Harry sat on the windowsill in his bedroom at the Dursley's. The full moon hung ominously in the sky, bathing the raven-haired teen in its silver light.

Emerald eyes glanced to the digital clock on his nightstand. The glowing red digits stared blankly at him.

Twenty minutes.

He let out a breath that he hadn't realized that he had been holding.

Long fingers began to grope the pocket of his shirt looking for a small package. Harry's eyes looked down to the pack of cigarettes in his hand. They were old, about six months old, if he remembered correctly. A half-smoked cigarette lay in the box with three others, waiting patiently to be smoked.

To be given life by death...

A small mirror fell out of the package. It was round and quite plain. Harry blinked, having forgotten about the object that his godfather had given him.

Lifting up the mirror, the teen stared at his reflection. His lips were thin, as though he was pursing them in concentration. His nose was crooked a bit; the Seeker had taken one too many Bludgers to the face. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. But there was really no depth to them. They looked alive, but they were in fact dead. He had lost his happiness a long time ago. It was all a facade...

Lastly, his eyes fell to the reflection of his scar.

The vulgar lightning bolt shaped line etched into his forehead, the one that Lord Voldemort had given him as a baby when he had tried to kill him.

Harry glanced at the clock.

Ten minutes now.

It was because of this scar that Harry's parents were dead. It was because of this scar that Ginny was almost killed. It was because of this scar that Cedric died. Because of this scar that Sirius died, vanished behind the Veil. Because of this scar that Dumbledore was now gone...

Because of this scar, so many other families had been torn apart.

His thoughts went to Susan Bones' reaction when she found out that her mother had been killed. The girl was in a state of depression after hearing the news. She even tried killing herself.

Because of this scar.

Harry dropped the mirror back into the cigarette package. He then hurled it at the wall opposite the window he sat in.

Hot tears streamed down his face.

It was because of this scar that he was so alone in the world. Everyone he had loved, everyone that he had cared about had been taken away from him.

That is why he couldn't let them get closer to him. Why he couldn't let her get closer to him. He would be endangering their lives, for Voldemort would almost certainly use them against him.

It was because of this scar that Harry was connected to Voldemort. It was because of this scar that he had visions almost every night: torturous visions of murders and meetings.

His hands flew up to the accursed mark, fingernails digging futilely at it, trying to rip it off his face.

But alas, it did not work...

It never did.

Harry glanced at the clock.

Five minutes.

It was because of this scar that he had to stay with the Dursley's in the Muggle world, instead of with people who actually cared about him in the Wizarding World.

Four minutes.

Because of this scar, strange things always happened to Harry when he was a child and had lost his temper or was scared. It was because of this scar that he had gotten into so much trouble at school. Because of this scar, his only family shunned him.

Two minutes.

It was because of this scar that Harry's fate was sealed. Sealed with the kiss of Death, for the teen was doomed to either be murdered or be a murderer. There was no in-between.

It was because of this scar... Everything was because of this scar. He was known for the scar, hurt because of this scar, made fun of, beaten, cursed, tortured, killed-

Harry drew a breath. He had to stop thinking like that. Neither Sirius nor Dumbledore would have wanted it.

This thought gave no comfort.

Harry wiped away his tears and glanced back at the clock.

12:00 a.m.

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

Because of this scar...