Shifting Shadows
The days blurred together in a haze of shifting emotions. Hermione could sense the time passing, the rhythmic beeping of machines and the occasional murmurs of voices around her, but her life felt suspended. She had woken up in the hospital bed, trapped in the silence of her own mind, only to be met with the stark reality of her blindness. For the first time in her life, the world felt intangible—everything around her was muffled, unreachable, like she was stuck in a dream she couldn’t wake up from.
The doctors had done everything they could, of course—there had been discussions about nerve damage, rehabilitation, and possible treatments—but every time someone spoke about hope, it felt like an empty word. They said it might take a month or more before they could figure out how to reverse the damage. But in the meantime, she felt utterly lost. She wasn’t just physically blind; her mind was slowly clouded by confusion, frustration, and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
She didn’t want to admit it, but she could feel the weight of her limitations pressing down on her. She hated the feeling of being helpless. She hated needing others just to get through a simple day. It was so foreign to her, so utterly at odds with everything she had ever known. She had always been the one to help others, the one to find solutions, to think her way out of any situation. But now… now she couldn’t even walk to the bathroom by herself without someone guiding her.
Neville Longbottom, of all people, was there every day. He had always been a steady presence in her life—someone who understood, someone who quietly supported. The familiarity of him, his soft-spoken words, and the way he seemed to know when to give her space and when to hold her hand, brought a small sense of comfort in the otherwise disorienting haze of her new reality. But now, as he stood beside her bed, offering her the kind of comfort she didn’t know how to ask for, Hermione began to understand just how much more he was offering.
Neville wasn’t just any healer; he was a mind healer. His specialty lay in helping people process trauma, to make sense of the inner chaos that came when the mind and body were subjected to such deep and sudden shocks. And that had been the reason why he was brought in to help her adjust to her new life—the life she had never planned for, the one where her world had been ripped away in an instant. She had resisted him at first, not wanting anyone to poke around inside her head, to unravel her thoughts and emotions that she didn’t even fully understand. She had fought it, wishing more than anything to just go back to the way things had been. But Neville had been patient with her. He hadn’t pushed her into anything; he had simply been there, offering a listening ear, a steady presence when everything around her felt like it was spinning out of control.
The first few days were the hardest. Hermione felt like a shell of herself, her mind and body frayed and unravelling. She could hardly remember what it felt like to be whole again. She had cried—often, at night when no one was around—and sometimes during the day, too, when the weight of it all pressed down so heavily on her chest she couldn’t breathe. But Neville was there. He never judged her. He never told her to snap out of it, or to stop feeling sorry for herself. He simply listened, his warm, kind presence enveloping her as she tried to make sense of the turmoil inside her.
As the days turned into weeks, Neville had gently guided her through the storm of fear, sadness, and frustration that had taken hold of her. He didn’t have easy answers, didn’t tell her that everything would be fine right away. But what he offered—his calm understanding, his gentle reassurances—made the chaos inside her mind a little more bearable. The path ahead was still unclear, and she had no idea how long it would take before she felt even remotely like herself again, but Neville’s steady presence was something she could cling to. His kindness, his quiet words of encouragement, were like the lifeline she had been searching for.
Now, as she sat in her hospital bed, the walls around her seemed to close in. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of machines that she could never quite escape. She had been here for what felt like an eternity, a never-ending stretch of time where each day seemed to merge with the one before it, blurring together into a haze of uncertainty and despair. She couldn’t see any of it, of course. She couldn’t see the walls of the room, or the faces of the people who visited her, or the light streaming through the windows—if there even was light. Everything was dark now, and it seemed that even the passage of time had become intangible. But Neville’s voice broke through the silence, as clear and comforting as ever.
“Hermione, you’ve made a lot of progress. I know it’s hard, but you’re doing better than you think,” he said, his voice steady and firm, yet gentle, as if he were speaking to a wounded animal that needed reassurance.
