⠀ ⠀ ⠀ on break til 07.05.22 * ⠀˚✧ ⋆｡˚
❝ 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘦 ❞
never, in all his ten years of living,
would have thought that a girl
named after a spring flower would
be the most magical thin...
Most of her face was blocked sideways by the lavender linen scarf draped over her head, tumbling down around her shoulders. What he could see were chocolate eyes that sparkled with mirth and wonder, flitting from the cats on her lap to the tattered paperback she held in one hand. Her face was rounded and smooth, wisps of baby hairs tracing webs of ebony across her cheekbones. Her hands that peaked out from her orange gingham long-sleeved dress didn't appear to be fragile, but rather they appeared worn and tough, tiny calluses already appearing at the ends, nails filed down as far as possible, ready to handle anything. Her once-white apron had streaks of dirt, yellow-green grass stains and leaves and flower petals clinging to the ruffles. She wasn't afraid to get dirty, it seemed.
The tabby cat — Mr Paws, he realised belatedly — batted a soft paw at her face, causing her to scrunch up her nose, squint, and release a giggle no louder than the footfall of a, well, cat. The tinkling sound just poured out of her pale lips that seemed so tiny on her face. It was as good, if not better than hearing syllables and phrases slip through like a fountain of youth.
God, her laugh was cute. And she was pretty. She wasn't pretty in the way that everyone looked at Susan, the blonde, blue-eyed girl who sits behind him, for. She was pretty in the way people would look at a field of dandelions. Soft, simple, content, filled with wonder.
His breath hitched when she glanced up out of the blue, sensing his stare probably. The girl scrambled to her feet, causing three of the four cats to leap to the floor. Mr Paws had instead leapt up to curl himself around the crook of her neck. Her body tensed, her boots shifting on the grass. She looked ready to bolt at any second, doubt and suspicion passing over her chocolate eyes.
"Wait! I was just looking for the cats. I didn't mean to stare at you." Harry exclaimed, holding out his hands in front of him. She frowned. "Really, I was just trying to find the cats again so that Mrs Figg wouldn't kill me."
The girl's eyes widened. "They're Mrs Figg's cats?" He nodded, and her face fell a smidge as she pouted. "I was hoping they were strays so that I could keep playing with them some more. I suppose she'll be wanting them back now?"
Harry took a glance at the cats, then back at her. In that small look, he made up his mind. He shrugged.
"Well, I don't have to say when I found the cats, I just have to bring them back to Mrs Figg's house by seven so that Aunt Petunia won't freak when she comes to pick me up."
"Really?" She shouted, happy that she could spend a bit more time with the cats. Her chocolate eyes lit up again, and the sunset dazzled even brighter behind her. "She won't mind?"
Oh, she definitely would mind.
"Yeah, don't think she will."
If she ever found out, that is.
The raven-haired girl stuck out her hand, beaming. "I'm Hyacinth, but you can call me Yasi."
"I'm Harry." He took her hand, and she pumped it up and down with fervour. Maybe a bit too much fervour, as his rather thin and scraggly body shook up and down every time she brought her hand up and down.
"Hiya, Harry!"
Her eyes were so bright. He didn't even know someone could smile that wide. Maybe that was made her seem so magical. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realise that he was still holding her hand. When he didn't let go, her smile melted into a smaller, but still equally glowing one. She shifted her hand so hers was clasped his, side-by-side.
"C'mon, I'm in the middle of telling a story." Hyacinth tugged him down beside her, and he fell in an ungracious pile beside her, which made her laugh.
Harry's ears burned red, choosing to look instead at Snowy. Who decided at that moment to scamper off onto the lap of the girl sitting next to him, purring against her stomach. He would swear that those yellow eyes were gloating and judging him as it dragged a pale pink tongue over its pristine white paw.
He mumbled under his breath. "Traitor."
His words made her giggle again, but she had the decency to try covering them up behind her palm. Being the ten-year-old that she was, she wasn't very good at it, and neither was Harry. His green eyes met her brown ones, and they dissolved into a fit of laughs and childish snorts.
They couldn't stop because the moment one of them would try, the other one would stare into their eyes, and they would break out in giggles again until they forgot what they were laughing about in the first place. So, they sat there as the sky turned from orange to pink, the tattered copy of Poems, in Two Volumes laid discarded beside them, and the four cats curling around the both of them, laughing away at nothing but themselves, her callused but tiny hand still cupped over his too-thin, equally rough hands.
That was the second magical thing she gave him, nonsensical laughter.
And it was one of many things she would be bringing into his dull world.
