Chapter Four: "Playing Soccer, Having Fun"
Again, before he was now doing so with August in Mrs. Figgs's backyard in the shade of the only tree there, Harry had played the sport of soccer a few times in his life. And never during any of those few times had he been given the chance of dribbling, shooting along with just having a chance to have the soccer ball. Not when Dudley had had his way every time, anyway, which had basically been him being the shooter while Harry had been the goalie.
Actually, scratch that. Dudley had been the shooter while Harry had been his dummy for target practice. In the meanwhile, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had praised their son's every shot while having grimaced at their adopted son's every block.
Yet, that had all been in the past, hadn't it? Why was the boy with the lightning shaped scar dwelling on anything that had to do with his relatives at the moment? What, because he'd played a few games of soccer in their presence? Well, today, Harry was his own boss. He was allowed to have the time of his life if he so pleased. He didn't have to worry about Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia scolding him for having stopped one of spoiled Dudley's shots. Rather, every time he happened to block one of August's well aimed soccer kicks every so often, Harry impressed his opponent.
Mind, only having had his piggy cousin to ever play with during his lifetime, Harry hadn't played enough soccer in his life to be a pro at the sport. Also, on a side note, he was only eight years old. Still, as they'd set up the makeshift game in the backyard an hour ago after having followed the adults' advice to get some fresh air, Harry was constantly told by August that he was doing fine at being a goalie. Better than most other children he knew back in Michigan, anyhow. Harry was able to at least block every one out of three of the shots the American boy made when they were both prepared to play.
"Okay, this will be my last shot, Harry. I think you've had enough of being the goalie, right? Right." August announced finally, laughing at the honest look of relief on the English boy's expression at the news, "Next, I'll be goalie while you shoot, okay?"
"Okay." Harry replied, firmly getting ready to block what was going to be his companion's final shot, "I'm going to block this one, you know. If it's your last one, I HAVE to block it. That'd be a good finish for me."
"If you say so." August chuckled back, winding up for his last performance in the meantime, "That actually would be a good finish for you. But you've been doing good so far, Harry. It's not like you haven't blocked any of my shots. You got several."
Since they'd left Mrs. Figgs's house and come outside to play some ball, Harry had to admit it; he was coming to like August. Truly, despite the fact that the two of them were from different countries, even though they'd been separated by the whole Atlantic Ocean during their lifetimes until now, the boy with the lightning shaped scar could feel that things were very much working between himself as well as the American youth who had proven to be nothing but friendly, encouraging along with optimistic this whole time. Not only that, it was clear that August had a knack for playing the sport of soccer. All of the time he'd been shooter, he'd shown off some pretty impressive footwork to Harry before having shot.
Maybe he played the sport back in America? He had to have some past experience to be able to do what he did next which was, with a good humored laugh, dribble the soccer ball between his feet, wing it up into the air with the tip of his shoe, bounce the airborne ball on his head, then blast the said ball with all of his might. The only issue with the entire performance was that when August made his kick… it rocketed straight into the left side goal post – the birdbath – and bounced straight for Harry's face!
"HARRY!" August instantly yelped, "DUCK!"
Yet, there was no time for that. In fact, by the time fretting August had finished yelling, everything had happened already. Mind, by everything had already happened, no one had gotten hurt. No, instead, although the American boy hadn't exactly seen it when it'd occurred seconds ago, the Potter boy had experienced another one of his weird – perhaps "magical" – moments.
As it'd been explained for him beforehand, in his past, Harry was aware that he was prone to experiencing odd situations where he could make things move without trying or make himself fly without knowing. Well, in Mrs. Figgs's backyard, with the soccer ball flying speedily if not viciously for his astounded face, another such odd situation had happened. Where he very well should have been laid flat by the ball zipping towards him, Harry instead found that time itself seemed to slow down. In fact, as he'd put his arms up to avoid being hit, the soccer ball altogether had… frozen in midair?
Truly, as his shocked eyes were glued to it all the while he'd put his hands up so as to not get creamed by it, the soccer ball had – as if by his command or will or maybe fear – stopped in midair. Then, when he was clear of danger, as if sensing he had his hands up to receive it, the said ball shot off again into Harry's palms, knocked him off of his feet, then remained clutched tightly in his shaking fingers as August came running up to see if everything was alright.
"Harry?!" The American exclaimed, looking quite ashamed about what had happened and not at all aware of the miraculous moment that had taken place, "Are you alright, dude? How did you even catch that? That was crazy! I didn't hurt you, did I? I never meant for any of that to happen-"
"I caught it." Harry abruptly cut in, feeling a bit pleased with himself at the realization he'd caught his opponent's rather tricky last shot, "Look. I'm okay."
"Are you sure you're okay?" August wondered worriedly, looking from Harry to the ball clutched in his hands. When Harry nodded along with began laughing, August couldn't help but join in. He sat down with the English boy as he admitted eagerly, feeling great that no one had gotten hurt because of his showing off, "Man, that's good. Sorry about that, Harry. I was trying something out that I've been trying to perfect back home in Michigan. I've got all of the dribbling and such down. However, as you just saw, my aim isn't spot on."
"Ha ha, it looked rather good anyway." Harry put in, wanting to encourage the American for a change, "I'm just glad that bird feeder got the brunt of your kick rather than me."
"Right?"
"Right. So then, August, you play soccer back home in America?"
"A bit. Not enough to excel but enough to play fine. I've played since I was six for my dad's team. He coaches the Yellow Jackets. We wear black and yellow, like hornets." August laughed aloud, patting his fellow kid on the back, "Anyhow, enough about that. Like you said, you caught my last shot, Harry. How you did is beyond me but nice going. You had some wicked reflexes to have been able to keep my ball from having smashed your glasses into your eyes… Ugh, sorry about that again, Harry. You know I didn't mean to try to hurt you, don't you?"
