Chapter Text
Hogsmeade felt different in December.
From the cheerful lull of conversation to gift preparations to the laughter of children leaping into snow, Hogsmeade felt lively in a way only the changing seasons could manage.
Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the puff of his breath brush against his face before relenting to the unforgiving chill air; it licked at Harry’s exposed skin like a slow drag of ice. Usually Harry would have stopped to ponder the temperature, wonder how long he should remain outside, and determine whether or not hot cocoa was appropriate to drink for a third time that day. But December has a way of stalking him—much like a restless shadow—as it constantly reminds him of its chill every time he steps outside. Especially now that he’s come to navigate the world without one essential thing that most have taken for granted.
Sight.
Harry had grown familiar with the world in its naturally blurred state, and he had grown fond of the clear lines and decisive colours his lenses granted.
And now he had nothing.
It was no sudden development. Harry didn’t wake up one morning with his eyes open and unseeing. It happened slowly, a quiet deterioration that crept in from behind and lingered like a leech. Harry kept it all private. He never mentioned how the blurriness persisted despite his glasses, how colours began to blur and melt together, or how his difficulty navigating the darker halls of Grimmauld stemmed from his lack of perception in dim lighting. That was simple to dismiss, easy to ignore. He had fought wars for Merlin’s sake; needing a new glasses prescription was the last thing on his mind.
And then the black spots came.
He stopped ignoring it then.
But it didn't matter; he ended up here, with an ugly, marred face from his revival and a useless pair of eyes.
He continued down the snow-dusted path, his steps firm as they planted themselves by memory. Every now and then a stone throws his balance, adding threads of uncertainty in his gait, stitch by stitch. It’s the small, terribly inconvenient things that remind him of everything he has taken for granted regarding his sight.
A child whizzed by on quick feet, each stomp firm as she laughed. Wood struck cobblestone, and the rough sound of wood scraping stone dragged as she sled down the path. Harry’s mouth twitched as years of snow and mischief spent with Hermione and Ron resurfaced and lingered. He passed by without a word. After all, Harry was here for one thing—a familiar.
“Welcome to Brood and Peck!” A young woman greeted busily behind the counter, currently tending to what Harry guessed was a misbehaving Niffler. “I hope you find our products and creatures—oh my! Mister Potter?” Harry could hear the shopkeep straighten out with a rustle.
He stared in her general direction, or at least where he sensed she was standing. His wand functioned much like a sensor, mapping out topography and distance with a faint red light at the tip. Or at least, he was told it looked like a faint red light.
“Hello, erm..." Harry’s lips worked around nonexistent words, suddenly unsure how to ask for a pet with training and skills regarding visual aids.
The woman must have assumed that he was asking for her name, and she immediately straightened up as she introduced herself. “Tari. I’m an intern here at Brood and Peck.” Harry nodded, the younger voice suddenly matching a more accurate mental image.
“Right. Well, I’m here to see if you have trained familiars, or at least ones that are easy to train?”
Tari hesitated a bit at that, audibly thinking to herself, “Well, certainly it’s just… Is this for your… condition?”
'Condition' is what people have taken to calling Harry’s sudden blindness, parroting whatever vocabulary the Prophet coins.
“Yeah, it is.” Harry deflated, a little disturbed by the way people softened around him like he was something fragile. But at the very least, he felt grateful the Prophet spread the news for him. It was probably the first and last time he would ever feel grateful for the unsolicited publicity. Especially since it saved him the hassle of explaining why his wand was constantly glowing, or why his gaze never quite focused, or why he gripped the stair rail just a little tighter than usual.
“Then I think I may have just the ones.”
After Tari insisted he sit tight and get comfortable while she fetched the creature, Harry heard the soft sound of returning footsteps and a gentle purr.
“Her name’s Lyra. A well-trained half-kneazle, she’d be excellent as a guide—you know how intelligent these little beasties are.” Lyra, as the shopkeep so kindly introduced, landed in Harry’s lap with light steps. Her weight evened out in an instant as she got comfortable, her fur brushing his idle hand. Harry can imagine she looks as graceful as she moves.
“Oh, why, hello.” Harry’s hand lingers awkwardly in the air, unsure where to pet. But then Lyra leans against his hand, her nose and whiskers brushing skin, guiding Harry’s hand down her spine. Her coat was soft, extremely soft, with a slightly denser undercoat to complement it.
“I actually wasn’t really expecting a Kneazle." Harry commented as he fumbled to pet her again.
“Oh, most underestimate them.” Tari began, "They may act like any other cat, but I assure you, their intelligence shines in the moments you need them most.”
Harry huffed as Lyra purred, then suddenly leapt off his lap with purpose.
“Ah, she heard her feeding charm go off...”
"Pity." Harry chuckled, before hearing Tari’s footsteps shuffle once again.
“Here, while Lyra’s busy, perhaps I’ll show you other potential familiars?"
Harry nodded, which sent Tari straight to the back to pick out another creature for Harry’s predicament. The next familiar was an owl, small and cheery based on how vocal he was. Harry felt the brush of air as it landed on his already outstretched wand arm.
“This is Tawny. He’s a smaller species—a screech owl, known for their exceptional awareness and convenience since, well, they're so small.”
Harry’s ears strained during times like these, times where sight would have been useful to understand the silent language of bodily expressions in animals. But alas, he’s a bloody lost cause, and owls are a naturally quiet species—except for this one apparently.
Tawny chirruped happily as Harry reached a hand out, attempting to offer a few scratches on the head. Based on how light he feels and how small the owl’s head is, Harry guesses Tawny’s about the size of a butterbeer.
“He’s quite vocal,” Harry points out with a small smile.
He would have continued, but the chime of the front door swinging open caught his attention, and the cold breeze that slipped in caused Tawny to puff up indignantly.
“Harry?” Hermione called, her voice instantly recognisable despite the surrounding animal chatter.
“Hermione?” He asked, standing to face her general direction, only to have his hand captured to correct the direction he faced. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Ron—where is he?”
Hermione let go of Harry with a sigh. “He’s with the others, I stopped by to pick up treats for Crookshanks. Never mind that—you didn’t tell us you’d be at Hogsmeade today.”
She glanced at Tawny, who had clung to Harry’s shoulder the entire time. “Nor did you tell us you were thinking of getting a companion.”
“Yeah, well... It’s a little difficult navigating with just my wand. Let alone tiring.” He shuffled a bit, a bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
Hermione reached over to scratch at Tawny’s head. “He’s adorable! Is this who you’re settling on?"
Harry hesitated. "Not sure. I wish you could’ve met Lyra, a half-kneazle, but she ran off.”
Hermione shrugged, a smile evident in her voice. "Pity, then.”
“Harry?” Ron questioned as he saw Harry pop out of Brood and Peck alongside Hermione.
“Is that—"
Hermione interrupted Ron with a grin. “Harry got an owl! The little one’s name is Tawny.”
“Tawny?”
"Tawny," Harry confirms.
“Blimey, I didn’t even think about a guide pet…” Ron ponders the ins and outs of an owl service animal, watching as Tawny leans into his neck scratches.
“So how does it work?”
Harry huffs a laugh unexpectedly. "Well, he has to be trained, that’s for sure.”
“In a week?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Sure you will, mate.”
Hermione chimes in from where she was talking to Luna: “Well, it’s certainly possible. Just a week of rigorous training could be plenty before we go back to Hogwarts.”
“See?” Harry’s lip quirks as he turns back to Ron’s general direction. "She agrees.”
"...Sure, mate. Whatever you say.”