49Welcome to my newest fanficiton, one where Harry Potter is blind. Check my profile for commonly asked questions, and for information about all the stories I write. Enjoy!
The house at 4 Privet Drive stood as a monument to normalcy. Every hedge trimmed to perfection, every window gleaming, and every curtain drawn just so. The Dursleys prided themselves on their immaculate, ordinary lives, where nothing strange ever happened. It was a life carefully constructed to shield them from anything—or anyone—who might disrupt that illusion. Especially the small boy tucked away in the smallest bedroom upstairs.
Harry Potter had spent nearly every moment of his life in that house, though he doubted anyone would have noticed if he hadn't. He was a quiet presence, rarely seen, rarely heard. To the Dursleys, he was an unfortunate reminder of something they couldn't quite explain away, and so they simply chose not to.
He had heard people talk about colors before. People could spend hours describing the deep blue of the sky on a summer day, the warm, earthy tones of autumn leaves, or the way the setting sun painted everything in hues of gold. Harry imagined that it must be beautiful—vivid and alive, like a masterpiece unfolding before their eyes. A splash of greens, reds, purples—endless combinations that could evoke awe, joy, or peace. That's what people said, at least.
But Harry? Well… he had never seen color.
For as long as he could remember, Harry had lived in a world of darkness. The killing curse that failed to take his life had left him with more than just survival; it had taken his sight. The world around him wasn't a canvas of vibrant colors—it was void, formless. He had no memory of what it was like to see, no idea what color truly looked like. To Harry, the sky wasn't blue, nor were the trees green, nor the flowers bright and fragrant. These were things he understood only through others' words, like abstract concepts he could never fully grasp. He lived in a world where the brilliance of color was a story, something people spoke of wistfully but he could only imagine.
Harry Potter was blind.
And in the Dursleys' household, blindness was just another abnormality—something unnatural that had no place in their carefully crafted lives. From the very beginning, the Dursleys had never spoken of it openly. To acknowledge that their nephew was blind would mean accepting that something was wrong, and in the Dursleys' eyes, wrongness was forbidden.
From the time he could remember, Harry had been left to his own devices. It was clear to him that Petunia and Vernon couldn't be bothered to deal with the effort of teaching him, much less acknowledge his condition. Homeschooling, as they called it, was little more than an excuse to keep him out of sight, away from the rest of the world. The idea of anyone knowing their nephew was blind? Unthinkable. It would ruin their perfect image, and the Dursleys didn't stand for anything out of the ordinary.
So, Harry had learned on his own, piecing together an education from the countless Braille books he found in the local library. It was there, nestled among dusty shelves, that Harry had discovered worlds beyond Privet Drive. Science, literature, history—he devoured every book he could lay his hands on, not because anyone expected it of him, but because he knew he had to be more than what they saw.
To the Dursleys, Harry was nothing more than an inconvenience, a reminder of something they didn't understand. But Harry wasn't going to be confined by their indifference. He refused to be defined by his blindness, by their neglect, or by the quiet, shadowed life they forced him into. He wanted to be something more, to achieve something great.
Harry couldn't help but think of his life in two halves: the part where he was the invisible boy the Dursleys barely acknowledged, and the part where he was alone with his books, his thoughts, and the boundless possibilities that existed in those pages. If the Dursleys thought they had defined him, they were wrong. He was going to be more than their silent charity case. He was going to be more than just the blind boy.
The rest of the world might have looked at him with pity, but Harry had already decided long ago that he wouldn't settle for that. He wouldn't be just another forgotten soul. He would prove that despite his blindness, he could achieve what others were too scared to even dream of. The thought gave him purpose on days when the isolation pressed too hard, when the silence in the house became suffocating. He wanted more. He wanted to become something great—someone who could stand tall in a world that might otherwise overlook him.
It was this fierce desire that had kept him going, pushing through the daily monotony, through the cold indifference of the Dursleys. He would rise above it all. He had to.
As Harry sat in his small room, the sounds of the afternoon drifting in through the cracked window, his hands moved over the rough pages of yet another borrowed book. Today it was about astronomy—stars and planets he would never see, but could imagine so vividly. The Braille text beneath his fingers gave him all he needed to picture them in his mind: vast, untouchable, yet somehow within reach if he could just figure out how to get there.
The quiet was broken by a sound he wasn't used to—something sliding across the floor. Harry's brow furrowed, and his head tilted slightly as he honed in on the sound. It wasn't like the usual creaks and groans of the old house. This was deliberate, something placed near his door.
He rose slowly, his hands tracing the edge of his bed as he moved toward the noise. His fingers brushed over something smooth and stiff—an envelope. He crouched down, feeling the texture. It wasn't like the usual post Vernon received; this was heavier, made of parchment. Turning it over, he felt the raised imprint of letters on the front—Braille.
That alone was enough to make his heart pound a little faster. Who would send him a letter? In Braille, no less? Harry quickly tore it open, his hands trembling slightly as he unfolded the parchment inside.
