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I'll make updates at least twice a month.
The chapters are pretty short compared to what I write nowadays (if you read Nevermore, you know what I mean)

Anyway, that being said, all I have left to say is...
Enjoy!

When the cat came to see me for the first time at Privet Drive, I had just turned ten. It was mid-August. I was in the garden pulling out weeds. The day was hot, and the air seemed still. The work was tiresome, but it was better to stay busy than face Uncle Vernon's wrath if he saw the job unfinished—or worse, not started at all. Luckily for me, Dudley wasn't around that day; he had gone swimming at Piers' house. I imagine the boy must have found it an unforgettable experience—it's not every day you get to host a baby whale in your pool!

Anyway, I must have been working for about an hour when I looked up to wipe the sweat from my brow and saw a cat perched on the low wall that separated the garden from the road. Its eyes were half-closed as it basked in the sunlight. I envied its calm and serenity. I smiled at it and then returned to work. An hour later, Aunt Petunia came out to check on my progress. Since she didn't bombard me with complaints, I dared to ask for a glass of water. To my surprise, she gestured for me to come inside, allowing me to drink a few sips before sending me back out with orders to finish quickly. She reminded me that her husband would be home by five, and the garden had better be impeccable by then.

I returned to the garden and began gathering the dry weeds to burn them in a corner of the yard. The heat of the flames combined with the relentless sun made my head ache and left me parched, but I dared not take off my t-shirt—I wasn't allowed to. Instead, I imagined what it would be like to swim in Piers' pool. In my mind, I conjured the feel of the cool water flowing over my head, back, and arms…

Suddenly, I opened my eyes, startled. I hadn't realised I'd closed them. I was drenched, soaked from head to toe, as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over me. For a brief moment, the sensation was delightful, but then panic set in: what if Aunt Petunia had seen me do something strange again? Another one of those incidents!

I glanced at the dying fire and was relieved to see it hadn't been extinguished; that would have been harder to explain. At that moment, as though my thoughts had summoned her, Aunt Petunia appeared on the porch, inspecting my work. I hoped she'd be satisfied, but she snapped,

"If you're done, why are you standing there gawking? Get inside and help me with dinner!"

She disappeared into the house, and I knew I had only a minute or two before her irritation turned to anger. Quickly checking that I was alone, I took off my t-shirt and wrung it out as best I could, hoping to rid it of the water. I put it back on and heard my aunt yelling my name from the kitchen. I hurried back to the house, noticing the cat was still watching me. I gave it a small wave before closing the door behind me.

When I entered the kitchen, Aunt Petunia cast a brief glance at me and immediately noticed I was wet. Furious, she accused me of wasting the household's water for my own comfort. Foolishly, I protested, insisting the water had appeared on its own. Her face twisted with disgust, and her anger exploded. She grabbed my arm and locked me in the cupboard under the stairs, my so-called bedroom. I stayed there until the next morning, listening to Uncle Vernon berate me through the door. That night, I slept poorly, torn between hunger and the discomfort of my damp clothes, which took ages to dry without the sun's help.

oOo

At dawn, Aunt Petunia woke me with sharp raps on the cupboard door. I was made to prepare breakfast, forbidden from eating any of it, while she set the table in the sitting room. As the coffee brewed, I glanced out the kitchen window and was surprised to see the same cat from yesterday staring at me from the windowsill. It was on the other side of the glass, watching me intently. The moment my aunt entered the room, the cat vanished, but I felt certain it hadn't gone far. To my relief, I overheard that Dudley wouldn't be home again today; he was off to the amusement park with Piers.

I spent the morning cleaning the house because Aunt Petunia's friends were coming for tea the next day. I busied myself dusting crystal ornaments and scrubbing the floors. Strangely, I found some comfort in the tiger-striped cat outside; nearly every time I passed by the window, it was there, watching me. Its attention felt oddly reassuring. Still, I couldn't help but wonder why it was there. It was far too well-fed to be a stray, and the way it observed me was unsettling. A fear crept in—was I doing something strange again? I'd never made a living thing appear before, but maybe it was somehow my fault?

