AN: This fic was originally inspired by the Billie Piper song I Dream. All italicized text is taken from the lyrics to this song.

In Dreams

When I close my eyes, you are by my side

The dreams aren't the same any more. She drifts into them, sinking through the darkness and then he's there. He's across the room, laughing with George. He's sneaking food off the table before dinner and Mrs. Weasley is chasing him off. He's scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment in the common room, putting together another order.

She never smiles. Never says a word to him. It's like she's watching from far away when all she wants is to touch him one last time.

I dream I'm dancing with you, and I can really move

The first time she uses a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Patented Daydream Charm, it's after -- when she's desperate to get a way from -the whispers of fellow students and the betrayals of her best friends-.

It starts simply enough, the dark dormitory and her racing thoughts disappear to be replaced by an open porch with a comfortable rocking chair, accompanied by a waist high pile of books. She sits comfortably, reading and enjoying the warm breeze for some time before an arm extends over her to reach down and pluck the book from her hand.

It's an incredible shock to find that the arm belongs to Fred. She tries to rationalize that his appearance is merely there because he was the one who had given her the Charm to begin with. However she can't fathom why on Earth he pulls her from the chair and wraps his arms around her waist. Or why music seems to suddenly drift over the porch from inside the house, enticing them to move together slowly.

Their steps follow the melody in ways she could only dream of, and she finds nothing but warmth and contentment in Fred's arms. His smile is gentle and she relishes the feel of his hands on her back as they move slowly. She grips his shirt tightly in her fists, afraid to let go even as the image fades.

I dream you're kissing me, and I can really feel it

Fred is there again the next time. Using a Charm she bought legitimately which arrived by owl just that morning, she expects to see Ron, or even Dean or Seamus. The red hair and mischievous smile throw her off.

Her books are back and she's reading again, but in the back of her mind she knows she'll be interrupted before long. The door swings open, creaking on its old hinges, and Fred is there, holding two glasses of lemonade, that taunting smile on his lips.

She drinks slowly, the liquid refreshing in the summer air, and he watches her casually. They don't talk, or even move much at all, simply enjoying each others company as they sip their drinks. His eyes follow the tumbler as she brings it to her lips to drain the last few drops before he pulls the glass away, replacing it with his own mouth.

The kiss tastes of lemons and sugar, both sweet and tart in such a way that it reminds her of him. His lips move over hers in a tantalizingly slow pattern before his tongue begs entry and she allows it. Kissing Fred is like nothing she'd ever experienced, and upon waking she wonders how her mind could conjure such a feeling.

I dream I'm dancing with you, until we lose control

Each Daydream after that is much the same and it doesn't take long for her to realize that Fred's presence in all of them has nothing to do with who she buys them from. She thinks of him in her waking hours, lying in bed, her body's movements hidden by the hanging red drapes. She moans his name and, when her imagination is no longer enough, so reaches for a Charm, prepared to lose herself in its imagery.

Back on the porch, their porch, and she wastes no time on the pretence of reading. As if the Charm knows what she seeks, everything moves faster. He's there in front of her, sitting in the rocking chair and pulling her down to him so that she straddles his waist. Her hips buck against him instinctively and he groans, fingers threading through her hair as he kisses her with more passion than ever before.

She's panting heavily by the time he pulls away, and her fingers move fast, removing first his shirt and then her own. There is no hesitation or awkwardness as they strip down until there is no barrier between them. Skin to skin in the most intimate position, the cool air breezing over sweaty flesh. She takes him slowly, sinking down on his lap and reveling in the feeling of satiety that consumes her body.

I dream you're loving me, with all your heart and soul

She considers telling him. Sixth year ends, and with it, innocence and dreams of the future. She sees him often enough that she can picture him vividly without the aid of a Charm, and each time he's there, she thinks about it. It would be so easy really. Stop by the shop and walk to the counter with the innocuous little box. Casually mention that he's been in her dreams more than once. He's a relaxed guy like that. He'd probably laugh and make some inappropriate comment about it and that would be it.

But then she realizes that she'll want to stock up before leaving with Harry, and how could she face Fred with her hands full and tell him something like that?

She wants to believe that she could though, and her dreams reflect it. Fred holds her in his arms and whispers that he loves her. That he'll never leave her for all of time. Her heart feels full and she returns the sentiment both in dreams and waking.

At night in the tent, when Ron and Harry are asleep, she sometimes uses one, just to hear the words. To feels his hand in hers, or the beat of his heart beneath her palms. His lips are forever sweet and she can still taste them when she wakes.

Those small escapes make everything else bearable and she knows she'll make them reality in the end.

Every night I pray there will be a way

The first time she uses a Charm after the war is bittersweet and she wakes crying. It's nothing but memories she watches from afar. She wants to run and grab him. To convince herself that he's not really gone and she hasn't lost her chance so tell him and hold him. Instead she stands, unable to move, as traces of his life flash by her.

She buys another that very day to try again, burying herself in the memories and trying when she wakes to ingratiate herself into them. Her hands roam over her body and she whimpers his name, unable to bring herself as far as she needs to. Ghosts of his touch haunt her and frustrate her. She goes back to the shop the next day and buys a handful, determined to at least get back her dreams since her hope of a future died before her eyes. George takes her hand before she leaves, looking as if he's about to say something before he abruptly lets go. He's staring pensively at a Daydream box when she looks back inside.

I never want to wake up and let you go, no

George won't sell them to her anymore, so she goes on his days off, sometimes hiding her face from whatever employee is at the register. She mumbles some excuse about why she's buying so many when she knows they'll all be used by the next day. She tries to use them slowly, but inevitably she ends up without any more. Some days she does without but most she finds herself back in Diagon Alley, staring at the mocking yellow and purple façade of the shop, desperately wishing it wasn't George inside.

On the days she does go in, he just looks at her sadly and she hates him for it. He knows the pain; should feel it worse than she does, but still he's unrelenting.

"It hurts," she tells him, her voice almost pleading. "They don't work any more. It's not the same. I can't… I can't feel him. It's like he's there but I'm not. I don't understand."

"Neither do I," he sighs, and her heart aches as she sees her frustration reflected in his eyes. "That's why I gave up using them."

I believe it's real... it's real

For fanfic writers, there are two things that bring them joy: the creation of their work, and the response of its readers. Please take the time to review, not only this fic but any other you read. Thank you.