A Dreamer

Well, looks like I need to repent again. I'm writing the following here because I just happen to be sitting in front of a computer. Anyway, the real purpose is this.


I am a believer in dreams. I love them. Except they rarely happen to me. At least I rarely dream about anything decent that can be understood (even by me). I believe they offer visions and insight, but sometimes they are just plain strange.  I believe in characters. That they exist, and they cause their story to be know by showing or whispering it to an authors ears in hopes their story will be put into words and shared. Not all of them have the same motives.

In recent times I've only had two understandable, really impacting dreams that stuck with me. The first was perfect story material that stopped in the middle, that actually I'm currently trying to put into words for National Novel Writing Month. (NaNoWriMo.) Which is actually what I should be doing. I'm in creative writing and the file is open. (Glances suspiciously at the teacher) SHH!

The second, I had last night and it's not going to leave me alone until I put it down somewhere. Now please refrain from laughing at me, I guarantee you won't be laughing at the end. Just hear me out.

It was about Harry Potter. Which is odd considering I haven't read the books since elementary school. I did watch some of the first movies a couple months ago, who knows. It was something like this, now granted I've had a couple hours to ponder some of this, it only puts it in grander light. Plus I never said any of this was fact, I'm not J.K. Rowling. (As astounding and amazing as that would be.)


It took place in the time of Harry Potter. I'm not totally sure to what extent I take credit for this. After all it was my dream. Gosh, I'm interrupting myself. Okay, I'm just going to tell it like it is, no more excuses for anything.

My Dream
I was Harry. Viewing everything from his perspective. I don't remember most of it, the beginning that is. There's little strands but not enough to string into the story. So we start at the end, which was clear as day.

This seemed to be a "what if" sort of dream. A "what if Voldemort came to power and won?" sort of scenario. but it wasn't a what if, it was real time. I've pondered how. Whether Harry asked it himself and they time traveled or if this is the continuation. We may never know. This is all I do:

This is somehow post war (in the 7th book), not sure where the it changed. Voldemort has taken power, he made Hogwarts into a sort of concentration camp where he hoarded most of the wizarding world. They are constantly watched and never allowed to use magic. I assume all wands were confiscated. Terrible tyranny. You weren't allowed any freedom even of your own thoughts. Always being watched. Best way to explain it is if the wizarding world became a dystopia.

He saw a chance at escape from the tyranny and took it. There were two others that came with him, a girl about his own age and a little boy that couldn't have been more that three or four. I'm making an inference but I have reason to believe that it's Ginny and their little son. At least I'm pretty sure. We run across the grounds. (I'm writing in Harry's perspective remember.) It's an overcast mid afternoon. The best chance at escape is in the woods. To lead them off the trail we take a less direct path to the woods up some stairs. At the top we find it's a dead end through some low hanging trees. A steep hill peak. Ginny slips and begins to slide down the other side. I lunge for her arm and pull her back up through the trees so we sit next to each other. The guards are too close to hope to back track and escape. So I tell Ginny something happy, anything but having it all end on this dismal note. I grasp her hand. "It'll be alright. What ever happens. Even if it's not I remember how good it used to be. I wrote about Hogwarts before. About our old life and how happy we were. How good life was. It's all in a notebook hidden in my mattress. All done without magic so they'll never find it. And if nothing else it's written and I got to be myself for an hour a day and not have to worry about a Death Eater breathing down my neck threatening to take it away." We briefly embrace holding hands as we look out at the grounds reminiscing how good it all used to be. The guards show up at the base of the hill, all dressed in black and green Slytherin robes. We're finally cornered. Two of the three have crossbows. The unarmed third leading is Draco Malfoy. He orders our execution. Ginny is laid on her stomach in the dirt with her hands laced behind her head. I sit defiantly facing the executioners clutching our son. The little boys back is turned to them. He might have whimpered but I help him too tight to tell. "You beautiful boy." I whisper madly. Ruffling his hair clutching him tighter. "You precious beautiful boy God bless you bless I love you I love you" The arrows hit in a line. Ginny. Our son. I feel the boy stiffen. The fatal arrow pierces me. In the shoulder between the left shoulder blade and the sternum. The arrow cuts off my breath. It doesn't feel like a cut. Like a hard hit to the chest that knocks the breath out of you. The next breaths are shallow and heavy. It felt so real. The pain spreads. The shoulder, my left arm, my chest. Before death Draco says, "There's you execution badge. Thanks for playing."

Then I wake up a minute before my alarm. I promise I'm not this dark of a writer. I'm just telling it like it is. Plus I'd never wish the demise of one of my favorite characters. The notebook he talked about I can figure to be the main series that we all know and love. The more I think about it the more I can make sense of it. Terrible, but true.