The mandatory re-set for life idea. Goes from Deathly Hallows.
I don't own anything from the pages of any Harry Potter book.
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His miserable life flickered before his eyes. Suffering, abuse from his perfectly wretched family, outcast at school… Imperiled at the so-called safest place in Britain by monsters, and then watching as the insufferable brat who'd tried to kill him was sent away with a wink and a feeble 'now don't do that again'. Thinking that he had a couple close friends that he could count on, a few people willing to at least listen when things were blatantly awful and unfair. His single most selfless and selfish act of stupidity, when in a desperate, foolish gamble to try to keep his beloved redhead safe from awful wizards he'd pushed her away… how telling himself that it was for her own good hadn't made it hurt less to see the pain in her eyes, to see her in someone else's arms…
The suffering, misery and curses after, when he'd thought he could achieve his dreams.
Betrayal from those that he'd thought were his friends.
Dying alone and in pain, having failed at his task, failed to ensure the death of the most evil wizard in Britain's recent history. Failed to ensure Voldemort's demise.
His life had been pain, suffering, wretched isolation, and failure.
Looking down at his body, he could recall everything. He could remember his every mistake, every opportunity that he'd bungled, his every wretched attempt to make things better, and see the way that most of those had gone wrong.
And he could see the way that those who'd been in a position to help had failed him.
"I don't know if I could have buggered things up more if I'd been trying," he muttered. Furious, he kicked out, his foot going right through his own head without the slightest hesitation.
"You'll have to do better than that, m'boy."
Turning, he glared at the figure who had spoken, someone who bore more than a passing resemblance to Albus bloody Dumbledore. Dumbledore who'd been so focused on giving another chance and another to those who'd gone beyond reason and who'd been so fixated of keeping things secret that he'd never told half the people what they needed to know to accomplish anything beyond their blasted schoolwork…
Dumbledore who was dead.
"Who the blazes are you?" he glared at the man? Being? Glared at the not-Dumbledore, wondering how he'd managed to bugger up dying, of all things.
"I am an agent of Fate and Destiny," the not-Dumbledore spoke in the same grandly mysterious tones that had been so infuriating from the real Dumbledore.
"And you're here taunting me beside my still-warm corpse because?" he growled.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to end. There was a grand plan, a glorious final confrontation… A desperate fight against impossible odds and then true love… It would have been perfect. Except that you didn't follow your cues right," the not-Dumbledore glared at him.
"Are you sure that you're babbling at the right person?"
"Black haired wizard?"
"Yes."
"Half blood?"
"yes."
"Miserable childhood with awful people who happened to be related?" The not-Dumbledore was squinting at a sheaf of parchment, moving it closer and then farther away.
"Yes…" he wondered if agents of Fate and Destiny needed glasses, and where this one had misplaced his.
"Died attempting to get rid of Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, and the Great Dark Snakey?"
"I'm not familiar with that last name," he shuddered, attempting to purge his memory of the merest thought of that nick-name and how it might have come into being.
"Look, you have no idea how much of a mess this is going to make if he doesn't get killed. I'm going to send you back. You'll keep your memories, and for the love of Order, try to do a better job of things this time!"
"Back? Back to when?" he blinked, thinking that this seemed too strange to be real. Perhaps this was all some sort of nightmare? What had he eaten last night?
"Maybe to the start of the year… That might be enough time to fix this."
"Bloody hell no! Not if you seriously expect me to be able to make anything better!" He shuddered, remembering exactly how his life had been going at the start of the year.
"If you think you can offer a better way for me to get my job done and make sure that Destiny is happy, I'd love to hear it," snapped the not-Dumbledore.
"I'll need to keep my memories, but if you want me to be able to fix things, I need to go back farther. Too many things were already bollixed up beyond salvaging by the beginning of the year," He hoped that he could persuade this likely-mistaken being.
"Farther? How far back do you mean?"
"Send me back to my first trip on the Hogwarts Express, on my way to start my education at the school. Before I was sorted. Maybe right about when I arrived at the station. That should give me enough time to fix things," he tried to persuade the agent of Fate, going under the assumption that if this was a dream, no harm was done, and if this wasn't a nightmare, how could things be worse if he had to start over at age eleven?
"That might work," murmured the agent of Fate, who was looking less like Dumbledore and more like a haze of light.
There was a gesture, and everything was too bright, the light tearing at him, smothering him…
Then he was surrounded by people, hundreds of conversations blurring together. Footsteps, squeaking trolley wheels, whistling trains. The chaos and crowds of King's Cross Station. More noticeable, he felt so short, dressed in his hand me down raggedy clothing, with his heavy trunk, left at the station to get himself the rest of the way. It had been terribly confusing for him the first time around.
"Perfect," he smiled. There were so many things that he could do better this time. A different House at the Sorting, nothing to do with those awful people that he'd been desperate and deluded enough to think were his friends… And he wouldn't push her away this time. It hadn't saved her.
He could remember all those awful people that had grown up to be Death Eaters. Remember those missed opportunities that he'd been too caught up in his own suffering to see. He could arrange a few accidents for those future Death Eaters before they were marked, before they started killing and ruining lives. He could have a better life... have a life.
A flash of red caught his eye, and he smiled. She was there, still so young. Alive, whole and healthy. Smiling and happy and with her whole future ahead of her. He'd make certain that it was a longer, happier future this time.
He waved at her, feeling warm inside as she bounced over, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.
"I can't believe this is all real! That I'm going… that I'll have a chance to learn…" Her words faltered as she tried to figure out what she could say in the station.
"I know," he smiled at her. "Why don't we board the train?"
As he helped Lily Evans load her trunk onto the luggage rack, Severus Snape vowed that this time, things would be better.
End Do-Over life fragment.