She shook her head, though she knew he couldn’t see the gesture. “Better than I think?” she repeated, the bitterness creeping into her voice. “I can’t even walk by myself. I need help for everything. How is that ‘better than I think’?”
Neville’s response was calm, unflinching. He didn’t take offense, didn’t react to her anger or frustration. “I know it feels like you’re being reduced to a child right now,” he said, his tone thoughtful, carefully measured. “And that’s part of the adjustment. Your mind, your body, your independence—everything’s changed, Hermione. It’s a huge shift. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less capable, or less strong. You’re just… learning how to adapt to this new way of living.”
She felt the lump in her throat, the sting of his words that were both comforting and painful in equal measure. Adapt—it felt like such a small word, but it held the weight of a mountain. She didn’t want to adapt to this. She didn’t want to get used to being someone who needed help for every little thing, someone who couldn’t even walk across the room without someone by her side. That wasn’t who she was. That wasn’t who she had been. Hermione Granger had always been the one who knew what to do, the one who could solve problems, who could think her way out of any situation. She wasn’t the one who relied on others for every little thing. She hated this feeling, this sensation of having nothing under her but a crumbling foundation.
Her chest tightened as Neville’s words sank in, and she found herself speaking before she could stop the words. “I don’t want to adapt to this,” she whispered, her voice small and fragile. “I don’t want to get used to being like this. I don’t want to live my life this way.”
Neville didn’t answer immediately. There was a long silence, and she could feel him weighing her words, listening carefully. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I understand. But it’s going to take time, Hermione. You can’t rush healing—physically or mentally. But you can take the next step. And right now, the next step is about rebuilding your independence. You don’t have to stay here forever. You can get back to your life. But you need to trust yourself again.”
The thought of leaving the hospital was terrifying. St. Mungo’s had become a kind of sanctuary for her, a place where everything was controlled, where she could exist in a world that was sterile, where no one expected her to function like she once had. The very idea of leaving felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down into the unknown. It felt like stepping into the abyss, into a world where everything was unfamiliar and frightening. But as Neville’s words resonated in her mind, a part of her knew that he was right. Staying here forever wouldn’t make things better. She couldn’t hide from the world forever. She had to face it.
“I feel so weak,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. “So… dependent.”
“You’re not weak,” Neville said immediately, his voice firm with conviction. “You’re in a tough spot, Hermione. But you’ve been through worse. You’re strong, and this is just another challenge. You’re allowed to feel frustrated. You’re allowed to feel lost. But you don’t have to stay here forever.”
Her fingers twitched nervously, the restlessness building in her chest. The thought of depending on others for everything felt suffocating, humiliating even. She wasn’t the type to rely on people, not like this. It was hard to admit it, but the thought of being so vulnerable, so fragile, made her feel as though her very identity was slipping away. The Hermione Granger she had known—the one who faced challenges head-on, the one who never backed down—felt so far removed from the woman she had become. She didn’t want to be this version of herself. She didn’t want to be the person who needed constant care, who couldn’t navigate her own life.
But there was no avoiding it. There was no escaping the reality of what she was facing. She had to take that first step. She had to learn to live in a world where her sight was gone. And as much as it terrified her, she knew Neville was right. She couldn’t stay in the hospital forever, hiding behind the walls of her fear.
“I hate it,” she admitted, the words heavy with frustration. “I hate that I can’t even… I can’t even walk around without someone holding my hand. I don’t want to feel like I’m a baby. I want to be myself again, Neville. I want my life back.”
There was a pause before Neville spoke again, his voice softer now, but no less determined. “Then it’s time to take the next step. It’s time for you to move out of the hospital. I know you don’t feel ready. I know it feels like too much, but staying here indefinitely isn’t helping you. You’re a fighter, Hermione. You’ve fought for so much in your life. This is just one more thing. And it’s time to fight for your independence back.”
