None So Blind
Title: None So Blind
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Angst
Keywords: Harry Hermione JK Rowling
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers:SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP
Summary: "There are none so blind as those who refuse to see…"
The question never asked, however, is who can really say who is blind-and what it is that people refuse to see.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc.
No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: My deepest appreciation for the friends I have made through the fandom, especially those who continue to write the stories that we all love-Bingblot, AnneU, pottergirl786, Vicarious Leigh, cheering charm, Paracelsus, Maple Mountain (and his daughter Carolyn) and so many others that I cannot name.
I would also like to thank LoupDeNoir, whose review of "Seeking Hermione's Bean" gave me the impetus to start writing this tale. Thank you, once again.
Chapter 1. Twilight
She opened her eyes to darkness… and for the briefest of moments, felt her heart in her throat, blocking the scream of fear that was aching to let loose-only for the moment to pass as logic kicked in, and the memories started to unfold in her stormy, roiling mind…
She'd fallen asleep, she told herself. For the second… fifth… tenth… whatever time in the past few days, she'd fallen prey to the tempting, enticing, alluring piece of furniture installed in her office… and here she was once again: lying down, staring at the darkness, unable and definitely unwilling to rise from her comfortable, reclining position-
So much for New Year's resolutions, she thought to herself-and laughed mirthlessly as she remembered her list… especially the one about 'ruthlessly' setting aside time to write. Yeah right, she thought. How can one be ruthless in the face of David's beaming smile as he held his little arms out for a hug… or when Mackenzie stared at her as she suckled, looking for all the world as if she were imprinting her mother's face on her memory… or when Jessica sat down beside her seeking nothing more than a hug and a cuddle, much as she did when she was younger…
The snicker turned to a sigh.
The problem was, she thought, there were only so many hours to the day and, with a household afflicted by colds and a small baby still adjusting to life outside the womb, her schedule was too often thrown out of whack. The good old days when she could spend the day sitting in a café, writing, were long gone… her days were now filled with an endless list of things to do or matters to decide on, questions to ask and answers to give, phone calls to take and other things to consider…
And there was the thing she was lying on… the battered, crimson-red couch that Neil had seen in some shop or other… that thing that he'd impulsively bought and had delivered to her office as a surprise… that thing that constantly called her, enticed her, tempted her to take a brief kip… telling her to rest her eyes from the strain of staring at a blank piece of paper or relax her hand from the hours of furious scribbling…
She shook her head of the tumbling thoughts and found herself smiling. She could almost hear Emma admonishing Dan: "No, Harry. Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn't a good sign." And while she may not be hearing voices right now…
She shrugged to herself and closed her eyes. It wasn't that she had work right now-or even that she had a deadline to meet. She'd learned her lesson from Goblet of Fire-pushing herself almost to the point of exhaustion and near-breakdown, writing pages and pages only to realize that she was losing her way… ultimately even reversing the order of the echoes that came out of Voldemort's wand-with Lily coming out last, when it should have been James…
She'd taken her time with Phoenix, not wanting to go through the headaches of the previous four books and she was more than happy with the result, although…
Mentally, she shook her head and threw off the conflicting thoughts that came to mind whenever the sixth book came to mind. She'd prepared herself for negative reactions … more than once, she'd said that she knew many people wouldn't like where she took the tale, but it was her story to tell. What she wasn't prepared for, however, were the literal screams of pain that reverberated in the days immediately following the launch-
She wouldn't be human if she said she wasn't hurt… but that was something that she was determined to keep to herself. It's my story, she repeated to herself… Harry's mine-I can do with him whatever I want! And it's not as if I betrayed them! There were more than enough clues… huge, anvil-sized clues…
A mental sigh. Although, she must admit… Another sigh-looking back, she could have handled things a little better. She'd tried… Lord knows, she tried-but the sheer enthusiasm of her two friends, coupled with her own excitement at finally revealing the secret that she'd kept to herself for so long, had drawn her into the impromptu celebration of her two young fans and-
'Enough!' she roared at herself, the echoes of the silent scream bouncing around and around in her mind. 'What's done is done… could have, should have, would have… it's over and done with…'
She paused… and focused.
Deep breath… hold it in… slow exhale.
Deep breath… hold it in… slow exhale.
Inhale… hold it… exhale.
Inhale… hold it… hold it… h-o-l-d i-t… draw all the negativities together… exhale-let the negative emotions flow with your breath-
Inhale… hold it… exhale.
Inhale… hold… it… exhale…
A few more and her body's natural rhythm took over… in truth, exhaustion-mental, physical, and emotional-finally caught up and Morpheus took her in his gentle arms.
