There were three different ways to describe Number 4 Privet Dr. It is a very normal house, so to speak. The paint was evenly distributed, the windows were washed, the driveway was grime free. It had the same layout as the houses around it, down to the mailbox, which was situated exactly twenty centimeters from the road and a meter to the left of the driveway.
That is where the house is considered normal. Normal is only one description, after all. Number 4 may also be called unnatural. The grass surrounding it never lost its slightly dewy quality, shining under any weather; rain or shine, cold or hot. It also keeps its height, making it seem like plastic, the lush green it held only makes it feel faker. Anyone who had the courage, or stupidity, to come and pull at it would see it was real.
The flowers always grew perfectly, staying in the intricate shapes and patterns the gardener put them in, like how acrylic paint would go, and stay, as an experienced painter wanted it. They bloomed early, and stayed open for longer. The petals themselves were perfectly colored, the exact shades and hues as if they were all taken and dipped in the colors mixed at a local home decor store.
The house itself seemed to never fade, never get dirty, never weather. It was almost as if someone cleaned it with a water jet every night, spending hours to make every panel glean, coating it with polish, waxing it.
Of course, normal and unnatural are only two descriptive words, and this house would be described in three. The last word, the occupants of Number 4 would say is impossible, even fictional. Most would describe the house as magical.
And it was. It really was. Whenever it rained, or thundered, or hailed, it seemed as if the house only got the ends of it, or the lightest part of the storm. No one has seen it happen, but if a hurricane came through, it would go over Number 4 in the quickest way possible, until the eye of the storm hovered over it and would stay that way until the storm was over.
Anyone that wished to get out of the cold, or heat, simply needed to stand on the porch of the house, as it always stayed a nice 70 degrees fahrenheit, or 21 degrees Celsius. The backyard held the same temperature as well.
However, eyes would simply gloss over it if they weren't actively searching for it.
As for why this house seemed out of the ordinary, well, it was simply because of one little boy of the name Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Hey! I'm pretty serious about this story, but I don't usually have the motivation to write it / So. expect slow updates, and rather short chapters. I'm also working on a couple of other stories, that I will be posting in an undetermined time, so when I am motivated, this story only gets some of that motivation. I'm only writing this for fun. Reviews actually spur some of thaat motivation on, brlieve it or not.
I'm also looking for a beta, so please PM me if you are up for the job!