Pale Green: Harry
The curtains hadn’t closed completely, and a thin strip of orange light reflected off the pale wall of the living room and shed the barest amount of light on the furnishings of the room. Even though he wasn’t babyish enough to be scared of the dark anymore, not now he was nearly eight, Harry was grateful for the small amount of light- it made things a little bit easier.
He was pressed against the wall by the door, breathing shallowly and trying to hold in the little giggle of not-quite-scaredness that kept threatening to bubble up from his stomach and betray him. He swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths, reaching a hand up carefully slowly to push his overlarge glasses back up his sweaty nose. Sometimes he wondered whether his mum or dad had worn glasses. He thought maybe that it was his dad, because Aunt Petunia was his mum’s sister and she didn’t wear glasses, but then again Veejay and Ravi in his class at school didn’t both wear glasses. They were twins, and he could never remember which one was the one blinking at him from behind thick lenses; he didn’t feel too guilty about it though because even Mrs Forster called them both VeejayandRavi to save time. He didn’t know which of his mum and dad he looked like, really, because Aunt Petunia only had photos of her and Uncle Vernon and Dudley around the house, and when one time he’d asked if she had any photos of his mum he’d had to stay in his cupboard for two days.
He blew out a long sigh, and took a careful step forwards, his eyes flickering between the furniture he was in line with- the edge of the sofa and the bookcase, and he didn’t have to worry until he was near the coffee table- and the corner of the room to make sure he hadn’t lost.
He played the game every night he wasn’t too tired. Some nights he still played it even when he was tired, but he cheated a little and slid along the floor on his stomach, carefully keeping his head down until he’d reached the kitchen, which was a Safe Zone. That was when he was hungry, when he played when he was tired. Sometimes Aunt Petunia got busy and forgot to give him any dinner.
Other nights, when he’d been locked up in the cupboard all day and needed to have some exercise he played a specially hard version, where he had to go back to his cupboard every time he lost a life and start from the beginning again, but tonight he was hungry so he was just keeping careful count of the lives he lost.
He took another step forwards and stopped, carefully lifting his left leg high in front of him and taking an exaggerated step forwards, keeping his eyes on the corner of the room as he lifted his other leg over the invisible obstruction. He let out a breath as he hurriedly took another step, further into safety. No little pale green light- he hadn’t triggered the tiny alarm sensor, high in the corner of the living room.
He liked playing his game. The nervous feeling in his stomach was part of what made it fun, the trouble he knew he’d get into if they ever worked out he’d been out of his cupboard at night. Sometimes he felt the little hairs on his neck standing up, even though he wasn’t scared, and he got a funny feeling like someone was watching him- like that time he’d been in the playground and he’d turned around to see a strange man staring at him. The man had been really scruffily dressed, he looked really poor, and for some reason Harry had thought maybe he knew Aunt Petunia because he looked like he recognised Harry, only when Aunt Petunia had caught him looking she’d hurried them straight home. Her mouth had gone all thin, too, like that time she’d had to wake Harry up because he’d been having a loud bad dream, and he’d accidentally called her mum.
He was so busy thinking about the strange man that he absentmindedly took a step forwards and hissed a disappointed breath as the small light flickered on. He frowned and took a quick step back, watching the light for a few seconds until it had disappeared again. He really hated the colour of the alarm sensor, only he couldn’t really remember why. Only, sometimes, when he’d lost too many lives in a game, he had horrible dreams about flashes of pale green light.
He was pressed against the wall by the door, breathing shallowly and trying to hold in the little giggle of not-quite-scaredness that kept threatening to bubble up from his stomach and betray him. He swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths, reaching a hand up carefully slowly to push his overlarge glasses back up his sweaty nose. Sometimes he wondered whether his mum or dad had worn glasses. He thought maybe that it was his dad, because Aunt Petunia was his mum’s sister and she didn’t wear glasses, but then again Veejay and Ravi in his class at school didn’t both wear glasses. They were twins, and he could never remember which one was the one blinking at him from behind thick lenses; he didn’t feel too guilty about it though because even Mrs Forster called them both VeejayandRavi to save time. He didn’t know which of his mum and dad he looked like, really, because Aunt Petunia only had photos of her and Uncle Vernon and Dudley around the house, and when one time he’d asked if she had any photos of his mum he’d had to stay in his cupboard for two days.
He blew out a long sigh, and took a careful step forwards, his eyes flickering between the furniture he was in line with- the edge of the sofa and the bookcase, and he didn’t have to worry until he was near the coffee table- and the corner of the room to make sure he hadn’t lost.
He played the game every night he wasn’t too tired. Some nights he still played it even when he was tired, but he cheated a little and slid along the floor on his stomach, carefully keeping his head down until he’d reached the kitchen, which was a Safe Zone. That was when he was hungry, when he played when he was tired. Sometimes Aunt Petunia got busy and forgot to give him any dinner.
Other nights, when he’d been locked up in the cupboard all day and needed to have some exercise he played a specially hard version, where he had to go back to his cupboard every time he lost a life and start from the beginning again, but tonight he was hungry so he was just keeping careful count of the lives he lost.
He took another step forwards and stopped, carefully lifting his left leg high in front of him and taking an exaggerated step forwards, keeping his eyes on the corner of the room as he lifted his other leg over the invisible obstruction. He let out a breath as he hurriedly took another step, further into safety. No little pale green light- he hadn’t triggered the tiny alarm sensor, high in the corner of the living room.
He liked playing his game. The nervous feeling in his stomach was part of what made it fun, the trouble he knew he’d get into if they ever worked out he’d been out of his cupboard at night. Sometimes he felt the little hairs on his neck standing up, even though he wasn’t scared, and he got a funny feeling like someone was watching him- like that time he’d been in the playground and he’d turned around to see a strange man staring at him. The man had been really scruffily dressed, he looked really poor, and for some reason Harry had thought maybe he knew Aunt Petunia because he looked like he recognised Harry, only when Aunt Petunia had caught him looking she’d hurried them straight home. Her mouth had gone all thin, too, like that time she’d had to wake Harry up because he’d been having a loud bad dream, and he’d accidentally called her mum.
He was so busy thinking about the strange man that he absentmindedly took a step forwards and hissed a disappointed breath as the small light flickered on. He frowned and took a quick step back, watching the light for a few seconds until it had disappeared again. He really hated the colour of the alarm sensor, only he couldn’t really remember why. Only, sometimes, when he’d lost too many lives in a game, he had horrible dreams about flashes of pale green light.