Someone is struggling with their feelings for the Boy Who Lived. Harry/?. Set during GOF.
It should feel so wrong. Two men, one older than the other . . . I thought I was more liberal than this. I laugh softly. Guess not.
I've spent so much time with Harry, from the moment he first stepped into Hogwarts, even before that. There should have been warning signs, something to curtail a growing romance, but, alas, love is often like this - quick and unpredictable, showing up at all the wrong times.
Harry has certainly grown over the summer break. His untamed black hair has grown somewhat, and he's now several inches taller and leaner than before. Every time I look at him, my eyes linger upon him for some seconds before I realize what I'm doing and quickly look away.
I can't get any closer to him . . . Harry would become suspicious immediately. I look into a pocket mirror on my desk, to see if there are any signs of worry on my face. None. Good. My mind wanders to the O.W.L. I sent earlier to Harry. I hope he receives it.
A single tap on my door. I lift my head from my hands and compose myself. "Come in," I call, and I am relieved to see Harry walk in and close the door behind himself.
"You wanted to see me?" Harry asks, and I smile the best I can. Must look normal, look normal. Not unusual for me to smile, is it?
"Yes, of course, of course, Harry, sit right down." I reach into my desk and pull out a small paper bag. "Lemon drop?"