Someone I knew once said to me, 'What is life if not just sum of our choices? It is those choices we make; makes us. People think their path is laid out for them, but it is us who pave the path with each and every choice we make. From birth we are burdened with choices and we make them unknowingly, but those are the first choices that mold us. Be a diligent student or become a bully to prey on the weak. Become a hardworking member of the society or a ne'er-do-well. Be loyal to your family and friends, or cheat them out of their prospects.'

'Where you end up in life after - remember, you're there because of the choices you made. Some of those would be influenced by others in your life, some not, but at the end, you are there because you chose to be; it is who you are; it is your life.'

But I think, Life is a journey. Choices made can only lead you to a path, they should not necessarily define you. It is not the string of choices I make that will tell my story. It is the people I have met throughout my life-journey. Good people, bad people, some bit of both. People who I befriended, loved, and hated; even my rivals and enemies. Those are the people who will remember me. Who I was, what I was. They will be the ones to tell my story.

Choices are your life-path. But the people you meet on that path make the life worth living.

And what was my life?

Born an orphan, stored away in an overcrowded, dilapidated house full of children in same situation as me. Motherless. Fatherless. And with a poor constitution that had me sick five days a week. That was the path I was destined to start my journey from. A path that led me through life of pain and misery and despair.

My first choice came quick. A letter informing me that I had been accepted in a prestigious school. Education was a luxury and for orphans like me, we were expected to work in factories as soon as we could, but even that was not possible with my poor health. While I had diseased body, my mind was sharp as a knife's edge. Schooling meant I would have better prospects for the future; better than whatever I had in store for me as an orphan of Greyhaven. I would not have to stumble and crawl on this dirt path. Oh and did I mention that it was a school for wizards?

Wizards, man!

At first I thought it to be a prank. How cruel would one have to be to ignite hope of a better future to a sick orphan destined for nothing but an early grave?

But then there was that old lady who had delivered the letter to me in the first place. She wore an odd gown and a pointy old hat. With a flick of her wrist she transformed the chair into a dog right in front of my eyes!

A dog!

From a chair!

Can you imagine?

She had created life from nothing but wood!

My choice - should I chose to accept this invitation, I would be leaving behind my mundane life, never to look back. I would be plunged into a new world. A hidden world, where people had power to bend reality to their will.

If a wizard can bend reality, surely they can cure me; free me of this prison of illness that has for so long kept me from living a healthy life. So I chose to become a wizard.

Turns out, my ailment is magical in nature. Absolutely incurable. Some sort of magical marrow malformation, never documented before. There were couple tests, but instead of a cure, I only received medication to manage the illness.

The medication alleviated most of the symptoms and I could live a normal life, its just that channeling magic through this body had always been harsh.

It was then I was faced with my second biggest choice; should I live normally as a mediocre struggling wizard?

Of course not!

I had left the mundane mediocrity behind for.. well for its mediocrity!

Other option was that I focus myself into finding a cure for my illness; and that is what I did.

Delving deep into the theories of arcane arts, I uncovered ancient runes, arrays and forbidden alchemy recipes.

Choices, choices, choices. Should I learn them when knowing they are forbidden?

Should I destroy them so no one else finds them?

Should I hide them and treat them as an heirloom for my non-existing house?

More choices followed, when I met new people. Some good, some bad and some outright terrible.

I went from an muggle-born orphan to a Hogwarts student. Then after graduation I applied my craft with a family who owned business that specialized in all things potions and alchemy. That earned me pretty galleons. After I had saved some money, I chose to travel the world. Find other magical communities, learn what they had to offer. See the whole Wizarding world, not just Magical Britain.

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It turned out Magical Britain was not the only inherently xenophobic magical community out there, and when 'shit hit the fan' or so to say back home, it was also my choice to go back and help fight off the tyranny of power crazed, no-nose snake looking wizard who had proclaimed himself the new Dark Lord.

Many battles were fought, and unsurprisingly, the Ministry was always found lacking, or outright supporting the tyrant. Somehow he was vanquished by a one-year-old babe. It was unknown how it had happened, but there was lingering magic of Killing-Curse.

While others celebrated the fall of Dark Lord, he had simply retreated after his killing curse had rebounded, destroying his body. He would make a comeback in another decade.

And he did. Once again, He-who-must-not-be-named, returned, and again many battles were fought. Not surprising was that yet again the ministry was found lacking, and outright getting supplanted by the tyrant's forces.

No matter how terrible of a person he was, in the end, he was one of the greatest wizards Magical Britain had produced. I quite remember facing him for the first time when he tried to recruit me in his merry band of murdering inbred xenophobes. He was clearly inviting me because of my achievements in alchemy even though I was what his people loved to call a 'mud-blood'.

