Chapter Text
There's a hole right besides the window in the living floor, a hole so tiny your dad didn't even bother to think about fixing it, shrugging his shoulder when she brought it up with him and he soon told her to mind her business.
She did. She stared at that tiny crack in the wooden floor for a whole afternoon and just stopped when her mom screamed in terror when lighting the living room lights and seeing her daughter looking at the wall like some kind of ghost.
(She was grounded after.)
But there was something so fantastic about it, the crack seemed to stare at her and follow her gaze, it whispered words of something greater to her, luring her with promises of something she doesn't even know it exists. But it whispers and, with shining eyes, the girl wants to listen.
"For Merlin fuckin' sake, I already told you, I didn't bring the damn wine, woman!"
Tilting her head to the side, a girl barely older than ten shuffles her toes agaisn't the cold, polished floor. Her fingertips traces words on a book page, consuming the words like she drank from it.
Recently, her little and happy family decided to expand their horizons after a big promotion and the discovery that they soon get another family member. Little Whinging, Privet Drive was a quaint, quiet and serene neighborhood.
"Oh, but of course you didn't! With that big, egregious, enormous head of yours you would think the brain would match!"
It's, somehow, like a antique book collecting dust in a bookshelve. Book-hungry worms slowly devouring page by page while the book slowly deteriorates silently with time. She has yet to decide if Privet Drive is the book or book-hungry worm itself.
With quiet and small movements, she closes her book and the title, 'The Critique of Pure Reason' welcoming her silently and if she blink, she can see Kant waving at her, his smile clipped and short.
She waves back with a smile, and leaves him in the floor with a small sorry, not looking back at the two fighting adults, she opens the dark-wood door quietly, the sunlight peering through the small opening like a old friend.
She peers at the street and when her gaze lands on a fat, black cat with the biggest green's eyes ever, she smiles and step outside with a big grin, the chilly breeze of autumn nipping at her bare arms.
The cat, it's big, pointy ears now alerted of her noises, he trots towards her with a elegance worthy of a king who loves his people. Or tolerates them, but still helding grace on the palm of his hands. (More like paws, now.)
"By Merlin, Mauricio, if you don't fix that wretched hat of yours, I'll go alone!"
Privet Drive was, at least for her little sense of world, boring and dull. Colors weren't so colorful here, dulling to match it's residents humor and animals weren't so lively here like they are in other places. It was gray, clammy like mud and quiet like a leaf.
Crouching to get eye-to-eye with the black cat, she smiles when he purrs at her and she spares a hand to scratch him behind the neck, which he almost meowed in thanks.
The cat, with his wise eyes, fluttered them close at her touch and his whiskers seemed to shiver, turning into puddle right in front of her. He, as a prideful king, should be embarrased, at least slightly.
He nipped at her finger like it was a grand revolution, a king beheading his peasant. She merely giggled.
Privet Drive was dull because it's residents were dull as a rock that falls from a hill, others thousands will fall too, but they think they're oh-so different.
She met a few of the while wandering aimless, knocking on doors with a few candies her mom pushed onto the little girl palm and made her greet them.
The little Wormwood girl, with the scruffy overhalls that was a tad too big for her and her loafers that had better days started with the house on their right with a garden of pretty white lillies that seemed to be bathing under the sun. She sees them waving to her and she waves back before knocking on the door.
A woman, with a long face that looked like she sucked lemon as a hobby, opened the door with a deep-seethed frown on her face and downright cringed when meeting the young girl eyes, her gaze fleeting from the candies on her open palm towards the scruffy overhalls and then to her messy hair. She shrugged when the woman closed the door on her face and knocked again until she opened and accepted the mint candy.
"For Christ, I don't have anything for you." The little girl tilts her head, looking behind the woman to see a chubby boy with a red face thrashing around the house.
And that's something funny coming from her mouth, because [Name] is sure she's the one offering her something, and that makes her curious.
"But I'm the one givin' you something." She pauses, like she's waiting for the information settle on the older woman brains before continuing. "You don't like mint? I have a bar of chocolate, too, but this one for me."
