Windows to the Soul

At first he had always thought that it was normal – that everyone could see what he saw. Eyes were windows to the soul, he had heard someone say, and he knew that that was true. It had been distracting, seeing the truth shining through so clearly. So he rarely met anyone's eyes, if he could help it. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but he had not thought it strange.

But then he learned that his Aunt found his gaze unnerving, unnatural. She hated looking straight at his eyes and had eventually forced him to cover them with glasses. Harry hadn't minded – it was easier, calmer, to not have to face the feelings and truths of other people every time he met their eyes. And he got used to it, to living a bit more apart from people – reading only what was on the surface and seeing only what other people saw.

Later, there had been days when he had wondered... had his father been the same?

Had his father also covered his eyes with glasses because there was something far too intimate about meeting the eyes, seeing the souls, of strangers without the protection of a glass wall between them?

Or had he just needed glasses? Was Harry once more the strange one? There was no-one left to ask... no-one who could tell him if James Potter had the same 'gift' as him.

Hah. A gift. Most times, Harry had hated it. He had hated seeing the dislike, the anger and fear in the eyes of his relatives. He had wilted beneath the feelings pouring from strangers and the uncomfortable feeling of a soul so near to his.

So he had accepted the glasses his Aunt had thrust upon him, had faithfully worn them not just for her, but for himself. And he continued his childhood seeing less, feeling apart from everyone and everything.

And it was a blessing – a sense of freedom because no-one could hurt him within himself. In his own mind, his own feelings, he was free to do and feel what he wanted. No-one could see them – and no-one could force their own feelings, their hate, fear, pity, towards him.

But there were times when he had revelled in letting that protection go.

Sometimes, he would take off his glasses and he would see that despite whatever arguments or jealousy might come up, Ron was his friend for life – stubborn, but a pure Gryffindor at heart. And in Hermione's eyes he would read her love for books and knowledge, and beyond that a love much greater - for the few people who had made room for themselves in her heart. He read trust, faith and warmth, all of it shining so clearly through her soul that, though it was hidden with his glasses on, he could still see.

These times he felt blessed, because with his eyes uncovered, he could see the strength of their friendship and knew without a doubt that it was real. Ron and Hermione had his back – always - and he would never doubt them because their souls, their eyes, did not, could not, lie to him. In their eyes, there were no hidden motives – as there was with Dumbledore, who, for all his love for Harry, had always had something more in mind. With Ron and Hermione, there was no underlying stretch of pity or regret – which was the truth he had once read in Professor McGonagall's eyes. In their eyes, there was nothing but determined warmth and Harry had felt blessed that he was on the receiving end of it.

But those moments were rare – especially in times of war. Because for all that he wanted to see their love - their friendship, their trust and loyalty, there were also many things he didn't want to see. He did not want to see his enemies – not their hate, but especially not their humanity. And more than that, he did not want to see the dying light of his classmate's souls as they were painfully, snuffed out.

So he had kept his eyes closed, always hidden away behind his glasses, and counted those as the greatest blessing once more. Because all of it had been horrible enough without seeing it that much closer – as if it were right there in his own soul.

With the shadows of war and death hanging over them, Harry had cherished the only shield he carried with him, and the friends he knew that he could trust.

Now, with the war over, with a new dawn to rebuilt all that was lost, Harry sometimes dares to look, for the shortest moments, at that world with fully opened eyes. And sometimes, in a blessed moment, there is something beautiful that meets his eyes – a love, relief, hope or dream.

And sometimes it is hollow – pieces of it missing, crumbled away in the eyes, the hearts, the souls of those who had lost the most. And he feels it echo inside of him – the wounds on his own heart reflected in another's eyes.

Sometimes, like the child he had been, he wonders how they cannot see and feel what he does. And he wonders how, when he can see what he sees, will he ever believe the world to be whole again?

But then his eyes meets Ron or Hermione's, who are beside him still, and he believes - and the distance is covered in a moment that connects them soul to soul. The love between the three of them is still there. And even if the love that grows between the two of them – between two souls so different and yet somehow reaching out to the other with a deep understanding – is greater yet, Harry can still smile in a moment of truth.

And then, when the moment is too much, when there is something too intimate about being a part of three that are also two, he covers his eyes again and allows the distance to settle comfortably between them.

A.N. I'm leaving this story as it is for now - an odd little one-shot that kinda came out of nowhere but the desire to write a short, 1000 word story. This might evolve into a snapshot crossover of some sort, if I can concieve a way to dump Harry in Middle-Earth - or I might make it an Avengers cross instead. Actually I have no idea where this may go? But maybe I should finish some of my WIP's first, before starting something new...