His fingers ran across the text, and as he absorbed the words, the world around him seemed to narrow into a sharp focus.
"Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."
Harry's breath caught in his throat. Wizardry? What did that mean? He ran his fingers over the words again, slower this time, as if trying to make sure he hadn't misread them. The letter continued, explaining in careful detail what Hogwarts was—a school for witches and wizards. That magic was real. And that he was a wizard.
He sank back onto the floor, the parchment still clutched in his hands. Magic. The word felt foreign, strange. But also... exciting. Was this it? The chance he had been waiting for, the escape from the dull existence he had been forced into?
For a moment, the image of the Dursleys flashed through his mind—how they would react when they saw this letter. They would probably be glad to be rid of him, to no longer have to deal with the burden of a blind boy living under their roof. And maybe that was fine. He didn't need them.
For the first time in his life, Harry felt something stir deep within him—a flicker of hope and something even stronger. Determination.
This was his moment. His chance to be more than what anyone had ever expected of him. He wasn't going to just be a wizard. He was going to become someone the world would never forget. This was the beginning of something bigger than anything he had ever imagined.
And Harry Potter—blind or not—was ready.
(Scene Break)
The following days passed in a blur for Harry, not that it mattered much to him. He'd learned to track time through routine rather than sight, and each day with the Dursleys was largely the same. That is, until the day his entire world shifted.
A knock rattled the door of 4 Privet Drive. Harry, sitting in his small room with his usual Braille book resting on his lap, heard the shuffle of heavy feet beyond the door and the muffled voices downstairs. The sound of someone, or something, enormous stepping into the house was unmistakable. Curiosity tugged at him, but he stayed put, expecting it to be one of Vernon's strange work acquaintances.
But the heavy footsteps didn't stay downstairs. They began to approach his room—slow, deliberate, and louder than anything he had ever heard in the house. The door creaked open, and a new voice filled the space, deep and kind.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry's head tilted toward the voice. "Yes?" he asked hesitantly.
"Blimey, it really is yeh! I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts! Come to take yeh shopping for school supplies."
For a moment, Harry didn't know how to respond. The sheer enormity of this stranger's presence seemed to fill the entire room. "School supplies?" he echoed, his mind struggling to catch up. "For... Hogwarts? It's real?"
Hagrid chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. "Course it's real. And yer a wizard, Harry."
The word hit him like a gust of wind. A wizard. Magic was real. All those times the Dursleys had scolded him, ignored him, locked him away—it hadn't been because he was useless. It was because he was different. And maybe, just maybe, that difference meant something extraordinary.
Before he could think too much, Hagrid was guiding him out of the house and into the streets of Little Whinging, away from the quiet disdain of the Dursleys. The massive man helped Harry into what felt like a small bus but smelled strongly of something magical. Harry couldn't place it, but it was different from anything he had known before.
"You'll see soon enough," Hagrid said with excitement, steering them toward their destination.
But of course, Harry wouldn't see anything at all.
The ride was full of bumps and turns, each one sending Harry's mind reeling as he tried to imagine what Diagon Alley might be like. The names alone fascinated him. Diagon Alley—how strange, how whimsical it sounded.
When they finally arrived, Harry could feel the world shift around him. The air was warmer, crackling with an energy he had never felt before. The bustling sounds of a busy street filled his ears—shouts from vendors, the soft creak of doors, and the hum of conversation in a hundred different tones. It was alive in a way Privet Drive never had been.
"I can't see anything," Harry said softly as they walked, his hands feeling the walls and pavement beneath his feet.
"Ah, but yeh don't need ter," Hagrid said kindly, placing a large, gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "Magic ain't just about what yeh can see. It's about what yeh feel, what yeh hear, and what's inside yeh."
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he simply nodded, letting himself be led into the labyrinth of shops. His world might be dark, but in that moment, he could sense the brightness of it all. The colors he couldn't see were reflected in the excitement buzzing around him.
Their first stop was Gringotts. The cold, hollow echo of the grand hall told Harry that the building was massive. He could hear goblins muttering to one another, their voices sharp and low. Hagrid explained that they were here to collect money from Harry's vault. But when the mention of his vault came up, something clicked in Harry's mind.
"My vault? So... my family must've been wealthy," Harry mused, his voice careful but curious.
"Aye, yer parents left yeh quite a bit," Hagrid answered. "Enough to get by comfortably."
Harry's heart raced at the thought. His family wasn't just some forgotten name—they had been important, influential even. And now it was his turn to step into that legacy. But there was so much he didn't know. So much he had never been told.
"Hagrid," Harry began cautiously, "Do you think I could talk to one of those goblins from earlier? I want to know more about my family... about what they left behind."
There was a long pause before Hagrid responded, and when he did, his voice was uneasy. "Ohh, I don't know, Harry. I don't know if Professor Dumbledore would be okay with that..."
