The key is the smallest object that confers power, which is why it has always been ceremonial as much as practical: keys of the city surrendered to conquerors, the keys of the kingdom in the Gospel, the housekeeper's ring as the badge of trust. Iconography made the key an attribute, Saint Peter at the gate, Janus with his key to the year, Hecate holding keys to the underworld roads, and the folk dictionaries read dream keys along the same lines, finding one toward access and advancement, losing one toward opportunity slipped.
The fairy tales added the forbidden key. Bluebeard's wife receives every key of the house and one prohibition, and the small key to the forbidden chamber, stained with blood that will not wash away, made the key the emblem of the knowledge that cannot be un-known. A dream key that opens what should have stayed shut borrows that story's charge directly.
Freud's school read lock and key as one of its standard paired symbols, bluntly sexual in the theory, and recorded here as that tradition's reading. The gentler modern composite reads the key by its fit: the solution that answers a particular problem, the access one person alone holds, the potential waiting on the right instrument. Which door, and whether the dreamer turns the key or only carries it, are the details every school asks after first.