The Vanishing Glass
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up one morning to find their nephew and a black dog on their doorstep, but Privet Drive had not changed at all. The sun rose over the same well-kept gardens and lit up the brass number 4 on the Dursleys' front door. The house was neat and spotless, just as Petunia Dursley had always wanted, and nothing, at least on the surface, suggested that a very special boy lived inside.
Harry Potter still lived there. He had always slept in Dudley’s second bedroom, a space the Dursleys had reluctantly given him and never stopped making him feel he didn’t deserve. Though it was nominally his, the room had never truly become “Harry’s”: it was still cluttered with broken toys, old schoolbooks, and Dudley’s outgrown clothes that Aunt Petunia refused to throw away, using it as a sort of storage room instead. Fortunately, Harry wasn’t forced to wear those cast-offs. The day after Harry had arrived at the Dursleys’, the Collins family next door at number 6 had decided to suddenly retire to the Canary Islands. Their house had been sold quickly, and the arrival of the new neighbor had shaken up the Dursleys' lives, leaving them bewildered and full of dismay.
The new neighbor embodied everything Vernon hated: a chaotic, disorganized man who paid no mind to the unspoken rules of decorum and respect that Vernon held dear. His appearance was far from the subdued elegance Vernon deemed appropriate, and his carefree attitude suggested a complete disregard for conventions that Vernon considered sacred. He hated his lack of respect for the silence and order Privet Drive demanded, especially when the man roared down the street on his motorcycle. He hated the eccentric people who visited the house during holidays like Christmas and Easter. And most of all, he hated this: the new neighbor was Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black.
Thanks to Sirius, Harry wore new, fashionable clothes chosen with care. “A Potter should never look anything less than extraordinary,” Sirius would always say, flashing one of his brilliant smiles. Harry loved those moments when Sirius took him shopping and treated him to ice cream, occasionally sharing amusing anecdotes about his parents and showing him that, at least to Sirius, Harry truly mattered.
"Get up at once, Harry!" came the shrill command, accompanied by a rapid drumming on the door.
Harry woke up yawning, his unruly black hair already defying gravity before he even got out of bed. He sat up, glancing briefly at the desk near the window. On it sat the most precious gift he had ever received from his godfather: a pair of elegant, round glasses with a frame reminiscent of a singer his mother, Lily, had adored. Harry knew only a few songs from that famous band, but he cherished them because Sirius had told him how his mother would try to lull him to sleep singing those tunes. Sirius had even shown Harry a photo of the singer with his band, joking that they reminded him of his parents’ old group: James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. But Sirius never spoke about Peter. Remus, on the other hand, Harry only saw during special occasions like birthdays and Christmas.
Harry smiled, grabbing the glasses from his nightstand. Despite everything the Dursleys did to make him feel like a burden, he considered himself lucky. He had Sirius, the one person in the world who was truly on his side.
"I'm awake!" he shouted as he put the glasses on his nose and got up to get dressed.
"Don't shout!" bellowed Uncle Vernon from downstairs. "And hurry up!"
Harry quickly dressed in a simple but high-quality outfit, a gift from Sirius for his last birthday. He glanced at himself in the mirror, attempting to tame his unruly hair. "Hopeless," he muttered with a sarcastic smirk.
When he walked into the kitchen, the table was already covered with Dudley’s birthday presents. His cousin, now a blond man-child, was counting the packages with a scowl on his face.
“Thirty-eight!” Dudley shrieked, glaring at the pile. “That’s fewer than last year!”
Harry shook his head as he walked past his cousin to check on the bacon. “Same old scene. They should make it into a play: Dudley Dursley and the Missing Presents,” he muttered sarcastically.
“What did you say, boy?” Vernon shot him a stern look over his newspaper.
“Nothing important,” Harry replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.
Aunt Petunia entered the kitchen at that moment, shooting him a withering glare. “Such insolence,” she said coldly. “In my day, ungrateful children like you learned what respect meant.”
“Oh, really?” Harry replied, flipping the bacon with ease. “And how exactly did they learn it?”
Petunia pursed her lips until they were a thin line. “You should thank your godfather that I can’t set you straight!” she hissed, as if the words were poison. “That delinquent does nothing but spoil an already impertinent brat!”
“Are you sure that’s such a bad thing?” Harry retorted with a sarcastic smile. “Thanks to him, I don’t have to wear Dudley’s old rags or live in a cupboard. I’d call that a pretty big improvement, wouldn’t you?”