Harry's chest tightened. Of course, Dumbledore probably had his reasons for keeping things from him, but... this was his family. He'd never known them, never had the chance to ask about them, to feel connected to something more than just his empty room in Privet Drive. If this was his chance, he couldn't let it slip away.
"Hagrid, please," Harry said softly, his voice laced with a quiet, desperate sincerity. "I never knew them. Not really. This might be my only chance to understand who they were... to know where I came from."
There was a tremor in his voice, one that Harry couldn't control. He didn't like begging, but this wasn't about stubbornness or pride. This was about family—the one thing he'd never had, not truly. He had lived his whole life in darkness, not just physically, but emotionally, too. And now, standing on the edge of this new world, he had the smallest glimpse into something more. How could he not reach for it?
Hagrid was silent for a long moment, the weight of Harry's words hanging in the air between them. Finally, Hagrid let out a deep sigh. "Alright," he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "Alright, Harry. I'll see what I can do. But just a quick word, mind yeh. I'm not sure what all Dumbledore wants yeh to know just yet."
Relief flooded Harry, and he nodded quickly. "Thank you, Hagrid. I just... I just need to know something."
Hagrid led Harry back through the vaults toward a familiar figure: Griphook, the goblin who had guided them down to Harry's vault earlier. Griphook stood just outside the vault, his eyes gleaming as he spotted the pair approaching. Hagrid cleared his throat. "Griphook, young Harry here's askin' to know more about his family—what they left 'im. Yeh think yeh can help us with that?"
Griphook's eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into something resembling a snarl. "Very well," he hissed. "But this is a delicate matter, one that will require speaking to an account manager. Follow me."
Without another word, Griphook led them back to the cart, which rattled and roared its way up through the twisting tunnels to the main floor of the bank. When they stepped out, Griphook ushered Harry toward a waiting goblin, who sat at a large, imposing desk. This goblin was older, his long fingers steepled before him, his expression stern and calculating.
"This is Ragdrik," Griphook said sharply. "He is the Potter family's account manager."
Ragdrik's cold gaze flicked between Harry and Hagrid before he spoke. "Mr. Potter," he said in a gravelly voice, "this is a family matter, and as such, I must insist that your companion"—his eyes lingered on Hagrid—"does not attend this meeting. It is a private affair."
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably but nodded. "Right, right. I've got somethin' else to pick up anyway. Harry, I'll be waitin' in the entrance hall when yer done. If I'm not there yet, just wait fer me, alright?"
Harry nodded, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement settle in his stomach as Hagrid lumbered away, leaving him alone with Ragdrik.
The goblin's sharp eyes turned back to Harry, and he motioned for him to sit. "It's been quite some time since a member of the Potter family came to Gringotts," Ragdrik began, his voice carrying a weight that made Harry's pulse quicken. "We've been waiting for someone to address the condition of the Potter estate for many years now."
Harry felt his throat tighten. "The condition?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"The estate has fallen quite far, Mr. Potter," Ragdrik said bluntly. "While the assets of the Potter family have been protected, and the money remains intact, the family's properties and other investments have been... neglected. Gringotts has ensured that the interest generated by the vault has covered service fees, so your wealth hasn't diminished in that regard. However, the Potter Manor has been shut down for over a decade. With no master to inhabit it, the workers had to be dismissed, and the manor itself was placed under stasis charms to preserve it. Without proper maintenance, the property would have deteriorated beyond repair."
Harry's mind raced. Potter Manor? Workers? He hadn't realized the scope of what his family had once possessed. And it wasn't just the manor.
"There are also several real estate properties owned by the Potter family, all of which have fallen into disrepair," Ragdrik continued, his voice steady but unyielding. "As your account manager, I did what I could to preserve their value, but without someone to act on the family's behalf, I was limited. The tenants of these properties have not paid their rent in over ten years, and legal action has been impossible without a head of the family. Now that you have been reintroduced to the magical world, however, we can take action."
Harry blinked, trying to process everything. "What kind of action?"
Ragdrik's thin lips twisted into a grim smile. "I would recommend evicting all the tenants and filing lawsuits to recover ten years' worth of back rent. You are, after all, the heir to the Potter estate, even as a minor. You now have the power to address these matters."
The information came in waves, each one more overwhelming than the last. Harry's head spun with the enormity of it all—his family's wealth, their properties, their legacy. It was too much. He had just learned he was a wizard, and now this? He didn't even know where to begin.
"I... I appreciate everything you're telling me," Harry said after a moment, his voice shaky but sincere. "But this is... it's a lot to take in. I have thirteen years to catch up on. I don't think I can handle all of this right now."
Ragdrik's expression softened, just slightly. "Understandable, Mr. Potter. We've waited this long; a few more months will make no difference. Would you prefer a detailed account of the family's situation sent to you, so you may review it at your leisure?"
Harry nodded quickly. "Yes, please. And... could it be in Braille?"
"Of course," Ragdrik said, inclining his head. "We will have everything transferred into Braille immediately. You will receive it within the week."
