Chapter 5

"Why don't we turn our attention to something else? What activity would you like us to do?"

The sudden question draws Henry up short. It is not a question he is used to being asked, and so it takes a moment for him to understand it. All his dreams of having friends to play with swim through his head. Henry thinks back on all the times he'd watched other children on the playground, what they did, what he wished he could be doing.

Just behind Mr. Matthew, the park playground is empty. There had been some other kids hanging around earlier, but Henry assumes they now must have gone home for lunch.

Speaking of lunch—Henry rubs an absentminded hand over his stomach. There's no point in thinking about returning to the Dursleys. No lunch will be waiting for him there, not after Dennis's gone and told on him.

"Let us sit on the bench."

Henry startles from his thoughts, then obediently shuffles over to the bench. He goes to climb on, but Mr. Matthew stops him, instead seizing him around the armpits and depositing him onto the wood.

"I can sit down on my own!" Henry says, squirming out of the grasp.

Mr. Matthew tsks at him, then crouches down and reaches for one of Henry's ankles. "Think on what you wish to do, and I will see to your injuries."

Henry has his left leg lifted into the air. It's hard to think when he's being touched like that. It's distracting.

"You're distracting me," Henry accuses.

Mr. Matthew raises a brow, and Henry feels his face flush. His friend is only trying to help, and Henry is being ungrateful again.

"Sorry," says Henry. "You can look at my leg. I don't mind."

Henry feels a cold wash tingle over his skin as Mr. Matthew's hand passes over his injuries. It tickles enough that Henry lets out a soft giggle without really meaning to. When the hand pulls away, Henry can see that his leg looks normal. There are no more marks at all.

"Thank you!" Henry says, twisting his ankle experimentally. Then he goes to stand, but Mr. Matthew puts a hand on his chest, holding him in place.

The man's face is amused. "Your other leg, small one."

"Oh," Henry says, embarrassed. He sits back down and swings his right leg up for Mr. Matthew to catch. They repeat the process, and this time Henry is ready: he keeps his lips pressed shut, holding back the laughter squirming in his gut.

Once the right leg is done, Mr. Matthew gives his knee a pat. "Now for your arms."

Henry holds out one arm at a time, and soon everything is free of marks. No need for bandaids, even. Henry rubs at the bare skin, trying to see if there's any pain leftover.

"All done?" Henry asks, just to be sure.

"All done," confirms Mr. Matthew. "What would you like to do?"

Henry hops off the bench, then wraps his arms around himself, unsure. There is something he would like to do, something he knows kids are supposed to do after they have their boo boos patched up.

"I—" Henry starts, nervous. "Can I—"

"Yes?" Mr. Matthew's voice is patient. Gentle. Henry feels safe knowing that his friend is here with him, and this is what gives him courage to speak.

"Can I have a hug?"

A pause develops, during which Henry worries that the answer will be no. Because Mr. Matthew is his friend, not his parent and not his teacher, and maybe friends aren't supposed to ask for these things.

"Of course. You may have a hug."

Henry smiles, relieved.

Neither of them move.

"Um," says Henry. He's not sure if he needs to move or not. But then again, he and Mr. Matthew aren't like normal friends. Mr. Matthew is looking at him, though, so Henry takes the last step forward and drapes his arms around the man's neck, hoping that he's not making a mistake.

Mr. Matthew smells a bit funny. Like fancy perfume and cigarette smoke. Henry rests his chin on Mr. Matthew's shoulder, wondering if the large, bird-like wings are tucked away behind the thick fabric of the jacket.

Slowly, arms come to wrap around Henry's back. Henry feels Mr. Matthew pat him a few times, and then they pull away from each other.

"Very good," says Mr. Matthew. He clears his throat and rubs at the back of his neck, which is where Henry had been clinging.

Henry's glad that it was a good hug. "Thank you," he says. "For making the bruises go away."

"You're welcome." The soft tone is back. Henry likes hearing it.