Oh, how he spun the tale of how we both were similar in our upbringing, casually hinting at his orphan status which was not a public knowledge. I do not think it was known by his Death-Eaters. How, like him, I too was absorbing magical knowledge deemed forbidden by the rest of the magical society to overcome the limitations. How both of us were looking for immortality.

There was a choice; I could follow him, a mad man, or I could resist him and his bandits from stealing the magic from rest of the common magical folk.

The choice, I am ashamed to admit, was a tough one. I had on many occasions thought of throwing my support for Lord Voldemort, but in the end morality played a big part in my decision.

By no means I am completely moral person, I'll admit it right away. I have done things that will no doubt send me to hell after my mortal life is snuffed. But there have been morally upright people who had also influenced me a a lot in my days in school. The headmaster, other professors, my colleagues and other students who stood against Voldemort's tyranny even at the cost of their lives.

One thing led to another, it was discovered that Voldemort was indeed immortal - well in a sense. He had split his soul and with the help of pseudo-alchemical forbidden ritual created horcruxes. Simply put, these items were soul phylacteries. Stored in them was a piece of his soul, should his body perish, he would still exist.

It was time to hunt. Harry and his friends had evaded the Death-Eaters and were successful in eliminating all of Voldemort's horcruxes, but even without those horcruxes Voldemort was a great wizard. The only wizard capable of defeating him was Albus Dumbledore, but he too had perished earlier.

A powerful wizard was needed to duel and snuff the embers of Voldemort's life. But there was no one who could match Voldemort. The duel would become a fight of attrition where he could easily best anyone by the sheer amount of magical reserves he possessed.

Unless... someone has an alternate source of infinite magic.

It was on my travels that I had accidently discovered the recipe of Philosopher's stone. An alchemical substance that could turn base metals into gold and silver. Not only that it was known as the Elixir-of-life. It could sustain my diseased body, completely ridding me of my problems. Not only that, it was a extremely high source of magic in itself. Just having it my possession had increased my magic output to heights I did not know existed. But even with it, I barely stood a chance against Voldemort.

You see, while Philosopher's stone could, theoretically, produce infinite amount of magic, it was not accessible by anyone because most of the magic was lost to the environment when it was channeled.

While everyone looked at me with hope as I had been tasked with dueling Voldemort, all I saw was others using me to survive even at the cost of my life.

There was a forbidden ritual, in which a wizard transplants organs of magical beasts for more magical power. I had tweaked it to make it so that instead of an organ of magical beast, I could use the Philosopher's stone instead. I had prepared for this ritual earlier in my travels after producing a working Philosopher's stone, but I was hesitant.

Theoretically, fusing with the stone would grant me unimaginable, inextinguishable magic source, which would not only permanently cure my illness, but ascend me to something more than a mere mortal. It would stop me from ageing, bolster my immunity against all diseases and poisons. I would not require to eat to survive. I would not require to sleep to survive. I would not require to even breathe to survive. Those were the benefits of fusing with the stone.

But reality does not always play according to the said theoretics. There were many possible harmful effects that could happen when I would perform the ritual. The stone's magic, which is so large, could rip through my body, disintegrating it in an instance. Or, the stone would turn me into a statue of gold, and my story used as a caution for young and daring alchemists as to what to no do.

So I had never attempted the ritual because I was not one hundred percent sure. Some may call it fear, but I say, a little fear is good. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you alive.

But now that I was selected, or rather, I was the only one who could manage against the might of Lord Voldemort, I had to go ahead and attempt the ritual.

As they say, 'Desperate times calls for desperate measures.'

And I was desperate.

This would be the culmination of my life's work. It was my last resort and choice. Going through with that ritual meant sure shot victory and annihilation of Lord Voldemort, that is if everything went accordingly.

And that was that. After a legendary battle, Voldemort was finally, and for the last time, defeated. Lying on the ground he stared at me with eyes filled with hate, which was soon replaced by fear. Fear of end. Fear of unknown. The only thing he was ever afraid of - Death.

That was the last thing I remember before finding myself here. A space made of pure white light. There did not appear to be a single source of the light, it was everywhere, or I was inside the source itself. I also observed that my own body was made up of the same white light. After the battle was over, I remember my body wracking with pain but curiously, now, I felt at ease. This feeling was something new. No pain. No burdens. No weakness. No emotions of loss and grief.

I felt... free.

I looked around and found another 'man' who was also made up of light. He had no features just like there were no textures to anything that was in this space.

Looking around, only one thought came to mind, 'Now what mess did I get myself into?'