"Thank you," Harry said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders, even as the enormity of his situation remained. He rose from his seat, nodded once more to Ragdrik, and made his way back toward the entrance hall, his mind buzzing with thoughts of everything he had learned.
But as he walked, the weight of it all began to settle in. He felt completely overwhelmed. He was thirteen, for Merlin's sake! What was he supposed to do with all this? He had never had any real money in his life—he'd grown up in a cupboard under the stairs, scrounging for scraps, wearing Dudley's cast-offs. And now, within the span of a week, he had learned about vaults full of gold, estates in disrepair, tenants who hadn't paid rent in years... How was he supposed to manage any of that?
The more he thought about it, the more his head spun. He didn't know the first thing about managing money, let alone a massive family fortune or properties. This is too much, he thought, his chest tightening. He needed help—someone who understood this world and how to navigate it.
Hopefully, Ragdrik would be able to guide him through this mess. Harry knew he couldn't do it alone, at least not yet. Until he learned how to manage this vast legacy—his legacy—he was going to need all the help he could get. It was huge, far bigger than anything he could have ever imagined. And somehow, it was all on his shoulders now.
(Scene Break)
By the time Harry settled into his small room at the inn, his mind still whirled with everything the goblin had told him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, Braille books scattered around him, but the comforting bumps of the familiar text couldn't quite keep his thoughts from drifting. The conversation at Gringotts had left him reeling, overwhelmed by the sudden enormity of the situation he found himself in.
His family, the Potters, had been something greater than he could have ever imagined. He had spent his whole life as an afterthought, a burden on the Dursleys, shoved into corners and told to stay out of sight. But now, Harry realized he came from a line of wizards that stretched back generations—powerful, wealthy, and respected. The vault full of gold had been just the beginning. The goblins had spoken of estates, properties, and tenants. And there were even lawsuits, legal affairs that had been left unresolved for over a decade. All of it, sitting in limbo, waiting for the heir of the Potter family to come forward.
And that heir was him.
The thought made his chest tighten. How could someone like him—someone who had spent most of his life trapped in a cupboard—be expected to handle all of this? It wasn't just overwhelming; it was terrifying. He had never had any money to his name, let alone an estate and properties to manage. His whole life, he had known nothing but scarcity and neglect. Now, within a span of days, he had been handed the legacy of an ancient, powerful wizarding family. What was he supposed to do?
Harry ran his fingers over the Braille text of one of his new books, hoping to ground himself, but his thoughts kept straying back to the Potter name. The goblins had said the accounts were stable, that his family's money was intact, protected, even growing from the interest. That was some relief. Nothing was falling apart—yet. But it couldn't stay like this forever. There were properties that had fallen into disrepair, tenants who hadn't paid rent in over a decade, and no one to oversee it all. No one but him.
It felt like a mountain sitting on his chest, pressing down on him. He didn't know where to start, and he didn't even know if he had the skills to handle it. He was just... Harry. A blind boy from Privet Drive who had spent most of his life invisible to the world.
But something stirred within him—something new and unfamiliar. Beneath the fear and the uncertainty, there was a spark. A glimmer of something that he hadn't felt before.
Power.
Control.
For the first time in his life, Harry realized that he could change things. He didn't have to be the passive, forgotten boy living at the mercy of others. He had a legacy, one that stretched back further than he could comprehend, and for the first time, he felt the weight of it on his shoulders. But it wasn't just a burden. It was a responsibility—and an opportunity.
He was Harry Potter, heir to the Potter family.
He didn't fully understand what that meant yet, not in the way others might. But even in his ignorance, he knew it meant something. Something profound. The Potters had been important once—powerful, respected, and influential. And now, that legacy rested in his hands. The goblins had told him he was the last of the Potter line, and that struck him harder than anything else. He was it. If he didn't act, if he didn't do something, the Potter name would fade into nothingness, just another forgotten family in the annals of wizarding history.
That couldn't happen. He wouldn't allow it.
No, Harry thought fiercely, a new determination filling him. For the first time in his life, he knew what he wanted—what he had to do. He was no longer going to be the boy hidden away in the shadows. He had a purpose now, something to fight for.
First, he would become a wizard. Not just any wizard, either—he would become one of the best. The kind of wizard whose name carried weight, whose skills were unmatched, whose presence commanded respect. He wasn't going to settle for mediocrity or let anyone define him by his blindness. He would rise above it all.
And once he had proven himself, once he had mastered his magic, he would restore his family to whatever they had once been—and more. He would rebuild the Potter legacy, reclaim the properties, right the wrongs, and ensure that the name Potter was known once again throughout the wizarding world.
The weight of his family's legacy was daunting, but now, that weight gave him purpose. He wasn't just a boy from Privet Drive anymore. He wasn't just the forgotten nephew of the Dursleys. He was Harry Potter, the last heir of an ancient and powerful family, and he had a future worth fighting for.