Vernon, who had been grumbling behind his newspaper, furiously crumpled it and slammed it onto the table. His face turned a deep shade of purple as he glared at Harry with barely contained rage. “Back in my day, boys like you learned discipline, just like they do at Smeltings! If only I could teach you a proper lesson…”
Harry paused for a moment, then looked up at his uncle with a mischievous grin. “No one’s stopping you… though we both know how that would end. Don’t you remember the last time you tried? Oh, yes… I still recall that entire month with the nose bandages and those two black eyes. You looked so much like a panda, I almost felt like offering you some bamboo.”
The silence that followed was almost deafening. Vernon clenched his fists, his face twisting into a mask of rage, but he didn’t dare to reply. The memory was still fresh in his mind: Sirius, furious, bursting into the house unannounced after Harry had told him what had happened. The godfather had grabbed Vernon by the shirt, hitting him with a force Vernon would never forget.
Every attempt by Vernon to retaliate had been futile. Sirius had been an unstoppable hurricane, and Vernon’s poorly aimed punch had earned him a swift and precise counterattack, leaving him on the floor with a bloody nose and two black eyes that made him look like a panda. When Sirius had dragged him against the wall, one hand gripping his throat, Vernon had genuinely thought it would be the end.
"If you ever lay a hand on Harry again," Sirius had growled in a low, threatening voice, "I won’t hold back, Dursley. And I swear you’ll regret the day you decided to take him in."
Petunia, pale as a sheet, had stood frozen, too terrified to intervene. Dudley had hidden behind the couch, shaking like a leaf.
Vernon, however, was not one to passively accept humiliation. The very next day, he had attempted to take legal action, marching to the local courthouse to request a restraining order against Sirius Black, claiming the man was a threat to his family’s safety.
But, strangely, the request had been denied with surprising speed. The judge, an odd elderly man with silvery hair, dismissed the matter with a few curt words: “Insufficient legal grounds. Motion denied.”
Vernon had returned home furious, convinced that Sirius had bribed someone. Harry, who had listened carefully to the whole account, couldn’t help but suspect that some magical hand had intervened in the decision.
That incident, however, had left a mark on Harry as well. For days, he had been tormented by the thought of losing Sirius. The idea that his godfather could end up in prison, or that the Dursleys might somehow succeed in keeping them apart, had made him anxious and angry. When Sirius had noticed his distress, he had reassured him firmly:
“Harry, no one will take me away from you. Not them, not anyone. I’ll fight to my last breath to protect you.”
Those words had meant the world to Harry, and from then on, he hadn’t allowed the Dursleys to intimidate him—especially Uncle Vernon. Even now, as he calmly flipped the bacon, Harry relished the tense silence in the kitchen.
“Think carefully, Uncle,” he said with a half-smile, breaking the awkward silence. “Sirius doesn’t forget. And neither do I.”
Vernon muttered something unintelligible, avoiding Harry’s gaze.
Petunia opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself, turning instead to Dudley, who had resumed loudly complaining about the missing gifts.
“Two more presents today, Duddy darling,” she reassured him, quickly changing the subject. “Don’t let them ruin your birthday!”
“Never!” Harry exclaimed in mock surprise, turning off the stove and transferring the bacon onto a plate. “The whole world might stop.”
“Harry Potter!” snapped Petunia, pointing a finger at him. “One day, you’ll pay for that insolent tongue.”
“I don’t think so,” Harry replied with a sly smile. “Sirius doesn’t agree with you.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and Dudley’s friend, Piers Polkiss, walked into the house. Dudley leapt up to greet him, completely forgetting his earlier complaints.
Ten minutes later, Harry, hardly believing his luck, was walking toward his godfather’s house. The Dursleys, exasperated by his presence during the preparations for Dudley’s birthday, had sent him away. “Go to that godfather of yours,” Uncle Vernon had hissed with barely concealed contempt, while Petunia nodded fervently. That was all Harry needed to hear. There was nowhere in the world he would rather be. As he reached the house, a wide grin spread across his face.
