Obliviate.
Description: There's a reason Lockhart is so good at memory charms, and it isn't just to steal credit from others.
Words: 676
Warnings: Pedophilic tendencies, non-consensual sex, dark themes
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door swung open to reveal a beaming Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Come on in," he exclaimed, "There's a lot to do today and we want you to get back well before curfew."
The boy slowly slipped through the door and sat in the chair by the desk. He grabbed a letter and scanned through its contents.
"Put the general fan-mail in this pile over here and anything with gifts over here," Lockhart reminded the boy needlessly. The boy already knew what to do but thanked his professor anyway. The detentions had been the same every day and the boy had them every day for the last two weeks.
Time passed with the boy sorting letters and the professor grading papers in silence.
Tic. Tock. Tic. Tock. Tic.
Letters upon letters were sorted. How many people love this man? The boy thought, he's an absolute idiot.
As if knowing he was the subject of the boy's thoughts, the professor looked up and smiled.
"Ah, you're about halfway done. Good job, my boy," the professor commented, "how about I give you a snack for a break, hm?" A plate of biscuits appeared on the table.
The boy casually reached over to grabbed a jam-covered biscuit and started munching on it as the older man continued to talk.
"Fame is hard," the man said, "hard and stressful. But it has it rewards, I must admit. The fans, the love, the photo shoots. One day, maybe you'll be like me. Maybe not quite as successful, you may not be the twelve-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, but I can certainly imagine you accomplishing much in life. Enough about that now, I'll tell you more about the perks in a bit."
He looked at the boy with an odd gleam in his eyes, "Continue on with the letters."
The boy finished his biscuit and continued his work. He felt his body relaxing and somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why he felt so at peace with his life.
Getting lost in sorting the letters, the boy did not notice his professor had gotten up from his chair until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax, my dear boy. It is just me."
The child accepted the words without a second thought- something unusual for the distrustful boy. Normally, he would have insisted on his teacher's hands removing themselves from his personal bubble, but at this moment, he didn't really mind.
The professor started to work his hands down the boy's shoulders and onto his chest. The boy dimly blinked, but did not outwardly fight against the change. What's going on? Alarm rang in his head softly, but he couldn't bring himself to voice any objection.
"Such a beautiful boy," the man whispered softly to himself, "That's it, just like that. You like that, don't you?"
No. I don't like this. Why is my body reacting? Why can't I do anything against him?
"Come over here, dear. That's right. Now take off your clothes"
The boy felt his hands move against his own will. First to his robes, and then to his shirt, and finally, his pants.
"Ah, just as beautiful as always."
Always? What is he talking about?
"Let's see how good you do today."
The boy watched, powerless, as his teacher walked closer to him until they were right against each other. He wanted to scream, cry, and run as far away from here as possible, but his legs wouldn't move.
He was helpless.
He was unable to prevent his body from moving with his teacher's. Unable to stop the heat and friction created by the two beings. Unable to say no.
Finally, it was over.
"So good, my boy. I told you there were perks to fame, didn't I? And you are the lucky one who gets to be here with me, Gilderoy Lockhart. You should be flattered."
The boy wished he could puke.
"We still have another week of detentions, my dear, and I absolutely cannot wait for next time."
"Obliviate."