The challenges ahead were enormous, but Harry could feel the spark within him growing. He wasn't going to back down from it. He was going to embrace it, and he was going to prove—to himself and to the world—that he could rise above anything, even the darkest of circumstances.
Because now, Harry wasn't just surviving. He was going to thrive.
(Scene Break)
The morning air in Diagon Alley was crisp and filled with the scent of fresh parchment, old wood, and the faint hint of magic that seemed to hang over the entire street. Harry stood at the entrance with Hagrid beside him, the hustle and bustle of the alley surrounding them. He could hear the hum of conversations, the clinking of coins, and the creak of shop signs swaying gently above the cobblestone streets. Each sound painted a picture in Harry's mind—his other senses had always been his guide, and now more than ever, he relied on them to help him navigate this strange new world.
The world of wizards.
"Right, Harry. Where do yeh want ter go first?" Hagrid asked, his booming voice full of cheer.
Harry hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of his wandless hand. There was one place he knew he needed to go. "Ollivanders," he said quietly, his heart racing with anticipation.
They made their way down the alley, Hagrid gently guiding Harry around the occasional obstacle with a hand on his shoulder. The sound of shopkeepers calling out deals, the distant crack of magic being practiced, and the soft trill of birds from the Magical Menagerie filled Harry's ears, but his mind was focused on one thing: his wand.
They reached the narrow, quiet storefront of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The door creaked as Hagrid pushed it open, the soft jingle of a bell ringing through the still air. The moment Harry stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. The air was cooler, filled with the scent of polished wood, aged parchment, and something intangible—an ancient power that seemed to hum in the walls. It was a place unlike any Harry had ever been in, and his senses sharpened in response, each sound and smell painting a vivid picture in his mind.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," a soft, ethereal voice greeted them, breaking the stillness.
The sound startled Harry, causing him to jerk slightly toward the voice. It wasn't just the unexpected greeting, but the fact that this man, whoever he was, already knew his name. Harry's brow furrowed as he instinctively turned his head toward the source, though his sightless eyes saw nothing. "How... how do you know my name?" he asked, confusion tinging his voice.
Ollivander's soft footsteps approached, his movements so quiet they were almost imperceptible. "I know many things, Mr. Potter," he said mysteriously, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I remember every wand I have ever sold. And in this case, I've been expecting you."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine, a sense that this man was more than just a simple shopkeeper. The way Ollivander spoke made it clear that this was not mere guesswork—he knew who Harry was, and possibly much more than that.
The man moved with a quiet grace, his robes swishing softly as he approached. "Come forward, Harry," Ollivander said, his voice warm but filled with a curiosity that made Harry uneasy, as though he were being studied. And perhaps he was.
Harry stepped forward, his heart pounding. He had been waiting for this moment, but now, standing in the presence of someone who seemed to know far more than he let on, a part of him was nervous.
Ollivander's fingers gently guided Harry's hand to the first wand, placing it in his palm. "Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches. Quite flexible."
Harry wrapped his fingers around the wand, feeling the smooth wood under his touch, but the moment he gave it a small flick, the wand practically leapt out of his hand. A burst of hot air shot past him, and the shelves rattled ominously.
Ollivander's footsteps hurriedly approached as he grabbed the wand back. "No, no... not that one. Let's try another."
One after another, wands were placed in Harry's hand—each feeling distinctly different, and yet none of them seemed right. One wand sent a sharp crackling sound through the room, as if lightning had struck nearby. Another felt lifeless, dull in Harry's grip, as though it held no magic at all.
As each wand failed, Harry's nerves only increased. What if he couldn't find a wand that suited him? What if none of them worked?
"Hmm... curious indeed," Ollivander murmured, his voice thoughtful, as though Harry's reactions were revealing something important to him. "Perhaps... yes."
Finally, after what felt like ages, Ollivander placed another wand into Harry's hand. This one was different. The wood was smooth and cool to the touch, and as soon as Harry's fingers closed around it, he felt something—something he hadn't felt with the others. A rush of energy surged through him, almost like the wand was alive, responding to him.
"Aha!" Ollivander exclaimed softly. "Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Supple. Curious... very curious."
Harry's grip tightened on the wand as the feeling of connection deepened. It was as though the wand recognized him, as though it had been waiting for him. The warmth of the magic thrummed through his fingers, and for the first time since entering the shop, Harry felt a sense of certainty.
"Curious?" Harry repeated, feeling that familiar unease creep back in. "Why curious?"
Ollivander's voice lowered, as though sharing a secret meant for Harry alone. "Because the phoenix that gave this feather gave just one other. The wand that shares this core... is the wand that took away your sight."
Harry felt a coldness spread through him at the words. The same phoenix that had given life to this wand had also been part of something much darker.
But Harry didn't let go. He held the wand tightly, feeling its energy pulse through him, and despite the unease of Ollivander's revelation, he knew—this wand was his.
Ollivander watched him closely, his pale eyes glittering with something between fascination and understanding. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "And I believe this wand has chosen you."