She never even heard the running footsteps or the sound of the door slamming open-the room flooded with light as the light-switch was flicked on… the excited giggles of a young boy and the sudden shushing sounds made by a teenaged girl…
"Shhh… Mummy's sleeping, David."
"Mummy… sleeping?"
There was no mistaking the disappointment in the young boy's voice or the gentleness in his older sister's explanation: "She must be really tired, David… you do know that Mum would much rather play with you, don't you?"
Jessica smiled at the vigorous nodding of her sibling; silently, she lifted the afghan that had fallen on the floor and draped it over her mother and, with a gentle kiss on the latter's cheek, led the young boy out the door, whispering, "She needs her rest. Come on, we'll look in on her later."
The young girl paused at the door to the study and with a soft smile whispered, "Pleasant dreams, mum" as she flicked the light switch off, leaving the room in darkness.
*
Voices.
Voices murmuring.
She felt her head shifting towards the direction the voices were coming from but it felt strange-as if the voices she heard were echoing, resonating around her. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy… she finally opened them a crack, only to be confronted with a world devoid of all colour: drab, lifeless-the space around her defined only by shades of darks and greys.
And yet… and yet… there was no sense of fear or panic within her. It felt… comfortable, for lack of a better word. Or perhaps… familiar was the operative world.
She'd been here before, a voice proclaimed in her mind: this twilight world between slumber and wakefulness, the place where dreams and reality often met for a contest of wills… where the choice was between returning to the comforting world of sleep or opening one's eyes to face the daily chaos of life.
And, more importantly… it was the place where disjointed fragments of memories, emotions, and half-formed words came together in a force so overwhelming that the only way to release it was through fingers gripping a pen, scribbling hasty words in an untidy scrawl… the energy bleeding out to paper: indelible marks to be transposed later into rows of letters, words and paragraphs… page after page which would eventually be read, reviewed, cut or re-written, as a story took shape and the final form became known.
She gave a happy sigh… she hadn't been here in a while. It was here where she first met a young boy with unruly black hair and taped-together glasses behind which were the greenest eyes she had ever seen. The boy had stared at her in frank curiosity and from the maelstrom of half-formed ideas and random thoughts, she'd blurted out, "You're a wizard, aren't you?"
The boy had smiled back-and it was there, in that twilight zone between sleep and reality, on a moving train headed for her destination, that she began a journey to where she now was… back to the place where it all began, here in this empty landscape of darks and greys.
She stiffened as the murmuring voices gained clarity… they sounded as if they were a few meters away from her, and she felt herself relaxing as the now-clearly audible words washed over her, words that were somehow familiar, tickling a long-buried memory:
"Oh, do look around you, Milady. Consider. Camelot is unique … And we have far and away the most equitable climate in all England… by decree."
She knew that voice! She knew those words… and she knew that a silly smile was plastered on her face as a female voice responded in perfect sync with the well-remembered words now coalescing in her mind: "Oh, come now."
Her mind suddenly jumped to something she'd readi years ago: Dickens… A Christmas Carol… and she wondered whether her face reflected that of Mrs. Fezziwig even as her heart beat to a melody she hadn't heard or thought of in the longest time:
It's true! It's true!
The crown has made it clear:
The climate must be perfect all year.
A law was made a distant moon ago here,
July and August cannot be too hot;
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot.
She felt herself relaxing as the energetic voice washed over her, her mind carrying her on a flood of memories to the bungalow in Bristol… chasing around and around with Di… stopping to listen as her Dad played the vinyl record-and often joining in himself, reprising the role of Arthur with full verve and flamboyance…
The winter is forbidden till December,
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order summer lingers through September
In Camelot.
Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre;
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are.
She felt a snicker struggling to break free-"If they only knew," she thought, as her mind focused on the fictional world she had created from seemingly nothing. There had been speculation-even from learned academics-that Hogwarts and Harry were loosely based on the Arthurian legend. In fact, there were those who claimed that Hogwarts was built on the ancient ruins of Camelot… while others speculated that the lake, with its giant squid, mer-people and other nasties was the lake where Niamh lived and gave Excalibur to Arthur…
But she knew that the majority simply accepted the fact that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was an ancient castle and that, if they even thought about it, they assumed that it was because of her heritage: she was British, after all and castles, wizards and knights were part of being British.
The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happ'ly-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.
