Staring into the mirror above the chest of drawers, I ran a comb through my hair again. It did nothing, of course. A comb hadn't helped me for the seventeen years I'd walked this earth, the seventeen years I'd had to endure this mop of tangled, shaggy black hair. The only thing that had stopped me from shaving it all off was Cho. She'd once told me she liked to run her fingers through it when I feel asleep with my head on her shoulder.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't think about Cho now. The pain was still too fresh, the wound too deep. Thinking about her dancing black eyes, so filled with life and laughter, would be like rubbing salt into a cut. No, make that a bloody gash

But I couldn't stop the images from flooding back. Cho staring at me, her eyes filled with as much love as she must have seen in my gaze. Cho standing close to me as we danced, the last time I would ever hold her close. The last time I would smell the jasmine in her hair. I laughed bitterly as I remembered how much I had promised I would always protect her. I hadn't been able to protect her that rainy night last year.

I stopped myself before I started to sob. Before I fell into that deep hole of depression I'd been living in for months.

I glanced into the mirror again. Startlingly clear, infinitely deep emerald eyes stared back at me. I was stunned, until I realized they were my own. Even then, I was still a little shocked. I took a step away from the mirror, always my enemy. It showed me just how much I had had to mature in the past couple of years.

I ran my hand over my narrow cheeks, across my smooth forehead, until my fingers stopped at the burning lightening scar. It was hot to the touch, and glowing the dull red of a chunk of coal. It always hurt now. Always ached. I had grown used to it.

I buttoned the top of my shirt and smoothed my hands down the sides of my khakis. I'd been staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a couple days. Now I was packing up my stuff to head off to King's Cross Station as an official seventeen-year-old. I grabbed my trunk and pulled it towards the front of the tiny pub, waving at Tom as I exited quickly.

He beamed at my back as I let the door slam shut behind me. I shook my head, straightening for a second as motioned for a taxi. That Tom, goofy old man and still going strong. I'd always admired him.

The taxi pulled up next to the curb and the driver rolled down his window. "Need help, Sir?" he grunted. I eyed his beer belly.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though," I nodded politely as he popped the trunk and I loaded the bulky luggage into the back. When that was done, I climbed into the backseat and leaned back, closing my eyes. "King's Cross Station, please."

"Not a problem," the man licked his lips, his beady eyes shooting from side to side, and shot into traffic.

I sat, exhausted, as I thought back on all I had done in the past couple of days. I'd had to do my school shopping, buy new robes (another growth spurt), take some of my money from my dwindling bank account at Gringotts, set up my own checking account where I had deposited some money I'd earned from my job over the summer, and finish my homework. The last one had been the hardest: apparently a lot of the teachers felt the need to pile on homework since they were only going to see us for one more year.

Before I knew it, the taxi had stopped. I opened my eyes wearily and got out of the car, thanking the driver and paying him. He eyed me curiously, taking in my exhausted appearance, before starting to roll up the window.

I'd started to turn away when his voice stopped me. It was oddly gentle. "Are you sure you should be traveling, Sir?" Again that "Sir". I winced, rubbing my temples.

"It's all right. Thank you," I answered him.

"Well, Sir, feel better. Good luck," he started to roll the window up again.

"Wait," I called out. He stopped and stared at me. I sighed and turned away. "It's… nothing. Just- well, I'm not a Sir." My voice cracked on the last part. He nodded knowingly.

"I'm sorry, kid. I see a lot of 'em like you. Life finally catching up to you, eh? Well, good luck. At school, your job, with your girl, whatever. Just remember to take deep breaths every once in awhile, okay?" he said, nodding, and broke into a toothy grin. "Bye now."

I swallowed, lifting my hand in a farewell. I didn't take my eyes off the ground as the taxi sped off. Cars beeped and honked around me, a lone teenager swaying in the middle of the street. Who was I trying to kid? My throbbing headache hadn't been due to lack of sleep. In fact, over the summer, and recently at the Leaky Cauldron, I'd gone a lot of rest. More than usual.

It was… due to… Cho. Again, she entered my thoughts. I couldn't get rid of her this time. The way we'd parted- the way she'd left me… it was so much more than I could handle. She'd taken my heart with her. And I didn't mind, because it would never belong to anyone else anyway.

A blaring car horn drew my attention to the present. Again, I sighed. I was doing a lot of that lately. Famous Harry Potter… spending his time pining over lost love. Draco would have gotten a kick out of that- except for the simple fact that I hadn't seem him for over a year. Ah, the pleasure and remorse of a world at war with the forces of Evil. I never had liked him much anyway.

I stepped up onto the platforms and headed, robot like, toward my usual position. Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It would be one of the last times I disappeared through that "solid" wall.

Fast, worried thoughts took over my mind, temporarily pushing Cho to the side. Not to the back. Never to the back. What would Hermione and Ron say? I hadn't returned their mail or telephone calls. They could very well be incredibly upset with me. Or they might not even notice. Both had spent their entire summer with each other, so what did it matter if strong and silent Harry weren't around? Not much, now that they'd discovered their true loves. Each other. And not since I'd turned broody and depressive.

I leaned against the barrier stiffly, almost not wanting to fall backwards. I wanted to remain here, in this unknowing world, where Harry Potter wasn't a household name and nothing was required of me. Where I wasn't expected to give up everything I ever loved just because people I had never met before were in danger of dying.

But I did lean back, because regardless of my rebel spirit, I loved Dumbledore and Hogwarts and Hermione and Ron, and I couldn't give it up no matter how hard I tried. The familiar falling feeling. Like the bottom had just dropped out from under me. Yeah, yeah, I was used to that. Now when I turn around…

But when I turned around, I wasn't staring at a scarlet steam engine lit by sunny beams of light. The chattering of so many students didn't fill my ears.

I was staring at a beautiful girl, sitting on a bedroom floor, her face lit by the flickering of dozens of candles. Her lips moved silently as she recited verse from a heavy, leather-bound book in her hands.

She looked up at me, and huge, round chocolate eyes pierced mine as the book fell from her hands. "Hello?" she asked.

And only then did I realize I wasn't in London anymore.