Nicole Stevens: Roses and Mistrust

I sighed into his shoulder, then hugged him. I loved him so much sometimes. "Thanks, Dad. That's just what I needed." I swallowed and the turned to my mom, "Hey, tell Dad about my letter!"

"Oh, yes. Andrew, she's gotten her letter from Hogwarts! I helped her choose Divination, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Tomorrow, we're going shopping for her school supplies. And we want you to come. We'll be going at nine o' clock. We'll spend the whole day there!"

"Of course I'll come!" Dad hardly ever got to spend quality time with us, and this would be a perfect chance.

This little excursion was actually starting to look good! Had I just thought that? I felt happiness wash over me in a wave, and I felt content. I was jumping for joy in my mind. This would be fun, and I might meet some Hogwarts boys there. Cute boys. British boys. Fun!

My mother and father got up. I stood, too. "When's dinner?" I asked my mother, who happened to be an excellent cook.

She looked at her watch. "Give me an hour, and I'll whip up some steak and potatoes."

I smiled at her. I felt so happy and I didn't know why, "Great. Hey, Dad, will you come watch me fly? I pulled off my best Wronski-Feint today! You have to see it!"

He nodded and I grabbed my broom from my room, pulling him outside by his hand.

"I don't believe that you actually did a Wronski-Feint," he said jokingly. "If you really did, then you'll have to prove it to me!"

I laughed and hopped on my broom. Zooming straight up into the air, my hair flew behind me like gold. As I reached fifty feet, I looked down at the blotch that was my father. It was fun to see him down there, while I was up so high. Suddenly, I darted downwards. I zoomed down, the ground coming up to meet me. I pulled up on the handle and flew upwards. If I had gone a moment longer, my brains and body fluid would have splattered the ground (nice thought, huh?).

I stopped twenty feet up and yelled down to my father, "Don't believe me? Yeah, right! I am totally awesome."

"I agree," he said as he saluted me, "I will never challenge you to do a Wronski-Feint again." I laughed.

I landed next to him and he applauded me. I bowed and said, "Thank you, thank you! I will be signing autographs in the front hall before dinner; five dollars a piece, ten if you want a picture of me."

We laughed together and walked indoors. My dad had always understood me, but I often took that for granted. I never realized how much my family meant to me. Even though all my friends were back in America, my parents were here with me. They loved me, even though I was a pain and took them for granted. I knew that they would love me no matter what. They were my parents and I loved them.

As we walked in the door, my mother called from the kitchen, "So, can she do it, or does she flatten herself?"

"Yes, I can! I knew it! I knew I could! You're really lucky that you didn't bet me that I couldn't, because you would have had a major problem, Dad." I laughed and went to my room. I changed into a lavender robe that looked quite nice on me. Then I dropped onto my bed, and drifted into sleep.

I was flying. I was playing Quidditch. It was raining. Being the seeker of the team I scouted for the snitch. A glint of gold! Oh, no it was only the flash of a wristwatch. A bludger came my way, and I dodged it. It swerved sharply around and pelted itself at me again. I flew away, and the bludger took chase. I went left, right, up, and down, trying to escape it. It was slower, but I didn't want stop to try to call a time out.

No matter how I flew, I was only feet ahead of the bludger. A beater came forward and batted the bludger towards an opposing team's member. It swerved and the bludger came at me again. It would hit me soon. I couldn't avoid it forever. This was getting dangerous. It was gaining on me and yet I still evaded it.

It made another attack, aiming at my face. I zoomed backwards and tried to avoid having my nose broken. Then I sped upwards and led it there. The bludger followed me. I took a sharp left; it was heavier and couldn't turn as easily or as quickly. It was only paces behind me, though. This bludger was worrying me. Why was it following me? It wasn't going for anyone else at all. Had someone tampered with it? Maybe, it was an opposing team. I didn't care who had messed with it. All that mattered was to stay away from it.

I sped down towards the green grass, making the bludger imitate me. As it tore along behind me, I suddenly pulled out of the dive. It pelted downward towards the field. Then, it flew up after me. It wasn't giving up.

I saw the snitch! It was glinting in the shimmering rain! The glimmering speck darted to and fro, but it remained in the same area. I darted after it. The crowd was roaring, or maybe it was the wind rushing past. The space between me and the snitch was lessening. Fifty feet, thirty, twenty-five, ten feet! Then, I was three feet away. I lurched forward on the broom as a heavy weight slammed into my arm. I gasped, but found that it was painful to do so. I saw the snitch glint in my hand, and I toppled off my broom and fell to the field below.

"Nicole! Wake up!"

I heard my father's voice, as if from far away. I sat up gasping for breath. My hands flew to my face to find tears on my cheeks. I saw him standing in my doorway looking concerned that I had not awoken the first time he'd called me. I wiped my face on the covers and got out of bed. "Oh, sorry Dad. I guess I fell asleep." He nodded suspiciously and reluctantly left to go to the kitchen. He had looked worried, and it wasn't surprising. I wondered how many times he had called me to wake up.

I went into my bathroom, to look in the mirror. My face was pale and my eyes were puffy from crying while I slept, the red contrasted oddly with my twinkling blue eyes. The pain, it had felt so real. And I had awoken without enough air. It confused me. I looked at my arm and saw that I had a slight bruise, but that was from where I'd flipped off my bed yesterday and landed in a heap on the floor (why hadn't I listened to my mother when she said 'never try to do gymnastics on your bed'?). I sighed and went out into the kitchen. I wouldn't mention it to them. It wasn't necessary that they know about the dream.

