---Chapter 2
Harry felt slightly better after a full night's rest, despite being completely blind when he opened his eyes. It was still terrifying, but he somehow felt better equipped to cope with it in the figurative light of a new day.
He'd awakened to the sound of birds singing morning songs and a cool, tree-scented breeze blowing over him. These things soothed some nameless, aching hurt in him, and he felt calmer than he had in ages. He'd heard of people who'd lost their sight having their other senses strengthen as a result. He wouldn't have believed it, especially that it could happen in such a short amount of time, except that he could feel a small change already. Of course, he was clinging to every sensation he could in an effort to keep from totally flipping out.
"How are you feeling this morning, Harry?" Hermione startled him by asking.
"Not too bad," he lied. "You?"
"Can you see anything at all?"
"Not really, no." He tried to calm himself; if he let his instincts take over, he'd throw up all over the place. "Are you ok?" he asked again as he listened to the sounds of her moving about.
"I'm fine, Harry. Here, I need you to take this potion." Her hands were cold, he noticed as she helped him sit up and then put a mug in his hands which he only sipped at. "How's your leg?"
"It was my knee, actually. It doesn't hurt anything like it did yesterday." He figured her way of coping was to fuss over him, so he didn't complain as she pulled his pants leg up to look at his knee.
"It doesn't look too bad, not much swelling or bruising."
"Lucky me," he said in an annoyed tone of voice; she was so close her could smell her, and that had to change. It seemed to have the opposite effect though; Hermione settled onto the edge of the bed next to him, hip to hip, and an uncomfortable silence fell upon them.
"I'm worried about you, Harry," she said after a few minutes.
"I'm ok," he whispered back, as if he was afraid someone else would hear him. Hermione scooted even closer to him and laid her head over on his shoulder. He wanted to take her hand, or comfort her like she'd done for him the night before, but he was afraid to. One touch would lead to two touches, which would lead to him craving more and more touches, which she'd feel uncomfortable giving him, which would lead to her knowing his main reason for running away.
"Do you have any idea of where we are?" he asked when he could stand the quiet no longer.
"No. We're out in the country somewhere; the only thing I can see through the window is trees and sky. I stepped out the front door, but the only thing to be seen is a path that leads to a dirt road and more trees."
"Do you think Ron and the others are looking for us?"
"I'm sure they are. Unless you left a note saying where you were going?"
"I didn't. I was going to tell you I was leaving--"
"'To run errands'. What were you thinking, Harry?" she interrupted him, but her voice was sad, not angry like he felt she should be--like he wanted her to be. Her sadness was far worse than her anger, which he was sure he could deal with.
"I wasn't thinking much at all, to be honest. I was scared to death. My life was changing by the minute and I had absolutely no control over it," he said defensively.
"And leaving has helped how?"
"I'm away from whatever's going on in the Wizarding world. All the damn reporters, and owls, and celebrating, and--" There went his stupid loose tongue again. He'd nearly let everything slip. He needed to read up on mental illnesses that might cause one to say things one meant to keep close to their chest, he thought as he rested his head in his hands.
"And what?" she asked.
"Nothing."
Hermione didn't respond, and in a few minutes she stood up, leaving him feeling cold where she'd been warm against him.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Yeah, I could eat. Is there food? I didn't see any last night."
"The cupboard is charmed to provide us with what we need," she informed him as she moved around the room. Before too long, the aroma of toast sent a jolt of hunger through his body, making him realize he'd had nothing to eat the previous day.
He stood and, arms outstretched, tried to make his way to the table picturing what he remembered of the room. He had to start getting used to this, he thought with a sigh. If he had to have her lead him around the tiny room much, he'd spontaneously combust, he was certain.
His knee was still very sore, but he found he could limp along pretty well on it. Before he'd taken many steps (the room seemed smaller than he remembered from his brief glimpse of it), his fingers found Hermione's soft, curly hair, causing her to yelp in fright.
"Oh! Harry, you startled me!" she said with a gasp. "Here, sit down."
He could hear a chair scrape the floor as she pulled it out, and she then took his hands and placed them on it.
"There's a plate in front of you. Toast is at 10 o'clock and kippers at 5. And the tea is almost ready."
"Thanks," he replied with a small smile as he sat down. Only Hermione would think to tell him where his food was located on his plate, and let him seat himself and all the other things he knew she'd do to keep him from feeling useless and inadequate. He'd been stupid to think that she'd be any different and to let it be a large factor in his decision to run to this cabin.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione must've noticed his thoughtfulness, he figured.
"Yeah, I was just thinking is all," he said as he felt around for a fork; just as he found it the kettle whistled. He clumsily put the first bite in his mouth as he heard the sound of a teacup being placed on the table in front of him.
Harry wasn't really in the mood for conversation, but he still found himself hoping Hermione would talk to him while they ate, for some kind of normalcy. Instead, she remained silent for so long he knew he'd have to start the conversation. Unfortunately, he could only think of one topic that'd get her started, but it'd be better than painful quiet.
"What made you come after me the other day?"
"You were just acting odd; watching me sleep, and lying to me."
"How'd you know I was lying?"
"Oh for goodness' sake, Harry, you're such a bad liar."
"I am?"
"Yes. You always do this weird thing with your eyes, where you squint a little, and you get a cross look on your face."
It kind of shocked him to know that Hermione knew him well enough to have his expressions catalogued.
"I... uh... I don't know what to say."
"You could tell me a little more about why you thought it would be a good idea to come here," she suggested.
"I really don't think there's anything more than what I've already said. The healers were telling me I was going to be completely blind in a matter of days; there were reporters everywhere wanting to talk to me; Ron was... and you were...," he trailed off. "I just wanted to get away, get out of my head for a while, and get used to things on my own terms."
"Were you planning on coming back?" Her voice was small and he thought he could detect hurt in it. He considered her question while he chewed, using a full mouth as an excuse to put off at least some of the discomfort this was going to cause.
"Like I said, I don't know. I hadn't really thought it all through. I had a lot on my mind."
Hermione was silent a few moments, during which Harry's appetite abandoned him. He pushed his plate back and tried to grope around for his tea without looking like he was groping.
"It's at about 2 o'clock."
He sighed and reconsidered the thought that she wasn't going to make him feel useless.
"I put your wand in the drawer right in front of you, by the way."
"Thanks," he said as he felt around for the drawer pull under the edge of the table. He wasn't sure he'd be able to use it effectively, but it was comforting to have it in his pocket.
After they'd eaten, they cleaned up from breakfast. Or rather Hermione cleaned, and Harry tried to help using a minimum of words. He'd felt so thankful for her presence just the night before, but now he felt a need to keep his distance from her. He hated the inconsistencies of his weaknesses. How was it normal to crave someone's presence, only to have that presence cause pain?
It might've been a survival instinct, he finally decided, settling down onto the couch once again. If he wasn't near Hermione, thoughts of her wouldn't have any influence over him. He'd be able to think of something other than how much he wished things were different. Maybe without that hopeless endeavor monopolizing all his brain power, he'd have time and space to come to terms with Ron and Hermione being a couple. If he came to terms with that, it would render his emotions irrelevant. You can't love someone who loves someone else.
And if he thought that often enough, maybe he'd start to believe it.
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