Only a few wisps of cloud obscured the early morning sky as the sun peeped over the mountains, turning the once dark, star-strewn blanket of the night into softer shades of intermingling color; from its' peak, the sky faded from black to shadowed to pale shades of blue while the sun painted the horizon a shimmering gold that slowly bled outward with the emergence of the day. Where blue and gold merged appeared a soft, temporary pink that absorbed itself into the lingering clouds, now hung so low one would think they could touch them, so soft they could be mistaken for candy floss.
The sun continued to stretch its' rays outward as the sky transformed, warm but silent as they crawled over the neat lawns of Wisteria Walk to peek into the window of each dwelling, coaxing the residents inside from sleep. Adults groan in protest at the intrusion, squinting through heavy eyelids at their clocks; some grunt and roll over to return to sleep, yanking the comforter up over their heads to block out the light while others reluctantly throw theirs' off and sit up, stretching and yawning; while some head to the bathroom to start their day off with a shower, others head straight downstairs to the kitchen, to brew that life-saving elixir known as coffee and start on breakfast before the kids wake up. With infants and toddlers safely on their hips, mothers coax their older children out of bed and herd them to the breakfast table; teens and pre-teens are the more stubborn parties, ignoring their mothers' call to a meal in favor of sleeping in instead. Those folks who are awake step out of their houses to retrieve their morning papers and the fresh milk bottles that have been left on their front step, pausing to inhale the warm, early summer air with a smile and say a friendly 'good morning' to a neighbor or passerby that's caught their eye.
It isn't long before the sunlight reaches the final house on the street, a quaint little corner building identical to the others; its small lawn is neatly groomed, decorated tastefully with small porcelain figurines and a couple of small rose bushes that have been planted under the window. Screwed into the brick next to the front door is a polished brass 44 and a nameplate that reads Figg.
There's movement upstairs and the blinds rise in the window of the small bedroom that overlooks the front yard, allowing light to spill past the ruby curtains and onto the beige carpet. Soft hazel green eyes sweep up the street, watching the neighbors go about their morning while the young woman releases the blind cord, its little plastic ends clinking quietly against the windowpane while she gathers her waist length brunette hair in both her hands and ties it up into a ponytail with a red scrunchie. A ray of sunlight slants across her oval face, highlighting the quartet of birthmarks under her right eye, each no bigger than a 5 pence piece, that resembled a cluster of stars. One of the only interesting things about herself, in her opinion; sure, she liked her eyes and hair, but if you were to ask young Cheyenne Power, she'd have to say she thought she was rather plain, all things considered. She was slim, sure, but, in all honesty, she thought her weak chin and lanky frame kind of negated any of her good points. Not much she could do, though, could she, considering she'd been born with these things, so...
Shaking these thoughts away, Cheyenne turned from the window but paused when something glinting on her bedside table caught her attention and her eyes drifted over the reading lamp and gently used alarm clock to settle on the small silver photo frame. With a quiet smile, she reaches out to gingerly pick it up from the table, peering down at the couple that beamed back at her from behind the protective glass. It was a picture of her as an infant, with her parents; her nan had gifted it to her, so she'd always remember them after they had passed.
Cheyenne had been brought to live here on Wisteria Walk with her grandmother, Arabella Figg, when she'd been a year and a half old, after a tragic accident had taken both her parents' lives. The accident was so terrible, Arabella could barely even bring herself to describe it; in fact, the few times it had been brought up, the older woman often clammed up and refused to talk further on the subject, to the point it made her granddaughter reluctant to even bring it up, let alone push for more details about the event that had made her an orphan. It wouldn't be until she was older that Cheyenne would even begin to somewhat understand Arabella's pain; who wouldn't still feel the sting of such a loss? What parent wouldn't mourn the loss of their only daughter and son-in-law, after they were taken far earlier than seemed fair?
And yet, even with her nana's reluctance to delve into Marcus and Michelle's untimely demise, Arabella was at least kind enough to answer any other questions Cheyenne had about the couple, like what kind of people they had been while they'd both been alive. She'd tell stories about Michelle's childhood and what she enjoyed as a little girl, the troubles she got into after she met her future husband, though there were often details Arabella left out that Cheyenne had only started to notice in recent years. Her nan never talked about the town where she'd raised Michelle or where she'd sent her for secondary school; Cheyenne didn't even know what her mother's favorite subjects had been or even what she'd excelled in or struggled with. While Arabella admitted Marcus had been an athlete, the older woman always changed the subject whenever Cheyenne would press for more details about the sport her father had played. Was there something Cheyenne was missing? Was her grandmother hiding something, a dark secret she was too ashamed to utter aloud about her parents?
