"It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live"

- Albus Dumbledore

The world is held by a thin line between reality and dreams. One step out of the line could give you powers unimaginable. But just one step could also make you lose everything, your humanity, and even your sanity.

I was balancing myself in between for quite a long time. For years, I lived normally believing both in reality and in my dreams.

But something happened during my tenth birthday. Someone gave me the book that made me inclined to believe all too much in dreams and fantasy.

It was the best gift I ever received in my entire life.

For years, I've been living in the same dreams, looking out at reality, never truly seeing. Everywhere I looked, I always managed to make a way and link it to the new world I lived in.

Call me crazy, but I was crazy. For a while.

At least, I think for a while.

One day when I was fourteen, my parents decided to take unnecessary action upon me. Men and women in white clothing surged into our door with a white van's engine humming by the road behind them. It looked like an ambulance. Mum and Dad hugged me and told me everything will be alright.

They were crying. I was not.

I gave them a wan smile and said good bye. I believed they had a reason for me to go. I knew what these men and women were here for and I didn't fight.

I was a good girl. The nurses milling around the place didn't seem to get what I was there for and gave me cursory glances whenever they stopped to give me dinner or when I was sitting in a circle with the other teens in this Institution. But the doctors knew better.

I've always like to think of this place as a school where people learned to take better control of their lives, but every night, I heard screaming ringing through the hollow halls of the Institution and I would be reminded of where I really was as I lay down on my cot in my cell, listening to their screams as it faded and faded away. They called my cell a room but I liked to think it was a cell in the dungeons of a school. I insisted on a calling it a cell when it was obviously too cozy to be a cell with a pot of flowers on the window sill and a little cuckoo clock on the wall facing my cot.

Days, months, and years blended into undecipherable mush in the Institution, but every 2nd of August, they never failed to sing me a derisive chorus of "Happy Birthday". Even the old man who sits at the corner in the group therapy room joins in. And every 2nd of August, my parents never failed to come and bring me cake and a big present.

I would be turning 16 the next day. I was sitting by the window sill, the blinds closed to block the heat of summer coming in. I was talking to Dr. Orwell in one of my one-on-one therapy sessions. His sessions often left me in a bad mood once we were over. He simply refused to believe me when I told him magic existed. He tried to calm me down and I did but I was fuming.

People and their closed minds..

No matter, all I knew was that I was happy in my own world and my parents would be coming by tomorrow. I wonder if they got me what I've always asked for every year. Imagining myself in my very own Gryffindor robes made my skin flush with color and my cheeks bloom red with excitement.

It was going to be a sweet sixteen.

Hey guys! This is a new fanfic I am making and I hope you guys like it.

I know the plot seems kind of unclear now but some light will be shed in later chapters. And I know the main character is kind of loco, but that's how I wanted her to be and I hope people don't that Potterheads are really like that. I don't really know but I think most haven't completely lost their feels.

Anyway, hope you like it and please review! Constructive criticism is much appreciated!