So, here's some Harry Potter shit. One-shot, don't have anything planed for this, and I don't want to try to turn this into a proper story, not right now, maybe later though.

A coward lives longer than someone who is brave. So forcing a coward into the roll of someone who is suppose to be brave? We're about to have shit go down.

This is on Tumblr as well under the same name, so don't try to send messages to me about how someone already wrote this, because I'm literally just posting this to both websites now.

I don't own Harry Potter or anything that you recognize here. (Has anyone seen he movie 'Imitation Game'? It's really good and slightly depressing at times. Watch it now.)

The thing is - you don't always get reborn in the big part of a book/movie/whatever. Sometimes you don't get the chance, the choice, in deciding whether or whether not to do something. Sometimes you don't get the awesome powers or have the memories of an elephant or even get placed in a time where you could help. You don't get the choice, you don't get the chance, and so what do you do?

You stay the fuck away, that what.

You keep your head down and ignore everything that might even point in the direction of the actual plot - and when that doesn't work you turn around and run.

Fuck being called a coward; I'd rather be alive than six feet underground, thank you very much.

So, yeah, being born in a little town with a silly name that reminds me of a book I once read didn't faze me. Even when I bumped into a small black haired, green eyed boy with the name Harry Potter I just shrugged it off, after all there are plenty of Harry Potters in the world, right?

Even when I caught a glance of a strangely shaped scar on his forehead I ignored it.

And, yes, when the teacher's hair turned from dark brown to bright blue as she scolded the same little black haired boy I had a mild panic attack. And then, when the stories of him scaling the school building to get onto the roof started to come around there was the smallest bit of horror sinking into my gut. When the boy's, only a boy – nothing more you stupid, stupid little girl, family came to pick him up and called him things that they shouldn't… well.

I turned around and demanded that my parents move us elsewhere.

Because, even if it's just something that I was panicking over for nothing I didn't want to stay around and watch this all fall out.

And it would.

Because I didn't have magic. Trust me, I tried. I tried and tried and tried, to the point that I had made people worry about me.

I didn't want to be here and watch as everything around me slowly burned.

Because, sometimes you get placed into a time period where you could do something. And you could save hundreds of lives – mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters - but you shouldn't.

I wasn't brave, never was. And I didn't want to go up against someone like Tom Riddle, that was a stupid idea and I didn't like stupid ideas that could get me killed. The movie 'Imitation Game' proves that you can't save everyone without some consequences.

(Like having your balls slowly dissolved because you were gay. Even if you did save many lives and end a war almost two years early.)

I'm not cunning; I couldn't even keep up a semi-good poker face. I'm not smart enough to plan something like saving people and ending a war from the sidelines. I'm not brave or stupid enough to dive straight into a fight just because I felt it wasn't fair or right. I'm not kind enough to just accept everyone and be that one person who anyone can turn to.

I'm not and I know that.

So, if I had convinced my parents to move all the way to Mexico and freaked out when news drifted over about strange deaths years later, that didn't mean anything.

And, if my parents dragged me back to England and I bumped, once again, into a rather small black haired, green eyed boy by the name of Harry Potter, then it was just a stranger on the streets. Even when he grabbed my arm and asked if we knew each other I just kept walking. And just because I finally spun around to face him with a wild look in my eyes and blurted out that I didn't want anything to do with someone who would get hundreds killed and that I didn't want him near my family, well…

It didn't really matter, didn't mean anything.

I stayed away from England.

I stayed safe.

So, when, years later, I'm closing my eyes on my death bed dying from old age I'm happy. Because, fuck yeah! I died from old age and not from a goddamned wizard! That means something, right? Yeah, it's good, everything's good now.

Until I opened my eyes to the sight of a red haired woman calling me Harry James Potter.

Goddamn it.

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Sometimes you get everything. The right time placement, the powers, the money, the rights and you don't get a choice. You get forced into a roll you spent almost two lifetimes trying to stay away from. Sometimes you don't get the chance, the choice, in deciding whether or whether not to do something. You don't get the choice, you don't get the chance.

So what am I suppose to do now that I'm the one that's going to lead a war?