Dreamstate

Dreams can be a powerful thing.

They can take you places you have never even conceived of. They can bring you emotions that otherwise never could have existed.

Dreams are dangerous.

They can destroy you.

It is a realm that often times takes you to pure bliss. Then after you wake up, you spend the rest of your life trying to re-live that feeling. Leaving you in a state of want.

Most often there are the ones where you have no idea you are dreaming.

Like people, dreams are fickle things. Sometimes you can manipulate them, become emboldened, free from the restraints you hold over yourself while conscious. Others you might feel like your swimming in sludge, or stuck in slow-motion.

Just remember you only have control of the dream until it wants that control back.

But what if it was something other than our subconscious was ruling our dream state?

What if it were someone who wanted to control you, make you go crazy, horrify you, or seduce you?

What then?

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Everything was grey. A sea of swirling fog. So dense my fingers barely visible within four inches of my face. Thick humid air clung to my lungs as I staggered forward my arms outstretched in vain.

Nothing but empty space. Panic ripped though my body as goose bumps began to cover my chilled flesh. My heart racing so fast I could hear the steady beats inside my addled mind. My lungs protesting from the forced crescendo of my voice as I desperately call out for help.

Minutes slowly turn to what I believe has been hours in this misty labyrinth. My limbs ache with each torturous step. My hope begins to dwindle as I silently hope I have not led my self in circles.

Suddenly, something grabs me violently from behind and I fall on the ground. The damp ground is not sympathetic as I fall on my knees. Hands outstretched to stop myself from hitting to hard. I start to rise using what strength I have left to hoist my tired limbs back into standing position. Looking around I search the void for my attacker but no sound came from my surroundings to aid in what direction I must turn.

Once again I stretch my arms out only to realize I don’t know which way I was facing and now on the verge of hysteria bring my hands to my face to muffle my anguish. Only to stop short as I notice the color on my hands.

Red.

Blood Red.

Blood.

You know that moment when you realize that something is utterly wrong. That moment when you are so imprisoned by your horror that you freeze up, your eyes widen to the size of Galleons, and then you want to wretch.

This was that moment.

I could feel the bile rise up in my aching throat. The putrid liquid ready to expel itself upon this already desecrated ground.

But as my body began to lean forward into that involuntary movement the hands pulled me back and a gag was placed over my mouth making me choke on my vomit. My nose burned as the acidic fluid had been forced to find another exit and what did not leak out from the corners of my mouth or nasal passages I had to swallow or else be left unable to breath.

Fear gripped me in its cold embrace so tight my breaths became short shallow gasps. My eyes straining into the nothingness in hopes of seeing a shadow. Something to let me know that it was in fact a someone and not a something.

My arms were pulled behind my back and bound tightly. At this point I knew that struggling would be futile, but it did not stop my attempt. As I began to lift my leg in an effort to run I realized to late that they too were bound at the ankles as well. When my body began to lean forward in the first stages of my fall I was surprised that no follow though came.

I was stuck mid lean. I could then feel the ropes tighten and the tug at my restraints as I was then hoisted up from a series of ropes that had wrapped themselves around my waist.

I did not struggle. I didn’t have the strength. I could only search the emptiness and wait for my attackers next move.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The touch so sudden I flinched, hands running up the backs of my thighs. My skirt was lifted, then a severe pull and the unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped. The cold air caressed my now exposed bottom causing chills to run up my spine.

Hot tears flowed down my cheeks as the hands caressed my skin. I could do nothing to stop them. The gag muffling my sobs.

When the hands left, my whole body relaxed. My muscles seemed like jelly.

But this was not the end.

My moment of peace was quickly replaced by fear. It was the sound that took it away. My ears perked at the unmistakable sound of something cutting through the air. The whoosh and crack, then pain. Searing burning pain as the whip made contact.

My agony fell on deaf ears as fresh tears spilled. Lash after lash kissed my tender skin until I did not have the strength to even cry out.

I could feel my blood trickle down my legs. I’m sure if I could see past my nose I would see the rivulets of the crimson liquid as they stained my socks, and fell past my feet to join the blood of others that had spilt before mine.

Then it stopped. No sound. No fresh pain. Only the burning from the marks that plagued my buttocks.

It was then that I felt a finger run the course of my crack, and adrenaline flowed fresh in my veins. I struggled against this onslaught. I knew it was futile, but my mind could only comprehend the fact that a new kind of torture was sure to come.

When the finger removed itself I knew what was next. I braced myself. The thick member of my attacker was merciless as it roughly pushed itself past my barrier. Without lubrication I felt as though I was being ripped in half and a fresh agony wracked my body.

This is when I feint.

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Hermione closed the book on what she called her dream diary. This was not the first, nor did she feel it would be the last. Sometimes she went weeks without the dreams. Other times she dreamt every night for a week.

The dreams were not always so vivid nor were they malicious. This one had been one of the more torturous. There were also ones that had been bliss. The one thing that they all had in common was that she was alone save for her invisible attacker, or lover depending on the type of dream she was having.

Sighing, she stood up and placed the notebook in the drawer of her desk.

As she lay in her bed she hoped that this would be a peaceful night, or at least the dreams wouldn’t have her screaming in her sleep.

Before her episodes she charmed her room with a silencing spell, and locking wards. It had been weeks since she did this. For if the dream took over and she was unable to wake herself from her sleep she hoped that someone would come and save her from the imprisonment of her overactive mind.

Dimming the lights and mentally preparing herself she settled in for another night.

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In another room, not far from where she lay a lone figure sits. In front of them is a bowl filled with an unnatural liquid which swirls around of it’s own accord. And as Hermione falls into a slumber the figure is transformed into a swirling mist which flows into the bowl. When the mist is fully absorbed a scene appears inside, and if there was an audience they would see what the figure would see as though they were looking through the same eyes.

On this night Hermione wanders a shaded glade. With crystal clear pools fed by a small waterfall. For now she is at peace, unless someone has other plans.


A/N: I hope you like this. I welcome ideas, insight, and cookies for my muse. Mmmmmmm meh luffs cooookies...XD