Summary: A short lunchtime drabble.A ten year oldHarry finds a kitten in a bush walking home from school one day. One Shot.
Someone Like Me: By Thoughts and Pondering
When you have to walk home in the pouring rain, your baggy clothes getting drenched, while you see your classmates get driven home in the safety and warmth of their mothers' cars, maybe you'll understand.
When you are told how worthless and freaky you are as a reward for getting through the rain, you probably would understand.
If you lived with your uncle and aunt all your life, but you know they, like everyone else you've ever met in your life, don't want you, you'd understand.
But I've never found someone like me.
I shiver and wrap my thin arms around my small frame. I push my Sellotaped glasses up my nose. I push my sopping hair out of my eyes and I trudge on.
I hear something crying in a bush behind me, and I turn around to see what it is. Grey clouds rumble above me. Today is not a day for a ten-year-old to be outside.
I couldn't keep going, someone, or maybe it's a bird...whatever it is...itmight be in pain. Although the world hasn't been kind to me, I still try to be kind to it. No matter how much I try though, it never likes me. And the thought that it might be more afriaid of me than I am of it is laughable. That's for wasps.
I kneel down, water creeps up the leg of my pants. I push my hair out of my face again, and I thrust my hand into the bush and it curls around something. A small grey tabby-cat, maybe just three months old, is in my hand. I am holding it by the scruff of its neck. I set it down on the ground. It meows pitifully. It is so thin that I can see it's ribcage. It's fur is matted and one of its paws is twisted. It looks like it's been abused.
Or abandonded.
I want to take it with me, I want to give it a home. But how can you give someone something you don't even have? Why would I take it back to the Dursleys? Aunt Petunia would underfeed it. Dudley would hit it, and I don't want to even think about what Uncle Vernon might do to it.
I don't want to leave him (or her) here all alone, but I have to. Maybe my parents had to make a similar choice. Maybe they didn't really die in a car crash. Maybe they really did love me.
But maybe they didn't.
I feel my eyes swim with tears as I leave the poor thing behind. I let the tears go. Nobody would be able to tell whether it was tears or the never-ending rain. But as I trudge down the street, I can't help but think...I might have met...might have met...
Someone like me.
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Thoughts and Pondering