The truth, however, was far simpler: she had grown up with the Arthurian legends but it had been introduced to her by way of a vinyl recording of the movie soundtrack that her parents had constantly played since she was two years old. Her youthful imagination had been fired by the lyrics painting pictures in her head… she was in her teens when she finally saw the visuals that accompanied those words, when Camelot finally came on the telly…
She would forever after associate Richard Harris with the powerful, yet vulnerable, Arthur… she would never think of the name Guinevere without hearing his pained, impassioned voice asking, "What's wrong, Ginny? Where are you these days? What are you thinking?"
And felt herself snicker at the thought of the hundreds-or was it thousands?-of fan fictions featuring 'Virginia' Weasley, and her announcement that Ginny's real name was Ginevra. She mentally tipped her hat to Steve and the others on the Lexicon who had quickly identified the provenance of the name: Welsh for Guinevere…
'I wonder where Neil found it,' she thought as she listened to the song coming from somewhere around her, marvelling again at how technology had improved. She could have sworn that she was lying down on the grass, listening to Richard's voice as he sang to a rapt audience, not even realizing that the song was being sung a capella …
And smiled as a warm feeling enveloped her-it could only be Neil, she thought. She somehow doubted that Jessica would know or appreciate the music of her childhood; on the other hand, her daughter had been both enamoured and awed by Richard-and a wave of mingled sorrow and mirth coursed through her at the memory of Richard explaining that he wanted to turn down the role-until his granddaughter threatened to disown him if he refused to take on the part of Dumbledore.
She bit her lip in silent agreement at Chris' words: "We can always find a Dumbledore, but there's only one Richard Harris."
She pushed her sorrow away as she realized that the song had ended-and she grinned, Mrs. Fezziwig's disposition in full force, as she eagerly awaited the next songs from the soundtrack: Lancelot du Lac's lusty, ego-centric 'C'est Moi'… Guinevere's sultry "The Lusty Month of May"…
Her mind was filled once again with memories: of her father and mother dancing… their shared laughter as they listened to the exchange between Guinevere and the Knights as they plotted to bring Lancelot down a peg or three, Arthur's angry, impassioned voice as he raved at Merlin's omission in his education-
Only for her thoughts to crash to a halt as her mind registered the voice singing a song that was so far removed from Camelot as to be totally incongruous:
Jean, Jean, roses are red
All the leaves have gone green
And the clouds are so low
You can touch them, and so
Come out to the meadow, Jean
'What the-?' She knew the song, no question about it-it had never been a particular favourite of hers, drenched as it was in smarmy, romantic imagery and rendered in a voice that would have honeybees delirious at its saccharine overload… although Richard's rendition of the song was tugging fiercely at her heart…
A wave of fear gripped her when a young voice piped up with a cough and a question: "Umm, Professor? Isn't that song rather… err, sappy?"
The singer stopped in mid-lyric and she felt a short, pregnant pause-it was as if the world around her was waiting for a response-and the voice that she would have sworn was Richard Harris' answered thoughtfully: "Indeed it is. But for some reason I cannot help but think that Minerva would be impressed by it."
"Minerva?" The puzzled tone of the other person's voice was in perfect harmony with her own thoughts-and she felt turbulent thoughts screech to a halt as the young woman's voice continued: "Oh!… you mean Professor McGonagall!"
The words caused a jumble of images and sensations to burst from her brain as if a dam had broken under the strain: of a younger but still stern-faced and steely-eyed Minerva McGonagall addressing a classroom of young women-no men in evidence… of doors opening and girls running out into the fields surrounding the school even as the song started playing in the background… and her incredulous voice commenting to Sean, "So that's why the song's title is 'Jean'," as they watched the credits roll across the television screen…
'What the hell is going on here?'
She was totally unaware that she had jumped to her feet… totally unconscious of the fact that she had verbalized her thoughts-loudly, somewhat stridently, and to no one in particular…
Which meant that she had only the most momentary of moments to look around… the merest flash of time for her brain to snap a picture of her surroundings and process it:
A forested glade, dark and yet not gloomy as the pinkish light of dawn breaking streamed down through breaks in the canopy high above-and she realized that she had been lying down on soft earth and green grass…
Of a tall man with his back to her, silvery hair to his waist beneath a tall, pointed hat, wearing brilliant robes shimmering with moons and planets dancing on the cloth…
Of a slim girl with long, fiery-red hair beside the old man-the hair a fiery halo as the girl twirled around to face her… a look of surprise changing to one of steely determination-a white-knuckled hand with a stick pointing at her…
A blink of the eyes and a red beam shooting straight for her…
And in the split-second before darkness enveloped her, a single surprised thought screamed its way through her mind: 'Lindsay Lohan?'