The air was dry and crisp. No one was out as he, Harry Potter, ran through the streets. Not a soul was driving around. It was much too hot to be out and about. He did not mind it. He liked being out when it was sweltering. At least this was the case for Harry.
The Gryffindor liked the alone time. It gave him a moment to reflect on his past. It gave him time just to be himself. He did not have to worry about letting anyone down. He did not have to impress anyone.
In addition, the run was a chance to get out of the Dursley's home and away from his aunt and uncle as well as his cousin. They were not particularly angry at him nor were they yelling as much as usually, but they always seemed to be in some sort of tizzy. It was nerve wracking.
His shirt stuck to his chest as well as his back. Harry was coated from head to foot in sweat. His glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Harry would just reach up and pushed them back into their proper place when they did. Strands of unruly jet-black hair stuck down onto his forehead. The locks covered his scar, so Harry did not mind. The less attention he got the better right now. He did not want some undercover witch or wizard noticing him and hounding him. Nor did he want any nosy or watchful, distrusting neighbor glaring at him as he ran past – there was only one person who liked him on this street and she was considered crazy by most, and the rest of his neighbors thought he was a bad boy who went off to St. Brutus' school each fall and spring. So, all in all, Harry did not mind being disguised by his sweat.
With every breach he took in and out, Harry felt it. The breaths burnt his lungs. His muscles protested as they expanded and contracted. His heart raced. Each beat and each breath was in perfect sink with each other. Every never and every fiber of his body was humming with oxygen and the life it brought to his body. Harry was well aware of the feelings. They felt good as well as freeing.
Harry noticed everything. It was not in sight that he saw, every lamppost, house, fence, and garden blended together in a blur of fantastic colors. It was in feelings, sounds, and smells. Harry felt the hard pavement under his feet. He heard the crunch of dried leaves and the grit of sand as his tennis shoes connected with the road. He smelled the hot pavement – not a particular smell he liked, but Harry did not mind. He felt the hot wind trying to cool him, but never succeeding.
He stopped. He put his hands on his knees. Harry breathed in, then breathed out, and then breathed in again. The air burnt. Taking one more breath, Harry turned and began to run back to the Dursley's home.