Word Count: 100
Category/Warnings: wee bit of angst
A/N: written for harryron100
“Harry, what are you doing? Get out here!”
Harry stands with his bare feet curled over the doorstep, watching Ron toss a handful of dried leaves into the air. They fall back around him like red and brown snowflakes, landing in his hair, clinging to the collar of his shirt, and Harry is reminded inexplicably of Dudley, trampling through his carefully raked piles just because he could.
“What are you waiting for?” Ron calls out.
Harry bites his lip. “Nothing,” he replies, stepping out into the backyard. Fragile leaves crack under wind-chilled feet.
“’bout time,” says Ron, and Harry smiles.