"You guys couldn't have secretly been evil, could you?" Cheyenne whispered jokingly into the quiet of her room, grazing the surface of the glass with her fingertips to stroke her parents' still forms; the couple continued to smile up at her from the frame, forever frozen in time, on the afternoon of her first birthday. She was seated in the center of the photo in a highchair, with Marcus and Michelle on either side of her; Marcus leans in as though to whisper something to her, a couple of dirty blond curls brushing her cheeks while Michelle points to the camera, stroking one of the toddler's chubby hands between her fingers and smiling so wide the corners of her warm, chocolate brown eyes are crinkled. "No...I'm sure that wasn't it."
Mrrow ~ Something softly taps her forearm and Cheyenne lifts her gaze from the picture to meet the pair of big blue eyes staring up at her from the edge of her twin bed. Her smile warms as she reaches out to pet the snow-white cat, who purrs and leans into her touch, drawing a giggle from the young woman while she returns the picture frame to the bedside cabinet.
"I know, Snowy, I should get downstairs before it gets too warm. That milk isn't going to last long out there." She scratched gently behind the cat's ear, "Nan's probably awake now, too, huh?"
Snowy purred softly in reply and butted her head against her owner's palm, eliciting another giggle; somehow, it always felt as though Snowy, and the other three cats Arabella owned could understand her in one way or another. It was fascinating, especially with how they responded to Cheyenne or her grandmother when they spoke directly to them. And that wasn't the only fascinating thing about them, either; the felines seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when to go searching for help. Why just the other day, Mr. Tibbles had found his way out of the house and showed up at Cheyenne's school to alert her to Arabella's injury, meowing incessantly the entire bike ride home. So, to say the cats were smart would be a definite understatement.
As though on cue, a low, guttural meow sounded from the doorway, drawing the pairs' attention; Cheyenne cocked her head when her eyes fell on the brown and white tabby, which stared back with wide, unblinking amber eyes, it's tail lashing.
"Uh oh, what's happened now, Mr. Tibbles?" Giving Snowy a final scratch behind her ear, Cheyenne crossed to the door and followed Mr. Tibbles into the hall; he made a beeline for the staircase and bounded down to the first floor, meowing the entire way. Cheyenne followed, getting the same distinct feeling she had the day Arabella had broken her leg, like Mr. Tibbles was talking to her as he bounded down the hall; grabbing the end of the banister at the landing, she swung herself around and leapt the two remaining steps, catching up with the unusually vocal feline at the door to the kitchen, where she found the cause of his distress.
"Nan..." She shook her head as she hurried to her grandmother's side; you'd think having a full plaster cast on her leg and crutches would keep the old woman from pushing herself too hard, but you would be very wrong. "Nan, the doctor told you not to strain yourself while you're injured..." Putting an arm around Arabella's shoulders, Cheyenne turned down the heat for the stove and took the spatula from her, setting it aside on the counter before gently leading her out of the kitchen. Arabella 'hmph'ed as she was lowered into a chair at the dining room table, lips pursed while her granddaughter leaned her crutches against the table.
"Honestly, what could that old crock know?"
"Well, considering all the school he would've had to complete to become a doctor, I would say probably a lot." Cheyenne pointed out as she returned to the stove to check on the eggs and bacon Arabella had been cooking.
"Don't you get smart with me, young lady." Arabella sniffed, fighting a smile while she watched Cheyenne begin moving about the kitchen, gathering up plates, silverware, and cups to set the table. "I still say this is all uncalled for. Just because I broke my leg doesn't mean I'm an invalid, for goodness' sake. I can still cook breakfast for myself and my granddaughter in my own home!"
"I never said you couldn't," Cheyenne sighed as she set the milk bottles from the front stoop on the table, "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't still try to lean on me a little, too. I'm old enough to cook meals on my own now, so you won't have to all the time. And I know I'm more than old enough to handle all the chores around the house while you rest and heal."
"That doesn't mean you should have to," Arabella filled each of their cups with milk while Cheyenne put the tea kettle on the stove to heat, "You're still young Chey, you shouldn't have to worry about taking care of a house yourself until you're married and living with your husband. Or living on your own, whichever comes first."
"Yes, well, that's a long way off." Cheyenne dismissed offhandedly, "But, nan, I'm not going to be caring for the house by myself forever, just until your leg's better. I promised the people at A&E I would help you and keep you off your feet as much as possible."
