Another chance

Harry found himself back on the floor in Dumbledore's office. For a moment he sat, absolutely stunned by what he had learned from Snape's memories in the Pensieve. So all along, Dumbledore had planned for him to die. Even Snape had disapproved. He had said so in the memory; "you have used me Dumbledore… all this time you were raising him like a pig for slaughter…"

Now what was there left for Harry to do? The Death Eaters were already overrunning Hogwarts. So many had died. The Weasleys had lost Fred. Grimly, Harry realised that his death would not be a tragedy, but yet another blow against Lord Voldemort.

Harry crept down the winding staircase, still wrapped in the invisibility cloak, over the wreckage of the gargoyle. The landing was deserted, the purple carpet now had great holes burnt into it. Harry slipped silently down the stairs. In the Great Hall he saw with a rising sense of despair that bodies of the fallen. There were Tonks and Lupin, lying together, stone dead. Well if they couldn't have life, why should he? They had been free of the taint of Voldemort. There were the Weasleys, crowded around Fred's body, their red hair vivid and unmistakable in the crowd. Tears threatened to choke Harry and he staggered on, out of the Entrance hall and into the cool night air.

Oh no! There were Ron and Hermione! He gazed upon Hermione and knew that he could not bear to be parted from her. Ron was a laugh and a good mate, but he had loved Hermione deeply for so long, although he had been too shy to tell her. He had become sure of it during those months of depressing camping when Ron had left them and they only had each other to rely on. Now he would never know if she loved him back. She was crying. Her bushy hair was all askew and her chocolate brown eyes were shining with tears. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but he knew she would never let him march to his death. He would have to go to his doom alone. He turned and went, silent as a ghost, towards the forest. Oh if only there was another way – he could have looked for one himself if he hadn't blindly trusted in Dumbledore and now he had run out of time! If only he had more time, think what he could do! He now knew Snape had only good intentions and that Dumbledore had had him under his thumb. He now knew what was wrong with him, that there was a shard of Voldemort in him and that he needed help in exorcising it, but that Dumbledore would not give him any. He kept thinking, over and over, he would do anything if he could somehow have back all the time he had wasted.

As he approached the shadows of the trees he heard a ghostly voice:

"Halt! There is a better way!"

Startled he glanced around and seeing no one, hastened towards the old forest path.

"I said HALT!" came the voice again, more insistent this time and Harry felt himself paralysed so that he couldn't move or speak. The rustling of the leaves and the distant voices and the chirping of the crickets all slowed down to become a low pitched, indistinct murmur as time itself slowed down.

And then, Harry's heart leapt as he saw the shadowy outline of a large man, clad in armour and built like an ox, with a well kept, short silver beard. And the sword he was carrying – it was an exact replica of the sword of Gryffindor, only as shadowy as the warrior who held it. The man coming towards him had glowing amber eyes – was he a ghost? Harry was not sure. He was not pearly white or transparent, but he was indistinct, as though viewed through a heat haze and his legs appeared to trail off into smoke. What could he be? Harry had never seen anything quite like it.

"You do not know me?" said the apparition, "I am Godric Gryffindor, the illustrious founder of your most noble House. I am the greatest of the Hogwarts Four and the castle walls contain what is left of me. I am no mere ghost. A ghost is no more than a simulacrum, left from a psychic explosion when a wizard of ordinary calibre dies. I am Gryffindor himself and I stayed to watch over this school that I founded. I can see that it is threatened by an enemy of great cruelty and ill will – the Heir of Slytherin! I appoint you, a worthy Gryffindor, to undo the havoc that Voldemort has wrought!"

"But Gryffindor, there is no more time," whispered Harry, his throat very dry. Why had Gryffindor not revealed himself when there had still been time to fix all this?

"I don't think you have been paying attention, boy!" said Gryffindor, his hollow voice rising so that it seemed to reverberate in Harry's skull and Harry trembled, "I am Gryffindor and I have powers you do not guess. The sands of my natural life have run out, but I can still send you back – there is a spell, an old spell, one that does not require a cumbersome time turner. I can send your psyche back several years to join with your younger self, so that you will have the foreknowledge of how disasters might arise and how you can prevent them. Will you go? Know this also," Gryffindor added darkly, "I will curse you and your entire future if you do not assist now."

"I will do whatever you want," said Harry hastily, "your offer is very generous, oh Gryffindor," Harry wondered what else might be appropriate to say, "I was just hoping that someone would make me this offer."

"Very good," said Gryffindor, "a word of advice about your only two friends - Ronald Weasley has been working for Dumbledore all along."

"WHAT?! The traitor!" Harry exclaimed.

"And as for the witch known as Hermione Granger - she is your only loyal friend. Helping her discover the truth about herself is essential to your success. Now brace yourself…"

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what followed…

He was ripped from his body and thrown high in the air, into a swirling vortex of lurid lights and turbulent noise. He felt himself being squeezed through a thin tube, sucking him backwards. And then, when he thought he was going to implode, he found himself spurted out into a grey sky, high above a bright red steam train. Down he fell, down down and then he awoke.

"Harry, Harry?" He awoke feeling sluggish and drained of energy. The faces of Ron and Hermione peered into his own, but they were so young! They both looked barely thirteen.

"Hermione," he croaked. He struggled into a sitting position and gripped Hermione by the shoulders. "Dear Hermione!" he said, conscious of tears in his eyes. "When is this?"

"Oh Harry," said Hermione, throwing her arms around him as Ron gaped, "I think you must be really ill. That foul Dementor! It should never have been allowed on the train. If Professor Lupin hadn't been there to send it away, I don't know what we should have done."

"My third year!" said Harry. His heart leapt. Lupin and Fred lived again! Oh thank Gryffindor! "I'm starting my third year and Remus Lupin is going to teach us."

"That's correct Harry! And I look forward to it, especially for the chance to teach you." Lupin had returned to the carriage and was now handing out chocolate, exactly as Harry remembered. "I just need a word with the driver. Eat your chocolate. I will be back soon."

So this was it. The second chance that Gryffindor had given Harry to atone for those years he wasted. Now he had to make the most of it.