THE VISITATION

It was a dark and stormy night… well, maybe not stormy, but it was midnight, and I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning, looking for a comfortable position. First this way, then that. Why couldn't I sleep?

Suddenly I heard a noise. A paper fell to the floor, and I shot bolt upright, my heart pounding. I looked wildly around, but nothing else was out of place. I got out of bed to put the paper back where it belonged, but froze. I straitened up slowly, getting a cold shiver down my spine. I wasn't alone in the room.

"Wh-who are you? Wh-what d-d-do y-you want?" I stammer.

"Oh, I think you know. After all, you've read so much about me. But wait, where are my manners? You can't even see me properly." With this statement, he flicked his hand, and the lights turned on. I gasped, seeing the vivid lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

"B-but, y-you aren't real! You can't be real!" I squeaked, rather like a rat, I noticed. By this time I was getting seriously freaked out.

"Who ever said I'm real?" he replied. "I live in the imaginations of millions of young minds throughout the planet, but I am certainly not real. I am evidently just a 'figment of your imagination.'"

I began muttering to myself "This isn't happening. Come on, wake up man. It's just a dream." I slapped myself, hoping the pain would wake me up, but I looked up and He was still there.

"You can't get rid of me. I'm already inside your head. And now that you've decided to write stories about me, you're stuck with me."

This is just great, I thought. Not only do I have a fictional character in my bedroom, in the middle of the night, no less, but—eep! I'm not even dressed! I hurriedly grabbed some pants and put them on as fast as I could.

When I was finally dressed, I began to think rationally again. It occurred to me he never answered my second question.

"What do you want? Other than scaring the pants off me, that is," I said, with a small attempt at humor.

He didn't smile. "As I've already mentioned, you're planning to write a story about me. Or at least one that I know of, anyway."

"Your point being?" I reply.

"I noticed all the crazy things some people think me capable of. Me and my friends, that is. Romances between Hermione and Malfoy, or him and Ginny, or even," he shuddered at this point, "gay pairings. I mean, come on! Malfoy and I? I just don't see that happening anywhere in the next millennium or two. And, horror of horrors, me and Snape! That's just, well, ugh" he trailed off at this point, not able to find a word capable of communicating his horror of such a thought.

Oh, so that's his problem, eh? "No worries, mate. I totally agree with you," giving a little shudder of my own. "I couldn't agree more. As you've described on more than one occasion, Snape is a greasy git!"

He heaved a great sigh of relief at this. "Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me!"

And with another flick of his wrist, he was gone, leaving me alone in the room.

But was I alone? I heard my parent's door open, and my mom peeks in.

"Honey, what are you doing up? Aren't you supposed to be at school tomorrow?"

"No mom. Remember? My last day of school was yesterday. And I was up cause I couldn't sleep."

"Well," she said with a yawn, "could you at least close your door if you're going to leave the light on?"

"All right, Mom. And I will try to get some sleep. Good night. Or should I say, good morning?"

"Huh? Oh," she said, when I pointed at the clock, and she chuckled before giving a tired "goodnight" of her own and stumbling back to her bed.

I sat up, thinking for a while. Slowly a mischievous smile appeared on my face. I promised to leave unnatural pairings out of his stories, but he never asked me not to do anything else!

I fell asleep, my wicked mind thinking of all sorts of things I could put him through.