Basilisk Eyes

Chapter 22: Swings and sandcastles

As he swung back and forth, Harry listened to the children who were running around giggling and shrieking in delight. The scent of lilacs drifted by on the breeze and the warmth of the sun gave him a lazy, contented feeling. He was mindful to swing slowly and stay low to the ground in case a small child walked into his swinging path.

The mom who had helped him was still pushing her child in the swing next to him, speaking in a sing-song voice. The child's responses were gleeful unintelligible chortles. It made him wonder if he and his mom had ever gone to the park to play.

He had slowed by dragging his feet in the sand, swaying in the swing when a small child ran into his knees, pressing up against him giggling and grabbing him in a hug.

"Umph, uh—Hello?" Harry had been holding on loosely to the chains but reached forward to steady himself and drew the child into an awkward hug as he tried not to fall.

"Play wit' me!" the child demanded and, laughing, grabbed Harry's hand with a sticky, sandy small plump hand. He wasn't sure if it was a girl or a boy.

"Oh, okay," Harry answered a bit reluctantly as the child pulled him out of the swing and across the sand. Harry pulled out his staff and shook it to restore it to normal size and swung in an arc trying to get a sense of where he was on the playground. The child was pulling him along and talking animatedly about digging in the sand.

"What's dat?" the child asked. Harry guessed he was pointing at his staff.

"It's my cane, it helps me find my way," Harry explained. "What's your name?"

"Owiver Fwankwin Evans!" the child stated proudly, stopping and pulling Harry down toward the sand.

"I'm Harry. How old are you, Oliver?" Harry asked as he collapsed his staff and put it in his pocket. Oliver didn't answer. Harry sank onto the warm sand and waited expectantly, then tried again.

"Oliver, how old are you?" It seemed that Oliver was suddenly bashful after all his bravado hauling Harry over to play with him.

Oliver made a little grunting noise like he was frustrated, and then his hand was pressed against Harry's cheek, and Harry felt three fingers digging into his face.

"Oh, are you three?" Harry asked, sitting back. "Are you nodding, Oliver?" Harry still didn't hear anything. "I can't see you when you nod. Can you tell me with your words?"

"Why you can't see?" The boy was nearly nose to nose with Harry now—as if he was peering into his face. His breath was a mixture of sweet and sour, like milk. "Take off yous glasses... then you see."

His sandy fingers fumbled at Harry's glasses and pulled them off. Oliver hooted in laughter as Harry pulled the glasses from the little boy's fingers and put them back on.

"Yous eyes is closed! Dat's why yous can't see!"

"The sun is too bright, so I have to close my eyes, but when I open them, all I see is bright light, nothing else. See?" Harry tried to open his eyes to demonstrate but blinked them closed again.

"Huh?" the boy grunted.

"Are we going to dig?" Harry felt around the sand in front of him.

"Here," Oliver pushed something against his hand. Harry ran his fingers over it and discovered a sand-encrusted flimsy plastic shovel. He stuck into the ground and started making a hole. Oliver knelt next to Harry, his warm little body pressed along his side and started moving and digging, too. They scooped out a hole. Every once in a while other kids would come and plop down next to them and join in the digging, then get up and run away to play on the other structures. Harry could hear their voices and footsteps as they climbed the ladder and then came whooshing down the slide nearby. Harry built up a mound next to the hole with the sand from the hole and started to shape it. Oliver would sometimes smash it down and laugh, delighted in the destruction. They shared the shovel and moved as their hole got larger.

A bigger boy came over, Harry guessed by the height and timber of his voice as he talked to Oliver—it was time to go.

"No, Mawk, I don't wanna go! I's playing wit' 'Arry."

"Mum said it's time to go, Ollie," Mark said impatiently and Harry felt the little guy being lifted up by his older brother.

"Bye, Oliver," Harry said standing up and knocking the sand off his hands and trousers.

"Come play wit' me, again, 'Arry."

"I'm going to school for a while, but I'll be back. Maybe I'll see you then?" Harry said.

"But yous can't see," said the little boy, confused.

"Well, yeah, but I'll play with you again. You just have to tell me its you, okay?"

Mark was impatiently urging his younger brother to come and Harry heard Oliver run back toward him—with just enough warning to brace himself for a fierce hug from Oliver, who just as quickly released him and ran off again.

"Mmm'kay. Bye, 'arry!"

Harry smiled and brushed off more sand. He decided that he'd better head home, too. He pulled out his staff and shook it out and started walking toward the sound of the swings. He was glad of the staff that warned him about holes that other kids had dug in the sand and guided him around the play structures.

When he felt like he was far away from people who might overhear him, he muttered "Navigant bench" and was glad to find that there was one nearby. He realized, though, that there were people sitting on it as he approached. "Here, dear. Do you want to sit down? There's a spot right here." Harry heard a woman pat the bench and as he approached she gently grabbed his hand and guided him to the spot.

"Thank you," Harry said. He emptied his shoes of sand and then got up and started walking away, muttering, "Navigant Number 4 Privet Drive" to his staff. His arm and wrist were tired from holding the staff and moving it back and forth for so long.

I'm going to have to build up my stamina, Harry thought as he passed the lilacs on the way home, if I'm going to make it to 56 Charing Cross Road on Monday!