"Which you have done, quite diligently since the night I came home. Though you missed school yesterday." Arabella quirked a grayed eyebrow at Cheyenne, who ducked her head, knowing how highly the older woman valued education. She couldn't help herself...after finding her grandmother crumpled in the hall and having to spend the remainder of that afternoon in the A&E waiting room, Cheyenne had been worried about leaving Arabella alone for an extended period so soon after her accident. Arabella was notoriously stubborn, and Cheyenne hadn't wanted to risk coming home to find her on the floor again, possibly in a worse shape than the one she'd left her in; Arabella was the only family Cheyenne had left in this world and she didn't want anything happening to her. "For as bad as a broken leg is, I won't stand to have you fussing over me, Cheyenne. A young woman like you should be outside, enjoying her weekend with her friends, not inside looking after her granny. Besides, I'm quite sure Harry's worried about you since you weren't in school yesterday and heaven knows those Dursleys hardly let him do anything without abusing the poor boy, so I'm sure access to their telephone is nonexistent. When was the last time you spoke to him, anyway?"
Cheyenne took the whistling kettle from the stove and poured the boiling water into a couple of teacups before dropping a packet of English breakfast tea in each and carrying them to the table, "Thursday afternoon, as we were leaving school."
"Hm, the longest you two have gone without contact, I would say." Arabella smiled teasingly as she accepts the teacup from her granddaughter, who gave her a look before she went back to the stove to plate their food, "But add that to the fact that the Dursleys expect him here makes it all the more important that you go out and see him. You know I can't have him over with my leg like this and we both know the Dursleys would sooner eat dirt than leave him home alone. You have your bicycles, so you can go anywhere in Little Whinging together; there are plenty of places to keep you both entertained, especially if you were to use your allowance." When Cheyenne had turned 8, Arabella had started giving her a small allowance, most of which she kept stashed away in a secret box underneath her bed. "I'm sure you could take him to a movie, or a nice museum and he'd enjoy it more than having to spend the day with those people."
"Yes, but..." Cheyenne bit her bottom lip as she set the food on the table and took her seat, "What about you?"
"Oh honey..." It was Arabella's turn to sigh, her expression softening as she peered at the young woman, "You really don't have to worry so much about me, you know. I've taken care of myself perfectly well in the past, even long before you were born, and i can still take care of myself now, broken leg or not." she took a sip of her tea while Cheyenne continued to worry her bottom lip with her teeth, unsure; smiling to herself Arabella shook her head, knowing Cheyenne could be just as stubborn as she was, "All right, I'll tell you what, I'll make you a promise. If you go out and have some fun today, I promise I'll take it easy. I'll set myself up in my favorite chair and not move unless it's necessary. And, if something does happen, I'll send Mr. Tibbles out to get you straight away. Deal?"
Cheyene hesitated, considering the deal before she smiled and nodded, holding her hand out across the table; Arabella couldn't help but chuckle as she took it in hers' and gave it a firm shake, "Deal."
"Good girl." Arabella nodded and turned back to her breakfast, "You just be sure to keep your curfew in mind, all right?"
"I will, Nan." Cheyenne promised with a smile; Arabella nodded her head firmly and the pair fell into a comfortable silence as they tucked into their breakfast, the only other sound aside from their silverware clinking softly against their plates that of the birds chirping in the back garden. For as stubborn as the old woman could be, Cheyenne couldn't rightly say that she was a difficult person to live with; in fact, Arabella was pretty agreeable and often flexible when it came to discipline, so long as Cheyenne was respectful and didn't overstep her boundaries, which was never really an issue to begin with. The two got along so well that they never needed to force a conversation when they were together, and they were often comfortable with sitting in silence. It was nice.
When they were finished eating, Arabella insisted on helping Cheyenne clear the table and even shooed her away from the sink before she could start the dishes.
"It doesn't take much to wash these," She pointed out before the young woman could protest, shifting most of her body weight onto her uninjured leg as she turned on the faucet, "Besides, it's the least I can do since you cooked breakfast, and you don't want to be late picking Harry up. You know how the Dursleys are about punctuality." Arabella nodded to the clock hung up over the fireplace in the living room, reading quarter to nine. "Hop along now, quickly."
Cheyenne glanced at the clock before she smiled faintly at her grandmother and nodded, "Okay, okay, I'm going. Let me just put these few things away, toss these teabags, and feed the cats." Grabbing the jam and milk bottles from the table, she put them away in the refrigerator and tossed the soggy teabags in the bin before grabbing a couple cans of cat food from the cabinet and filling the four cat bowls. Once finished, she dusted off her hands, "All right, I'm going to grab my trainers and wallet from my room. Is there anything I can get you before I go, nan?"
