Fiction

I clearly remembered reading the books about wizards and magic when I was a boy; I remembered growing up, watching the movies, and reading the books to children of my own. It is still hard for me to believe that my memories of those books and my entire life as a man named Charles was a lie.

In reality, I was a young woman named Moon Lee in her final year of wizarding school. I was a star pupil with a particular knack for the Defence Against the Dark Arts. And it was some evil magic that had passed over us one day. Apparently, I saved dozens of students from an evil magic that would have erased their memories and sucked our magic dry. My heroics meant I was also the worst hit. I was able to hide my magic away deep in my psyche by creating the memories of being Charles. I was able to recall the spells and the lore of the wizarding past by making it seem like a fiction.

When the evil had passed, and I snapped back to being Moon, I was still able to draw on these memories on what seemed so much like fiction to me. I could still perform magic, cast spells, and make my way in the wizarding world. And yet, I remembered nothing about being Moon and being a young woman. I still felt like Charles -- even though Charles had never really existed. The wizards I had saved were grateful, and I was heralded as a hero; but it was still really hard for me to accept that what I had thought of as mere stories were actually reality.