Harry Potter is a struggling author, having a hard time getting his characters right, always missing a little something. Then, one day, when struggling to write the main female lead for his latest attempt at writing, he’s struck with inspiration! He writes and writes and writes, the words flowing, creating a masterwork lead character, one who’s charming, elegant, fierce, and beautiful. Harry knows that this, this is it. His magnum opus, nothing will ever top the story his main character will go through. But as he’s writing her story, as the words flow from his mind to the paper, he starts feeling things. Things he shouldn’t be feeling for an imaginary woman of his own creation.
Harry knows all of this, and yet… as he continues to write, he can’t help the emotional connection forming between him and his female lead, the one made of words and paper. The ache in his heart grows and grows, from the start of her journey, to his female lead falling in love, to her first date, her first kiss… it all spiraled out of his control. He can’t help the sharp stab of jealousy even as he writes. He’s fallen in love with an imaginary woman of his own creation.
At the end of the novel, when the dashing young female lead saves her love, and they kiss underneath the moonlight, Harry slams his pen down and walks away from his magnum opus, not able to look upon his own creation with anything but a deep seated sadness. Walking to his balcony, he takes a deep breath, determined to finish the novel, send it off to his editor, and never look at it ever again. He knows this novel is exactly what he needed, and yet he can’t help but wish he never wrote it.
As he stands underneath the full moon, a rustle of paper behind him catches his attention. As he turns to look, a featherlight touch upon his shoulders stops him. He can feel someone’s touch slowly burn a trail up his neck as his eyes flutter shut, until slender fingers lightly grasp his chin and turn him around for a gentle kiss.
Opening his eyes, he’s met by a vision, one he’s intimately familiar with, having spent hours upon hours creating her and her story.
“Fleur…”
“I am here, my light, my heart, my love.”