Chapter 1 : Chapter One. Introduction.
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Usually I can pull myself away from the dreams, but I don’t get very far before I am suddenly sucked back right to the place where the dreamer is. It gets frustrating sometimes; especially when I’m in ancient runes and Peter Pettigrew falls asleep, his dreams are particularly disturbing.
This dream, at least, isn’t brutal as some of the stupid Slytherins like to dream up. It is in a meadow and the air is thick with the smell of flowers. I am surprised as I find that I’m enjoying being in such surroundings. I look around for the dreamer, anxious to find out who has thought up such a peaceful setting.
Imagine my surprise when I see a guy with dark jet black shaggy hair that sticks out in every which way, glasses that are glaring back the sunlight that is shining upon him, and an oblivious grin. Potter.
“Lily! There you are!” He shouts, his eyes landing directly on me. Oh bullocks, I think miserably when I realize that usually I am a participant in the dreams I witness.
I’ve always been told horror stories about the dangers of malfunctioning potions. Something I was assured, however, was that it would never happen to me. I’m a master at the art of potion making. Quite frankly, I’m almost positive that I could teach the class better than dear Slughorn—no offense to my favorite professor.
But that day, when I thought I was totally in control with the stupidest potion assignment I think we’ve ever gotten, it turned out to be the complete and total worse-case-scenario that I think has ever occurred in my entire life.
You see, my partner, dear Gabby Vartin, decided to be an oaf and mix in a ‘special ingredient’. She has these preconceived notions about her being this potions genius who can alter the most simple and logical of concoctions without the constant catastrophic results. Imagine my ignorant surprise when I began to stir our brilliant creation, only to have said potion explode into my face and hair, coating me with residue. Disgusting.
“Oh, Lily, I’m sorry. I was so sure that it would work!” Gabby said in a slightly annoying tone that said she was sincere. I looked at her for a long moment before I turned to go to the hospital wing and clean myself off.
The effects of the potion hadn’t made themselves clear until the night time. I was lagging on the sleep, just basically lying there in my bed, condemned to a restless night to wish I could sleep.
All of a sudden, my fingers tingled, my vision blurred, and my throat became dry. I began to shiver, feeling like I was about to die. Strangely, my mind traveled to people I knew and I wondered what they would feel like when I passed. Then I saw things, heard things. I was in a dream, but I didn’t know it yet. Since I was in a dormitory, I just slipped out of one dream and into another.
There was Gabby Vartin, winning a special award for her amazing potions work. The vision blurred, and suddenly I was next to Jennica Jenkins, who was standing naked at the headmaster’s podium in the Great Hall with at least 1,000 people gawking and pointing. I turned my head, despite her pleas for me to help her. Then the sight blurred, and I was standing on the worn wooden deck of a pirate ship as Mary Macdonald, decked in a very fashionable Victorian gown, and was ardently snogging a scruffy looking chap. Her eyes closed, ignoring me. The scene faded, leaving me alone with Cayden Isopes as she fervently chewed on her quill and then scribbled down a short answer, her eyes immediately turning to me. “Help me!”
I let my eyes widen. Suddenly a giant brown bear was tearing after me. To my left was Jasmine Tillder, running and looking back at the bear; we were both running incredibly slow, but just fast enough so that the bear couldn’t reach us yet.
The rest of the night passed like that. I groaned in the morning as someone finally woke, and shouted at everyone else to wake as well. I thanked Jennica for the interruption—much to her confusion—and then rolled over in my bed, intent on actually getting some sleep. The others ignored me, thinking I was off my rocker and needed the day to recuperate.
After twelve hours of fitful sleep, I awoke with the realization that this was completely and totally…odd. I could jump into what others were dreaming. Don’t get me wrong, it took me several hours to come to this conclusion—I’m no genius or reducer. But once I was sure that this was what was surely happening, it became clear. The potion mishap, the side effects, the dreams, everything fit together, unfortunately.
Weeks passed of the same torture. Every night, I witnessed dreams, and every night I would become victim of exhaustion—in a comatose state, unable to extract energy or rest from the hours I spent with my eyes closed, laying still. I couldn’t tell anyone of course. During the third week, I had promised myself that I would go seek help from Madame Pomfrey, but then I did some research. Nothing that I found related to my condition whatsoever. It seemed that even in a world where men and women wore cloaks and used sticks of wood to attend to daily matters, I would be considered abnormal.