Harry nodded, the weight of the moment sinking in. He wasn't just a boy from Privet Drive anymore. He wasn't just blind, helpless Harry. He had a wand now, a connection to magic that no one could take from him. For the first time, he felt the possibility of what he could become.
As they left Ollivanders, the wand tucked safely in his hand, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something much larger had just begun.
(Scene Break)
Inside Flourish and Blotts, the scent of ink, parchment, and the faint tinge of magic hung in the air, creating a blend that was both comforting and alive with possibility. The shop was warm and bustling, with high shelves stacked to the ceiling, crammed full of books on every imaginable subject. The soft rustling of pages being turned and the low murmur of customers chatting added to the symphony of sounds that Harry had come to associate with places of knowledge.
Hagrid's large hand gently guided Harry through the maze of aisles, ensuring he didn't bump into the narrow wooden shelves that lined the shop. Though Harry couldn't see the stacks of books, he could feel the magical energy that seemed to permeate the air. This place, more than anywhere else, felt like it held the weight of countless stories, knowledge, and untapped potential.
They approached the counter, where the shopkeeper stood, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a cheerful voice. "What can I help you with today?"
"Harry here's got a special request," Hagrid began, his tone soft but still gruff. "Books on magical theory, spell casting, and, if yeh've got anything on enhancin' the senses, that'd be helpful."
The shopkeeper's face lit up with recognition as he looked at Harry. "Ah, Mr. Potter," he said with a smile. "I've been informed about your arrival. Professor Dumbledore made special arrangements for your school books some time ago."
Harry tilted his head slightly in surprise. "Arrangements?"
The shopkeeper nodded, stepping out from behind the counter and heading toward a shelf behind him. "You see, books in Braille aren't common in the wizarding world. Dumbledore had your school books specially prepared in advance so that they'd be ready for you. He also included a few extra titles he thought might be of interest—books on enhancing your senses, sharpening your perception. While magic can't restore your sight, it can strengthen your other senses in ways that may be useful."
Harry felt a swell of gratitude and awe wash over him. Dumbledore had gone to such lengths for him, and he hadn't even started school yet. His fingers twitched with anticipation as he listened to the shopkeeper pull a stack of books from the shelves, the soft sound of paper sliding against paper filling the space.
"These," the shopkeeper said as he returned with a heavy pile, "are the standard first-year books: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch, and Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger. They've all been transcribed into Braille for you."
He placed the stack in front of Harry, and Harry reached out, his fingertips brushing over the raised, embossed titles. As he ran his fingers across the surface, the words magically converted into Braille beneath his touch. The sensation was immediate and familiar, like stepping into a well-worn pair of shoes. It made the world feel just a bit more accessible.
But there were more books being placed in front of him.
"And here are a few of the extras Professor Dumbledore thought you'd find useful," the shopkeeper continued. "Magical Perception: Expanding the Mind, Spells for the Senses, and Magical Theory: Beyond the Basics. These focus on enhancing the senses—sound, touch, even smell. They include advanced magical techniques to help with awareness and orientation in your surroundings. They might not restore your sight, but they'll help you navigate the world more easily."
Harry's heart swelled with gratitude as he gently touched the books. The covers felt smooth, cool beneath his fingertips, but they carried with them the weight of possibilities. Each one was a doorway into a new world—one where he could grow stronger, smarter, and more capable despite his limitations.
"These should help you, Mr. Potter," the clerk said kindly, his voice filled with sincerity.
Harry smiled faintly, though the emotion behind it was immense. "Thank you," he said softly, feeling the weight of the books as Hagrid helped him tuck them safely into his satchel. There was something comforting about the feel of the books resting against his side, almost like a promise of what was to come.
As they left the shop, the cool breeze from Diagon Alley greeted them once again. Harry's thoughts were a whirlwind, but at the heart of it all was a growing sense of purpose. He wasn't going to let his blindness hold him back. Not here. Not now. He had a wand, books filled with knowledge, and a new world at his feet.
And for the first time in his life, Harry felt like he was ready to face it.
The Magical Menagerie
Their next stop was the Magical Menagerie. The moment they stepped inside, Harry was assaulted by a cacophony of sounds—squawks, hisses, hoots, and purrs. The air smelled of fresh hay, fur, and the unmistakable scent of magical creatures.
Harry's attention was immediately drawn to a soft rustling sound in one of the nearby cages. It was faint but distinct, like feathers brushing against the bars. He followed the noise, his hand instinctively reaching out, when a soft hoot met his ears. His fingers brushed against something warm and smooth—feathers.
"Oh, that's Hedwig," Hagrid said, his voice bright with approval. "A snowy owl. Looks like she's taken a likin' to yeh."
Harry could feel it too—the quiet intelligence in Hedwig's soft hoot, the gentle way she leaned into his touch. There was something... comforting about her, something that felt right. Without hesitation, he made his choice.
"I'll take her," Harry said, his voice steady.