My mother and father were sitting at the table. I sat down and my mother asked, "Honey, is anything wrong? You look pale. Do you feel alright?"

I yearned to tell her of my dream, but I had never been open with my fears. I had always relied upon myself to solve the problem. I shook my head and filled my plate. Then I poured some coke into a glass and started eating. My mother talked happily of shopping tomorrow. I heard only bits and pieces, because I was thinking about the dream. My father started talking about work. Sales were going well. The company was busy coming up with a broom called the Thunderbolt. Then he spoke of how much fun it would be tomorrow, when he came to Diagon Alley with us to shop.

I continued thinking about my dream. The colors had been so vivid. The whooshing sound of the air had also been disturbingly life-like. The pain had been real, I was sure. But why had it hurt so much?

Trying to puzzle out these thoughts was less than fun, so I brought myself back to the conversation that was happening at the table. I pushed the dream to the back of my mind, and listened as I ate.

All during dinner, I didn't speak. Eating was just fine with me. When dinner was finished, I got up and piled the dishes in the sink. My dad waved his wand vaguely at them and they started washing themselves. I watched at they did this and laughed to myself. It had always been fun to watch them.

After sitting at the table a moment longer I got up and went up the stairs from the living room. I walked down the upstairs hall and quietly opened a door on my right. When I stepped in, I suddenly felt at ease. This room was full of shelves, upon which many books were lined up.

I loved books. I had all my life. I walked quickly over to one of the shelves, the 'D' shelf. I searched through it looking for a book on dreams. "Aha!" I exclaimed quietly. I chose a small leather-bound book by the title of 'Dream Analysis'. It had a gold embossed title and looked flashy. I wondered when my parents had bought it. It looked new. I flicked through it, and found the index. Indeed, I saw that 'painful dreams' was listed. I carried it to the door and walked back down the stairs.

I needed to find out what the dream meant. Why had it been so real? I had a strong desire to know the answer to this. I had to know. I could not rest until I did.

"What's that?" my father asked as he saw the book in my arms.

"Oh," I couldn't tell him the truth, so I thought of an excuse that wasn't a lie, but it didn't tell him everything, "I wanted to see what some dreams of mine mean. I thought it'd be kind of cool to see if they have meanings."

"Alright," he said unsuspicious.

I apologized silently to him and walked to my room to read the book in private. I sat down on my bed and flipped back to the index. The Painful Dreams section was on page three-hundred fifty-two. I found the page and read,

Painful dreams are the strangest type of dreams known to man. They consist of where a person experiences actual, physical pain while dreaming. This includes all types of pain; broken bones, pulled teeth, and the like.

Often, when a person has painful dreams, they will remember them vividly. Color and sound are often known to be strong in this type of dreams, as well. A side-effect of this is that the subject will wake up having trouble breathing, or even crying. Sometimes, if the pain has been immense, a subject will wake up screaming and shaking. This causes confusion in the world of magical dream analysis. It has been thought that the pain was caused by being hurt while sleeping, but this is untrue. The Muggles assume, however, that this is the case, and take no further notice to it.

The explanation to these dreams is, as of yet, undiscovered. But, a possibility is that the subject may be experiencing memories, though this is extremely unlikely. Another possibility is that the subject may, or will go through this. Both of these theories are equally likely, and neither of them have been proved true.

I stopped reading and marked my page. I was so tired that I was unable to read any longer. I sank back on the pillows, and 'Dream Analysis' clattered to the floor, as sleep overcame me.

I was tied to a gravestone. I felt labored breathing on my face. A silver dagger was brought out from the folds of the man's robes. His hood fell back, revealing him to have watery eyes and a balding head.

He cut open my sleeve and the dagger ripped through my flesh. I felt pain shooting up my arm. A trickle of blood dripped steadily from the wound. And the man held out a glass vial and let the blood drop in.

I hurt a lot. I was gagged so I couldn't yell in fright or pain. He took it over to a cauldron. There was muttering, but I couldn't understand it.

A man stepped out of the cauldron and walked over to me. He took the wad of material out of my mouth. He held out his hand and touched my forehead. I felt worse pain this time. It was like being burned, crushed, stabbed, and mutilated all rolled into one horrible motion. I went limp in the binds and he removed his hand. I couldn't hear him speaking, but I knew he was.

It was horrible. The pain faded to a dim burning as he stepped back. I felt sick. Death was surely coming for me. Who was this man?

There were more goings-on, but I hardly heard or saw them.

He turned towards me again, "Crucio!" I yelled. I screamed. I was dying I knew it. I had to be dying. This was unbearable. It was being torn, shredded, and kicked, but a thousand times worse. All of this was done in one word. I didn't care that I was yelling and people were laughing. All that mattered was that I die quickly and that no more pain came. But it lasted, the man seemed reluctant to take the curse off, or kill me. But, I prayed that he would choose quickly and get it over with. I felt sick again. I didn't like it at all.

And then it was gone. I heard the laughing continue. Then the pain started again. I screamed, but it didn't make any difference. I had known it wouldn't. It only made them laugh harder. They were cruel, every one of them. I hated them. The pain continued, and I felt that I'd never be the same again. I wanted to die right then. I didn't care about life or anything at all. I would die and I'd be glad for it. I wanted it to stop. The laughing got louder and the pain continued. It wouldn't stop ever, for the rest of time that pain would keep going. I lost any hope of help. I lost any hope of the pain leaving. I lost everything. And then, it was gone.

I awoke upon hearing screaming. It was my own.