Sirius’s house was the complete opposite of the Dursleys’. Its proximity to number 4 only emphasized the differences. Number 6 Privet Drive was much more welcoming and chaotic, a lively and character-filled refuge. There were no pristine, silent rooms or spotless surfaces; instead, books were piled everywhere, messy but full of charm, and every corner seemed to tell a story. The walls were adorned with photographs, many of which featured Harry. The images moved slightly, meaning Sirius had used magic to take them. In one, Harry was smiling as Sirius carried him on his shoulders while they sped on his motorcycle. In another, Harry was playing with a large black dog in Sirius’s garden, laughing joyfully.
Sirius appeared at the door with his usual dazzling smile. Tall, with long, wavy black hair, sparkling gray eyes, and a face that was the very picture of rebellious youth, Sirius Black didn’t look remotely his age. He wore a black leather jacket and worn jeans, and his boots clattered on the wooden floor as he opened the door.
“Harry! You’re here, my boy!” he exclaimed, pulling him into a warm hug. “Have those Dursleys finally given you a break? Or did they kick you out as usual?”
“Dudley’s birthday,” Harry replied with a wry smile. “You know how it is—they didn’t want me ‘disturbing’ them just by being there.”
Sirius chuckled and made a theatrical gesture. “Oh, I see! The great sovereign of Privet Drive must have all the attention. Well, I’d say it’s time you had your own special day.” He said, leading Harry inside.
Harry went upstairs to his real bedroom, decorated exactly the way he liked. The walls were adorned with posters of all kinds: The Beatles, a band everyone knew and his mother’s favorite; a couple of motorcycles like Sirius’s parked in the driveway; a large cannon on a red background, the symbol of an English Premier League football team; and, of course, the Montrose Magpies, his father’s favorite team. Sirius had told him that James Potter had been an avid fan who never missed listening to the matches on the radio with him when they were younger.
Weekends at Sirius’s house were a constant celebration. They often went to Highbury Stadium to watch Arsenal matches, and when they couldn’t, they followed the Montrose Magpies’ games on the radio, with Harry imagining the players in their black-and-white uniforms in action. Sirius filled their evenings with every kind of fun: dinners loaded with junk food like burgers, pizza, and everything Dudley would devour in seconds. They often went to the cinema or spent hours at the local arcade, where Harry played video games and laughed until he cried with Sirius.
When Harry returned to the kitchen, Sirius gave him a curious nod.
“So, what grand plans do the Dursleys have for our dear Dudley today?”
Harry shook his head with a wry smile. “They’re going to the park, then the cinema, and ending with a burger feast. The usual royal treatment.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his expression turning mischievous. “Oh, really? Well, we can’t let them outdo us, can we? How about we do something just as exciting?”
Harry looked at him, intrigued. “Like what?”
Sirius paused dramatically before grinning. “How about a trip to the zoo? I’d love to see the Dursleys’ faces when they find out they weren’t the only ones who took you there. A bit of a cheeky move, don’t you think?”
Harry burst into laughter and nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! Let’s go!”
Half an hour later, Harry was sitting behind Sirius on his legendary motorcycle. The fresh air tousled his hair, and the deep roar of the engine vibrated through his bones—a sound that seemed to embody the very essence of freedom. Harry held tightly to Sirius’s leather jacket, a broad smile on his face. It was a completely different experience from being squished in the back seat of the Dursleys’ car, enduring Uncle Vernon’s grumbles and Dudley’s jabs. Every so often, Sirius turned to flash him one of his dazzling smiles, as if to say, Isn’t this amazing?
The motorcycle wasn’t just a mode of transport; it glided over the road with a grace that made it seem alive, almost magical. And Harry suspected it might actually be.
The truth was, strange things often happened around Harry. It was no use telling the Dursleys he wasn’t responsible; they never believed him. For instance, once Aunt Petunia, fed up with Harry returning from the barber as if he’d never been, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut his hair so short he was almost bald, except for his fringe, which she left to “hide that horrid scar.” Dudley had laughed himself silly at Harry’s appearance, and Harry had spent a sleepless night dreading the ridicule he would face at school. But the next morning, to everyone’s amazement, Harry’s hair had grown back exactly as it was before. For that, he had been punished with a week locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had tried to force him into an old, hideous jumper of Dudley’s—brown with orange pompoms. But the more she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it became, shrinking until it was so tiny it could have fit a puppet. Furious, Aunt Petunia declared it had “shrunk in the wash.” This time Harry wasn’t punished, but his relief was short-lived. The next incident was even more baffling.