"Can we—" Henry glances at the playground. "Can we go on the playground?"

Mr. Matthew stands at full height, holding out a hand. "Lead the way."

Henry takes the hand, noting that his hand only wraps around three of those fingers, and walks Mr. Matthew over to the swing set.

"The swings are my favourite," Henry says, matter of fact. "I like to go really high. I can swing higher than everyone else," he adds proudly, puffing his chest out a bit.

"An admirable talent."

Henry doesn't know what 'admirable' means, but the word sounds nice. "It's the bestest," Henry agrees.

Mr. Matthew gives Henry's hand a squeeze. "Hm. I think you mean 'best'."

Henry frowns. "That's the same thing."

"It is not the same thing," says Mr. Matthew, but then they have reached the swings, and the entire conversation vanishes from Henry's mind.

"This one," Henry says, dragging Mr. Matthew by the hand. "This one's the best one. Um, and the one next to it is nice, too." Henry bites his lip and glances over his shoulder at his friend. He won't mind giving up his favourite swing if it means they can swing together.

Mr. Matthew drops Henry's hand and moves towards the good swing. Henry's stomach does a little twist, but he tells himself it doesn't matter.

Only, Mr. Matthew doesn't sit down. He grabs both of the metal chains, one strand in each hand, and nods his head down at the empty seat.

Henry breathes out in surprise and quickly dashes forward to sit down before the man can change his mind.

"Hold tight," murmurs Mr. Matthew, and then gives Henry a big push.

Henry feels a rush as his surroundings swoosh away, his feet leaving the ground as he is launched into the air. Pumping his legs, Henry starts to work up a momentum, aided by the push of hands against his back, guiding him upwards.

Up and up and up. Henry lets out a laugh as he goes higher and higher, swinging towards the sun and the blue skies.

"Having fun?"

"Yes!" Henry shouts back. His heart is soaring, and he feels like a bird. Henry imagines he has his own wings on his back, large and flapping, able to carry him away the next time Dennis tries to chase him.

The swinging continues even as Henry feels his legs go tired. Each time he goes back up, it seems very high, higher than he's ever gone before. Eventually, Henry stops kicking his legs at all. The only thing keeping him in the air is Mr. Matthew's hands pressing against his back.

"Okay," Henry says, once he's gotten enough of seeing the playground below him, looking tinier than ever from the great heights he has achieved today with the help of his friend. "We can stop now." Mr. Matthew must be tired from all the pushing. Henry is certainly tired from all the swinging.

The swing slows almost immediately, floating back towards the ground. Henry feels the steady presence behind him grasp the swing, holding it still.

Henry drops his feet back onto the ground. His legs wobble right away, unused to the solid ground. Henry stumbles and grabs backwards at the swing for balance. Instead of the metal, he finds Mr. Matthew reaching out to set him back on his feet.

"Careful," chides Mr. Matthew.

"I'm fine," Henry says, twisting around. "Just an accident."

Mr. Matthew looks at him in a way that Henry decides means his friend is not impressed.

Henry pulls away from the swing and crosses his arms over his chest to prove he can stand on his own. "See?" he says. "Fine."

Mr. Matthew opens his mouth to reply, but he is cut off by the sound of grumbling from Henry's stomach.

"Oops," Henry says. "Sorry."

"Hungry?"

"Um. A little bit. It's okay. We don't have to stop." Henry doesn't want to be sent home. He wants to stay here a while longer.

"Don't be ridiculous. We have plenty of time."

Mr. Matthew steps forward, and Henry stays in place, confused.

Then Henry is seized around the waist and lifted into the air. "Hey! Put me down!" He smacks at the man's shoulder. "I don't want to be picked up."

A few seconds go by, and then Henry is set back down on the ground.

"If you fall—"

"I'm not going to!" Henry huffs, indignant. "I'm not a baby."

Mr. Matthew snorts at him. "To the bench, then."

