
An awkward silence held until Hermione, fully recovered, rose and resumed her examination of Harry's transfigured eye. She placed her fingers against Harry's temple, closed her eyes for a space of some thirty seconds, then nodded.
"So," Harry said. "About my question?"
"Question? Oh, yes. Why has this never been done before?
"You see, Harry, this procedure involves a mingling of magic and Muggle science. Optometrists have known for a long time that people are nearsighted or farsighted because their eyes are oblong instead of spherical. Recently they've been using lasers to reshape the eye and restore normal vision. But the wizarding world doesn't need lasers. We have Transfiguration.
"Only we should have been doing this ages ago! But too many wizards still hold that magic and science don't mix. Load of balls! Pardon me. It's just so frustrating! Here we are, on the doorstep of the twenty-first century, being held back by nineteenth century thinking!
"Well, that's going to change! When I think of all the witches and wizards who could throw away their glasses and have normal vision -- "
Hermione jerked her head angrily as she withdrew her hand from Harry's temple.
"So," Harry said, as much to derail Hermione's angst as for his own enlightenment, "you simply Transfigured my eye from oblong to round."
Hermione nodded, the lines on her forehead softening once more.
"But I can't use my wand. The human eye is much too delicate. It requires very low waves of controlled magic. To make so subtle a Transfiguration, I have to touch your eye and transfer the magic through my fingers. It requires a lot of concentration, rather like holding your breath while balancing a dozen books on your head. And practice! Heavens, I practiced for a solid month before I could convince Madam Pomfrey to let me work on you."
"What did you practice on?" Harry asked. "Animals?"
"Don't even joke about such a thing!" Hermione snapped, horrified. "I...well...I used...grapes."
"Grapes?" Harry laughed.
"Yes, grapes. They're a lot like eyes, when you think about it. And they're just the right shape. So I practiced transfiguring them from oblong to spherical."
"How many did you go through before Madam Pomfrey was satisfied?"
"Oh, hundreds.
"And only three exploded."
"Exploded?"
But even as Harry reeled back, his face a mask of horror, Hermione fell off her chair in a fit of laughter.
"Funny, Granger," Harry intoned, trying to hide the twinkle in his eyes lest it foil his somber mein. "You should make the chat show circuit. And I hear Monty Python is recruiting new members."
"I wish I had a picture of your face, Harry," Hermione gasped tearfully between giggles. "Where's Colin and his camera when you need them?"
Harry's facade tumbled at last, and he fell back on his bed and laughed until he was forced to remove his eye patch before it became sodden with tears.
"So, then," Harry gasped when Hermione was back in her chair, "is Dumbledore going to let you do his eyes next?"
This restored Hermione to full sobriety in an instant. She 'tutted' in annoyance.
"He doesn't want to. He says he's used to his glasses, that he wouldn't know what to do without them. If you ask me, he's afraid, pure and simple."
"Afraid? Dumbledore?" Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the concept.
"Everyone's afraid of something, Harry," Hermione said wisely. She added no embellishment, but Harry could not help but feel that her statement had not been directed at Dumbledore alone.
"So, uh, everything okay, then? With my eye, I mean?"
"Oh," Hermione smiled. "Yes. Perfect 20-20 vision. Now, lie back and we'll do the other eye."
"I just thought," Harry said as he settled his head against his pillow. "Ideally, shouldn't an Auror have even better than perfect vision? Say, 20-10? I mean, as long as we're already at it..."
"I considered that," Hermione said contemplatively. "But I dismissed it out of practicality. Perfect 20-20 vision is the best that can be achieved within normal parameters. For 20-10, one would have to modify the vision center of the brain, and that's much too delicate to attempt at this early stage. In future, perhaps. Now, lie back and close your eyes."
Harry did so as Hermione sat on the opposite side of the bed and took his right hand in hers.
"Any time you want to have a go -- at the brain thing, I mean --" Harry added quickly, " -- I'm up for it. I trust you completely."
And as Harry felt Hermione's fingers pressing gently against his right eye, he sensed without need of physical sight that she was smiling down at him warmly.
Now, as Harry tugged his Cloak about him in the deepening gloom, he longed to see that warm smile again. Indeed, he longed for warmth of any sort. His fatigue had birthed a slight chill, and he found himself huddling under his Cloak more for comfort than security. Through watery eyes he watched the sun vanish below the wooded horizon and waited patiently for the stars to appear.
Author's Note: And another layer is peeled back, drawing us ever closer to the core. Will that core be composed of smooth, sweet cream, or hard candy? More flashback revelations next time. See you then.