LIVE FOREVER

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—» 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 »

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HARRY KNEW THIS MUCH from staying at the Dursleys — if something was going good, it probably wouldn't last very long.

Take this, for instance. His little incident with the escape of a certain Brazilian boa constrictor had finally exhausted its subsequent punishment, and he was left free for his summer outside of the chores his aunt would give him. By that point, the summer holidays had already sprung about, which meant no nasty homework or exams to worry about. The sun was high, the birds were chirping, and he could see past the claustrophobic walls that made up his past few months.

Unfortunately, there were still downsides to this.

At every turn, poke, or even passing stare he made under the Dursleys' roof was scrutinised under a microscopic lens. Any hint at all of Harry acting more than a passing ghost servant in the house earned him an earful from his aunt and uncle. It was like treading on eggshells, and one small mistake could lead to him being locked up in the cupboard all-year instead of two or three months.

Worst of all, Dudley and his gang of big, mean, and half-witted friends constantly came about the house. Dennis, Gordon, Malcolm, and Piers all followed whatever Dudley would say, funnily enough. It was akin to some animal kingdoms — the most qualified amongst the group was the de facto leader. In this case, however, the 'qualifications' in question were, "how big, mean, or stupid could you be?".

Dudley, in his own terrifying way, was the biggest, meanest, and most stupid one of the lot. This meant that his friends went with what Dudley wanted to do and enjoyed it too. One of those things in particular was something he liked to call Harry Hunting.

Harry took to exploring the outdoors at that point, thank you very much.

It wasn't that bad, swinging by the park, with no one around. Walking the streets was worse, but even then, it was mostly ignoring the haughty and affronted looks people would shoot at him as if him merely walking in that area was an insult to them. He didn't have many friends thanks to Dudley and his crew, nor did he fit in with the perfect, ordinary suburban life that was Little Whinging. He was the odd nephew left on the front porch of the poor Dursleys, left to take care of the child of poor Mrs Dursley's unspoken of oddball sister that would have most certainly not have fit in their quiet town.

He could get lost in the constant sway the swing would give him. It reminded him that there were things he could do that normal kids could as well. Normal kids who didn't have to think about what their parents looked like, already knowing by memory. Normal kids who weren't almost sickly thin and wore broken glasses. Normal kids who didn't wish to go back to school, no matter what the reason.

In fact, he was so lost in the sway and the wind rushing past his ears to hear a soft humming getting closer and closer to his area, punctured by the soft pops and grunts that mimicked percussion and bass into the tiny melody.

A twig snapped, echoing across the empty park. His hands tensed on the half-rusted chains of the swing, his body hanging a split-second too long in a backwards motion, far too long to be the result of simple momentum, but just long enough for him to see the tail end of a scarf disappear through the bushes, dark brown chocolate locks of hair flowing alongside it.

Alas, there is only so much that could have happened in that moment, for the swing jerked forward again, as all swings do, and he could do nothing, not even see the mysterious figure scamper off four streets down from Privet Drive.

His feet dragged back into the sand below him, limp, slowing down his near-horizontal back-and-forth on the swing. His green eyes swivelled around, looking for any signs of the girl who ran away when his eyes caught the dimming purple sky. Sighing, he started to make his way back to Number 4, Privet Drive.

Who wears a scarf in the summer anyways?

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༻✧༺

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HARRY DIDN'T MEAN to create an escape route. In fact, it wasn't his fault in the first place, not really anyway. One moment, Harry was cracking the window open just a smidge to let some cool air into the stuffy living room that smelled like cabbages, and the next thing he knew, he was bowled over on the carpeted rug with the last of the four cats living in the old lady's house scurried out the creaky old pane.

Mrs Figg scurried down as soon as she heard the odd 'thud' sound of Harry hitting the ground. It wasn't saying a lot since she was stuck in a leg cast, and she was at a considerable age already. When she had made it to the bottom of the staircase, she yelled at Harry a fair bit, going on about irresponsibility and blatant disrespect, the cats having been long gone by then. Harry thought she sounded worried about him for a second there, but then she brought up Mr Paws and his old age again, and he knew he was mistaken.

"Since you opened the window, you get to go and find Mr Paws and Tibbies! Don't worry about Tufty and Snowy. Unlike some people, they can take care of themselves. And since I can't walk properly for another twelve weeks — that cousin of yours is a real peach — you get the pleasure of taking responsibility and finding them!"

So that's how he ended up searching through the front lawn bushes of the neighbouring houses, earning himself a few more loathing glances on top of the other pointed stares. He had already scoured the five houses down the street and turned up with no cats in sight. There was an awful bulldog who had yapped and snapped at him until he had scurried off the third house he checked, and he prayed the cats did not suddenly befriend the hellion.

As he turned the corner to check the next street over, his eyes were blinded by a gust of wind blowing leaves into his face. Bright greens and pale yellows danced before him, not unlike the blinding green flash he dug up from the deepest parts of his memory. Unlike the faint recollection, the vivid luminous greens that burst forth brought warmth and an odd sense of joy. It was nothing like the vicious green that chilled him to his bones. For a moment in time, he felt like something good was going to happen. And, not for the first time, he wished that it would last just a second longer.

The universe likes to play funny tricks. A man might lose a penny, but end up finding a pound note somewhere along the road. A woman might get a divorce, only to find out that her ex-husband was a criminal and was arrested. A bank could be broken into, but nothing stolen. A friend lost, but a family found.

And maybe, Harry Potter might have lost the cats, but he ended up finding not only them but maybe the most stunning girl he's ever laid eyes on. He wouldn't ever forget the first words that sprung forth from her pale lips, sweet as honey and enchanting not only the four cats laying on her lap, but unknowingly his heart as well.

"I gazed—and gazed—but little thought, What wealth the show to me had brought."

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