Despite my worry, I didn't have the heart to chase it away, especially since its presence kept me company. It could stay as long as the Dursleys didn't notice it.

oOo

At noon, I managed to slip the cat a bit of fish, which it devoured with delight before disappearing silently into the garden. I spent the afternoon repainting the fence. Sanding it took a while, and I was relieved to finally start painting. I was halfway through when Aunt Petunia came to announce she was going shopping. In her usual frosty tone, she warned me that the neighbours would be keeping an eye on me and that I wasn't to set foot inside the house, which she locked before leaving. "And don't you dare do anything weird, or you'll regret it!" she snapped. I nodded obediently, and she left after giving me one last pointed look.

Left alone, I stretched quickly before resuming my work. After only a minute or two, the cat appeared beside me. I stopped to stroke it, murmuring,

"You know, sometimes I dream of a different life, where I could read books without Dudley tearing out the pages, where I'd only run if I wanted to, and where I'd have a room of my own…" I shook my head. "You probably don't understand me, kitty, but at least you listen…"

Sighing, I picked up the paintbrush and carried on. The cat watched me with a knowing look, never taking its eyes off me (cat-like focus, indeed) as I finished painting. I was cleaning the brushes and wiping the excess paint on my shirt when Aunt Petunia returned. Her disdainful gaze swept over the freshly painted fence, the clean brushes, and my stained shirt. She pinched her lips disapprovingly before muttering, "I suppose that'll do." She then ordered me into the house to help unpack the groceries.

The next day, my luck ran out. Dudley was home because his friend had left for a week-long trip to Spain, and Aunt Petunia had refused to part with her "Duddykins" for so long.

I completed my morning chores as usual, but in the afternoon, I was ordered to go out for a walk with Dudley while Aunt Petunia entertained her friends. She made it clear I wasn't to return until after sunset, ensuring I wouldn't cross paths with her guests. Truthfully, I didn't think I had it so bad—my cousin would have to sit through tea with those harpies, and I wished him luck with that!

No, the real problem lay in the so-called "walks" with Dudley. These always involved him rounding up his gang of neighbourhood bullies while I took the chance to slip away. Then they'd play their favourite game, "Harry Hunting," which ended with me getting beaten up.

As soon as we were out of sight of the house, I tried to run, but Dudley grabbed my sleeve.

"Oh no, not yet, you little freak! First, we're picking up my mates, right?"

Knowing I couldn't overpower him, I pretended to submit, hoping he'd relax his grip. If I could escape before he gathered two or three of his friends, I might outrun them and find a hiding spot.

I followed the whale-like figure as he dragged me by the sleeve to one of his cronies' houses. I had to wait for him to let go before I could bolt. If I tore my shirt while escaping, Aunt Petunia would punish me, and if I abandoned it, I'd never see it again—making her anger even worse.

When Dudley rang the doorbell, I was disappointed to see him use his free hand instead of letting go of my shirt. However, I noticed his grip had loosened slightly. His friend, a porcine boy aiming to match Dudley in size (though never quite succeeding), opened the door. Thankfully, their handshake of greasy fingers made Dudley release my shirt, and as the boy turned to put on his shoes, I bolted. Dudley's arm shot out to grab me, but I dodged it easily and rounded the corner of the street.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten that Dudley's second friend lived nearby. My cousin quickly called him to join the chase. This wouldn't have been a problem if he'd had the same bulk as Dudley and his other friend, but this one was an athletic boy who played basketball. I had more endurance than he did, but he was just as fast as me. My only chance was to disappear before he finished tying his shoes. Sadly, the road ahead of me was straight, with no parallel paths to slip away unnoticed.

I was sprinting frantically down the middle of the street, hoping to reach its end before my pursuers were fully ready to chase me, but they started running when I was still about ten metres from the corner. That's when the tiger-striped cat from the past days suddenly appeared at my side, then overtook me as if urging me to follow it. Desperation left me with no better option, so I did. Together, we turned right into the next street, where the houses stood closer together and were taller than those on Privet Drive.

