The First Step
The days that followed Neville’s suggestion felt like walking a tightrope—fragile, unsure, and steeped in an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Hermione had spent so much of her life feeling in control, knowing how to handle challenges, how to push herself beyond limits, how to make her world feel small and manageable. But now, with the darkness of blindness pressing in on her, everything felt foreign, like a shadow stretching farther than she could comprehend.
Staying in St. Mungo’s had begun to feel like a kind of quiet surrender. While it was safe, it was also suffocating. The hospital, with its sterile smells and the hum of magical equipment, had become both a sanctuary and a prison. The soft beeping of monitors, the shuffle of feet outside her room, and the occasional murmur of a healer’s voice—all of it had become a familiar part of her life in the past weeks. But now, the world beyond the walls felt like an unreachable horizon. She hadn’t been outside in weeks, hadn’t felt the crisp bite of the wind or the warmth of sunlight on her face. And it was that very sense of confinement that gnawed at her, made her feel like she was suffocating.
Neville’s words echoed in her mind every time she tried to sleep or lost herself in the haze of her thoughts: “You don’t have to stay here forever. You’re a fighter, Hermione. It’s time to fight for your independence back.”
It was easier said than done. But Neville was right, wasn’t he? The thought of staying in the hospital for the rest of her life—relying on others for every little thing, living within the constraints of these four walls—was unbearable. She had never imagined herself as someone who would have to depend on others for basic needs. It felt like losing herself, like dissolving into someone unrecognizable. But at the same time, every instinct in her screamed that she couldn’t stay here, wrapped in the safety of the hospital. She had to leave, to rebuild herself, even if it terrified her.
The first day she was officially discharged from St. Mungo’s, the world felt alien. The moment she stepped out of the hospital’s doors and into the cool air of the outside world, everything seemed more intense, more real, and far more terrifying than she had anticipated. The sun seemed brighter, even though she couldn’t see it. She could feel it on her skin—its warmth on her face, the gentle breeze that caressed her skin, the weight of the air against her, so much heavier than it had ever been. Her senses were on high alert, and every little sound, every rustling leaf, every distant voice felt magnified. But still, she couldn’t see any of it. The world had become a cacophony of sensations, each one both too much and not enough.
“Hermione, we’re just taking a walk. It’s not about getting anywhere. It’s about getting used to being out there again,” Neville’s voice broke through her overwhelming thoughts. He had been her constant companion since she left the hospital, guiding her along the quiet streets of London with a hand on her shoulder, always just close enough to ensure she felt safe.
The first few steps had been tentative—her feet stumbling on the uneven pavement, her legs trembling as she adjusted to the unfamiliarity of moving through space without the constant reassurance of sight. The sound of birds overhead caught her attention, and she focused on the way their calls shifted with the wind, the subtle patterns of their flight that reached her ears before they disappeared into the distance. It was odd, feeling more aware of things she had once taken for granted, yet not fully able to engage with them in the way she once did.
As they walked through the quiet streets, Hermione noticed something she hadn’t expected—she was far more attuned to the world around her than she had ever been. The gentle rustle of leaves on a tree near her, the faint whisper of the wind brushing through the branches, the distant murmur of voices, all of it stood out to her like it was in technicolour. In fact, it was as though her remaining senses had been heightened, each one more vivid than she could have imagined. The world around her was no longer something she passed by mindlessly. She felt it now—every breeze, every sound, every shift in temperature. And in a way, it made her feel more connected to the world than she had ever been before. The earth itself seemed alive under her feet, and the sky, though she couldn’t see it, felt more present than ever.
But it wasn’t just the environment. She was more attuned to Neville too. His presence beside her was palpable, more so than ever before. Every small shift in his posture, every movement of his hand as he guided her, every subtle change in his voice, all felt like an anchor in the otherwise chaotic world she was trying to navigate. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder, the reassuring pressure of his arm when she faltered, the softness in his voice when he offered encouragement—it was all so... grounding. She could feel his every breath, his steady, unhurried pace. He wasn’t just there physically; he was an unspoken pillar of support, a quiet, constant presence that made the world feel a little less vast, a little less terrifying.
When he spoke, his words seemed to carry a weight, not in their content, but in the way they vibrated in the air around them. She could feel his care in the pauses between his sentences, in the slow, deliberate rhythm of his speech. She could hear the unspoken understanding in the way he guided her, his patience never fraying, his focus entirely on her.
“You’re doing great,” Neville said, and she could hear the slight tremor in his voice. Was it because he was proud of her or because he knew how difficult this was for her? She couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter. She could feel the sincerity in every syllable, as though he wasn’t just speaking to her but speaking for her—reminding her of her own strength, even when she couldn’t see it herself.
“I’m not sure I can keep doing this,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to trust myself in this world anymore.”
Neville didn’t respond right away. He simply guided her forward, steady and sure, as though his very presence was a silent reassurance that she wasn’t walking this path alone. She could hear the soft rhythm of his breath, the steady sound of his footsteps just ahead of hers. He was there. He was always there.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this,” Hermione continued, swallowing the lump in her throat. “How do you even begin to adapt to a life like this? How do you live when everything you knew is gone?”
There was a pause, longer this time, and she felt the weight of it pressing down on her like a comforting blanket, the silence between them not awkward, but safe. Finally, Neville’s voice broke the quiet, soft but steady.
“You take it one day at a time,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, Hermione. You don’t have to have it figured out. You’re learning how to live in a new way, and that’s not easy. But you don’t have to do it alone. And you can take as much time as you need.”
His words hung in the air for a moment, and Hermione could feel the weight of them, the support beneath them. She wasn’t alone in this, even when it felt like it. She wasn’t expected to rush or have it all figured out. The world might be foreign to her now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find a way to adapt, to survive, to rebuild.
She reached out slightly, her hand brushing his arm, just needing the contact. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. His arm tensed just the slightest bit under her touch, but he continued, walking just beside her, his presence solid.
The walk continued slowly, with Neville guiding her through the streets, giving her small bits of information as they passed. “There’s a cafe on the corner,” he told her softly. “You’ll hear the sound of cups clinking together as people chat. And just ahead, there’s a bench if you need to sit.”
The mundane, ordinary details of the world outside began to slip into her consciousness. The sounds of footsteps, of distant laughter, the soft murmur of traffic in the distance. The world didn’t stop just because she couldn’t see it. It was still there, unfolding around her, just as it always had. It was her own perspective that had changed, not the world itself.
As they turned a corner, Hermione felt the smoothness of the bench beneath her fingers before she sat down. Her fingers traced the contours of the wood, and she could feel the breeze picking up, soft and cool on her face. And for the first time in a long while, there was a quiet settling inside her, a subtle shift in her heart. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was something.
Neville’s voice broke through the silence once again, gentle as always. “I’m proud of you, Hermione. This is the first step. And it’s huge.”
Hermione closed her eyes, even though there was nothing to see. She leaned back slightly on the bench, trying to take it all in—the sounds, the smells, the feeling of the air, the world around her, all of it. It wasn’t the world she had once known, but maybe—just maybe—it could be enough.
“I’ll keep going,” she whispered to herself. “One step at a time.”