One morning during recess, Harry had been chased by school bullies, with Dudley leading the pack. This was well before Sirius had issued any warnings to the Dursleys. As Harry ran desperately toward the dumpsters behind the kitchens, he shut his eyes, hoping to escape his cousin’s grasp. When he opened them, to his enormous surprise, he found himself on the roof of the kitchens. The school sent an indignant letter to the Dursleys, who demanded to know how he had climbed up there. Harry couldn’t explain. “It was the wind!” he shouted at Uncle Vernon through the locked cupboard door where they had imprisoned him as punishment, long before the panda incident.
Sirius, however, had an explanation for everything. “Those are traces of your magic, Harry,” he had told him one day as they listened to a Montrose Magpies match on the radio. This team, of course, was magical, being part of Quidditch, a sport played by people like Harry and Sirius.
“When you’re in trouble or very upset, it happens. It’s completely normal for young wizards. Don’t worry; you’ll learn to control it with time.”
Those words had been an immense relief to Harry. It was the first time someone had clearly explained what the Dursleys had always treated as a curse. And knowing that Sirius neither feared nor despised him for it was like lifting a weight off his chest.
As the motorcycle purred down the road, Harry suddenly remembered a recent dream.
“You know, Sirius,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind, “I had a dream the other night.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind?” Sirius asked, accelerating slightly to overtake a truck.
“It was about your motorcycle,” Harry replied, smiling at the memory. “But it was flying! I was sitting behind you, just like now, but we were soaring over houses, above the rooftops... It was incredible!”
Sirius burst into laughter, a rich, contagious sound that seemed to echo through the hills. “A dream, huh? Well, Harry, I’ll tell you something: sometimes dreams are closer to reality than you think.”
Harry looked at him curiously, but Sirius didn’t say anything more. He let the idea drift away on the wind that surrounded them—another of his enigmatic habits that Harry found irresistibly fascinating.
As they continued speeding toward the zoo, Harry felt his heart grow lighter. With Sirius by his side, the world seemed full of promise and adventure, a far cry from the monotony of Privet Drive. The day promised to be extraordinary, and Harry was more than ready to make the most of it.
It was a sunny Saturday, and the zoo was bustling with families. Harry and Sirius strolled through the animal enclosures, soaking up the lively atmosphere and the freedom of this special day. Harry was excited to see all the creatures, and every so often, Sirius would pause to share something interesting about one of the animals. During a break, Sirius bought him an ice cream cone with three scoops—chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla—topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream. Sirius was undoubtedly more of a family to Harry than the Dursleys had ever been in ten years.
After wandering for a while, they approached the big cats. Sirius was pointing out a rare white lion when, suddenly, the unmistakable voice of Dudley rang out in the hall. “Look who it is, Dad!”
Harry turned, and his smile vanished at the sight of the Dursleys just a few steps away. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were red with anger, while Dudley was already pointing at him, with Piers standing nearby, smirking.
“Well, look who we have here!” Vernon snarled, his face growing even redder.
“Daddy, Daddy! He did it on purpose…” Dudley whined tearfully, pointing at Harry. “You came here just to ruin my day!” he continued, accusing Harry of orchestrating everything to spoil his outing while Petunia hugged him, trying to console him.
Harry took a deep breath, but before he could respond, Sirius turned slowly, a grin lighting up his face and making his eyes sparkle. He approached with calm steps, fixing his gaze on the Dursleys.
“Ah, the perfect little family,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sweetness that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.
“You know, I thought it was about time Harry saw some other animals, besides the ones he lives with every day…” he finished, turning to Harry with a cheeky smile that made Harry chuckle despite himself.
Uncle Vernon turned an even deeper shade of red, while Aunt Petunia seemed to bristle with indignation. Dudley just looked confused.
“Don’t you dare speak to us like that!” Vernon bellowed, but his voice faltered in the face of Sirius’s intimidating presence.
“Do you want to join your kind, Vernon? The pandas are on the other side of the building,” Sirius replied with a smirk, deliberately emphasizing the irony. “And now, if you’ll excuse us, Harry and I have other animals to see…” he added, placing a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry followed Sirius without a word, but his heart felt lighter, and for the first time, he felt a certain satisfaction at seeing Uncle Vernon’s stunned expression as they walked away.
As the day continued, Sirius kept entertaining Harry with anecdotes about magical creatures and stories from his youth, making him laugh. But the encounter with the Dursleys hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the tension lingered in the air.
