Fields of Green

He sat on the horizon, staring at rolling hills of emerald green. It was like Ireland, he reflected, though he had never been to Ireland before and didn't plan on going. This was what Ireland would be like if he went, he decided; lush and alive with perfect beauty. He felt a wave of warmth crash over him. It smelled to him of flowers in a rainstorm. He wanted to close his eyes and sigh, but he didn't dare blink, lest this forest of dreams be swept away. He allowed a dreamy smile to come over his features.

And Lily slapped him. "Don't you smirk at me!" she yelled. "Stop calling him Snivellus!" She stormed off, taking his fantasy of an Irish summer with her. He sat down on the couch, not hearing a word she'd said, pressed a hand against his reddened cheek, and sighed contentedly.