Hermione sat in silence, absorbing his words. The thought of leaving St. Mungo’s felt like a leap into the unknown, but part of her understood that Neville was offering her a chance—a chance to regain something of herself, to find a new path forward. The fear still lingered, gnawing at her insides, but there was something else, too. A flicker of hope.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” she said softly, her voice tinged with doubt. “I don’t know if I can live outside of here.”
Neville’s hand rested gently on hers, grounding her in the present moment. “You don’t have to do it all at once. We’ll take it one step at a time. I’ll be there to help you. We all will. But you have to take that first step, Hermione. You can’t let fear control you. Not this time.”
Her chest tightened as the weight of his words settled over her. She didn’t know if she could do it, but for the first time in days, she felt the possibility of something more. The glimmer of a future that wasn’t entirely dark, something that might be waiting for her if she could just take that first step.
“Okay,” she said quietly, her voice steady though still filled with uncertainty. “I’ll try.”
Neville’s smile was evident in his voice. “That’s all I’m asking.”
He fell quiet for a moment, and Hermione was unsure if he was thinking or gathering his words, but then, as if a new thought had occurred to him, his voice returned, softer yet purposeful.
“You know,” he began, shifting his position slightly, “I’ve been thinking. About… what you might need right now.” His voice dropped a little, as though he wasn’t sure how she would respond. “And I was wondering if, perhaps, it might be time for you to leave here and come stay with me. Just for a while.”
Hermione felt the air shift in the room as she processed his words. “Stay with you?” she repeated, a touch of surprise colouring her tone.
Neville cleared his throat, his voice a little unsure now, but still strong. “Yeah. I know you’re not ready to go out on your own yet. But maybe you won’t feel as confined if you were in a more... familiar space. It’s not a hospital. You can take things at your own pace. I’d be there to help you—if you need it. You wouldn’t have to rely on the hospital staff. And you wouldn’t have to feel like you’re living in a cage anymore.”
Her breath caught in her chest. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of St. Mungo’s felt monumental, impossible even. But Neville wasn’t asking her to do it all at once. He wasn’t throwing her out into the world blindfolded, expecting her to fend for herself. He was offering her a hand, but not just in the physical sense. He was offering her the chance to regain some control, some measure of autonomy. He was offering her the ability to rebuild her independence, one small step at a time, without the heavy atmosphere of a hospital weighing her down.
“I’m not saying you have to, of course,” Neville added quickly, sensing her hesitation. “I just... I just think that maybe being in a more personal space could help. You can learn to navigate the world again, not through the eyes of the healers, but through your own strength. I’d be there if you need me. I’ll help you settle in, and we can take it slow. There’s no rush.”
Hermione let the silence stretch for a few moments, trying to process the weight of his offer. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to leave the hospital, or if she even could—this place had become the only constant for her, and it was a comfort, in its way. But what Neville was suggesting made sense. Being in his space, not constantly surrounded by the sterile, impersonal environment of the hospital, might be just what she needed to start finding her way again.
He wasn’t asking her to leap into the unknown completely—he was offering a steady hand, a place where she could take one small step at a time. She could still be herself, still rebuild her life, without feeling like she was being monitored every moment, or confined to a room with no escape.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded, even though she knew Neville couldn’t see her. “I... I think I’d like that,” she said softly, the words hesitant but real. “I think it might be the right step. I trust you, Neville. I’ll go with you. I’ll try.”
Neville let out a breath of relief, his voice soft with gratitude. “Thank you, Hermione. You won’t regret it. I promise you, we’ll take this one step at a time. We’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone in this.”
The sincerity in his voice calmed the tremors of doubt still swirling in her chest. As much as she feared what lay ahead, she realized, for the first time in days, that the possibility of a future that wasn’t entirely consumed by darkness was within reach. And that future didn’t have to be one of isolation. It didn’t have to be one of fear and defeat.
It was a small step, yes, but it was still a step forward. And that was all she needed right now. Just one step.
“Okay,” she said, her voice firming, even though the uncertainty still lingered beneath. “I’ll try.”