After lunch, Harry and Sirius decided to visit the reptile house. The space was cool and dimly lit, with illuminated glass cases lining the walls. Behind the glass, lizards and snakes of all kinds slithered and climbed over branches and rocks. Harry observed the animals with curiosity while Sirius pointed out the most interesting ones, sharing a few fascinating details.
It didn’t take long for Harry’s usual bad luck to catch up with him. He ran into the Dursleys again, this time in front of the enclosure of the biggest snake in the exhibit. Dudley and Piers were already pressed against the glass, staring at the massive boa constrictor, which looked like it could easily coil around Uncle Vernon’s car. At the moment, though, the snake didn’t seem inclined to do anything; it lay motionless in deep sleep, its glossy brown coils completely still.
Dudley pounded on the glass with his pudgy fist. “Make it move,” he demanded, turning to his father.
Uncle Vernon leaned in and rapped his knuckles on the glass, but the snake didn’t budge.
“Again!” Dudley insisted, growing more impatient.
Uncle Vernon knocked harder this time, but it had no effect. Dudley groaned in frustration. “Boring!”
As the Dursleys walked away, disappointed, Harry stepped closer to the glass and looked at the snake with interest. He felt a strange empathy for the creature. It must be terribly dull to live there, with no company other than visitors like Dudley and Piers tapping on the glass all day.
Suddenly, the snake opened its small, shiny eyes. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until it was level with Harry’s. Then it winked.
Harry stared in disbelief. He quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching, then winked back. The snake moved its head slightly toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then rolled its eyes in a dramatic gesture. Harry nearly laughed.
“I know,” Harry murmured through the glass. “It must be really annoying.”
The snake nodded vigorously.
“Where are you from?” Harry asked.
With a flick of its tail, the boa tapped a sign beside the glass. Harry read it: Boa constrictor, Brazil.
“Was it nice there?” Harry asked.
The snake flicked its tail again toward the sign, which read: This specimen was born and raised in captivity.
“Oh, I see,” said Harry with a smile. “You’ve never been there, then.”
The snake shook its head, but before they could “talk” any further, a loud shout shattered the moment.
“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME SEE THIS SNAKE!” Piers yelled behind them.
Dudley ran toward Harry, shoving him hard in the ribs to push him away from the glass. Harry lost his balance and fell to the ground. What happened next was so fast that no one could explain it: one moment, Dudley and Piers were leaning against the glass; the next, they were leaping back, screaming. The glass had vanished.
The snake was slowly uncoiling itself and slithering out of the enclosure, sending visitors into a panic. Harry sat up as the boa slithered past him, hissing a phrase that sounded strangely clear: “Brazil, here I come... Thanks, amigo.”
Harry watched it go, astonished and amused, as the room filled with shouts and the snake headed for the exit.
The reptile house keeper came rushing in, incredulous. “But the glass! Where’s the glass?” he stammered.
Sirius, who had been observing the scene without intervening, burst out laughing when Harry explained what had happened. “You really have a knack for attracting trouble, my boy,” he said, shaking his head with a grin.
Later, as the Dursleys glared furiously at him, Harry couldn’t help but notice that, despite Uncle Vernon’s attempts to hide his anger, fear had made him paler than usual. Dudley, on the other hand, was trembling like a leaf, repeatedly insisting that the snake had tried to “eat him.” But Harry, sitting beside Sirius, felt more amused than ever.
By the end of the visit, as Harry and Sirius prepared to leave the zoo, they heard the heavy footsteps of the Dursleys approaching again. Uncle Vernon, the veins in his neck bulging with rage, stopped in front of Harry and glared down at him.
“Don’t you dare come home for at least a week!” he growled, pointing for him to leave. Dudley, still upset over the snake incident, stood behind him, sulking, while Piers nodded approvingly.
Harry said nothing. He felt the familiar weight in his chest over how his relatives treated him. He had lived with the Dursleys for almost ten years—ten years of unhappiness, as far back as he could remember. Sirius had always lived in the house next door, a constant in Harry’s life for as long as he could remember. Even though the Dursleys did everything to isolate and ignore him, Sirius had been a balancing presence, ensuring Harry at least received the bare minimum to be happy.
While there had never been outright physical abuse—not with Sirius watching over him—Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had found other ways to make his life difficult: ignoring him, isolating him, and constantly reminding him that he wasn’t “one of them.”
