Friday Evening
28 August 200
Anonymous
It'd been weeks.
And still, nothing.
I took a drag on my cigarette and leaned back in the grass of Hampstead Heath, gazing up at the sky, tonight a fiery orange as the sun set on another week.
A whole week.
Something wasn't right.
I sighed and glanced down at my phone, pulling open the Erised app.
It cost a pretty penny, this latest version.
Guaranteed that the buyer would be able to capture the affection of their own heart's desire.
No. Matter. What.
Of course, refunds and product guarantees were an iffy sort of thing when sneaking around the shops in Knockturn Alley.
And, of course, I was the creator of the damn app.
Or, the creator of the potion and related charm needed to place both the Mirror of Erised app on your intended's device and the monitoring app onto your own.
It was a tricky little operation, which was why I'd decided to sell it to other love-sick witches and wizards desperate to end the longing of unrequited love before trying it out myself.
Not to mention the number of galleons selling said potion combo sent to my vault at Gringotts.
Within a few weeks, it was obvious there was a lot of work to do on this goddamned app.
Apparently, I'd made it just a tad too similar to the original famed Mirror of Erised, and some assholes got it in their heads that they could use the app to storm the Ministry and even try to rob Gringotts.
Fucking asshole idiots.
I'd spent the next few weeks convinced someone was going to figure out I was behind this, despite all of my careful planning and meticulously applied glamours, and had pulled the potion-charm combo from Knockturn Alley immediately.
After all, I'd waited this long.
I could wait a little longer, waiting for the media frenzy to die down and perfect my craft.
I mean, I wasn't going to use it myself until it was absolute perfection.
I wasn't going to risk using it on him and having it backfire.
Not when I'd been waiting for so goddamn long.
Watching him and wanting him.
Meanwhile, he went out and fucked all of gay London except me, apparently.
But that was all ok.
I had the app, after all.
And now, it was perfect.
Strange cases of long-time lovers, partners, and spouses suddenly up and leaving their loved ones, strangely obsessed with a new love interest, kept popping up.
Occasionally, another idiot moron tried to use it for personal gain, totally ignoring the carefully worded warning that came with each purchase.
Sometimes the app was discovered, more often, thankfully not.
And yet, it'd been a week since I'd cast the charm into his phone.
And nothing.
I frowned and checked my monitoring app, which still showed his interest as zero.
Like I didn't even fucking exist.
Like always.
Why wasn't it working?
I sighed and stood, dusting the grass from my pants.
Trousers, excuse me.
Fucking three years in London, I still called them pants and still got snickers from all my friends whenever I said it.
Clearly, I was going to have to figure some shit out.
I hadn't spent years developing this app for nothing, after all.