lost // h.s

v.

his hands filled with dirt, wet soil engraved underneath his tiny fingernails.

he had hand-picked a bright yellow daffodil from the ground. it was difficult pulling it out because its roots wouldn't break free, but he eventually got it out then shoved it into his front pocket. his belly churned a little with something that felt exactly like excitement, but wasn't.

his puffy cheeks were smeared with dirt. he licked his lips wet and looked down at his chubby hands and realised the mess he had made. so when he dusted his palms on his denim overalls, it got smudged with bits and pieces of dark brown. but harry didn't care.

he waddled over to where gemma sat in the fresh-cut grass, reading peacefully. she was so engrossed in her book that her glasses began to fall on the bridge of her nose. her cinnamon hair framed her face and cascaded down her shoulders. the morning air whistled through the sleeves of her clothes and fanned across her sun-bleached skin. she was wearing white cotton shorts, her grey sneakers a circuitous blur, and a purple t-shirt that featured an embroidered flower of yellow glitter. it is difficult to explain how awesome harry found this t-shirt at the time.

it was a steam-hot day in june; it was sunny and the air tasted like apricots and electricity. his light footsteps padded quietly, swish swish, through the blades of grass until he stopped right in front of his older sister. a suspicious grin broke out on his childish face.

he grabbed the yellow daffodil out from his pocket and hid his hands behind him. then gemma looked up, her hands adjusting her glasses on her face. she raised an eyebrow at her little brother.

harry watched her fiery auburn hair shine against the rays of sunlight - he almost felt blinded by the intensity so he shielded his face with his hands.

then his cheeks flushed pink and his heart sank to his feet when he realised he had dropped it. the flower. it was meant to be a surprise! he thought stupidly to himself. he felt tears of disappointment beginning to prick at the corners of his green eyes: he wanted to cry.

but then gemma started to smile and all of a sudden, just like that, harry stopped wanting to cry.

she set her book down on the grass and put her fingers to her lips to stifle a giggle. she tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear, and harry took it as his cue to place the bright yellow daffodil there. his tongue slightly poked out from his mouth as he softly patted the flower against her hair. then he leaned back, extremely pleased with himself. he looked at her - her wide, round eyes flitting back and forth from him to the crusted mud on his clothes.

then just like he expected, she patted the space next to her motioning for him to sit. and so he did (eagerly), with his legs bent, elbows resting on knees and his cheeks in his palms. she asked him if he wanted her to read a story to him. he nodded, but said nothing.

so gemma read her storybook aloud, cross-legged, with her fruity high-pitched voice projected with confidence. harry, of course, listened intently. his ears practically perked up, catching on to every single word, syllable and sound. and that was how the morning rolled on: their tiny limbs resting on the cold wet grass on this overcast day.

"it's amazing, right?" she asked, and harry innocently watched how the curves of her lips hugged each word as she spoke.

he said nothing again. he just wanted her to keep talking - that small voice tense with the excitement of knowing things.

harry found the book fascinating. he even told gemma to read it again a second time. and a third. the beginning was his ultimate favorite and he would always be on the edge of his seat for what came next.