Disclaimer: I don't own HP. However I will own HBP in 124 days.
A/N: A little pre-Hogwarts Harry story. Written for, what I have named, the Warm Up Challenge. Basically, to escape the rut I found myself in, I asked (read: forced) my good friend Bianca into giving me four words that I'd have to use, and now I have, sorta, the last one was tricky. Anyway, enjoy.
Words: Elephant; umbrella; balloon; lip balm
Happy Birthday Bizzo!
He has dreams sometimes.
Pathetically false dreams that in no way resemble reality, not his any way…
He dreams of flying motorcycles and a giant shadow that brushes his forehead in what could be called a whiskered kiss. He dreams of tinkling blue eyes hidden behind smiling moons and green eyes like his own, gentle hands and a lullaby he doesn't know.
He dreams of bright green flashes that burn him but leave him cold inside.
He dreams of a blue balloon tied to his wrist and his father voice (though he doesn't even remember it) as the balloon becomes a blue jay and flies away…
He dreams of good night kisses and being tucked in and his mum with green eyes and soft hands and soft lips that promise him sweet dreams.
He dreams of rain storms inside and a barking laugh that summons a bright red umbrella to keep them dry as another voice smiles wearily, hiding beneath the newspaper…the pictures complain.
He dreams of coldness and a laugh that makes his blood run cold. It's the sort of laugh that filters into his dreams accompanied by screams in a too familiar voice, both sounds leaving him uneasy and afraid.
Sometimes he dreams of a play park where the swings warn you if you're going too high and the ground becomes a trampoline if you fall and horses whine if you pull their manes and the elephants swat at you with their trunks if you squirm too much.
He dreams of brightly colored leaves and biting winds and chapped lips and cold hands and a little house that he calls home even though it doesn't exist.
He dreams of fictional reality and realistic fiction and the lines blur until they don't exist at all and everything becomes a little less comforting and little more taunting.
He dreams and swallows the questions they create, because in his life, his real life, the first rule he was taught was don't ask questions. Dreams are silly things after all, especially his with their magically play parks and soggy living rooms and balloons that come to life, and a mother and father who tuck him in and tell him they love him.
Those things simply don't happen in the real world.