I throw myself on the couch, trying to ignore the fact that it is ripped and a spring is now digging into my back. I let my eyes wander the room, trying to ignore what I’ve been thinking all day.

It’s been nearly ten years. It doesn’t seem nearly so long when you write it like that. When it’s only ten years, people tend to forget that it’s been eight thousand, six hundred and twenty-one hours. People forget that five hundred and seventeen thousand, two hundred and sixty minutes have passed. Seems much longer all of a sudden, doesn’t it?

Ten years since what, you ask? Ten years since I lost two of my closest friends. Ten years since my best friend was thrown in jail. Ten years since Peter Pettigrew and a street-full of muggles were murdered. Ten years since I ran away. I guess the upside to all of that would be that it’s been ten years since the darkest wizard of all time disappeared. Yay for us.

I sound bitter. I don’t want to sound bitter, truly I don’t. But what can you expect? I’ve spent ten years putting on a fake smile and a fake laugh and living a fake life. It’s disgusting and I can’t believe what I’ve become. No one knows the real me, and there’s actually a very good reason for that. I’d never let them see it. Because letting someone into your life means trusting them and I’ve long since given up on that. Life is a lot easier when you suspect everyone from your mother to the woman next door to be betraying you. It’s also much lonelier, but there have to be some prices, right?

I get to my feet yawning. It’s almost nine forty-five. I should be in bed. It’s part of my routine. I’ve been following this routine for nine years and I’m quite proud of it. I get up every morning at six-thirty. Later than that and I might miss something important. That’s what I always tell myself. I’m not so sure if it’s true or not but whatever I miss, I can always catch up on…but if that’s the case, why do I not want to miss anything? I always seem to tire myself out with these stupid questions. Questions that are completely rhetorical and yet, I want to know the answers to them. Absolutely ridiculous, isn’t it? I want to know why there’s so little gravity on the moon. I want to know why I can’t fly. I want to know why I can’t breathe underwater. Sure, you could come up with some sort of answer to each of those. Little gravity because it’s outer space. Can’t fly because you don’t have wings. Can’t breath underwater because you don’t have gills. But are those really the reasons? See…there I go again.

I pull off my clothes, sliding an over-sized shirt over my head. I live in a one-bedroomed flat in the middle of New York City. Astounding where we end up, huh? I fall onto my tiny bed, staring around at the walls. It suddenly seems so plain. I remember when we were planning our house…he said that I could run wild…do whatever I wanted. What I wanted was lots of bright colours. Nothing would be dark in our house. Everything would be large and comforting and no one would ever have to be afraid. We’d raise our kids in a world that was free from fear and corruption and death. What children we’d been then. Barely seventeen and struggling to get through school with good marks. We’d believed…we’d honestly believed that we could change the world. That people would care about what we had to say. Well…we were wrong. No one gave a damn about what we had to say because they were all trying to stay alive.

Life is never what you expect it to be. I remember being twelve and wishing I could be an adult. And then I remember being fifteen and wishing I could be a child. How dumb that sounds…as if I could have prevented growing up. How stupid I was. But life was so much easier when I was younger. When I didn’t have to worry about getting a job, or passing my last year of school with Honours, or that I could lose anyone at any time.

Some children are blissfully ignorant about certain things and it’s sometimes for the better. I was actually one of those children. I didn’t truly understand death until I was at least ten years old.

So, here I am…I’m past thirty and I’m all alone. Boring, isn’t it? Sad, even? In any case…perhaps some more details would help you picture my pathetic little existence. I wasn’t even twenty when Voldemort disappeared. Oh, not defeated, because I don’t believe someone who caused all that pain…all that hate…all those deaths…could just simply be defeated. It doesn’t make sense. James and Lily Potter were two of the nicest people in the world and two of my closest friends. I just couldn’t believe that they were gone. It couldn’t make sense to me. How could they just be dead? How could that have happened? And Sirius…God…what had Voldemort done to make him tell?

He’d have died for James, I know he would’ve. He wouldn’t have sold them out. He just wouldn’t have done something like that.

Are you looking at me and nodding and saying that I’m biased? Well, tough. I don’t care. I can’t help it. Sirius and

I grew up together and…and…

But it got worse. You must all know the stories. The reports. And Sirius…my Sirius was thrown into Azkaban without a trial, even though he’d have lost it anyway. The Ministry just wouldn’t tolerate anyone who could possibly have any connection to the Dark Arts. Peter was allegedly killed, but I couldn’t believe that. Sure, Sirius and Peter had never been the best of friends…but he wouldn’t have killed him. The Sirius I had known wouldn’t have, anyway.

After that, it was just me and Remus left. For a while, I clung to him, in hopes that I could forget…but how do you forget the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with? Yes…a tiny detail that I did not mention. Sirius and I were engaged.