I regretted following the cat almost immediately, knowing that fields and woods lay in the opposite direction, offering a far better chance of hiding. But it was too late to turn back, and I likely wouldn't have made it to the woods in time anyway.

As I heard my pursuers nearing the corner behind me and saw no hiding place in sight, the cat suddenly stopped, and instinctively, I did the same. I followed its gaze and immediately understood: we had reached the gap between two houses—a narrow passage no wider than thirty centimetres. Without thinking twice, I turned sideways and squeezed in, following the cat, which had already slipped inside.

I had just disappeared into the tiny corridor when I heard my pursuers round the corner and stop, baffled. The street was too long for me to have run out of sight so quickly, and even they could figure that out.

After a pause, they began trotting down the road, likely watching for the slightest movement. They didn't speak, hoping a noise would give me away. Meanwhile, I crept through the narrow space, trying to move as quietly as possible and avoid snagging my clothes. The ground was covered in wild grass and small stones, while the walls—made of cracked, old mud bricks—seemed ancient. The tiger-striped cat moved soundlessly ahead, occasionally turning its head to check I was still following.

I reached the end of the gap just as I heard Dudley and his friends approaching dangerously close. A glance between the houses would reveal me, and though the two heavier boys wouldn't fit through the gap, the athletic one probably could. I needed to escape quickly.

To my horror, a metal grille blocked the passage ahead. Panic-stricken, I had no idea what to do until a soft meow drew my attention to the cat. It was already on the other side of the grille, and I noticed a small hole at its base. Forgetting caution, I wriggled through the gap, praying my clothes wouldn't catch.

I was still lying on the ground when Dudley and his gang passed by the opening of the narrow corridor. I froze, hoping the tall grass and shadows would conceal me from their eyes, still dazzled by the sunlight. They eventually moved past the gap, and I slowly began crawling forward again.

Worried they might double back, I was relieved when I reached the end of the passage. I emerged into an overgrown garden, surrounded by tall grass and encircled on all sides by houses. To my left was the house I had passed alongside in the gap, which continued until it met the wall of the house opposite. Another house stood to my right, forming a square with the one I had skirted earlier. These buildings appeared to have no openings to the garden—no doors or windows, save for the house to my immediate right.

Advancing a little further, I saw the house was in a state of disrepair, with long cracks running down its façade. Its windows were boarded up, and the door facing the garden was similarly barricaded. A weathered awning once sheltered the entrance, and at some point, a climbing plant had been wrapped around its supporting posts. Now, the entire wall was overrun by a wild vine. Near the old door, I noticed stone slabs half-buried beneath the brambles. It must have been a lovely terrace once.

At the centre of the garden stood a gnarled apple tree, its base hidden under the tall grass. To another child, the place might have seemed eerie, and a cautious mother would have warned her child of snakes lurking in the undergrowth. But I had no mother, and I doubted my pursuers would find me here. So I decided to stay.

oOo

In truth, I liked the place. No one could see me unless they took the same path I did or had wings like a bird. There was shade under the apple tree and the awning, and I could eat the small, shrivelled apples if I got hungry. I had eaten worse at the Dursleys'.

Exploring the garden further, I was delighted to find an old, slightly rusty tap sticking out of the wall. When I turned it, a thin trickle of lukewarm but drinkable water emerged. Planning to spend the afternoon there, I set about clearing the ground beneath the awning of excess grass and nettles, spreading a layer of dry grass to make it more comfortable to sit on.

I then went to pick some apples and nearly tripped over a fragment of pottery—a flower pot in its previous life but now my makeshift cup. After rinsing it and filling it with water, I felt better prepared to settle in for the rest of the day.

While I was organizing myself, the cat watched me attentively, curled up in the sun on a stone sticking out from the undergrowth. I ate and drank before examining the building more closely to see if I could get inside. After checking every opening, I had to admit that the boards effectively blocked both the door and the windows, and I wouldn't be able to enter unless I had tools. No matter, I would make do with the garden.

