As far as dreams go... (and don't bother reading, this post is super long)

Last night, around about three am I was sitting in my hallway at home, carefully knitting my Gryffindor scarf when my sister Mary appeared at the other end of the loooong hallway, clearly in a rage. She took a running leap and flew down the hallway, grabbed me round the neck and knocked me to the ground. I was furious and triple boob-punched her. My angry mother appeared to separate us and send me to my room, and Mary to the porch. I sat in my room then, with my feet up, knitting and listening to Harry Potter on my Ipod, while Mary jeered and pulled faces from the window, which looked unto the porch.
Then I was at the MTC and Jim Dale was no longer telling the story of Ron, Hermione, and Harry. He was narrating my life, and I was Harry Potter. I heard Jim Dale say “Harry knew she had to get out, and crouched down, her fingers iching for her wand.” He hardly had to say it before I was crouched by the garage door of the dock at the MTC. Several tall, scary looking Mexican men were loading trash outside the door, but as soon as their backs were turned I rushed out and crouched under some sort of ramp, it was low, raised less than a foot from the ground. It was very like being under the lowest part of the bleachers at a baseball game. Then it started to snow, There was no light underneath the ramp, and the blizzard swirled under, over, and around me. Jim Dale said “Harry knew she could do it, because she had done it before, but it didn’t make it any easier of a task.” I started to crawl, and soon I could hear Hagrid’s bellowing yell, from where he was caged under the ramp.
“I’m coming!” I tried to yell, but my voice was swept way with the wind.
“Voldemort’s got Harry!” he yelled again and again. He saw me coming, but in the snow storm, assumed I was foe not friend, and started shaking the bars of his cage. He broke through, and then as I neared realized who I was.
“Harry, come on!” he hollered, standing and breaking through the ramp. We pushed out into the snow, and straight into the arms of Voldemort herself. She was a tall skinny woman, with a sharp blonde bob, and was dressed all in white.
She cackled and pulled me by the arm to her car, leaving poor Hagrid alone in the snow. She pushed me into the back seat, with Ron and Hermione, aka Lana and Lauren.
“Harry!” cried Ron, “We’re so glad to see you!”
“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione. “We are not glad to see him here.”
Voldemort turned in her seat, telling us to please keep it down. We started driving and soon left the snow. Ron, and Hermione, and I began talking in whispers again. Voldemort whipped around in her seat, and in an act of rage snapped her wand in two.
“Blast,” she swore. So when she turned back again to drive, she spun the car in a different direction, driving to a wand makers house.
We pulled into the driveway of a modest house and Voldemort tromped up to the door, Hermione and Ron and I followed. We knocked on the door, and a kind, but worried looking woman opened the door. She ushered us in to her home. Half of the front room was carpeted living room, and the other half was a cluttered kitchen. It was decorated nicely, with lovely pictures of her family and a weird spindly, wooden statue of her son. There were empty cylinders of wood and stone hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen, as well as large basins of hair, and organs.
“Please choose what you want in your wand,” the woman said quietly. We looked up and realized that Voldemort had left the room. She came back a moment later holding what looked like a clear plastic recorder, about the size around of a finger.
She slammed in on to the counter, and the wand maker shuddered, but began filling it with gross things. I wandered over to look at the many pictures of the woman’s children.
“What beautiful grandchildren!” I exclaimed, and Voldemort looked up with interest, the wand maker with horror.
“Please don’t draw attention to them, I want them to stay safe,” she said.
Voldemort went back to watching the woman fill her wand. He soon announced that he was terribly bored, (yes, i think he was a man by then) and insisted on watching a movie. The wand maker walked over to the television and a large black box with a giant funnel sticking out of the top. From the pockets of her apron she began scooping raw innards out and shoving them into the funnel. Handfuls of chicken liver, cow stomachs and what appeared to be vomit. Hermione, Ron, and I watched with great interest. She stopped and the box made shaking, grinding noises, and a movie appeared on top of the TV.
“Is that movie as gross as the things it is made of?” asked Hermione with a wrinkled nose.
“I don’t know,” the wand maker said, “I’ve never seen this one. It’s about my husband.”
I picked it up, and saw John Cusack on the cover, and the title “Little John Malcovich.”
“Oh, I love this movie,” I exclaimed. It’s about the childhood of John Cusack, whose real name, of course, is John Malcovich.” Voldemort disappeared, and the wand maker left in tears. My ex-boyfriend Taylor walked into the room.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Can you stay for long or are you busy?”
“Well,” he said, “I actually have to leave in a minute, my alarm should go off in a second.”
Then his phone started to ring. It was “Over the Rainbow,” by Iz.
“I can’t believe that is your ringtone,” I say laughing.
“That’s not mine,” he said. “That’s yours. It’s time to get up, Becky.”
Oh. Right, it was my alarm.
I struggled to sit up in my bed, my room was still pitch black but the clock by Paige’s bed said 7:30.
Arg. I was much more exhausted than when I went to bed.
Curse you dreams, I thought that sleep was supposed to rest my mind, soul, and body, not leave me exhausted.
Bah.

Harry Potter… I’ll bet.