As Harry stood by the counter, ready to leave Flourish and Blotts with his satchel filled with books, he felt an odd, almost indescribable sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was like a faint pull, something tugging at him, but not physically. It was a feeling deep within him, almost as if... something was calling to him.
His heart began to beat rapidly, a thudding that echoed in his chest. He stopped in his tracks, his ears straining to pick up any unusual sounds, but the shop was as it had been: soft murmurings of customers, the rustling of parchment, the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
But then he heard it. A voice. Not out loud, but inside his head, clear and distinct.
Over here, human.
Harry froze. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He wasn't imagining it. Someone—or something—had spoken to him. But it hadn't been in words he could hear. It had been... in his mind.
His heart pounded faster, his senses heightening as he instinctively turned toward the direction he felt the pull coming from. His hand tightened around his wand as he took a few tentative steps, following the strange tug in his chest.
"Hagrid..." Harry's voice was shaky, and Hagrid immediately looked down at him, concern evident in his tone.
"Why'd yeh stop, Harry?" Hagrid asked, watching as the boy's head swiveled as though searching for something unseen.
"I—" Harry hesitated, licking his lips. "I heard something... in my head. Something calling me."
Hagrid frowned deeply, his thick brows knitting together in contemplation. "In yer head, yeh say?"
Harry didn't answer, his focus entirely on the strange pull guiding him now. The voice was stronger, more insistent. He could feel it beckoning him, and he knew—whatever it was, it was here, in this shop. He had to find it.
Hagrid, though worried, let Harry move forward, keeping a protective distance as the boy made his way through the aisles of the shop. Harry walked slowly, carefully, his fingers trailing along the cages and shelves that lined the walls. He couldn't see what lay before him, but the pull was unmistakable now. It was as if something was drawing him in, compelling him to come closer.
His fingers brushed past a cage when he heard it again.
Closer, the voice whispered, clearer than before. Over here, human.
Harry's heart raced as he reached out, his fingers trembling slightly. He could feel something cool and dry, a sensation that sent a shiver down his spine. His hand brushed against smooth scales, and then—something soft and quick flickered across his skin. A tongue.
It was a snake.
Harry's breath hitched as he ran his hand carefully over the snake's coiled form. It was small, but there was a sense of quiet power in its stillness. The connection between them felt immediate and unexplainable, as though the snake's presence was anchoring him.
You are lost, the voice whispered again, its tone calm and steady. But I will guide you.
Harry felt a wave of calm wash over him, the fear and uncertainty that had gripped him earlier fading away. There was no question in his mind now—this snake was more than just a creature in a cage. There was a bond between them, something deeper that he couldn't yet explain, but he knew it was there.
"Hagrid," Harry called softly, not taking his hand off the snake. "I think... I think I need this one too."
Hagrid appeared beside him, his large hand resting gently on Harry's shoulder. "That's a snake, Harry," Hagrid said, his voice uncertain. "Are yeh sure?"
Harry didn't hesitate. The connection was undeniable now, the pull between him and the snake as clear as a heartbeat. "Yes," Harry said firmly, his voice steady with newfound conviction. "I'm sure."
The shopkeeper, a small, wizened woman with sharp eyes, approached them, her gaze flicking from Harry to the snake with an arched brow. "Interesting choice, lad," she said, her voice a bit raspy. "Not everyone takes to snakes."
Harry could feel her watching him, but his focus was still on the snake. The cool, dry scales beneath his fingers felt like an extension of himself now. There was something comforting in the snake's presence, something that made Harry feel grounded, even as the world around him seemed to shift with uncertainty.
The shopkeeper handed the cage over to Harry, her eyes still sharp as she regarded him with curiosity. "Not a common familiar, that's for sure," she murmured, though she didn't seem surprised by Harry's choice. "But then again, you're not a common boy, are you?"
Harry didn't respond, only nodding as he accepted the cage. As he did, he could still hear the voice of the snake, calm and steady, filling his mind.
I will be your eyes, the snake said softly.
Harry's breath caught, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The bustling of Diagon Alley, the presence of Hagrid, even the weight of the books in his satchel—they all disappeared, leaving only the connection between him and the snake. It wasn't just the snake's voice he could hear; it was as if the creature could see the world in ways Harry never could.
Hagrid, who had been watching him closely, spoke up again. "Yeh've got a good feelin' about this one, haven't yeh?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think... I think we understand each other."
Hagrid didn't push further. He could see something in Harry's face—something that told him this was more than just an ordinary familiar. The boy had found something here, something that would help him in ways neither of them could fully understand yet.
As they left the shop, the weight of the snake's cage felt light in Harry's hands. The pull between them had settled now, but the connection remained, a steady presence in the back of Harry's mind. He wasn't entirely sure what this bond meant, but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't alone anymore. He had Hedwig, his books, his wand, and now, his snake.
And as he walked alongside Hagrid, Harry could feel a quiet confidence growing inside him. For the first time, he didn't feel as lost as he had before. He was still navigating this new world, blind and unsure, but now... he had a guide.