I sat back down and the cat came near me. I stayed there quietly for a while, and without quite knowing why, I started talking to the cat about everything — my daily life, my family, the strange things I sometimes did that made Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon so furious. I dreamed of a day when I wouldn't have to run away from Dudley, but where I could strike back. The cat got up after a little while to start prowling the garden, but I had the feeling it was still paying attention to me. It was really strange, this cat, staying with me like this, even though it didn't seem domestic, despite its well-kept fur and obvious good health. It was a tabby cat, but with a strange pattern around its eyes, a bit like glasses. It was amusing.

oOo

The afternoon passed all too quickly for my liking, and I eventually returned to the house to avoid another punishment. I was used to coming back as late as possible, but just before the limit that would have earned me a punishment. However, that evening, I didn't foresee what was waiting for me. I had barely crossed the threshold of the house when Uncle Vernon swooped down on me like a hawk (a fat, even downright obese hawk, and not graceful at all), grabbing me by the collar without any gentleness and shaking me violently in all directions.

"You've broken the rules again, you little brat! We said no weird stuff! How come you're doing this again? It hasn't even been two days since the last time, and you're already repeating it!"

I didn't understand what he was talking about, and I was swaying helplessly between his arms.

"You're not answering, huh? You don't dare admit your faults?"

I told him I didn't understand what he was talking about, but this only made him even angrier.

"You don't understand, huh? Dudley told me you evaporated right in the middle of a dead-end street nearby! How do you explain that, huh?"

I suddenly understood what had happened. Frustrated because he couldn't figure out where I had gone, my cousin had returned home and told his parents that I had disappeared like magic, probably embellishing the story. Now, two choices were open to me: reveal my hiding place or face another punishment. I didn't want my new secret refuge to become inaccessible, but I feared what would happen if I didn't comply. Nevertheless, by the time I thought about it, my silence convinced Uncle Vernon that I had no explanation. Twisting my arm violently behind my back, he threw me into my cupboard with such force that my nose hit the wall, making it bleed.

This time I spent two whole days in my cupboard without eating or drinking, and I had time to reflect that perhaps the cat's behaviour was due to me, that it was yet another strange thing... In which case, I deserved my punishment. I finally came out and was pleased to see that the feline had not left.

I spent the rest of the summer quietly completing my chores, never protesting, while managing every day to sneak a little food for the cat. It had become like a confidant, and whenever I could, I would escape the house to go to the abandoned garden. There, I worked diligently to clear the land little by little, planting a few seeds I had taken from Aunt Petunia's flowers. I found it calming to work for myself, bit by bit, without pressure, even though I didn't really have a passion for gardening. Some days, I also tried climbing, first on the apple tree, then a bit on the facade of the crumbling house, slipping my fingers into the cracks and leaning on the boards. I didn't go very high, but I liked the feeling of not being on the ground. I dreamed of flying. Sometimes, when I was perched on the highest branches of the apple tree, the cat would meow in an unexpectedly disapproving manner.

It stayed carefully on the ground; the first time I had climbed the apple tree, it had tried to follow me but had remained clinging to the trunk with its claws, meowing desperately, and I had to pull it down before placing it back on the ground. It was during this time that I realized it was quite old. At first glance, I would have thought it was young, but its build had deceived me. Its muscles didn't have the strength of the young cats Mrs. Figg had, the lady who watched over me once a year for Dudley's birthday. She was a somewhat crazy old woman, but very kind, living with dozens of cats as her only companions and serving me dried-up cakes.

Finally, the summer ended, and for one of the first times in my life, I probably regretted that the school year was coming so soon, because I had to give up going to my sanctuary so often. Still, I returned to school, already eager for the day to end so I could find the cat I hadn't seen in the morning. I waited a week, but the cat didn't return. I even asked Mrs. Figg if she had seen it, but she replied, surprised, in the negative. I was on my own again.