Living In My Head (Drarry)

Chapter 68: Dreams One Has

Chapter song: Ephemeral Dream by Dan Caine

Been waiting to use one of his pieces! Has the perfect vibe I was going for!

Also, people- please pay attention to dream sequences. XD
I don't write them for my health and dream sequences are one of the few instances that the metaphorical curtains will be blue to show isolation and sadness, rather than "just 'cus". Thanks.
-----

I dream sometimes, but not very often. I tend to sleep lightly, with no dreams to be had or remembered, but this night I did, and it was almost impossible to forget. I think, sometimes, the dreams one has can be the answer to any and every question you may have in your life... but only sometimes.

...

The dream began simply, with me walking in a hall of mirrors but unable to see my own reflections beside me, in front, or behind me. It was as though the hall was endless, scarcely unable to even tell if I was moving forward because of the endless mirrors, my only sense of movement being the sound of my own footfalls. Reaching out my arms to full length, my fingertips brushed against the surface of mirrors. Although my reflection could not be seen, ripples were left in my wake, a steady movement forward. Meaning I truly was moving.

That was a start.

I stop, removing my left hand from the wall to press beside where it felt like I was pressing my right hand. The mirror ripples around my hands, as though my hands are just breaking the surface of water. The feeling of movement but not being able to see yourself do so is extremely disorienting.

To have sight, yet still be blind.

I slide my hands next to each other so I can feel the sensation of them brushing each other, however I still feel nothing. Out of desperation and anger from a dream I could not wake from, I smashed the sides of my fists into the mirrors, the glass exploding towards me. I know I should feel the sensation of glass cutting my skin, but I don't feel any pain.

I don't feel anything.

Once I pass the threshold of the shattered mirror into the dark space, I turn to find the room has enclosed itself around me. I know there is plenty of space to walk, but I can't make myself step forward. I sit on the ground slowly, revering in the feeling of my hands as they rub briefly against my knees to help me ease myself to the floor. The sense of feeling returning was a familiar comfort. There are no sounds of footsteps this time, because I can't bring myself to walk. Idly, I wonder if I am alone. I knock thrice on the floor in front of me, to which only silence greets me- not even an echo.

It is at this point, I become more lucid in the dream.

I reach out my arm and pull a cord that doesn't exist, but the lightbulb still shines as it hovers mid-air. I reach out to touch the bulb, but it doesn't burn. A pleasant warmth radiates from it, like the spring sun. Although the bulb only lightens a small circle around me, it is bright enough to be a help.

By that cord that is still nowhere to be found, I tug the bulb behind me as though it were a pet I were taking for a stroll (nevermind the floating). I find a door and feel the wood beneath my fingers gratefully, pressing my forehead against it, a tether to the real world. I moved my head backward and reached for the knob, to which there was none. Shrugging, I stick a few fingers in the hole where the knob should be, and pull it toward me.

The door opens with a human-like sigh.

I pass through the door and the door stays cracked behind me, not closing itself entirely. I turn to find the bulb that was lagging behind me seconds ago, apparated onto the table in front of me. Although in the stark whiteness of the room, I have no reason to, I find the light's string (that now exists) and pull.

Unlike before, the light has no weight, and it propells toward me. Breaking upon my bare feet. The few cuts that adorn my feet look serious, but the rest of me is unmarred. The light, however, is shattered.

I broke the light.

I find my vision blurring with tears, staring down at my bleeding feet. Between my toes and on the surface of my skin, the blood moves slowly like thick syrup down my feet and onto the floor between my toes. I know blood doesn't gush like that. Especially not from just a few glass cuts, but my hysteria has my mind reeling.

I didn't mean to break it.

I feel someone watching me, so I whip my head toward that direction. It's another mirror, but this one is much nicer than the impersonal Hall of Mirrors I just left. I remember this mirror. It's a mirror at Vernon and Petunia's. A family heirloom from my mother's side of the family, hand-crafted by a man who created treasures like this under the name Erised. That priceless mirror, covered up in the attic to collect dust, so it will not 'lose its value'.

Walking closer to the Mirror of Erised, I see myself standing before it, naked and my feet bleeding. For the first time in the dream, I can see myself again. Behind me, I see my mother and father smiling over my shoulders, in the only way I remember them. A memorized image of an old photograph they took at a Venetian fountain on their honeymoon.

My mother wraps her arms around my neck, bending down, and kissing my shoulder. My father places his hand on my head, ruffling my hair. Then, they disappear. I'm left alone with the mirror.

Suddenly, my reflection disappears again, this time, replaced by Draco. I knock against the mirror, trying to call him to attention. He looks at me with a tortured look in his eyes and reaches out. I reach out as well, my hand shaking. We cannot touch through the mirror.

I'm still alone.

...

I wake up.