It was a perfectly ordinary street, with well kept lawns, driveways tarred to a perfect sheen of black, weeded flower beds and a small park with a newly painted swing set. As if to complement the ordinary street, it was a particularly ordinary day. Blue sky with patches of wayward cloud and a sun that was neither too warm, nor too weak. Somewhere down at the end of the street was a man mowing his lawn, though it didn't really need it, and just beyond his property sat the quaint little street sign that read 'Privet Drive'. Now for the most part, the occupants of Privet Drive were enjoying a calm afternoon inside watching their programs or reading a book, however, a young lad of perhaps eight or nine years was currently being shooed out the front door by a particularly horsey-faced woman who went by the simple name of Petunia Dursley. "Off with you, Dudley has had just about enough of your snoopy, and so have I, out and play, or whatever it is you do." Her shrill voice instructed, and the boy didn't complain as the door was shut practically on his heels. He was slight, and perhaps rather short for his age, with a mane of tousled dark brown hair, and behind askew glasses, green eyes. The boy glanced back towards the shut door wearily, and then passed a hand under his button nose with a sniff before righting his oversized glasses and heading down the driveway. He hesitated a moment, glanced back, and then checked both ways before crossing the road. This young lad was Harry Potter, his parents were long dead, in a car crash as he was told and he was left to the care of a rather reluctant Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. And it wasn't uncommon for him to be kicked out of the house, left to his own devices. He was rather responsible for his age, or so he thought. One had to be grown up when crossing the street by one's self, after all. The young boy took to the park, and ignoring the other kids playing there, grabbed the last swing before someone else did. Harry glanced around at the others, most were younger than he, one or two maybe his age. But he didn't bother making friends. The last friend he had had been scared off by Dudley, and Harry just didn't think it was fair to anyone to have Dudley chasing them with a rake. He grimaced inwardly and began to swing, relishing in the rushing wind past his ears, and the way it pulled at his hair, revealing a curious scar on his forehead.
Harry could swing for hours if he wanted, he loved it, the back and forth motion, going higher and higher until the chain started to snap at gravity's pulling. But today he didn't, today he graciously surrendered the swing to a younger kid with large pleading eyes. Part of him felt irritated at the kid who had hovered around him for the whole time, and part relieved and grateful to do something kind for someone else. Part of him called 'mine, mine, mine!' and part backed down maturely. He couldn't deny that he was a child after all, and was allowed to be childish. At least, he thought he should be allowed, despite what the Dursleys... his aunt and uncle... thought. In any case, he would not be allowed in for a little while, so he contended himself with sitting alone on a park bench and watch the others play. He sat there fidgeting for a good while, though it seemed longer, when a voice caught him off guard. Most people paid him little mind. It was a kid, maybe his age, maybe a year older. "Oi!" Harry stood up and turned around; the voice had come from behind him. "You look fast, want to play some football?" The kid asked. He was taller than Harry, somewhat gangly looking, with messy chestnut hair and dark eyes. He had this huge grin on his face. "Oh.. uh.." Harry stumbled, how could he turn him down nicely? "Oh come on, we need another player." The other kid said brightly, he seemed older than Harry, but there was a group of other kids, few seemed his age, most seemed a year or two older. He suddenly felt shy. Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, the other had walked up. "This way then." And he steered the dumbfounded scarheaded lad onto the field. Goal posts were represented by water bottles, and the teams were divided by shirts and no-shirts. The only girls were, of course, on the shirts team. "I'm Daniel, what's your name?" The kid asked as he put Harry in between the 'net' and the center line. "H-Harry." Harry said, looking up at the Daniel with an awestruck look. "Alright Harry, you're on the shirts team, and you're gonna play defense, that means you have to stop the ball-" He held up a football(soccer ball). "From being kicked into the net." He pointed at the space between the water bottles closest to Harry. With a slap on the back, he took his shirt off and ran to the other team's side. Harry felt extremely nervous. He shouldn't be here, making friends, Dudley would ruin it. Ruin everything for everyone. These thoughts plagued him until the first goal was scored, and soon after, well, the laughing, the camaraderie and the friendly rivalry that was beginning to form were sweeping the nine-year-old away.
As the game began to wind down, and get sillier, and each side was beginning to lose players, Harry realized just how much time had passed. He felt the nervousness about to kick in tenfold, but a friendly face soon dashed it away. "Hey Harry, good playing, I think you improved from when you first started." The idea of praise was foreign to Harry, at least, when it wasn't directed at 'Duddykins'. He couldn't help beaming, going red from embarrassment, feel warmed, and vaguely uncomfortable all at once. "We're gonna play again tomorrow, you should come." He said, before jogging off after his friends. Harry felt... well star struck by the other lad. He felt included and useful. And the whole thing had him absolutely bubbly and giddy.
He was still riding a high when he quietly entered the Dursley abode, leaving his shoes tucked away in the closet, he found the dishes already for him to start on, and the family gathered in front of the telly. Petunia glanced up as she heard the door close, not quite as taken with the program as her husband and son. "I was wondering when you would get home, finish the dishes, there's some leftovers in the fridge." Harry nodded quickly, trying to ignore the distaste she had on her face. "Yes Aunt Petunia." He murmured, and hurried to do as he was told.