Cheers to the Wish that You're Here, But You're Not

For as long as Harry could remember, he’d dreamed of the fire lady.She wasn’t made of fire, or even used it in the dreams, but her red hair flickered sometimes, curling up on its own, stray strands glinting gold every so often. It was magic hair, Harry felt certain, and he thought of her as the fire lady because of it.They didn’t ever talk when he dreamed - honestly, Harry wasn’t sure she could, so he didn’t bother. Words weren’t needed, not really, not when he could curl up in her lap and relax beneath her fingers running through his messy black hair, a lullaby hummed in the air around them.Harry didn’t need words to know she loved him, when no one else in the world did.