I couldn’t seem to get back into reality. I couldn’t get over James or Lily or Peter and day after day, I tried to convince myself that Sirius hadn’t done it. I didn’t even try fighting to keep little Harry. He was only a baby…yet, he was the only reminder of my friends that I had. And yet, I couldn’t. I felt unstable and the littlest thing set me off into fits of tears. He would be better of with whoever was capable of taking him, I was sure of it.

But Remus…oh…poor Remus. He’d fought so hard for his life…for everything in it. Less than six months after the death of his friends, I left as well. How selfish was I? I think about him every day…I wonder if his transformations are still painful. I wonder if he misses them as much as I do. I wonder if he misses me.

But I moved here and I changed my name and I started hunting out Death-Eaters who had fled from England.

Sure, the States had their own problems, but I wasn’t concerned with them. It’s a strangely satisfying job…hunting down Death-Eaters and Dark Wizards. It’s full of twist and turns and it takes forever…but…something about it is so good…so right. For me, at least.

I pose as a muggle and if you saw me, you’d never imagine me to have the job I do. I’m not in the least bit intimidating (not even to a midget) and I’ve always looked young for my age. Honestly…when I was seven, people thought I was four. People suck. But, I digress. Staking out the evils of the modern world often required me nearly dying but as I have nothing to live for anyway, I am always standing right on the edge. I take unnecessary risks but the thing is…I’m damn good at what I do. The Ministry in England doesn’t know my real name. They don’t know where I came from. They’ve never heard me speak. They simply know me as Zoetic or Zoe. It’s kind of fitting.

It’s nearly eleven. My thoughts start drifting and as always I wonder. What would have happened if Sirius hadn’t been Secret-Keeper? If James and Lily were still alive? If they’d never gotten married? If I’d never met them? If I’d never met Sirius? And on and on it stems until I reach the scariest one of all…what if Voldemort had never existed? I like to pretend that we would all have lived happily ever after but I know that’s just wishful thinking…because if it hadn’t been ‘Lord’ Voldemort, it would have been some other dark wizard.

‘But what if that dark wizard had left us alone?’ a tiny voice in the back of my head whispers, threatening to drive me to tears.

I roll over and close my eyes, wishing it would stop the memories from flowing. It’s been ten years and I’m still alone. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe there was something I could have done. I can’t let go of the fact that Sirius is still alive. Somewhere inside, I wish he would escape. Wish he would run away and find me and take me away and we could live together until the end of time. I know it’s just the romantic in me…the child that wants that. Or maybe, it’s all of me that wants it…just the child that dares to dream it will happen.

I was so shattered when it happened…so…broken…that the only way I thought I could move on was to change everything…to run away from everything I’d ever known. And I did. I ran. But…I’m starting to think that perhaps…just perhaps…I should go back. I’d love to see Remus again…and Harry…and Hogwarts…I spent the best

seven years of my life there. Sure, parts of them were hard…so hard I thought I would die…but at the end of the day, they were the best years I have ever known.

Four years after he was arrested, I forced myself to start going out again. Forced myself to talk to other men…to go out with other men…to kiss other men…and then I got so terrified that I refused to ever see them again. I thought I was losing my mind back then. Scared that I saw Sirius in my mind whenever they touched me. I just can’t quite let go of him. He was in my life for so long that I can’t remember a time when I didn’t care about him.

And just because a person turns to the dark side, kills a few people and gets thrown in a jail cell for his troubles, doesn’t mean you can stop caring about them. I used to think it was fading…used to pray it was fading. I’ve just learnt to accept it now. I wonder if he sees me in his dreams, like I see him in mine. But even if he did, they’d be horrible times. Like when his father died…and the many times we fought…and the time I nearly kissed someone else. All terrible memories. I wonder what else he sees. If he sees their ruined house…or their bodies…surely it must have hurt him. Surely he still had a heart the night they died. Please…he must have had a heart when he told me he loved me. That was the night I was planning on telling him. But I got scared and figured I’d just tell him the next day…I had all the time in the world. I had forever.

Forever is a very short length of time.

I still care about him. I still believe that he’s innocent, although no one knows that. Something inside just tells me that Sirius wouldn’t have done that to me. Something inside me wants to believe that he loved me just as much as I loved him. Part of me wants to believe. Part of me needs to believe. I wish I were a child again. I wish I could curl up in my mother’s lap and just have her hold me. I wish life were that easy. How could something that’s supposed to be so sacred…so pure…hurt so much? Which leads me to another question…does life naturally come with it’s pain…or are we the ones who complicate it?

I push the thoughts away, chasing away the tears that I know won’t come. And I close my eyes and pretend he’s there beside me. He’ll stroke my hair and hold me and tell me that he loves me and I don’t want to open my eyes because then the spell would be broken and I would be alone. I wish I could fall asleep. I wish I could dream. I need to dream. Because suddenly life isn’t easy anymore. It’s tough and it’s hard and it hurts like hell and at the same time…it’s as simple as flowers and four-leaf clovers.