I had a dream last night. One that I actually remembered afterwards.
I was Harry Potter. I was sitting with Ron in the living room of his parents’ place. Ron had made a new friend, and this friend had come over to hang out with the both of us. After a while, however, I grew suspicious of the friend. On a hunch, I decided to examine his forearm for marks. He did not take lightly to this, the suspicion was confirmed, and Ron rushed over to hold his other arm and draw back his sleeve. Thus we could confirm that Ron’s new friend was, in fact, a death eater.
Now, what happened next was interesting. We instantly through the guy of the door, telling him never to return, disgusted at having harboured an enemy within our walls. I literally cried out on the shoulder of Ron’s mum, muttering something like, “They’re everywhere!” That was pretty much the dream.
Afterwards, I realised that it was a very stupid thing to do, and not very Harry Potter-like. Letting the man go meant that he would immediately report back on our position, and within minutes the house would be swarming with more death eaters. The real Harry Potter would not have shown ignorant mercy; he would have questioned the enemy, and perhaps held him a prisoner. In my despair, however, I completely forgot about the risk.
What does that say about me? Perhaps it means I am the kind of person who would rather shut out the problems, hope they go away by themselves, and cry out in despair in the safety of my home. But then again, interpreting dreams is a tricky business. Most likely, it means nothing.