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Scar
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I once heard that the best way to make someone remember you was to leave a scar - the deeper, the better.

I suppose that's true; every scar on my body serves as a reminder of either a person or an event.

The long, pinkish scar on my back is from one of my father's rants. He never physically hurt my mother; something about hitting a woman was against his manly ethics. But for some odd reason, he had no problems with hitting a child - his own flesh and blood. The whip was his favourite since it made a sickening crack when it impacted my skin, ripping it open.

To this day, I still cringe when his name is mentioned. He's one person I won't forget.

I wish I could say that I hate him, but I can't. He may be a bastard, but he's also the person who brought into this world - the world with you, Sirius Black, in it. And for that, I am grateful.

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Few half-moon shaped scars on the right side of my throat are a reminder of a near-death experience in my first year at Hogwarts.

A sixth year Slytherin almost strangled me because I didn't bow as low as he wanted me to when I bumped into him. He didn't have very long nails, but the force behind his grip was enough to break the skin. The act wasn't meant to cause fatality, just to instill authority.

I started wearing high-collar shirts after that day. Despite the fact that I can't recall his name or his face, he's one person I won't forget. He helped me to learn that the powerful rule over the weak. I vowed to never be weak.

Yet when I saw your face for the first time, at the other end of the hallway, I felt my knees give away. I also learned another lesson that day; you would be my weakness.

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A series of light, white lines on both of my knees are the souvenirs of my encounter with Lupin in his wolf form. When Potter pulled me out of the shack and into open grounds, I fell. Some sharp, angled rocks on the ground tore through my trousers and gashed my skin.

That night taught me to never trust a person's appearance. Lupin might look harmless, but he harbors a monster within. I doubt I'll ever forget him.

When you and I were called into Dumbledore's office, my heart broke a little when you claimed that it was "a prank". Was my life that worthless to you?

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The Dark Lord branded his mark into my left arm on the last day of my sixth year, right after I got home. It was a bright and beautiful morning, with the smell of burnt flesh wavering in the air. The pain never went away, even after the initial agony was over. The dulled ache remained; it has remained for the past nineteen years.

No one will ever forget Voldemort, and while I'm no exception, I remember him for a different reason. Wizards everywhere feared him, but he made me stronger. It took courage to defy him, and I did it without a second thought as soon as I realized how wrong Voldemort was. I became my own person.

I don't need the glory of being a war hero. I don't have to prove anything to anyone but myself, and maybe in some small ways, you as well.

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The round teeth marks on my calf are from Hagrid's dog, Fluffy, when I went to check on the stone while the others were occupied with the troll. This scar confirms my worst fear - Voldemort is back.

Although I was preparing myself for the possibility of his return, the evidence still shook me. It's one thing to think about the prospect of Voldemort returning, and quite another to have the proof was shoved in my face. Quirrell is another person I won't forget; he practically started the second war.

Hope had risen when I realized that maybe I would see you again. After all, Voldemort was after your godson, and your damn Gryffindorness would make you do whatever that was necessary to be by Harry's side.

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When I first heard of your death, I wanted to shake Tonks until she admitted that she was joking.

I checked the calendar in hope that it was April Fool's Day, some muggle tradition that a student mentioned years ago. Apparently, it's a day where it's okay to play pranks, often it's even expected. I bet it would be your favorite day of the year if you'd let me tell you about it.

I even went to the Forbidden Forest to hunt down a unicorn; the blood would have brought you back to life. I'd have succeeded if Hagrid had not stopped me. Why didn't Dumbledore bring back your body? I could have saved you!

So what if it's wrong and against the rules of nature? Your death is against the sodding rules of nature, of the whole bloody universe. You weren't supposed to die.

You can't be dead.

It's that simple, as it can be summed up in four words. You can't be dead.

You survived Voldemort, twelve years of Azkaban and risking your life multiple times to protect Potter. You had been through most wizards' worst nightmares and lived to tell the tale.

You can't be dead!

This must be another cruel prank that you want to play on me, to see what's necessary to drive that nasty Snape insane. Tell you what? If you return right this moment, I will gladly spend the rest of my life in St. Mungo's.

I tried everything. I even went as far as to Obliviate myself so I wouldn't have to live a life without you.

If I didn't know you, then I won't mourn you.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor. After the spell was done, I started to feel like something was missing. Not anything big or life threatening, but damn crucial to my sanity all the same. I asked Dumbledore to reverse the spell, and he did it with pity in his eyes.

I have come to accept the fact that you would be the one person I can't forget.

Forgetting you isn't an option; it isn't a matter of "will" or "won't". I simply can't.

The scar you left me is the largest and deepest, right down in the middle of my heart.

~ END ~