Disclaimer: -Sighs- I, like all on this website, do not own a single Harry Potter character....

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I have always been afraid of the dark.

Ever since I was a little boy, thoughts of the dark have kept me awake at night, hoping that nothing will happen to me while I dream.

When I say ‘dark’, I mean both kinds: The kind that is the night… as well as the kind that destroyed my parents.

The fear of hours of darkness was new. I used to think that maybe something would creep up behind me during the days of the Wizarding Wars and would kill me. I know I’m not really anything special, but I am a friend of Harry’s, and so I could have been of some importance to manipulate him.

The fear of evil is an old flame that even now burns deep within me. Ever since I was very young, my Gran has taken me to see my parents in the hospital. Every time I went until now, I silently vowed that I would never end up as they had. I promised myself that I would stay away from all creatures of sin, and whenever I remind myself of that I feel terrified.

I am, even now, afraid of the dark.

However, now I cannot choose to keep away from it. I always take it with me, wherever I go. It lives within me. When I catch my breath, it is darkness that I breathe. When I turn around, it is all that I can see. When I do anything, anything at all, it stands beside me and will not go away, no matter how much I wish it to.

Let me explain. At the Final Battle, well, something happened that day. You see Hermione was in danger. Lucius Malfoy had cornered her, and he looked as if he would kill her. I didn’t know what to do – I couldn’t stand there and watch her die. She was my first friend, the first person who accepted me, and I can never forget that. I ran toward the pair of them, knocking Malfoy to the ground. I paid a terrible price for my friend, one that I will always remember paying.

I am now blind.

The first few days, all I could do was cry. I cried because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead, and so were his followers. I cried for the good people who had died. I cried for the good people who were living. Mostly, I cried because my nightmare had become my reality.

I know that there won’t be some grand operation that will cure me of my shadowy world, and I never have hoped for one. I know I won’t ever go into St. Mungos and be magically cured of this, and I won’t run out into the waiting room into the open arms of my Gran, Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna. I know that I will never see again, will never witness another sunset or see my friend’s faces glowing with pride when I get an ‘O’ in Herbology. I’m damned happy for what I still have: My life. I try not to wish for any more than I have, but it’s obviously very hard. Darkness scares even the bravest of people, like Harry.

The school year isn’t over, though the Final Battle is. Those who missed a year of school have returned to Hogwarts to continue their studies. The population of Hogwarts seems smaller, though. I hear less rustling in the halls, and everything seems to have stopped. Ron told me that Dean Thomas, Susan Bones, Draco Malfoy, Professor McGonagall and a few other people died in the battle. It’s really sad, actually. I didn’t really like Malfoy, and I hardly knew Dean, Susan or McGonagall, but they were people that I could count on being there. They were always there, just talking in a corner or teaching me a lesson. I’ll never have that feeling again. I knew Dean, as he was in my dorm… However, I never knew him as much as I would have liked. We weren’t exactly close. We were hardly even friends.

Since I can’t read my textbooks, Hermione reads them to me. I tell her not to waste her time, but she always insists on it. She really is an Angel, that Hermione. Sometimes, when we finish early, she reads me part of another book – A muggle poem book, or a fairy tale. I’ve become quite fond of fairy tales. There isn’t much wickedness, and it always turns out all right. Maybe fairy tales have happy endings to pull people out of the darkness for just a second, so they can enter a world filled with the light that this one does not possess.

Last night, something happened that I now hold dear to my heart. Her words still ring out in my ears, her tone always striking something deep within me.

She was reading me something from a seventeenth century muggle poet named Henry Vaughan. The poem was called “The Night�. I can still remember the rhymes well:

“THROUGH that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine,
And face the moon :
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most blest believer he !
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When Thou didst rise !
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the Sun !
O who will tell me, where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower ;
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fullness of the Deity ?
No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd stone,
But His own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone ;
Where trees and herbs did watch and peep
And wonder, while the Jews did sleep.
Dear Night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools ; cares check and curb ;
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb !
Christ's progress, and His prayer-time ;
The hours to which high Heaven doth chime.
God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is fill'd with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking-time ; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch.
Were all my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent ;
Then I in Heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To ev'ry mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.
There is in God—some say—
A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear.
O for that Night ! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim !�
That last verse is what made Hermione stop. She said to me in a trembling voice:

“Neville? Even God is blind.�

I was a little shocked by her idea. I asked her why she said that.

“I said it,� She said with a sigh. “Because I want to prove a point. Everyone has a particular darkness in them that they can’t escape. In some, it is spiteful and malicious, like the one in Voldemort. In others, like you, it is deep and dazzling. You were blinded because you saw something that Malfoy didn’t: A girl who needed help. You saved me. The darkness in you isn’t there to be cruel and daunting; it’s there to be deep and dazzling, like God’s sightlessness.�

Even now, I can’t think of a reply to what she said. I tried to say something to her this morning, but I ended up just hugging her instead. She sees that, even if I carry shadows within me, I am still good. She sees that I don’t have to fear myself anymore.

And really, life is all about seeing things without seeing them. Not about making other people see.

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**�The Night� is a poem that was written by Henry Vaughan in the 17th century.