"Oh, get out of here, Cheyenne. Go on!" Arabella waved a hand dismissively, urging her to go. Smiling sheepishly, Cheyenne quickly pecked Arabella on the cheek before dashing into the hall and taking the stairs two at a time on the way up. Arabella shook her head as she returned her attention to the dishes, "That girl, I swear, she needs to stop worrying about other people and just enjoy herself sometimes. She's too young to be fretting about every little thing."
Within minutes, Cheyenne was bounding back into the kitchen, tucking a red leather wallet and her house keys into the front pocket of her blue jeans, "Okay, I'm off. You remember our promise?"
"I won't forget it, Cheyenne, now you stop worrying and go have fun. You and Harry stay out of trouble, and I'll see you both this evening."
"We will, nana." Smiling gratefully, Cheyenne rounded the dining table and paused at the back door, "Be sure you prop your leg up and drink plenty of water. I'll be back before curfew. Love you." With a final wave, she slipped out onto the back patio and crossed the grass to the shed in the far-right corner of the yard. With her bike chain hung around her neck, she wheeled her used red bike out onto the path, kicking the shed door and garden gate closed behind her.
"Good morning, Cheyenne." Mrs. Nelson from next door called out as the young woman wheeled her bike onto the driveway, "How's your grandmother faring since her spill, dear?
"Good morning, Mrs. Nelson." Cheyenne smiled warmly back at her neighbor, who stood from pruning her flower beds, "Nan's doing well, thank you for asking. Still as lively as ever."
"I'm sure she is." Mrs. Nelson laughed softly, her soft blue eyes twinkling as she smiled, "And probably just as stubborn, too, hm?" Cheyenne nodded, earning another laugh, "Somehow, I'm not surprised. You headed off to see Harry?"
"Yeah, I haven't seen him since before Nan's accident." Cheyenne swung her leg over the bike seat, "I have to let him know I'm alive, right? Nan wanted me to get out and spend time with someone my own age, too."
"Well, it is good for you to go out and be with your peers, sweetie. Much better than being stuck inside all day." Mrs. Nelson nodded her head, expression softening, "You kids have fun and don't get into too much trouble, you hear?"
"Of course, Mrs. Nelson," Cheyenne chuckled, smiling to herself, "You have a good day, all right?"
"You, too, sweetie." Mrs. Nelson waved as the young woman rode off, taking a right onto the next street.
It was a short bike ride since the road Cheyenne lived on let straight onto Private Drive. Her nose crinkled in disdain, however, when she spotted a familiar black minivan parked out in front of number four, where she herself pulled up into the driveway; the car belonged to the parents of one of her and Harry's school bullies, Piers Polkiss, whose mother picked him up from school every day. Piers was best friends to the Dursleys' only son, Dudley, and, while the two boys couldn't have looked anymore different, their personalities were equally as nasty.
Dudley took a great deal after his father, Vernon Dursley, in appearance, though that was most likely due in large part to his parents spoiling him rotten; the boy was supremely overweight, with a large pink head sat atop of his shoulders as though glued there directly, leaving no room for a neck. His only good features included his thick blond hair and bright, water blue eyes.
Piers, on the other hand, was scrawny, with a thin, pointed face, like that of a rat, thin, black/brown hair that sat limply atop his head and dull brown eyes.
Although she would've rather avoided the boy, Cheyenne had known running into him today would be inevitable. It had become a tradition each year on Dudley's birthday for his parents to take him and one of his friends out for the day to do whatever they wanted, whether it was spending it at an adventure park, hamburger restaurant or even the movies. Harry, Cheyenne's best friend and Dudley's cousin, was never welcome to the festivities and was usually left with Cheyenne and Arabella over on Wisteria Walk. Since last year, though, Arabella had encouraged Cheyenne and Harry to go out and have fun on their own with the promise the Dursleys would be none the wiser. One of the only reasons the Dursleys left Harry with the two was because they thought he didn't enjoy it and they liked the idea of him being as miserable as he could be.
Shaking her head at the thought and reminding herself she needed to stay on the Dursleys good side, Cheyenne propped her bike up on its' kickstand and walked up to the front door.
"Coming!" Mrs. Dursley called from the depths of the house after Cheyenne had rung the bell; she took a step back and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she waited, allowing her gaze to wander over the manicured lawn before the front door swung open. Lifting her gaze to meet Mrs. Dursley's large, pale blue eyes, she offered the woman a warm smile.