So I kept quiet, noiselessly suffering and enduring countless nights of floating from dreams of drowning, to steamy love scenes, to naked speeches, to adventures, and eventually even the most horrifying dreams became commonplace. I discovered that I could relate the dreams to muggle films—I would be engrossed and even participate somewhat in some of the dreams, but after a certain amount of time, they would fade and give way to something new and different.
But with this discovery of good came the discovery of bad. It was terrifyingly difficult to remember not to convey anything that I learned about my dorm mates to anyone else. I couldn’t find it difficult to distinguish the dreams from reality, because if I did, it would mean that I would uncover my secret to the world.
I had to remember who my friends were in the real life, and not who they dreamed they were. To try and force the images of their dreams out of my head when I saw them.
It wasn’t as horrible as I make it sound. It was actually fun in the first few weeks. But it was responsibility, and I liked the fact that I was different from the different people. They weren’t normal by being wizards and witches, but I was one step beyond that.
Just when I began getting used to the cycle—when the dark circles under my eyes seemed permanent, when I was resigned to allow myself to get less than top marks because of my exhaustion, when I could learn to tolerate low energy in others because of the risk of being hypocritical—that’s when it changed.
It was happening even during daylight hours. Peter Pettigrew dreamed of falling from a tall cliff, and I would scream shrilly as he plunged down—in the middle of ancient runes. Ken Kroger would doze off in Herbology and I would laugh when he was dancing in front of everyone, doing the cha cha and samba with Professor McGonagall. When they woke up, I would ‘wake up’. But I couldn’t move until they did. And even if I was in the middle of walking to another class, if someone was snoozing on the window ledge, I would drop in the middle of the corridor.
So I tried being more reclusive, attempting to be alone as much as possible—or, when it came to my friends, I would just not hang out with them in risky situations. And when it came to classes, I sat in the back, as disconnected as possible.
James grabbed my hand, the corners of my vision becoming cloudier, as they usually did when I was in a dream. His thumb rubbed circles on the top of my hand, making our contact seem rather intimate. I didn’t like it one bit, but to disrupt a dream meant that I was exposing myself. I couldn’t risk someone figuring out my secret by connecting the puzzle pieces.
So to be more convincing, I smiled back at the bloke. My mind was yelling at me to be reasonable, but my logical self was seeing how this could only help me.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he grinned. I smiled back coyly.
“Have you?” I asked.
“I’ve been wanting to give you this,” he grinned as he leaned towards me. He closed his eyes when he was close to my face, and then, just as our lips were inches apart, his smile dropped and he became more serious.
“JAMES!” A deep voice roared. I beamed, happiness shining through my pores. Someone was going to save me! And then, just as the thought came into my head, my vision cleared.
I was staring into the fire, my head leaning against the armrest of the couch. I kept still, knowing that Sirius Black was the one who had woken up Potter, and to him I owed this gratitude, not that he was ever to know it.
“Why are you down here?” Sirius asked James, who I could picture stirring up, stretching from his sleeping place.
“I couldn’t sleep, but as soon as I came down here, I nodded off,” his voice conveyed the fact that he was smiling. The prat was probably still thinking about our almost kiss.
“Yeah well—hey! Would you look at that?” I tensed, but attempted not to show it. They were looking at me, I could tell.
“Shh! You don’t want to wake her do you?” Potter’s voice reprimanded Sirius.
“Did you know she was down here?”
“No idea,” Potter breathed, regret evident in his tone. I laughed to myself, inwardly of course, knowing how he wished he could have seen me before he dozed off. He probably would have tried to make that kissing scene real.
“Well, let’s go before she wakes up, I bet she’s a right beast in the mornings!” Black chuckled to himself. I lost all sense of gratitude for him.
“All right, be up in a minute.” James said.
There was some noise, but then silence. And then I felt him near me.
“Sweet dreams, Lily,” he whispered. And then the git kissed me. I had no clue it was coming! But, lucky for me, it was just a quick peck on the lips. I didn’t even get a feel for his lips or anything.
As soon as it began, it was over. And I finally got some sleep.
I hope you enjoyed chapter one!
This story is loosely based off of Lisa McMann's novel Wake. While it has some of the same plotlines, it will not be following an exact plot outline, and therefore no copyright infringement is intended!
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