The woman sneered and [Name] almost told her to stop doing that, she's already ugly enough with thar thin pressed lip, but she caught herself on time.
The Dursley are a weird bunch. Like a perfect, almost traditional family, with beliefs they carry near their heart and the ignorance of judgement imbued in their cross. [Name]'s mom liked them.
And that's why, unfortunately, her family was invited to dinner with them. Something about sharing the sprit of the neighborhood with them. She sighs dreadfully and wanders with the cat towards the Wormwood's yard, a cat trotting right behind her.
Well, the little girl meeting with the others neighboors weren't half as bad. They were dull, too, gray like clay and not a ounce of a sparkle. Down the street, when she first meet Tufty, the black cat, lived Miss Arabella, a old woman with round and black eyes that looked at her weirdly before slipping a small smile on her wrinkled face.
She had a lot of cats. Maybe she sold their fur or maybe she put it on the shriveled cake she offered.
Huffing, the girl eyes the drying flowers and decides they'll die anyway and decides to nap on them, the cat eagerly waiting for her to lay down to also lay on her chest.
Now, on the other side of the street, lived Miss Amelia. She had slanted eyes and lucious black hair and looked at the little girl standing outside her door with narrowed eyes. Almost slamming the door shut on her face before her eyes landed on a cute, chubby black cat following her around.
(The young woman then gave to her a old, used and patched messenger bag that hung awkwardly around her shoulders.)
"Where is your daughter?! Mauricio! Where's the girl?!"
Quaint, quiet, serene; few words that described perfectly Little Whinging, Privet Drive. Nothing could reach here, it was like a bubble meant only to people that deserved this kind of life. The little girl stared at the cerulean sky and wondered if she deserved it.
She can't really complain since it's not a bad place, but there's this small flicker on her chest—a burning desire of more. She doesn't want to be trapped in Privet Drive, living in a small and cold yellow house and wakening everyday to the view of Miss Petunia soured face. [Name], like any kid of her age, wishes to do more.
She can't help it, but every imprisoned princess desires to escape.
"Mrryou're being too harsh on this poor, poor street." The cat on top of the girl hums, licking his paw boredly. "If you look well, I'm purrrsitive you're going to find it far more interesting than you think." The girl hums and the sound reverberates on her ribcage, the fluffly clouds above them seemed to smile at her. If she squint, she's certain she can see a flying broom every now and then.
Now, on the sky, she can see a big, red dragon on the clouds. She imagine herself riding it through the clouds, slicing enemies with a fierce glare while the harsh wind blows her hair.
"I think the most interesting thing in Privet Drive is the weird flickering lamp near Dursley's house."
And Tufty, the black cat, chuckles. His voice drags like a rumbling fire, sarcastic yet melted with years of wisdom. It's deep but rich, like melted butter.
Making a sort-of telescope with her hands, she eyes through the hole and hums, the setting sun seems relieved to be retiring—maybe he'll say hi to the moon on his way out.
Tufty, now sharpening his nails on the scruffy overhalls of the little girl, purrs at himself. "Certainly not the oddest thing here." The cat huffs, licking his nose before jumping out of her chest, looking straight at the Dursley's house with sharpened irises. "But I do like the quiet life, hunt some rats, hiss at the weird kid, I'm purrtrically living the best life." She snort at that, resting her hands flatly under her head, soft grass pickling at her flesh.
"For a talkin' cat, I think you're too boring." The cat purrs, blinking lazily at her like she's a puzzle he has yet to understand.
"Maybe you think of yourself as too special."
"[NAME]! COME HERE THIS GODDAMN INSTANT! wherever you are.."
There's a small, lingering minute that she pretends she didn't hear her mom, too busy looking at weird shaped clouds and for a moment, she sees herself flying.
Flying away to something great, something only Tolkien would have the mind to build, a world of fantasy she would swin and dive.
But her mom is now threatening to burn her books, saying something about turning it into dust if she doesn't appears in this instant and, sadly, she goes, biding Tufty goodbye.
The cat stares longer at Dursley's house before trotting back to Arabella Figg house down the street.