Unlike her husband and son, Petunia Dursley was a slim woman with a long neck and pretty blond hair that fell to her shoulders in waves, bringing emphasis to her long face, lantern-shaped jaw, and large teeth. Cheyenne often caught the neighbors calling Mrs. Dursley horse-face behind her back.
"Good morning, Mrs. Dursley." Cheyenne greeted her politely; Mrs. Dursley eyed her, taking in her old, worn jeans, faded red T-shirt, and dirty red and white trainers. Cheyenne straightened her back instead of shrinking under her scrutinizing gaze and cleared her throat, "I'm not late, am I?"
"No, we were just finishing up breakfast." Mrs. Dursley sniffed and turned to call back into the house, "Boy, she's here! Get your shoes on, now!" Pursuing her lips at the woman's disrespectful tone, Cheyenne had to force another smile when Mrs. Dursley turned back to her, "He'll be out in a minute. Just wait here."
"Of course, thank you. I hope you have a good day, Mrs. Dursley. Oh, and be sure to tell Dudley I said happy birthday." Mrs. Dursley nodded silently in acknowledgement and disappeared back into the house, leaving the front door partially open behind her. The smile immediately dropped from Cheyenne's face as soon as the woman left and she sighed, turning away to walk back out onto the lawn and wait for the nauseous feeling in her stomach to pass.
"Hey Chey," She turned at the familiar voice, a genuine smile on her lips for the skinny young man that joined her. Harry was a small boy, thin due to how little his aunt and uncle fed him, though the clothes he was forced to wear only made it worse; every article of clothing her best friend owned were hand-me downs from his cousin, who was easily four times Harry's size, which meant they absolutely dwarfed him. His jet-hair was always untidy, particularly at the back, as though he'd just woken up and he had a pair of almond-shaped eyes that were a shade of green she'd never seen anywhere else, staring out at the world from behind a pair of round, wire rimmed glasses. Unfortunately, though, thanks to Dudley's persistent bullying, Harry's glasses were always broken and had to be held together with a ton of Scotch tape. The truly fascinating thing about him, though, was the scar on his forehead shaped like a bolt of lightning, which, according to his aunt, he'd gotten from an accident when he was a baby.
"Mornin', Harry. Ready to go?" Harry nodded and followed Cheyenne to the driveway, where she kicked the bike stand up so she could turn it around and swing her leg over the seat again. Harry climbed on behind her, standing on the back wheel spoke and resting his hands lightly on her shoulders as she rode back up the street.
"Everything okay at home?"
"Hm?" Cheyenne glanced back over her shoulder as she turned onto Wisteria Walk. "Oh yeah, everything okay. Nan took a nasty spill down the stairs on Thursday, broke her right leg. The doctor told her to take it easy."
Harry nodded and breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to know Mrs. Figg was okay. He'd been worried something bad happened to Cheyenne's grandmother, knowing that Arabella was the only family she had left; he hated the thought of his best friend losing Arabella and having to be sent to an orphanage. It was bad enough neither of them had any parents, without having to worry about being separated on top of it. Life was undoubtedly easier for Cheyenne, who at least had a relative that seemed to care about her, but she'd always tried to be there for Harry as much as she possibly could be, especially knowing how he was treated by the Dursleys.
"Is that why you skived off lessons yesterday?" Harry hopped off the bike as Cheyenne pulled to a stop in her driveway and walked it up to the garden gate. "Yeah, I wanted to be sure she wouldn't push herself; you know how stubborn she can be. But she insisted I go out today so you and I can have some fun. Go grab your bike and we'll figure out what we're going to do."
Since the Dursleys often neglected Harry and treated him as little more than a waste of space, Cheyenne and Arabella had taken it upon themselves to teach him how to ride a bike. Unfortunately, though, since Arabella didn't make a lot of money, the duo had had to share Cheyenne's first bike up until last year, when Arabella had gifted Harry her old one, which had been collecting dust in the shed, for his 10th birthday. Of course, Harry couldn't bring it around the Dursley house for fear that his aunt and uncle would try to confiscate it, so it'd become commonplace for him to store it in Arabella and Cheyenne's shed with the former's bike when not in use. It was one reason why Arabella had started encouraging the pair to go out whenever the weather was nice.
"Got any ideas about what you wanted to do today?" Cheyenne asked once Harry had wheeled up beside her. He shrugged, balancing his and the bike's weight on his right foot.
"Hm, I dunno...what about you, any ideas?" He looked at her, but she just scowled and shook her head, "Nuh uh, I chose last time, it's your turn." She nudged him, smiling now, "C'mon Harry, there has to be some place you really want to go."
