DISCLAIMER: As my bank account verifies, Harry and co. don't belong to me
(this disclaimer applies to the whole story I don't want to keep repeating myself and I very much doubt that I'm magically going to suddenly own HP)

A/N: This is my first story on so reviews on how I'm doing or how I can improve would be great. Anyone willing to beta should let me know. I'll try to update at least one chapter per month, sooner if I can manage. Also if anyone has any suggestions for a better title or if they think I should keep it how it is just let me know.

Enjoy.

They say if you're going to do something, you should do it right or not at all. Sadly, it seems we didn't do it right this time. I seriously doubt that I'd be in this position right now if we did succeed. Forgive me; you have no idea what I'm talking about do you? Let me explain. My name is Harry James Potter, a.k.a. the boy who lived, a.k.a. the chosen one, a.k.a. a bunch of other things that aren't really important right now. Anyway in terms of my earlier musings, I guess you can say that the task assigned to me (not that I asked for it) was to save the world. Considering that I'm about to be publicly executed in about half an hour's time by Voldemort for being a wanted fugitive, I think it's safe to say I didn't do a proper job of saving the world. Or maybe it was just that Voldemort did a better job of conquering it. He certainly was thorough at any rate. I don't doubt that in 3 years the whole world will be under his dominion. Most of it already is.

I can hear the crowd cheering for my blood now. Funny how the same people who demanded that I fight for them demand I die for them too. But no matter, I'm not foolish enough to assume every one of them wishes me dead or truly believes their lives will improve with my death. But it was a good run while it lasted if I say so myself. I wasn't supposed to even reach my second birthday and here I am 30 years later alive and kicking. Or I would be kicking if I wasn't drugged with numerous potions and not chained down. But I'm not going to think about that right now, I'd rather not spend the rest of my life (at least the last 5 minutes or so granted me) in a depressive state of helplessness. Happy thoughts.

Shit, time's up.

"For 50 years the mighty and merciful Dark Lord has been on a quest to improve the world. He seeks to purify it of the scum, cowards and unworthy who only want war, death and destruction. He envisions a world of unity, magnificence and power! A vision which will now be made into a reality! Finally we have captured the one sent to destroy the glory the Dark Lord maintains! Finally we can have justice and prosperity with his death! Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the trial and execution of the chosen one, Harry Potter!"

I always knew that ol' Tommy was a melodramatic and here's proof that some of his quirks are rubbing off onto his followers. Not that I can really complain much, the number of times that I or someone else from the resistance got away because the dark lord or a death eater wanted to have us meet our end in an ironic or intricate way instead of a simple 'bang! you're dead' is too many to count. The crowd sure loves it though. Voldemort invited anyone who could make it to my trial/death hoping to make an example of the people's saviour. Even upon this platform a good few meters above the crowd I still can't see an end to the mob.

Sheesh, does this guy ever shut up? At this rate I'll die of boredom before they get around to executing me. I stopped listening somewhere between "…menace threatening the peace…" and "…aiding filthy animals contaminate…" Unfortunately I can't really dispute those allegations for two reasons. First off, Voldemort was kind enough to, um, liberateme of my tongue. Before this sham of a trial was set I was welcome to experience the "generous hospitality" of the dark lord's personal interrogation room. Almost three months of using every kind of torture, magical and muggle (first time I resented the fact that you can heal almost anything with magic). The only thing they got out of me was spit and curses (only of the swearing variety to my dismay). Voldemort finally realized I was a lost cause for gaining information on the resistance but to make himself feel better he convinced himself that my death alone would probably crush them anyway. I told him that wishful thinking wasn't becoming of a dark lord. I don't think Tom and his merry band kiss-ass' fully appreciate my sense of humour

Reason number two, according to the Dark Lord's reigning government "peace" apparently includes killing and torturing anyone death eaters considers below themselves. Therefore by rescuing the unworthy I was "disrupting the peace". Not to mention according to Tommy boy's law book muggles, magical creatures, muggleborns, half-bloods (besides himself of course), pureblood's with less than 5 generations of magical lineage on both sides of the family and traitors are considered 'animals'. That's just a sample of snake face's laws. I'm proud to say that I have the record of most laws broken.

Oops, I think I missed my cue because they're all staring at me expectantly. Sorry if I have better things to do than listen to some death eater go on and on about my disruptive ways that would put one of uncle Vernon's rants to shame. In fact I can think of a whole lot of things I'd rather be doing right now than attending my execution too. Like planning raids, hanging out with friends, or eating chocolate. Actually what I'd really like is for me to somehow overcome these potions they've forced down my throat, pick the locks of my magic-repressing binders (ankles and wrists), get around my guard of elite death eaters, have all the hit wizards that have their wands trained on me to spontaneously drop them, have every other person including Voldemort drop their guards while this takes place, and then I'll run up to Voldemort...and stab him with a rusty spork! Sigh, I guess wishful thinking is also unbecoming of saviours too.

"Any last words Potter?"

I guess I zoned out again. Voldemort's sneering at me soaking in my last moments. Bastard. He thinks he won; he thinks that people will stop fighting once their saviour is dead. He always was delusional. His hungry eyes never even blink as they desperately search for any sign of helplessness, fear or weakness from me. So I smirk. And there it is, a bit of unease in his eyes. He knows I can do nothing to prolong my death and he did expect me to resist until my last breath, but he expected it to be the resistance of a dead man. Someone who is fighting his own fears as much as he fights the enemy, who knows that there is no hope for him nor for what he fights for. So it worries him that my smirk has real danger behind it, that I have a reason to believe that Voldemort will fall despite my death. Before Voldemort says the dreaded words he tries one more time to storm through my mental barriers. I can't help but let a singsong 'I know something that you don't...' slip through before he retreats.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

And so died Harry James Potter with a smirk on his face and defiance in his eyes.