Anti-Fantasy

 

I enter my office and see him spying in my pensieve. No! Not again. And... oh Merlin. This time all my fantasies with him are inside the bloody thing.

I drag him away from there and out of my office.

And now? Suicide is my only option. I can't possibly look at his face any more.

No. I have to erase his memory. That was what I should have done immediately, but I was too shocked to think.

These fantasies, I've weaved them one-by-one. No one besides me would understand them; the grammar of magical fantasies is not like the grammar of the other languages we know. I've moulded them carefully. They were my only distraction, every night. They were the only help to a soul slowly consumed by a forbidden desire.

I put into them all the horror stories I've ever lived, or that I've been told, transmuted to accommodate his presence.

He must think I am a freak, a creep.

~* ~* ~

He comes to my office again. I let him in, with the sole intention of casting a Memory Charm on him as soon as I catch him unprepared.

"I... er," he begins, with his characteristic eloquence. However, suddenly he gets a determined look. "I want you too."

I feel as if an abyss has opened beneath my feet. I have to lean against my desk, struggling not to collapse. The seconds pass, punctuated by the fast beating of my heart. I breathe deeply, trying to regain my composure.

"Mr Potter, get away from my office now."

"B-but..."

"You misjudged me. I do have a conscience, and this conscience doesn't allow me to even think seriously of... I'm not a monster. This subject will never be mentioned again between us."

Seeming crestfallen, Harry turns and walks to the door.

 

The End


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Ptyx, January 2005