Harry hesitated before he heaved a sigh and folded his arms over the handles of his bike, propping his chin on his forearms, "The zoo Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talked about taking Dudley and Piers to sounds fun...never been to a zoo before."
"Is that what you want to do?" Cheyenne cocked her head, smiling encouragingly, "Because if it is, we should go. I haven't been to a zoo yet either." Harry glanced up at her and started to smile, too, when a though struck him; Cheyenne, noticing his hesitation, quirked a brow, "What is it?'
"Isn't it a bad idea to go to the same zoo, though? The Dursleys won't be happy if they see us."
"Those berks can go choke on stale biscuits for all I care." Cheyenne huffed, "They don't own the zoo, and this is a free country, so we can do what we want. If you want to go to the zoo, then you can." When Harry continued to look unsure, Cheyenne took a deep breath, her expression softening as she put a hand on his arm, "Look, Harry, you know I'd never force you to do something you don't want to, but don't let those bullies make you afraid. If there's something you want to do, go for it, I've got your back no matter what. If you really want to go to the zoo, then let's go. If not, then we can find something else to do, we've still got the movies, not to mention those nice shops over by the train station we could check out together."
Harry looked up at Cheyenne then, a slow smile crossing his lips as he nodded in thanks and took a deep, steadying breath, steeling his resolve, "Let's go to the zoo."
Nodding in agreement, Cheyenne squeezed Harry's arm encouragingly before the pair rode their bikes out of the drive and up Wisteria Walk toward downtown; the local zoo was about two miles away and, with a few shortcuts through town, they arrived within ten minutes.
Since it was a clear, sunny Saturday, the zoo was crowded with couples and families by the time they pulled up, which worked to their advantage; after chaining their bikes to a rack near the ticket booth, Cheyenne bought them each an ice cream cone from the nice woman working the truck nearby before they went in.
With a map of the zoo in hand, Harry and Cheyenne went from one exhibit to another, taking turns picking where they would go as they ate their ice cream and enjoyed themselves, although they were careful to keep an eye out for any of the Dursleys or Piers. They were both enjoying their day out of the house and didn't want to risk either their bullies nor Harry' aunt and uncle ruining it if they were spotted. Neither had any doubt that Dudley would either decide to come and pick on the two of them himself or complain to his parents that they were ruining his birthday by being at the exact same zoo as they were. Because God forbid someone else enjoyed themselves if Dudley was upset or inconvenienced. They had a few close calls when leaving an exhibit the Dursleys were entering, but thanks to their small statures, Harry and Cheyenne were able to duck out of sight and slip away before any of them could notice. One instance included when they were eating at the zoo restaurant; not long after they were seated, the Dursleys came in for lunch themselves and were led past their table as they were seated. Harry and Cheyenne were quick to hide their faces behind their menus, only daring to peek once they knew it was safe when they saw the four had been put at a table across the restaurant. What was even better was that they could see Piers and the Dursleys from where they were sitting while they themselves could not so easily be seen, which provided them with some entertainment to go along with their meal.
"Bet you a cookie Dudley throws a tantrum before lunch is over." Cheyenne whispered as they watched the waitress bring out their food; Harry smirked at her across the table and took a slow, contemplative sip of soda.
"Make it double if it's over his dessert." He finally said as he set his cup down; Cheyenne couldn't help but laugh as she offered her hand, which he gave a firm shake before they returned to their respective meals. Sure enough, as the Dursleys were tucking into their dessert, Dudley started screaming and crying (loud enough to silence the whole restaurant, mind you) about how his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top. Cheyenne groaned and handed Harry both her chocolate chip cookies as Mr. Dursley ordered an all-new dessert for Dudley and gave the unfinished one to Piers.
Unfortunately for the friends, however, their fun was not to last.
After lunch, Harry and Cheyenne headed for the reptile house, a decently sized building with low lighting and a moderately humid temperature to better suit the captive animals held in enclosures viewable through lit windows along the walls. Each enclosure was decorated to accommodate its' occupants, some filled with water, others dirt, along with bits of stone, plants, broken branches, and small logs the lizards and snakes seemed to enjoy. Full and content after a good meal and what they'd already seen, Harry and Cheyenne were more than happy to stroll leisurely from tank to tank, watching the animals scurry about within and reading the plaques that described them. Unfortunately, however, they wouldn't get to enjoy the quiet for long; just as they had, the Dursleys had decided to visit the reptile house after their meal as well. Though the place wasn't very big, the thing that seemed to save Harry and Cheyenne from being discovered right away was Dudley and Piers' fascination with finding the biggest and deadliest reptiles the zoo had to offer. Naturally, it wouldn't take either of them long to find the largest snake on display, whose tank was right next to the one Harry and Cheyenne were viewing when it was spotted.
