one

His fingers completed the jigsaw puzzle in breathtaking speed, and as the newly formed penguin stared back at him, Callum Thomson did not feel the satisfaction that usually associated the completion of a puzzle. Instead, there was a hollowness inside of him, born out of neglect and a never ending question of what could have been.

Callum wasn't a wizard despite both his parents having magical blood in their veins. He was aware of how different he was the moment he had learnt to understand and process his surroundings. His younger brother made a cup fly when he was only three, but despite being a year older, Callum never showed any signs of magic.

With a sigh, he tucked his puzzle into his drawer before shrugging on a shirt. Looking out of the window, he noticed the sun was about to sink and decided to go for a walk.

His foster parents were downstairs, and didn't pay any mind as Callum walked out of the house. The lack of attention felt like both a blessing and a curse to him, and at the moment he was leaning toward the former. He did not feel like talking to anyone right now, not because he was ill or anything, but because he simply did not want to.

The summer heat was rather scorching despite the onset of evening, proven by the birds that were perched over the edge of the wide, flat dish that Callum had kept outside, and drinking the water from it. He raised his hand to brush his blonde hair away from his forehead, and walked down Magnolia Crescent, the other hand tucked in his pocket.

After a minute of mindless strolling, he came upon the park just a block down Magnolia Crescent, and pushed open the rickety wooden fence, which creaked slightly. He had come here before, but now that his house has begun to feel suffocating for him, the park had become a haunting place. He made his way over to the swing set where he loved to sit and let his mind wonder over meaningless things, but now he noticed, much to his annoyance, that the swing was occupied. The figure formed a dark silhouette as the light of the setting sun shone from the other side, but as Callum stepped closer, he became visible.

He was a tall and scrawny boy with a mop of messy black hair over his head. He wore round glasses which lay lopsided over his nose, and one of his hands was rested lazily on the chain that held the swing. His shirt was two sizes too big for him. Upon hearing his footsteps, the boy turned to look at him.

Callum stepped over to him and brought a frown on his face. "This is my swing," he stated, despite there being another, empty swing beside him, but Callum never used that one, for it was more rusty and rickety.

The boy raised his brows, but didn't move. His hands came to curl on his lap and his fingers laced together. He had a bored look on his face. "I don't see your name on it."

Callum huffed silently, and with an impatient grumble, he went over to sit on the other, rusty swing.

Callum swung his legs back and forth, staring in the opposite direction, completely ignoring the boy beside him. He wasn't interested in talking to him - he had simply come here to get fresh air, but the boy didn't seem to get the hint.

"What - what's your name?" he asked awkwardly, glancing sideways, and Callum let out an annoyed sigh.

"Callum," he said shortly, not bothering to say his surname.

"I'm - Harry Potter," the boy replied, and his head whipped around to look at him. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he scrutinised him up and down.

"You're Harry Potter?" he demanded, as though being Harry Potter was a crime, and to Callum, it kind of was. Harry looked startled.

"You are a wiz - I mean, you know me?"

Callum shook his head. "No, I'm not a wizard. And no, I don't know you. I just heard some stories about you from my parents when I was a kid. They were wizards."

"So you are a. . ." Harry trailed away, looking uncomfortable.

"A squib, yes."

"Oh." He paused. "I'm sorry."

Callum turned his head toward him and sent a challenging look, arching his brows. "Why? Is being a squib shameful?"

"No," Harry shook his head vigorously. "That's not what I meant."

"Whatever."

There was an awkward silence. Callum ignored him again and returned his attention to his surroundings, watching the birds that were pecking on the dirt in the ground. A few yards from them, he noticed a ball of fur hidden among the rosebushes and he craned his neck to look at it better. It seemed to be moving and - whimpering.

He stood up and walked over to the bushes, kneeling down next to the furry thing which, he now realised, was a kitten. He reached his hand out and drew the kitten toward him, cradling it between his hands. The kitten whimpered loudly and he noticed that its hind leg was burnt.

"It's injured," Harry observed. Callum hadn't realised when he had come up to stand behind him. He scowled.

"Really? How come I didn't notice it?"

It was now Harry's turn to scoff as he knelt down next to him and looked at the ball of fur. He stroked its head softly. "You are one pleasant person, aren't you?"

"Yes, I practically make sunshine and rainbows come out of my mouth when I speak."

"Of course. I'm sparkling with your pleasantness. I wish I had met you before. Then I wouldn't have to sulk in the park and try to hide from my big cousin and everything that's happened at Hogwarts."

The mention of Hogwarts was like a finger touching a bubble and bursting it. Callum fell silent and stood up, the kitten carefully perched over his arms. He stepped back and looked at Harry. "I'm going to take it home," he stated, more to himself than to the boy who now looked regretful for ever having mentioned Hogwarts. "Bye."

"Uh - see you later," said Harry quietly and moved away. Callum nodded mutely and left the park, walking down Magnolia Crescent to reach home. The kitten let out a soft mewling sound from his arms, and he absently looked down at it, rocking his arms to make it comfortable, though his mind wasn't really focused on what he was doing. Darkness had erupted over him and he sighed, wondering why, of all people in Little Whinging, he had to meet a wizard.