Dreams of Cold Fusion - the beginning of Chapter the Second
Waking up held that moment of dissonance between one reality and the next - which was doubly so when the witch waking up was an Apprentice Dreamweaver. The room was dimly lit, which was helpful. The clients were sitting in the next room, whether they’d been waiting there the whole time, or just happened to be sitting there when she’d finished, she’d never know.
“Well?” the older one drawled. She’d never liked him, and this engagement hadn’t improved that at all.
She stretched in the doorway before moving to a seat opposite the clients. She noted with amusement and annoyance where the younger one was looking whilst she stretched. He hadn’t changed any either.
“I was able to reach his mind. He’s within normal parameters. I was able to start and shape the dream, he saw me as I wanted to be seen, and he’s now in a dreamless state; he’ll stay that way until I can return for the next session,” she said, accepting the cup and saucer offered by the older one.
“Next session?” the younger one yelped.
The older one sniffed derisively. “Yes, next session, it’s not like breaking into someone’s bedroom and reading their diary,” he said in a patronizing tone. “Am I correct on that?”
“Yes, especially when the subject is already under a layer of protective magic,” the Dreamweaver replied.
“Do you have any notion what that magic is?” the older one asked.
“Storm-shield, most likely, or some variation thereof - it protects both the body and the soul, the Norse wizards used them in the third century against the first Dementors,” the Dreamweaver said.
“I never read anything about that when I was studying Dementors,” the younger one protested.
“Well, it’s not a terribly useful spell, insofar as it leaves the subject in something resembling a coma. I’m fairly certain that it was the enchantment used in the story of Sleeping Beauty, though,” the Dreamweaver opined.
“When will you be back?” the older one asked.
“Tomorrow after dinner all right? I need to eat and sleep myself, it’s a rather tiring bit of magic,” the Dreamweaver said, smiling when the older one nodded his head.
She rose quickly and pulled her cloak over her shoulders. “Well, until then, adieu,” she said.
“Goodnight, Gretel,” the older one said.
The Dreamweaver smiled. “Goodnight, Severus.”
She Disapparated with a hissing crack, taking care to make just a short hop to a safe location where she could check herself for tracking charms and the like; although she’d accepted the engagement, and the payment for her services, she didn’t trust her clients in the least. The discovery of a tracking charm on her cloak confirmed her suspicions. She contemplated sending the cloak to Gringotts or to the Auror office in the Ministry of Magic building, but as amusing as that might be; she was bone tired and eager to collapse in her own bed. She cancelled the charm and then Disapparated again, appearing at the Apparation point outside of her mentor’s house. If she managed to pull this job off successfully, perhaps she’d consider the apprenticeship completed, although how they’d convene the necessary number of Dreamweavers for a guild meeting posed a problem - but that was the mentor’s problem, not hers.
She entered the house, noisily slurped down a bowl of cereal, as she didn’t want to bother with cooking anything, and after removing her shoes, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as she was horizontal. Even Dreamweavers have to rest.
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