Neither dared to even breathe as they listened to Dudley bark orders at his father to make the snake move, followed by the sound of Mr. Dursley's knuckles rapping smartly on the glass. When this proved ineffective, Dudley moaned about how boring the snake was and his footsteps, followed shortly by Piers' and his parents', moved away from the tank. Exhaling heavily, Cheyenne glanced over her shoulder after them.
"That was too close...maybe it's time we left, Harry." She whispered to her best friend as she watched the group pause at the tank of rattlesnakes on the other side of the room.
"Yeah...in a minute." Harry murmured absentmindedly, his gaze on the snake his cousin and uncle had just been tormenting, brow furrowed, "I feel bad for the guy, though...I wouldn't be surprised if he died of boredom being locked up in there all day long with no company, expect for those people who come in everyday to bug him..."
Leaning around Harry to peer at the enclosure herself, Cheyenne frowned, knowing he must feel some kind of kinship with the animal since he was in no better a situation. The poor boy had had to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs for most of his life, with his only visitor consisting of his nasty Aunt Petunia every morning when it was time to get up. Before Cheyenne could open her mouth to speak, however, something extraordinary happened.
As though it'd heard what Harry had said, the snake suddenly opened its' beady black eyes and, very slowly, raised its' head until it was eye-level with him. And then, it winked!
Harry and Cheyenne immediately froze, eyes stretched wide in astonishment before they each did a quick survey of the room to be sure no one else was watching. Once certain no one was looking their way, they turned back to the snake and winked back.
The snake's tongue flickered as it jerked its' head toward Mr. Dursley and Dudley before it seemingly rolled its' eyes toward the ceiling, as though it was saying 'I get that all the time.'
"I know..." Harry murmured quietly through the glass as Cheyenne shifted her gaze to the plaque beside the enclosure, pushing her reading glasses up her nose and half listening as Harry continued to speak to the snake. This guy here was a Boa Constrictor, whose original habitat was Brazil, although this specimen had been bred right here in the zoo.
"Ah, so you've never been to Brazil, huh?' Cheyenne turned back to the boa, eyebrows pinching empathically.
The snake started to shake its' head when a deafening shout behind Harry and Cheyenne made the three of them jump, "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! YOU HAVE TO COME AND SEE THIS SNAKE; YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"
Quick as a flash, Piers and Dudley were suddenly there and Cheyenne felt a hard shove; caught off guard, she scrambled to right herself and winced as her ankle rolled beneath her, sending her crashing to the concrete floor. Clenching her teeth to stave off her tears, Cheyenne rolled to cradle her injured limb, knowing it was likely to sprain now. Harry, meanwhile, pushed himself up from where Dudley had shoved him to the floor as well, searching for his best friend; his eyes hardened when he spotted her curled up on the floor across from him, cradling her ankle and blinking back tears. Harry whipped his head up to glare at the two boys above them, gritting his teeth as he watched them press their noses eagerly against the glass of the enclosure, obvious to everything else around them. His anger, however, faded to confusion when Dudley and Piers suddenly leapt away from the glass with howls of horror.
Cheyenne looked up at the sound, a few small tears escaping from the corners of her eyes as they widened and her mouth fell open; the glass that had acted as the front to the boa constrictor's tank had vanished completely. The large brown and white snake was now quickly uncoiling itself to slide out of the tank and onto the floor, setting off a wave of panic among the crowd as people screamed and ran for the exits.
As the snake slid past Harry, he could swear he heard a low, hissy voice say, "Brazil here I come...Thanksss, amigo, to you and your mate." The snake turned its' head to look pointedly back at Cheyenne before it slithered toward the exit. Cheyenne watched it go before meeting Harry's eye, surprised at the blush that flooded his cheeks; he glanced away and rubbed his neck as Cheyenne cocked her head, curious, before a particularly painful throb reminded her of her current injury and Harry of their present company.
"C'mon, Chey, time to go." He was on his feet in an instant, hurriedly pulling his best friend to her feet as the keeper of the reptile house called for the zoo director and Mr. Dursley was trying to calm his wife down. Harry and Cheyenne made their escape while Dudley and Piers stood, frozen, in front of the boa's empty tank, gibbering brainlessly. Neither Harry nor Cheyenne could fathom what could have rattled them so, since the boa had done nothing more than snap playfully at their heels as it passed, although they knew the boys were more than likely to claim the snake had tried to eat them both alive by the time they got back home.
