Chapter 2: Walking on a dream

Harry started walking. And the closer he got, the brighter the glow, the louder the voice and the faster he walked, until at last he found himself on the very edge of the spot where the darkness met the light.

And in the middle of that pool of light, a little boy sat cross-legged. He looked up at Harry, shook his hair out of his eyes and said:

"Hello."

"Hi," said Harry, stepping further into the light.

"I'm Sam."

"Who?" Harry asked. Though he was certain he'd never seen the boy before in his life, something about his appearance felt familiar.

"I'm Sam," the boy said again. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry."

"Harry?" The boy's face suddenly flushed, and he gave Harry a broad grin. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Sam didn't say anything else. He simply sat, his freckled nose wrinkled in thought, and studied Harry's face as if he was looking for something. Harry squirmed a bit; for a child, Sam had an oddly intense stare.

After a minute, Sam leaned back on his hands and smiled at Harry again, seemingly satisfied.

"So do you think this is a dream?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, unsure where the question had come from.

"Do you think if it's a dream, it means it's not true?"

Harry thought about this rather philosophical question for a second. "No," he said at last. "I've had dreams that were true before."

Though the comparison with Voldemort's dream-visions was far from comforting… But there was no more Voldemort – that was one thing Harry was painfully sure of – and surely any remaining free Death Eaters were too busy running from the Aurors to bother with the complicated task of infiltrating his dreams…

"Hey," Sam said, interrupting Harry's trail of thought. "Do you like Quidditch? Dad and I play all the time. I'm even better than Anna and Vi – they're both bigger than me, but I'm faster. Dad reckons I'll be a Chaser like him when I get to Hogwarts. Do you play? What position do you play?"

"I played Seeker," Harry said.

"Seeker…!" Sam gasped, gazing at Harry starry eyed. "Did you play at Hogwarts? Did you win many games? What was your favourite catch? Did you see Krum at the World Cup? Can you do a Wronski Feint?"

"Er…" Harry replied.

The barrage of questions left him feeling a bit like the first time he'd met Colin Creevey. The thought was bitter-sweet at best. Sweet because from the height of his eighteen years, Harry felt old enough to admit that there was a certain endearing quality in his enthusiasm; and bitter… Harry resolutely turned his thoughts away from another morbid vision, and instead tuned back into Sam's monologue.

"Sometimes," the boy was saying, "they play too, and Mum as well, but only if she's allowed to play Beater. Vi also likes playing Beater – that's why Anna calls her Violence. Hey, do you think if this is a dream, we can actually play Quidditch?"

But before Harry was able to give it some thought, Sam jumped. He turned to look behind him, poised, as if he were listening to something Harry couldn't hear.

"I've got to go," Sam said after a beat. "Can I see you again tomorrow?"

His hazel eyes met Harry's with a pleading look.

"Um… sure," Harry said. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

Sam jumped up and ran off, his footsteps leaving a bright trail of light behind them. And Harry sat in the growing darkness of his dream-space, dazed and unsure about what exactly had just happened to him.

A/N: Hi everyone, hope you're all enjoying the story so far! A couple more slow chapters then we'll start to get to a slightly more eventful part of the story (though most of the chapters will be still on the short side, sorry!)