When Harry woke the next morning, he felt surprisingly good—better than good.
A faint pang of sadness tried to surface at the thought of Sirius, but he pressed it down firmly.
There would be time to grieve later.
Right now, he had a plan.
The library.
For the first time in his life, the idea of spending hours buried in books didn’t fill him with dread.
His mind was sharp, focused, and his body—usually so resistant to anything resembling hard work—felt strangely cooperative.
Both were ready for the long, grueling road of self-improvement ahead.
He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, slipped them on, and immediately froze as his stomach let out a ferocious growl.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
The hunger was sharp and insistent, demanding attention.
Food first, then the library.
He wouldn’t get far with his body screaming for fuel.
Harry grabbed fresh clothes from his trunk and pulled back the bed curtains, only to find Neville standing nearby, looking visibly relieved.
“Hey Neville,” Harry said, voice calm.
“How’s the nose?”
“Nice to see you awake,” Neville replied with a tentative smile.
“Madame Pomfrey fixed it right away.” He shrugged, as if it were nothing.
“What time is it?” Harry asked, frowning slightly.
The light streaming through the windows suggested early morning.
“Eight o’clock.”
Harry blinked.
“I didn’t get to bed until two. That’s only six hours.”
Neville chuckled and shook his head.
“It’s Sunday, Harry. We went to the Ministry on Friday.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up.
“I slept for more than a full day?”
“You did,” Neville confirmed.
“Ron’s pretty upset you haven’t come to see them yet.”
Harry let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his messy hair.
He wasn’t ready to face Ron’s anger, but avoiding his friends forever wasn’t an option either.
“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” he asked.
“I tried,” Neville said.
“A few times, actually. But I couldn’t get your curtains open. Even McGonagall tried. She thought you’d put up proper wards. Dumbledore told her to leave you be.”
Harry frowned.
It had only been a simple sticking charm.
The fact that a professor couldn’t undo it was… strange.
“You should probably fix your glasses, mate,” Neville added.
“Huh?” Harry adjusted them on his nose.
“They’re fine. I can see perfectly.”
Neville gave him an odd look.
“There aren’t any lenses in them.”
Harry pulled the frames off and stared.
Neville was right—the glass was gone.
Yet the world around him remained crisp and clear.
“But… I can see,” he said, sounding as confused as he felt.
“Maybe your eyes just healed themselves?” Neville offered uncertainly.
“You should let Madame Pomfrey take a look.”
“Yeah… I will.” Harry’s mind was already spinning with possibilities.
“Well, I’m heading to the hospital wing soon. Ginny and Luna are being discharged today. You should come—visit them and get your eyes checked at the same time.”
“I will,” Harry agreed.
“Just let me shower and eat first.”
“No problem. I’ll wait,” Neville said.
“We can go to breakfast together.”
“Not the Great Hall,” Harry replied quickly, a note of urgency slipping into his voice.
The thought of facing the entire school made his skin crawl.
“Kitchens instead?”
Neville nodded without argument.
Harry returned from his shower fifteen minutes later, feeling cleaner and slightly more grounded.
The two boys made their way to the kitchens, where Harry ate with a hunger he didn’t know he possessed—more food than he could ever remember consuming in one sitting.
Afterward, they headed to the hospital wing.
Harry felt a flicker of unease about his mysteriously improved eyesight.
He had no idea if the change was permanent, or what had caused it.
He could only hope Madame Pomfrey had answers.
They entered to find the matron giving Ginny and Luna a stern lecture about rest and following healer’s orders.
The moment Ginny spotted them, she broke away and pulled both boys into a tight hug.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asked her.
“Better,” she said, though her frown betrayed the lingering pain.
“My leg still aches a bit. Ron’s been sulking nonstop,” she added in a whisper, glancing over her shoulder.
Harry gave a small nod before turning to Luna.
“And you? Are you all right?”
“Oh yes,” Luna replied in her usual dreamy tone.
“Though I’m a little disappointed we didn’t find anything useful for Daddy’s article on the Rotfang Conspiracy.” She sighed airily.
Harry exchanged a quick look with Neville, who shook his head slightly—don’t ask.
“I’m glad you’re both okay,” Harry said sincerely.
Luna simply hummed and bounced lightly on her toes.
Ginny’s eyes suddenly narrowed.
“Where are your glasses?”
Harry pulled the empty frames from his pocket.
“Apparently I don’t need them anymore. I was about to ask Madame Pomfrey to check my eyes.”
“You were going to ask me what, Mr. Potter?” the matron’s voice cut in as she approached.
Harry explained the situation as best he could.
Madame Pomfrey studied him with a calculating gaze before guiding him to the nearest bed.
“It’s not unheard of for eyesight to correct itself,” she began, “though it’s quite rare—especially when the issue was magical in nature. Was your poor vision caused by magic?”
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted with a shrug.
“My aunt and uncle took me to a Muggle optician when I was little. That’s where these came from.” He held up the empty frames.
Madame Pomfrey’s expression darkened with disapproval.
“You never saw a magical healer before coming to Hogwarts?”
“Not until my first year with you.”
She huffed irritably and muttered under her breath about Muggle ignorance and inadequate care for magical children.
“Very well, Mr. Potter. This is a simple diagnostic spell. Hold still.”