"I keep having this dream."
He's sitting on a desk, swinging his feet, staring at a man in the corner. The man isn't looking at him. He never looks at the child.
"Its the strangest thing. I wake up and I'm here. In the school. But its not like this. There's been a huge battle."
He looks at the man through a thick fringe of hair. The man is still staring at his bookcase. He hops off the desk and walks over.
"There's smoke everywhere. The Great Hall is filled with bodies. I walk into the hall. I'm not ten, I'm seventeen. There are two people with me. A boy with red hair and a brunette girl."
The man turns away, walking back to the desk. He settles behind it and begins to sort through a pile of parchment. He walks behind the man, and looks over his shoulder.
"When the people in the hall see me, they all starting cheering. They run to me, hugging me and shaking my hand. There's another ginger, a girl, who kisses me. Everyone is saying I did it. I defeated the Dark Lord."
The man's hand jerks. He drops a quill. A shaky hand rises to his face, removing spectacles to rub at his blue eyes. He perches on the desk again.
"In the dream, I feel relieved. I'm tired and happy. I love all the people around me and I know they're safe now. I've never loved someone, but I know that I love the people in my dream. Isn't that weird Headmaster? That I was alive and happy."
He pauses.
"I would be seventeen now. I wonder if in another world, my dream is reality."
The man finally turns and looks at him. The tiny boy perched on his desk. His green eyes are ringed with purple and black circles. There's blood matted in his black hair where the skull caves in slightly, where a fist belonging to a man so much larger than the scrawny boy had collided. And a scar in the shape of a lightening bolt on his forehead.
A tear runs down Albus's cheek.
"Ghosts can't dream Harry."
Harry Potter smiles, "Ghosts don't dream Professor, but I do."