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Harry peered around the doorframe of the living room. Dudley was still playing on the computer he had got for Christmas, so he was safely upstairs until Harry heard the shout of fury that meant he had got stuck on an “impossible” level. Aunt Petunia was scrubbing the bathroom, so she was out the way for a bit too. Uncle Vernon was in there… But he was sat lazily on the sofa, and as long as Harry stayed quiet, stayed out of the way…
He’d heard the theme tune to his favourite telly programme, and it had drawn him out of his cupboard as though someone had been calling his name. On the little square telly, he could see patrolling feet on cobbles, and then grimy shots of London, and back to the feet, and then, finally - yes! The police hats!
It was hard not to jump in excitement. He was not usually up so late. He usually had to watch it secretly through the gap in his cupboard door. But as it was still the Christmas holidays he and Dudley had been allowed to stay up later and later, and maybe this time…
He slipped in quietly, careful not to make any noise or draw Uncle Vernon’s attention to him any more than necessary, and sat on the floor. Uncle Vernon said nothing, so Harry shuffled along on his bum a little closer. When he still said nothing, he shuffled to the side, a little more in line with the telly, as much as he dared without getting directly in his uncle’s line of sight.
He was gripped immediately, his eyes as round as Aunt Petunia’s saucers, bewitched entirely by the police officers and their case to chase down the thug who had stolen an important briefcase. He clutched his knees as he sat there on the carpet, wondering what Galloway would do next, and what you had to do to become a policeman. You probably had to be really clever, to solve crimes like that.
He heard Aunt Petunia come down the stairs, and he tensed slightly, worried that she would tell him to do something and he wouldn’t get to find out what happened with the briefcase, but she just marched through the living room and perched on her armchair, pulling out a women’s magazine. Perhaps she hadn’t even spotted him - he’d made some effort to make himself as small as possible.
He tried to bite back the excited smile as he watched. He might even get through the whole-
Dudley waddled into the room, howling that his game was broken.
‘Vernon,’ said Aunt Petunia sharply. ‘Turn this over.’
‘But-’
‘It’s not appropriate, Vernon, he’s not even five yet!’ she hissed. ‘Hello, Diddy,’ she said sweetly. ‘I think it’s probably getting close to bedtime for you, isn’t it, Angel?’
Harry’s excited little smile fell from his face as Uncle Vernon switched over to the news, where Mrs Thatcher was saying something angrily.
‘Ruddy Scargill,’ grumbled Uncle Vernon. ‘He’ll bring this country to its knees.’
‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ Dudley was saying tearfully. ‘I want to watch Rainbow.’
‘It’s not on, Diddy,’ said Aunt Petunia. ‘It’s much too late for that.’
‘I - WANT - TO - WATCH - RAIN - BOW!’ wailed Dudley, throwing himself onto the floor.
‘Little tyke’s tired,’ said Uncle Vernon sympathetically. ‘It is very late.’
Aunt Petunia scooped the furiously wriggling Dudley up, but as she carried him through, her foot caught, hard, on Harry’s side.
‘Oww!’ he squealed.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, straightening up from her slight stumble over him. ‘Sitting in the middle of the floor? Get yourself to bed.’
‘You knew I was here,’ Harry said unhappily.
‘Just go to bed,’ she snapped. ‘Vernon - make sure he goes-’
She proceeded to take Dudley upstairs, where she would tuck him in, read him The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and kiss him on the forehead. She would tell him not to let the bedbugs bite as she switched off his light and closed his door. Harry knew this routine because he could always hear snatches of it from his cupboard. Never enough for the full story, but enough to know that’s what was happening.
He, on the other hand, was seized unceremoniously by the arm and hoisted up by Uncle Vernon, who pulled him out of the room and over to his cupboard.