(Scene Break)
After leaving the menagerie, they made their way back down Diagon Alley, the soft hoot of Hedwig nestled in her cage and the quiet presence of the snake filling Harry with a sense of calm. The alley was busy, filled with families, students, and shopkeepers going about their day. Harry listened carefully to the rhythmic clacking of boots on cobblestones and the chatter of passersby, letting the sounds fill the darkness that surrounded him.
As they passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, a light bump jostled Harry out of his thoughts. He stumbled slightly, only to hear a voice, bright and apologetic, say, "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
The voice belonged to a girl, her tone nervous yet brimming with energy. She stepped back quickly, her shoes scuffing lightly against the cobblestone. "I didn't see you—I mean, I should have been paying more attention!"
Harry smiled, brushing himself off. "It's alright," he said, feeling the faint warmth of her presence nearby. "I didn't see you either."
The girl paused for a moment, clearly confused by his response. Then, realization dawned. "Oh! You... you're blind?"
Harry nodded, feeling no need to hide it. "Yeah."
"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger," she said quickly, her voice softening as her curiosity took over. "It's just... I didn't expect... well, how do you manage everything? Diagon Alley is so... chaotic."
Harry chuckled. "I've had to learn to navigate without my sight. It's not so bad once you get used to it. And," he added, his hand brushing the cage at his side, "I have help."
Hermione leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued. "Help?"
Harry smiled, nodding toward the snake's cage. "Yeah. I can talk to him. He tells me what's around me. It helps a lot."
Hermione's breath hitched in awe. "That's... incredible. You can talk to snakes?"
Harry shrugged, trying to downplay it. "I guess so."
There was a pause, and Harry suddenly realized that he hadn't introduced himself. "Oh, I haven't even told you my name. I'm Harry—Harry Potter."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open slightly. "Harry Potter is... blind?!" she said incredulously, her voice rising with disbelief.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, apparently so," he said lightly, running a hand through his hair. "To be honest, I didn't even know I was famous until a few days ago. I've lived in the Muggle world my entire life. Had no idea about magic or anything. I guess the fact that Harry Potter is blind isn't exactly common knowledge."
Hermione was still staring at him, her mind clearly spinning. "But... there are all these stories about you. They say you have a lightning bolt scar on your forehead. That you survived You-Know-Who's curse..."
Harry snorted softly. "Yeah, I've heard that. Apparently, that's how they tell it—'The Boy Who Lived,' with a scar and everything. But honestly... if only. I'd take a scar over blindness any day." He sighed, his smile faltering for a moment. "But that's not the truth, is it?"
Hermione's expression softened, and for a moment, she just looked at him—really looked at him, as if seeing beyond the legend she had grown up hearing about. "I had no idea," she whispered, more to herself than to Harry. "I've read so much about you, but none of it ever mentioned... this."
Harry gave a small shrug, shifting the weight of the satchel slung across his shoulder. "Well, you can't believe everything you read, I guess."
For a moment, they stood there in the middle of the crowded street, Hermione clearly reeling from the revelation that the Harry Potter, the boy who had been a legend in her world, was not what she had imagined. But after a few moments, her natural curiosity returned, and the conversation flowed easily again.
They talked for a while longer, bonding over their shared love of books and learning. Hermione, it seemed, had already read more than Harry could imagine, and her thirst for knowledge was infectious. She spoke with rapid enthusiasm, going on about the different textbooks and magical theories she had come across. Every now and then, she would pause to ask Harry how he managed without sight, and she seemed genuinely fascinated—and impressed—by how confidently he navigated the world despite his blindness.
"You've never known magic your whole life," she said, her voice full of wonder, "but you're handling all of this... so well. I mean, it's incredible that you're not overwhelmed."
Harry smiled softly. "It's not easy," he admitted. "But I've had to rely on my other senses my whole life. I'm used to having to figure things out without being able to see. And now... I guess magic's just another part of that. A new way to understand the world."
Hermione nodded, her admiration clear. "I can't even imagine it," she said. "But you seem... I don't know, really capable."
Harry chuckled. "I don't know about that," he said modestly. "But thanks. I've got some help," he added, gesturing toward the snake. "And maybe magic can help even more once I learn what I'm doing."
As they talked, Harry felt something shift inside him—a sense of belonging that he hadn't known was missing until now. Hermione wasn't just curious about him; she seemed to understand something deeper. She wasn't looking at him with pity or treating him like the helpless blind boy. She saw him as Harry—just Harry.
When they finally parted ways, with Hermione promising to see him again soon at Hogwarts, Harry couldn't help but smile. For the first time, he felt like he was truly part of this world. Not just Harry the blind boy, but Harry Potter, a wizard with a wand, a bond with a magical snake, and now, a friend.
As he continued down Diagon Alley with Hagrid, the weight of his past—his life in the Muggle world, his blindness, the Dursleys—seemed a little lighter. For the first time, the possibilities before him felt endless.
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