A/N: Sweet baby Jesus I think I hate myself. Do I hate myself? Probably.I tried. I really did. But hey, when inspiration hits, it hits, amirite? And the only thing left to do is give in and hope it doesn't leave the same way it came, that fickle little thing. So here's to hoping I can actually see this thing through for once (But like I always say, don't keep your fingers crossed guys. I have commitment issues) Anyway hope you enjoy! Okay I'm done rambling.

Disclaimer: Alright guys listen up. Read closely okay, because this is the first and last time I'm going to say this. Okay are y'all reading? Yeah? Okay. Here goes.

I'm not, nor have I ever been J.K. Rowling. I'm just your regular Harry Potter fan who loves reading (and writing!) Fanfiction.

That is all. Thank you for your time. xx

Prologue

"Life is made up of choices."

Her father's face, gentle and strong and wise, swims before her mind and she feels six again, blown away by the wisdom of her father's words. He was always wise, her father, and she can feel a pang of nostalgia washing over her, almost wishes she was six again, innocent and naive as she allowed herself to be comforted, back when the world seemed right and a happy place to be.

"Life is made up of choices," and it's James this time who says it, hair a little dishevelled and eyes tired as he stands before her. He's eighteen and beautiful, in her mind, holding out his hands in defeat as he stares at her earnestly, exactly as he had that day those wise words had been uttered. "Life is made up of choices, Lil, and this is mine. What'll you choose?"

Life is made up of choices and it's not something she had understood, even then, not entirely. Funny thing, that it's only as she stares down the wand of the wizard before her, that she finally understands.

"Not so brave now are you, little Mudblood," the man on the other end of the wand sneers at her in place of the curse she had expected, teeth bared in a mocking smile. Yet, his hand trembles, almost imperceptibly, and she wonders, almost, if the choice really is his.

Life is made up of choices-it resounds in her head, a staccato rhythm beating in time with the fast beats of her heart and Lily smiles sadly because she gets it. Life is made up of choices, that much is true, but it's not always your choice. That's the part people always leave out. Life is made up of choices and it's not always your choice-live or die. That's the important one, and it's not always your choice.

"It's a choice, you know," she says calmly, more calm than a person being faced with imminent death ought to be. "Being brave. Life is made up of choices, I've found, although the choice is not always yours-not many people tell you that."

The man narrows her eyes at her, his wand still held firmly in his hand, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't make any other motion, as if waiting for her to continue and that makes a small flutter of hope begin to blossom.

"Life is made up of choices," she echoes again as she stares into his eyes, willing her heart to beat more slowly as she embraces the possibilities-life or death, death or life-it's a choice. It's a choice, but it's not in her hands anymore. "My dad always used to tell me that. Love or hate, fight or give in, live a coward or die a hero.

"Those are choices, you know, choices you get to make on your own. They are choices I've made and I'm proud of them. Even if I die, I'm at peace with myself. Because I've lived my life by my own choices. Nobody else's. Just mine."

She can see the moment he understands, the way his arm drops unconsciously just a fraction, a flicker of understanding passing through his grey eyes-and it's his eyes that make her smile sadly again, because she knows. She understands. Life doesn't deal everyone with the same cards, doesn't afford everyone with the same luxuries, even those who share the same blood.

"You always have a choice. Even if it doesn't feel like it. Even now, knowing I might die, it's a choice. It's a choice I made a long time ago, even before it actually was. It's a choice and I've made peace with it because in the end, whatever happens, the choice was mine."

She takes a deep breath because this is it. Fight or give in. Be brave or be a coward. Live or die. It's always a choice, but it's not always yours.

Until it is.

"So I guess now the question is. What'll you chose? What is your choice?"

She closes her eyes, as she counts to ten, waits for a curse, waits for death or for the unbearable pain she knows that's bound to come. Life is made up of choices, that much is true. Death, it's not always your own choice. But being brave is. Being brave, even in the face of death, that's a choice.

And, in the end, it's her own choice.