‘Bed,’ he said, opening the door and prodding Harry inside. Harry was used to this, so didn’t argue, but neither did he go to bed. Once the door was closed behind him, he turned on his headlamp torch so he could see, and balanced it carefully on his little makeshift shelf. He then found his bucket, and placed it on his head, tilting it back so he could see, but the handle beneath his chin to keep it on. From there, it became a policeman’s helmet. His cardboard tube he had pinched from the remains of the Christmas wrapping paper became a truncheon. He simply imagined the little walkie-talkie radio, clutching his hand to the top of his chest and leaning his head towards it.
He whispered to himself, saying words like ‘charlie’ and ‘echo’ and ‘foxtrot’, and that he was in pursuit of a male with a briefcase, and although there wasn’t space to run or even move much in his cupboard, he scrambled over his bed and wrestled the imaginary bad guys, very much enjoying as he arrested them for being mean, because all of them looked like the Dursleys.
***
Their snogging session had gone as far as they dared, given the fourth year girls lurking not far away and the ever-present possibility that Ron might suddenly charge down to the lake to prevent them from doing whatever they were doing in his mind. And, to be fair, what they would probably quite like to be doing.
The lake was glassy and still, the warm summer air was just edging into chilliness. Ginny’s revision, quite ignored, was pushed to one side as she lay across his lap, his back against the tree.
‘It’s all pointless anyway,’ she was saying. ‘I’m never going to use arithmancy, I may as well just ignore it and fail properly.’
‘Fail properly?’ he asked, looking amused.
‘Yeah. Go hard or go home.’
He laughed, playing with a strand of her hair as he looked down at her. ‘I don’t know what you even use arithmancy for, it looks awful.’
‘It is. You use it if you want to be a Healer or something, I never should have let Hermione convince me to take it.’
‘You don’t want to be a Healer, then?’ he asked, amused.
‘Ugh, no,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘I don’t know why anyone would. Nah, I’m going to try for something in Quidditch, I think.’
He grinned - he looked genuinely excited for her. ‘You could do it,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re definitely professional standard.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that,’ she said quickly. ‘But, you know, there’s a whole industry behind it, I don’t have to be a player necessarily. When I was little I wanted to be a commentator for it. I used to commentate while my brothers played.’
He stared at her, his smile slowly growing bigger. ‘That’s… Adorable,’ he said.
She jabbed his leg with her elbow. ‘Shut up.’
‘It is. Could they hear you?’
‘No.’
‘Even cuter.’
‘Stop it!’ she said, sitting up, and though she was grinning too, she could feel her face growing hot. ‘As childhood dreams go I think that one’s quite normal. Ron wanted to be a hippogriff.’
‘A hippogriff trainer?’
‘No. A hippogriff.’
He snorted. ‘Remind me of that later, please.’
‘Gladly.’ His laughing face was just too much for her, and she kissed him again, enjoying the way his hand brushed against her cheek and back up into her hair. When they broke apart, she felt a little burst of delighted smugness as he blinked slowly at her. ‘What about you?’ she asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘What did you want to be when you were little? Can’t have been a hippogriff.’
He grinned. ‘Me? I wanted to be a policeman.’
She vaguely recognised the word from her muggle-studies lessons. ‘Are they like the law enforcement patrol?’
‘Yeah,’ he said cheerfully. ‘And they have fantastic hats.’
She found herself giggling. ‘Oh, god, did you have one?’
He smiled at her for a moment, and took a breath. ‘Course I did,’ he said, smiling bashfully.
‘And what did you do, as a pleeseman?’
He was blushing now, and she felt glad that they were both sharing these childish little dreams, remembering back to moments that had seemed so wonderful at the time but now filled them with mild embarrassment. ‘I… chased bad guys,’ he said, still grinning sheepishly. ‘And arrested them and sent them to prison.’
‘I bet you were very good at it.’
‘The best in Little Whinging, I think you’ll find.’ He shook his head and sighed heavily. ‘I’d already heard I couldn’t be a good sports commentator because there was some little girl from Devon absolutely dominating the industry-’
‘Shut up,’ she said again, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
‘Known throughout the country for her brutal put downs when Ron missed goals.’
‘At least you’ve got something right,’ she said.