"Still funny to see them so rattled, wasn't it?" Harry laughed as he helped Cheyenne through the exit, and they unlocked their bikes. Cheyenne smiled, bemused, as she took her bike and chain from him. "That made possibly getting caught well worth it."
"I hope so..." Cheyenne sighed as they wheeled their bikes away from the zoo, with her wincing each time she put weight on her ankle. She was going to have to do damage control when they got home; at best, she would just need to put some ice on her ankle if it was swollen and at worst...well, she really didn't want to think about that right now. "You know your aunt and uncle are going to be real shirty with you when you get home tonight...I just hope they won't punish you too badly."
"They shouldn't, so long as they just know we were there. Can you imagine my punishment if they knew we were talking to that snake?"
"You'd be stuck in your cupboard until Christmas." Cheyenne frowned at the thought, knowing how over the top the Dursleys went whenever anything odd happened around Harry. She couldn't remember how many stories he'd told her about the times he'd been punished because something had happened that he couldn't control, although there were three that she could name off the top of her head.
The first was the time when Mrs. Dursley, tired of Harry coming home from the barbers looking as though he'd never set foot in the shop in his life, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors and cut almost all his hair off save for his bangs, which she'd saved to hide his scar. When Harry had been allowed out of his cupboard again, he'd told Cheyenne about how Dudley had laughed himself silly at his haircut and how he, himself, had spent the entire night imagining how school would go the following day, where he was already picked on for his baggy clothes and taped glasses. What had earned him his punishment, however, had been the fact that his hair had somehow managed to return to exactly how it'd been before his aunt had sheared it all off.
Another time, Harry had somehow got up on the roof of the school kitchens and gotten into trouble then, too; Cheyenne remembered that day, how she couldn't find a trace of her best friend at lunch, only to hear he'd been found by the janitor up on the chimney and had been sent home with a very angry letter from their headmistress. How he'd gotten up there had been a complete mystery to Harry, as he'd just been trying to escape Dudley and his gang by jumping behind the large trash cans outside the kitchen doors. He'd voiced the possibility that maybe a strong wind had caught him mid-jump, but Cheyenne had highly doubted that had been the cause.
The only time Cheyenne could ever really remember Harry not getting into trouble with the Dursleys over things like that was when he'd told her about the time his Aunt Petunia had tried forcing him into an old sweater of Dudley's. It'd been a knitted brown thing decorated with orange puff balls that no one in their right mind would wear unless dared or drunk. Fortunately for Harry, though, the harder she'd tried to get it on him, the smaller the sweater became, until it looked to be the right size for a hand puppet. Thankfully, the woman had decided the sweater must have shrunk in the wash and Harry had gotten away scot-free.
And tonight, if the Dursleys knew the two of them had been talking to that snake...well, she already knew how Harry's punishment would go. As for herself, she'd be lucky if she'd ever be allowed on Privet Drive again.
The walk home took longer than the ride to the zoo, since Cheyenne was in no condition to ride her bike back and she was limping the entire way; they had to stop a few times to take a break when the pain was too much to continue on. The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached her grandmother's house and Harry ushered Cheyenne inside as soon as their bikes were stored safely inside the shed.
"Hey kids, what did the two of you do today?' Arabella looked up from her chair as Harry sat Cheyenne at the kitchen table and took the seat beside her, carefully taking her injured leg in his hands. Cheyenne hissed a breath through her teeth as he pulled her trainer and sock off before he carefully pushed the leg of her jeans up, earning a whispered apology in return. Her ankle was, indeed, swollen, and had turned an angry red color, "Something happen?"
"Just had a fun day at the zoo." Cheyenne sighed as Harry set her leg in his chair while he went to get some ice, "At least until we ran into Dudley and Piers...I've sprained my ankle."
"You two went to the same zoo?" Arabella shook her head, "Those boys certainly know how to throw their weight around, don't they? You didn't walk all the way back, did you?"
"Couldn't really ride my bike like this..." Cheyenne gave Harry a grateful smile as he took her leg back into his lap and wrapped her ankle with a cold compress. Arabella sighed, "I hope you're both aware of the amount of trouble you're in with the Dursleys now. They aren't ones to forgive and forget."
"Yeah, well, I still say what that snake did today more than makes up for it." Harry grinned at Cheyenne, who chuckled her agreement. Arabella quirked a brow, "Do I even want to know?"
Cheyenne shook her head, still chuckling quietly, "You wouldn't believe us if we did tell you, Nana."
Turning off the television, Arabella swung her chair around to face them, "Try me."