"Yeah. It's okay, August. Mistakes happen." The English boy said to the American, seeing that August was very serious about being sorry for the trouble, "Now if you were my cousin, Dudley, I'd question your apology. In fact, I wouldn't believe it for a second."
"Why is that? I mean, is your cousin really… THAT bad to you, dude?"
"Yeah. My cousin and I have played a few games of soccer before in the past. But where you shot now and didn't even mean to try to hit me, Dudley always tries to shoot for me. I'm always target practice in some way to him."
At the revealed news of how crude Dudley could be, there was a silence shared between the boys in Mrs. Figgs's backyard. Harry felt a bit awkward for having said such things to August who he'd only met several hours ago. The American wasn't ready for or wasn't interested in such dramatics as that perhaps? Next moment thought, the lightning scarred boy felt a bit surprised when August growled his opinion of Dudley.
"Your cousin sounds like a total blockhead, Harry. How nice. I'll be living across the street from a blockhead for the rest of the summer. One who will probably be coming after me with his gang, no doubt. Still, at least I don't live with him. I'll have some way to escape. What about you, though? How do you let him and his gang treat you like you're nothing?"
"Do you think I have any other choice?" Harry wondered in reply, shrugging to himself modestly after having asked the same question for the last seven years, "The Dursleys are my only family. Their home is my home. I've thought about running away but… where would I go after that?"
"You could have gone to my aunt and uncle, couldn't you? If my Aunt Dorothy has been so interested in you then so has been my Uncle Daniel." August asked curiously.
"I never knew your aunt and uncle until today, August. And that was only by chance. The Dursleys… They…"
"Right, right, right." August sighed, shaking his head, "They've kept you living in a closet underneath the stairs. What a bunch of crap. What a load. I never would have guessed any of that would have been here in lovely, organized Privet Drive."
"No one does guess that kind of thing happens to me. Everyone in this neighborhood is too busy focusing on themselves."
"My aunt and uncle aren't that way, Harry. They're awesome. They pay attention to peoples' troubles." August put in, sounding hopeful, "Especially to kids' troubles. It's part of their jobs in life."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, yeah, my Uncle Daniel and Aunt Dorothy work at the Saint Michael's Hospital in the city. My uncle is a host and my aunt is a nurse. They're all into being caught up on gossip, on raising fundraisers for the needy, on keeping everyone's spirits up when times look bad! Well, you, Harry, are just the kind of patient my relatives love most. Seriously, dude, you listened to my aunt rave about your relatives, right? When my aunt gets like that, my uncle does too. And when they get like that, they come up with a plan. And Harry, trust me, my relatives' plans always work out. Even the one they'll make up for you!"
"Your aunt and uncle will make up a plan for me?"
"Of course, they will! That or I will." August declared, smiling broadly at suddenly hopeful Harry, "Honestly, your relatives suck, Harry. They have you living in closet, your cousin bullies you, your parental examples don't listen to anything you have to say but rather want it to seem like you don't exist… My aunt and uncle won't stand for it. Now that they know what your life is like across the street from them, they're going to do something about it. And I'll get to be part of it all summer. Just you wait and see."
Again, after having discussed Harry's possible future, after having gone over how Mr. and Mrs. Drayson were going to do something about the way the Dursleys did things, there was a silence shared between the boys in Mrs. Figgs's backyard. Mind, this wasn't a solemn silence like the one beforehand. No, this one shined with optimism as well as hope. And it only got better with what the boys had to say to each other next.
"Harry? Is your name really Harry Potter?"
"Uh, yes?"
"Do you get told that your name sounds funny?"
"Er… Yeah, actually."
"So do I. C'mon, August Cousiteau sounds funny, doesn't it?"
"Heh, um, yes? Alright, ha ha, it does."
"Jerk."
"What? But you just said yourself-"
"I'm joking, I'm joking! Ha ha. Alright, look, Harry. The way I see it, I'm going to be here for the summer. I'm from out of town so I don't really think I'm going to make many friends here. So, seeing as we're both going to be considered weird by the neighborhood during the summer, seeing as we both have weird names, how about you and I… be friends?"
"You want to be friends? With me?"
"No, with the bird bath behind you. Yes, you, Harry! DUH!"
"I… Yeah! Sure. But the Dursleys-"
"Don't worry about your dumb ol' relatives, Harry." August stated determinedly, standing up suddenly with the soccer ball in the crook of his arm and pulling Harry up off the ground with a gentle smile, "My uncle and aunt will deal with yours fair and square. And by the summer's end, you and I will be spending every day together. We might even be bullying Dudley and his gang by then, eh?"
"You think so?" Harry wondered simply, not knowing what to think but be happy now.
"I know so, buddy." The American youth laughed, passing Harry the ball next moment, "Now come on. We still got some time left to have you shoot a few while I be goalie. And then when we get done with that, heh, I'm going to ask Aunt Dorothy to let you come stay at our house until the Dursleys come get you later tonight. Awesome, right?"
"AWESOME!" Harry laughed aloud, bursting with optimism as well as excitement as he began to play soccer with his newest friend in life, "You really mean it? You really want to invite me over to your house?"
"Well, it's not MY house. It's my aunt and uncle's." August explained matter of fact like, blocking a shot here and missing one there with a chuckle, "But yeah, dude, I want you to come over. Not just me either. My aunt and uncle are interested in you, remember? They'll want you to come over too. We'll show you a good time."