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Methleigh

a gift from arrogantmage on lj!

a gift from arrogantmage on lj!

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lezard's last memory
by Arrogant Mage


"I'm not your imaginary friend," the brown-haired boy insisted.

"There's no such place as Midgard, or Flenceburg. The most famous wizard is not some woman named Lorenta, it's Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of my school. There's no such place as Valhalla except in mythology and folktales. And there is no way you can do the things you say you can do." Severus rattled off the list of his reasons, eyes shut tight against the once-welcome visitor. "I don't believe in you. I made you up when I was lonely, and I don't need you any more."

The brown-haired boy laughed. It was no longer a comforting sound. "You made up my name?"

"That's why it's such a preposterous name. Lezard Valeth. Like a fairy-tale name."

"You never had any use for fairy tales," said the brown-haired boy. "You were always too old for those stories, even when you were young. You and I are alike in that too. Those books are only good as quarries for what's true in them. The Deathly Hallows, for instance, hmm? The Philosopher's Stone? I'm still looking for the Philosopher's Stone, here in Midgard, and one day soon I'll find it, you know."

Severus resisted the temptation to plug his ears with his fingers. It would be childish, and the imaginary boy would laugh at him, if he did that. "Go away. I have a real life now. I'm going to have a patron, and be a potions master."

"I will be a greater patron than any old man your world can offer," the boy insisted. Boy, really, still; though he and Severus were both sixteen now -- Severus sixteen, anyway, and the other boy at least that old. "And I will have more wealth than any of them, too. Forget Slytherin; what other friends do you need? I can travel between dimensions already, and soon I'll be able to bring you back with me..."

"You're imaginary," Severus snapped. "Enough!"

The voice was silent for a moment, and behind screwed-shut eyelids Severus wondered if that had done the trick, banished the illusion. This time there was not even the laughter he'd grown half to love, half to dread.

Instead -- a weight tugged the pillow his head rested on, a soft clove-scented breath stirred his lank hair. Lips brushed Severus' ear.

"Can an imaginary friend do this?"
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