From an early age, Harry had known that his parents hadn’t died in a car accident. Sirius had explained it patiently when Harry was old enough to ask questions. However, Sirius had never told him what exactly had happened to them. Every time Harry tried to dig deeper, Sirius would simply shake his head and say gently, “You’re not ready to know the whole truth yet, Harry. We’ll get there, but not now.”
Harry had learned to trust Sirius, but he couldn’t deny that the answer often left him with more questions than before.
Despite this, Sirius made every effort to keep his parents’ memory alive. His house was filled with photographs of them: his father, James, with his untidy hair and a smile that looked strikingly like Harry’s; his mother, Lily, with green eyes identical to his own, always smiling as she held a young Harry in her arms. Sirius often shared stories about them, anecdotes that made Harry laugh or filled him with pride, though sometimes they left a lump in his throat. Sirius talked about James and Lily as if they were still alive, and for Harry, it was an immense comfort.
When Harry spent time at Sirius’s house, he felt for the first time what it meant to belong to a family.
Still, there was something that troubled him. Sometimes, in long hours of solitude, he would remember a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a searing pain on his forehead. He didn’t know what it was, but part of him wondered if it was connected to his parents. When he had mentioned it to Sirius, his godfather had changed the subject, visibly uncomfortable.
Another thing Harry couldn’t explain was why certain people, whom Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would call eccentric, greeted him in the street as if they knew him. Once, a small man in a purple top hat had bowed to him while he was walking with Sirius. Another time, in a restaurant, an elderly woman in a flamboyant green outfit had cheerfully greeted him. Just a few days earlier, a bald man wearing a long, deep-purple cloak had shaken his hand on the street before walking away without a word.
Harry couldn’t understand why these people seemed so familiar with him. When he had asked Sirius, his godfather had explained that there were many special people like them, and it wasn’t possible to know them all. “Maybe they recognize you because you look a bit like James,” Sirius had said with a wistful smile.
Harry wasn’t sure he entirely believed him, but the explanation had satisfied him, at least for a while.
At school, Harry had no friends. Everyone knew that Dudley’s gang hated the strange Harry Potter, and Dudley did everything he could to smear his reputation. He spread rumors that Harry was weird and unbearable, someone to stay away from. Even though Harry was always neat and his clothes were simple but respectable, Dudley never missed an opportunity to invent absurd stories about him. This, combined with the fear everyone had of Dudley’s gang, ensured that no one wanted to approach Harry or risk defending him.
The only real friend Harry had ever had left elementary school two years ago because his stepfather’s job forced his mother and stepsisters to move to another town. Harry often thought about him, especially on the worst days. He had been the only person his age brave enough to stand up to Dudley, and Harry had admired him for it.
He still remembered, with a bittersweet smile, the day his friend had defended him in the schoolyard, humiliating Dudley with a cutting remark that had made everyone laugh. It was one of the few times Harry had felt less alone.
It was this friend who had introduced Harry to football and sparked his interest in Arsenal. He talked about it constantly, often teasing Harry because he was a die-hard West Ham United fan. Harry fondly recalled the afternoons they spent at the park, playing with an old, deflated ball one of the neighbors had thrown away.
It was during those games that Harry discovered he had quick reflexes as a goalkeeper. Those moments were simple but precious, allowing Harry to forget everything else: the Dursleys, Dudley, and the isolation that seemed to follow him everywhere.
But what made that friendship truly incredible was something Harry would never forget. One day, while walking home together, his friend had shared a secret. He told Harry how, one day at home, all the lights had gone out at once when he got angry with his stepsister, or how a dog that had been chasing him had suddenly run away yelping for no apparent reason.
Those stories had made Harry feel less alone. Strange things happened to him too, and for the first time, he had the courage to talk about them with someone who truly understood.
Harry had shared everything Sirius had told him, even though he knew people like them were supposed to remain hidden. He had felt safe sharing it because it seemed his friend belonged to the same world, though he didn’t yet know it—just like his mother before she turned eleven.
Now, two years later, Harry still felt a void thinking about that loss. Their games, their laughter, even their chats on the walk home had become cherished memories he carried in his heart.
With Sirius by his side, Harry knew he was no longer alone, but sometimes he missed having someone his own age, someone to share experiences and secrets with. Looking back, he wondered if he would ever find him again or make another friend like him.