In the middle of a field sat a boy, his hair as golden as the barley that swayed around him, with blue eyes distant and impassive, making him appear much older than his eleven years.
He liked it here. It was peaceful and solitary. The way the barley stretched upwards meant that when he wasn't standing he could blend in with his surroundings and have nobody find him. Well, nobody who was real.
The nearby stalks swung abruptly, shoved by a hand rather than the natural breeze. The boy had just enough time to scramble to his feet before another boy appeared beside him. This boy had dark, messy hair and even darker eyes that were almost black. His lips were curled into his usual malicious smirk.
"Hello Simon," he said to the golden-haired boy.
Simon took a hesitant step backwards. He glanced around, searching for a way of escape. The other boy saw this and placed a hand on Simon's shoulder. It felt so cold, as if someone was pushing ice into his skin.
"Going somewhere?" the boy asked, his wicked grin widening to display white teeth that glinted in the sunlight. "Where you go, I can go. Remember?"
Simon's arms were pressed against his side, unable to move. His legs too were also paralysed. In fact, Simon couldn't feel them at all. The only thing that seemed to be able to work was his mouth. In a weak voice, Simon somehow managed to force the words out.
"Dad says you don't exist."
The boy snickered at this and moved his hand to jab the other boy's cheek. "If I didn't exist, would I be able to do this?"
As soon as his hand had released its grip on Simon's shoulder, Simon found that he was able to move again. He slowly began to back away. "You are not real," he told the boy, hoping if he said that it would become true and the boy would disappear.
"Ah, come on now! I thought we were friends," replied the boy. He had noticed that Simon was backing away and reached out to grab him, but Simon was too quick. He swerved away from the hand and dashed past the boy.
"James say I'm too old to have imaginary friends!" He yelled as he ran. When he heard footsteps pound the ground behind him he picked up his pace.
His arms flailed around in front of him, pushing the barley out of his path, but no matter how fast he ran the person behind him soon caught up. He felt a hand catch onto the back of his T-shirt.
"What the hell are you playing at?"
Simon had his eyes clenched shut and his arms wrapped protectively around him. It took him a moment before he recognised the voice as his brother's.
Albus stood in front of him, his green eyes looked concerned, but mostly just confused. He placed his hands on Simon's shoulders and shook him gently. In comparison to the last pair of hands, they were soft and warm. Relief filled Simon with such a force that he began to cry. His older brother, not know what else to do, pulled him into a hug.
"You shouldn't run off like that," he chided him. Though he had been angry before, his voice remained calm. "Mum was worried sick about you."
Simon nodded, choking back more tears. He felt a little embarrassed, crying over nothing in front of his brother. If their eldest brother James had been there, he would have accused him of being a little kid.
Albus handed him a tissue to wipe his face. Reliable Albus, thought Simon. Thoughtful Albus. Sensible Albus. He gazed up at his brother in admiration. He looked up to him.
Simon could never be as great a wizard as their father was, neither the most talented of the Potter children. He had shown such little magical potential that most had suspected him of being a squib up until a year ago. However, he could follow in Albus' footsteps by studying hard, thinking intuitively and getting a job immediately after school at the ministry. Perhaps one that involved working with animals. Simon loved animals.
Albus ruffled his brother's blond hair, bringing him back from his thoughts. "Come on Si, we better get you back home before Mum has a complete melt down."