This was written a very long time ago and has only just been found on a old hard drive. Not a particular fan of it, but am posting for sake of continuity.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character, just the situation.


Easy Seventeen

Seventeen is just a test, and I would recommend that you live with no regrets

- The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, 'Seventeen Ain't So Sweet'

You decided that you really like the number seventeen. You like it because it's an odd number; it just can't fit in with the smooth, circular, dependableness of the evens. It's kind of like you, in that respect. You never fit in before, and you doubt that will ever change. And neither you, nor the number seventeen, will ever try to do so again.

You also like the number seventeen because it means that you're not an adult yet. You can still be immature and blame it on being an adolescent. You can do the most outrageous things, and later explain them away with the words "but I was seventeen". Everything seems easier when you're seventeen and able to get away with everything, probably even murder. It'd be easy.

When you are seventeen, you don't have to think of things like love and marriage and whether the girl beside you is there because of you or because of what your name is and the scar on your head. You don't have to worry about the emotional ties of sex, because all you're interested in is that small moment of pleasure, those panting, screaming, pleading moments. You think it selfish and intemperate, but you're not alone in acting like that and you find that liberating. There's no shame at sleeping around with both the male and female sex when you're this age, because you can label it up to 'experimentation' and not 'being a freak'. Everyone does it. No, being seventeen means you are ruled by your hormones -and tits, and your penis, and his penis, a flash of leg, the mere mention of anything remotely sexual - and you kind of like it that way, easy.

When you're seventeen, you don't have to worry about things like what you're going to do after you graduate or what job you think you're best suited for. You don't have to bother with making sure you look presentable at interviews or making sure that you give off the right impression when meeting with anyone who might offer you employment. You don't have to think about all those people who will hire you without even knowing if you're going to be any good, but instead because of your name and your scar and your history. At seventeen, you don't have to worry about what all these people actually think of you, because when you're seventeen, the only person you really care about is yourself. And it's easier that way, you think.

So, tonight finds you standing on the window ledge of the Astronomy Tower, enjoying the breeze and thinking about tomorrow. The fated and rather dramatic sounding 'final battle' is tomorrow and you welcome it with open arms. You don't want to die – god, no. You're very happy just as you are. You just can't see any joy after the age of seventeen. So you're going to go out there tomorrow, you're going to kick some arse and chalk one up for the light side when you take down Voldemort. And then – then you're going to drop down dead, just before midnight, because destroying the Dark Lord is going to take everything, absolutely everything you have to give, including your life. You suppose it's a small price to pay when you're seventeen and think you may just live forever.

Yes, you decide two days before your eighteenth birthday, you like the number seventeen. You have to. Especially when it's the oldest you'll ever be.