From The Dining Table [H.S]

Dreams

Harry's POV:

The subtle, heavy breathing of Primrose while fast asleep filled the silent room as I looked down on her admiringly. She was so peaceful: her hair was cute and scruffy, her arms were tucked protectively underneath her head, her long, black eyelashes were resting her eyes closed.

My body was wrapped closely behind Prims, my heart beating against her back slowly. Our legs were intertwined and my arm was hugging her stomach - my other arm propping my head up. I could tell she was dreaming: her eyes ever so slightly fluttered as if her subconscious mind was actively awake, taking her on a journey through a collection of thoughts and locations. It was rapid movement, much faster than normal blinking. When you dream, you have no external reference to time, so your mind attempts to tell time like it's awake. A dream could only last a few minutes to the recipient, but in current time, the content of the dream may take hours to complete.

So for me, as I watch her, it's been a few short minutes. But for her, it's been hours, or even days. One blink for her may happen every 10 seconds, for me watching her, it happens every 0.5 seconds. Whatever adventure she's undertaking right now, whatever conversation she's having, whatever task she's completing, it's a version of her that has no idea about the world outside her head, about me, about anything.

Dreams have always fascinated me.

They are messages, awakenings, somehow every dream is telling us something. But, when the brain suddenly flips and begins to send you down a route of fear and darkness, you can't help but think it's a punishment; that you deserve to be scared. It feels like your brain is taking your deepest fears and twisting them into a screen play staring you, so it can sit back and watch. However, that isn't the case. Not to me it isn't. A nightmare is just a momentary lapse of the unconscious minds strength. A brief moment in time, in which the mind cannot hold back the negative thoughts and images it's been holding back.

It's no different to crying.

Our mind is so complex and intricate, it wouldn't make sense if every cog turned perfectly. We take for granted what we have on the surface of our minds, and don't take the few moments necessary to care for the hidden aspects of ourselves. When Primrose had that nightmare at my house after that man took her in the bar, I knew she was exhausted - mentally and physically. It's selfish to say I didn't like seeing her like that, but it's also selfish if I say it didn't bother me.

All I wanted to do was enter her mind, remove all the invasive thoughts, and hug her, hold her so close to me she feels like nothing else could get to her. I wanted to see her drift off into an easy sleep, where her body was no longer fidgety and tensed up. I wanted to know she was safe from herself: the mind is a vicious weapon that the body often uses against itself, something I cannot protect her from.

When I sat, trying to wake her up from her nightmare, and all I got in response was her screaming, I felt like I was useless. Totally, utterly, useless.

"Stop! Let go!" She pleaded, relentlessly tossing and turning in the bed, flinging her arm out and punching my chest accidentally.

"Primrose..." I whispered, trying to break through the nightmare.

"What?!" She shouted - her body freezing, revealing the panting in her breath.

"Primrose..." I repeated, hovering my hands over her body in fear to touch her, incase I provoked a reaction. 

"What do you want with me?" She began to cry, tears silently falling from her closed eyes.