Written for the shipping week at Caesar's Palace (prompt: Living across from each other). I imaged that Harry would have met some of his neighbors at some point or the other and made a friend. Swing by the forum for the complete list of prompts!
Harry Potter is six years old. He has bright green eyes and a bright innocent soul, and the sun is shining on the grass in a million fragments, and the asphalt driveway looks like a black carpet of velvet. At the end stands a stoic mailbox, a butler to take him away.
"Go on now," an irate voice speaks.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he replies.
And he's ready to take out the rubbish.
He lugs the rubbish can to the end of the driveway like Samson, sweating and grunting with the effort. It's a full and tall container, and he's a small boy. If Helios could see him, he would say that Harry could become the next Sisyphus.
When he twists his body and pulls it around to sit at the curb, out of the corner of his eye he spots a little girl about his age. She stares at him with a lolly in her hand, tilting her head.
He smiles at her, and she smiles back, taking another lick of her lolly. When Harry turns his head, she disappears. He trudges back the house, reluctant to go back inside, but giddy with the imprint of a smile.