1/12/11: Oh lookie, I'm writing again! LOL JK, no I'm not. This is about the umpteenth time I've posted this prologue, and every single time I promised myself I'd continue with it. And every single time I just took it back down again. I find it very difficult to stay committed to chapter fics, even when I'm just reading them. Probably has something to do with my short attention span.

BUT ANYWAY. The umpteenth and first time's the charm, right? I'm pretty sure the phrase is "third time's the charm", but whatever. Close enough. Actually not really. But whatever. I'll shut up now. Kay. Bye.

Hermione Granger once told me, "School couples never last." The way she said it – so blunt and matter-of-fact, as if it was nothing more than a statistic she had stumbled across during one of her many trips to the library – made me want to prove her wrong.

"That doesn't apply for Harry and me," I had etorted. My voice was sure, but I felt a pang of doubt from somewhere deep down inside me. I pushed it to the back of my mind. There was no way Hermione could be right about everything.

Unfortunately for me, they don't call her a know-it-all for nothing.


Harry Potter is everywhere. His name appears on every other line of the Daily Prophet, his face graces the cover of Witch Weekly at least twice a month, and he's even got a line of brooms named after him. It's impossible to go a day without hearing "Harry Potter did this" or "Harry Potter did that". Once I heard someone refer to him as the new Merlin. He's become a wizarding legend, an image of hope, the most eligible bachelor in all of wizarding London – and quite possibly the world.

Whenever Harry Potter comes up in casual conversation (which, now that I think about it, occurs almost every time I even have a casual conversation), I make a hasty attempt to change the subject. While I commend his heroism and bravery and the fact that he rescued Muggles and Muggleborns from extinction, those are not the things that automatically come to mind when my thoughts turn to him. Harry Potter did more than just defeat You-Know-Who and save the world: He made me fall in love with him.

Yes, that's right. I am the ex-girlfriend of the Harry Potter. I am the awkward interview question he laughs at uncomfortably. I am the reason he, according to the reporter whose sole job is to stalk him for her monthly column entitled "In Harry's Shoes", apparently can't keep a steady relationship. I am the one who let him get away.

I've never been a fighter. I'm not brave; my heart is more like that of a bunny rabbit than a lion, and courage is most definitely not one of my prominent attributes. Which is why, even after all these years, I still cannot fathom the Sorting Hat's reasoning for placing me in Gryffindor. Perhaps it was tired of doing nothing but singing and sitting on people's heads. Perhaps it wanted a laugh. Or perhaps it actually did know what it was doing.

I would've made the ideal Hufflepuff. It was my parents' house, as well as my older sister's. (My younger brother was in Ravenclaw, but that came as no surprise to us. He's always been a reader.) We're givers, my family. A quality all Hufflepuffs possess. Maybe that's why it hurt so much when Harry and I ended our relationship. I had given him my heart.

To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn't chickened out. Honestly, I think we would still be together. Married, even. We were perfect for each other. But that no longer matters. I live in Ireland now, the receptionist at St. Patrick's Infirmary for Injured Witches and Wizards, while Harry remains in London, a successful Auror and winner of Witch Weekly's "Most Charming Smile" award for the past five years (and Ron probably never lets him forget it). We haven't had contact since the day we graduated from Hogwarts – although I am almost positive I spotted him through the window of my sister's bookshop in Diagon Alley last Christmas. Our lives are separate, different. We both have changed, one way or another. But I still remember the Harry Potter I once knew, the one who would pull me into dark corners of the castle to sneak a kiss and steal food from the kitchens for a romantic picnic by the lake. I remember him as the boy who loved, not the boy who lived.

That's all I have now: the memories. The memories of how we came to be, and how we fell apart. It's a story I'll never forget, the most exciting of my life. And now, I'm here to share it with you

So, I'm trying to cut down on sweets for 2011. Reviews serve as a sugar substitute for me. Please, help me resist temptation!

~ Sheila

Oh, and ps: Inspiration for this fic came from the song Fear of Flying by ARTTM. (That stands for "A Rocket to the Moon", by the way. I guess this little inset defeats the purpose of me abbreviating the band name in the first place. Oh well.) Keep your eyes peeled for chapter one! And don't worry, I promise it'll get posted. I wrote it a bajillion years ago already.