William had both arms around Spencer's shoulders with his lips already forming the word yes when he saw the sky and froze.
"Sôwilô," he whispered, almost disbelieving. His fingers dug into Spencer's back as he took in each element: the green and silver of Spencer's Slytherin scarf, with two threads trailing entwined from one tattered end; the potted birch tree Spencer had abandoned on the grass, barely more than a sturdy sapling; the sun rune, dark and foreboding in the sky.
"Spencer, I know what this is," he said urgently, holding on tighter, irrationally terrified that with an answer in sight, Spencer might somehow slip away and it really would all be a part of the dream. He knew better, though. He knew that didn't belong here. "Spencer, it's not a dream. Wake up!"