Peripeteia (Malfoy Daughter Fanfic) Harry Potter, Draco, Lucius

Don't Tread on Me

Diana White was no stranger to nightmares.

In lieu of sheep, negative thoughts circled her mind like birds of prey, swooping down as she drifted into the dreamscape. There were the obvious topics: her mother, her father, her classmates, and overall uncertainty about her future and place in the world. But sometimes, the random, bizarre, and esoteric slipped in—-objectively less serious, but equally distressing in the moment.

One such instance occurred the first night Diana attended camp. Ms. Layla reminded the Girl Guides that they needed to go to bed early in order to have enough energy for the big day ahead of them. Such an innocuous comment wouldn't mean much to the average child, but Diana was a chronic overthinker. Her mind paced restlessly hours after lights out, tossing and turning on that lumpy cot, whispering frantically that she needed to 'go to sleep!!!'

She didn't have enough self-awareness to realize her fears about not being able to go to sleep was what caused her to remain awake in the first place, but at some point she managed to drift into a slumber. Except it didn't feel like a slumber, and when she woke up, she didn't realize she fell asleep at all.

For in that dream, she her dream-self stressed over not being able to fall asleep. Such an unusual mirror made it almost impossible to cleave fiction from reality, her mind feeling as though it was taffy, stretched and chewed in a way minds shouldn't be. Yet despite the hours of stress, she trudged out of bed the next morning, no worse for wear beyond a bit more yawning than the rest of her patrol.

Diana hoped the same thing would happen now.

The darkness stretched endlessly around her, and she couldn't tell if she was standing or floating or upside down or rightside up. She wasn't sure there was a rightside up, or where here even was. The last thing she remembered was taking off the Brisingamen, and then...this.

Was she still possessed? She'd never been conscious before while it was happening, but also wasn't sure if conscious was the right word to describe her current predicament. But if she wasn't possessed, then what? Was she asleep? Was she awake? Was she dead?

The icy terror of that possibility seized her ephemeral form in its grip. What if Heaven was a childish fantasy like Santa Claus and this was the true afterlife—endless, spiraling Oblivion. Diana suspected for a while that this was the more realistic outcome, but always assumed it would be like a deep, peaceful slumber. But Diana was certainly awake, and she certainly didn't feel a sense of peace. In addition to her general disorientation, she felt as if some force was pressing and pushing against her, though she no longer had a body to press into.

She tried to push back, tried to will that innate magic to save her from this hell. The force ebbed a bit before continuing its assault with renewed vigor. It felt violating and wrong, like fingernails scraping underneath her skin. Diana continued to struggle, continued screaming for her mind to fight back, but whatever force pressing up against her remained eagerly and infernally persistent.

Despite her best efforts, helplessness encroached on her. She never fully understood what her mother went through, but wondered if Sarah felt similar to this eleven years ago.

That thought was as comforting as a bucket of ice water, and Diana's subsequent surge of anger, guilt, and anxiety was enough to grant a brief reprieve from the pressing sensation. No, she didn't understand, and hopefully never would. It was extraordinarily arrogant for her to even think that way, especially after trying to use magic.

Her anger dimmed as guilt grew. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but at some point in the year she stopped feeling that venomous hatred towards magic. She hadn't forgotten the dangers, but its existence started to feel natural like breathing, and she wasn't sure how she should feel about it.