Henry walks a bit slower than usual, watching where he puts his feet. If Mr. Matthew notices this, he doesn't say anything.

They reach the bench. Henry climbs onto it on his own, without help, and Mr. Matthew sits beside him.

"Are we having lunch?" Henry asks, curious. Mr. Matthew doesn't have any bags with him. Is he going to make food with magic? Is he going to share? Henry hasn't brought any lunch with him, and it would be rude to ask for food.

"We are."

Mr. Matthew holds his hand out, and Henry watches, fascinated, as an entire sandwich appears out of thin air.

"That's amazing," Henry blurts. "How do you do that?"

"It's summoning, small one. A simple task." Mr. Matthew ruffles Henry's head with his free hand. "Here. This one is for you."

"Thank you," Henry says, and takes the sandwich with both hands. Lettuce and tomatoes and ham and cheese. He takes a big bite. It tastes very good. Henry chews and chews as fast as he can.

Mr. Matthew is watching him eat. Henry feels a bit weird about that. Should he eat faster?

"Are you going to eat?" Henry asks, once he's swallowed his mouthful.

"I don't have a need for food like you do. I can wait for you to finish."

Henry takes a bigger bite and tries to chew faster.

Mr. Matthew narrows his eyes. "Eat slowly. It will cause you indigestion."

Henry doesn't want to eat slowly, but he also doesn't want to get in trouble. So he settles for taking big bites and chewing at a normal pace.

Once the sandwich is done, Henry brushes himself off crumbs. His throat is kind of itchy. Or maybe it's sore.

"Water?"

"There's a water fountain over there." Henry points over at the other side of the playground.

Mr. Matthew creates a glass of milk and holds it out.

"Oh," Henry says, surprised. The glass is cold. "Thanks."

The milk disappears much faster than the sandwich. Henry wipes his mouth on his arm when he's done.

"Not like that." Mr. Matthew hands him a cloth. It's mostly white, but there is a dark, dark red colour in the middle. The red is stitched on with string, and it looks like a splat shape. Henry dabs at his mouth with the cloth, scared of getting it dirty even though Mr. Matthew had given it to him for cleaning. Then, when Mr. Matthew glances down pointedly, Henry wipes his arm off, too.

Henry hands the cloth back, sheepish.

Mr. Matthew vanishes it away. He's smiling while he does it, and Henry suspects that the man might be showing off.

"Now what?" Henry asks.

"What do you want to do?"

Henry shakes his head. "It's your turn to pick," he says. "So it's fair."

That earns him a head pat. Henry feels warm whenever Mr. Matthew praises him or pats him. Aunt Karen and Uncle do the same with Dennis, and Henry had always wondered what it felt like. Now that he does know, he's pretty sure he would do anything to keep it.

"Would you like to see some more magic?" Mr. Matthew asks.

"Yes," Henry says, right away. "Yes, please."

Mr. Matthew chuckles, but it's a happy sound, not a mocking one. Then noise fades away, leaving a thoughtful expression. "I do wish I could give you something else to keep. But you said your aunt and uncle wouldn't approve of that."

Henry shrugs. He's already accepted that fact, though he does like hearing that Mr. Matthew wants to give him more presents. "It's okay," Henry says. "I don't mind."

"You say that very frequently. If you are ever unhappy, if something bothers you, you should feel free to say so."

"Okay," Henry says.

A hand pats at his head again in response. Henry blinks up at his friend. "Can I see some magic now?" he asks. "Please?"

"Hold out your hands."

"Close your eyes."

Henry smiles at the familiarity. He'll close his eyes, and when he opens them, he'll see a cool surprise, like his ring.

Some small and squirmy gets dropped into his hand. Henry wants to see what it is, so badly, but he hasn't been told to open his eyes yet.

Whatever it is makes a snorting sound. Maybe it's a frog? Or a lizard? Henry can feel the little feet dancing around on his palms.

"Open."

The word sounds almost like a hiss. Henry opens his eyes and gapes.