CHAPTER 2: A SECOND CHANCE OR A TERRIBLE MISTAKE

This must be some sort of cruel joke or a horrific nightmare. Ron, alive. Right in front of him. Younger. And talking.

Ron was talking to him!

Harry's mind raced, struggling to grasp the surreal scene before him. He wondered if someone might kindly pinch him or, better yet, hit him with a sledgehammer square on the head. Like a fish gasping for air, his mouth opened and closed several times, but no words emerged.

Several agonizing minutes passed before he could finally blurt out, "But-, but you're dead. You're dead, Ron. I went to your funeral."

Now, it was Ron's turn to be the fish, his eyes wide with confusion.

All of a sudden, Harry felt a sharp smack on his head. "Ow!" he cried, his vision blurring and his head aching from the blow. Rubbing the sore spot, he turned to face the perpetrator. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. "Hermione?"

She stood there, a book in her hands, poised to strike again. Her expression was a mix of anger and worry. "Stop saying that, Harry!" Hermione shouted. "Ron is not dead!"

"But-, but you buried him! I went to his funeral. He was lying right there in the coffin!" Harry's eyes darted between Hermione and the bewildered Ron.

For that remark, he received another smack on the head. "Ow! What's wrong with you?!"

"You're what's wrong with me!" Hermione retorted, her voice shaking. "Stop saying something crazy!"

It took a moment for Ron to find his voice. "Harry, the last I checked, I'm still alive. I'm not dead, mate. At least not yet."

Harry's eyes lingered on Hermione as he rubbed the spot where she had hit him. He always knew Hermione was formidable with books, but he never imagined they could become weapons in her hands. Her targeting was impeccable, hitting the exact same spot twice.

But Hermione was right. He must have done something to cause her to react so strongly. She was paler than usual, a tell-tale sign that something was wrong. And now that he looked closely, she and Ron both appeared younger. Teenagers.

Harry looked down at his own hands. One of them held a half-eaten chocolate frog. The hands didn't look old or wrinkled; they looked young.

Confusion clouded his mind. At the same time, he knew he needed to remain calm. Another outburst, and they might ship him off to St. Mungo's with his skull cracked open.

He took a deep breath. "Sorry." He glanced at both his best friends. "I'm sorry."

Hermione, who had been ready to strike again, lowered the book. Ron let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the padded bench. "You scared us, mate," Ron said.

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry repeated. "I was—" He struggled to continue, his thoughts a jumble.

"I was what? Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's voice softened, concern etched in her features. "You didn't look too well."

"What happened?" Harry asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Well, you just sort of passed out," Ron explained. "One minute you were fine, and then you just collapsed."

"We were really worried," Hermione added, her eyes searching Harry's face for any signs of distress. "It was like you were seeing a ghost."

Harry took another deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I thought I was," he admitted. "I mean, in my reality, Ron... you died. I saw it with my own eyes."

Ron exchanged a troubled look with Hermione before speaking. "Harry, whatever happened in your reality, it's not happening here. I'm alive, and so are you. We're all okay."

"But how can this be?" Harry asked, his voice trembling. "Everything feels so real, but it's all wrong."

Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We don't have all the answers yet, but we'll figure it out together. Right now, the important thing is that you're here with us. We'll get through this, Harry."

Harry nodded slowly, still trying to process everything. "Thanks, Hermione. Thanks, Ron. I just... I need some time to get my head around all this."

"Take all the time you need," Ron said, giving him a reassuring smile. "We're not going anywhere."

Harry smiled back weakly, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the confusion. He wasn't alone. They would face this mystery together, just like they always had.

"Pass out?"

Ron nodded. "One minute you were talking merrily and eating chocolate frogs, and the next minute you just went limp," he said, snapping his fingers. "Just like that. I managed to catch you before you fell onto the floor."

So that explained why he was holding a half-eaten chocolate frog.

"We thought you were dead, Harry," Hermione said softly. "There have been cases, at least in the Muggle world, where people drop dead just like that. A lot of times, the reasons are unknown."

"They could be magically killed," Ron added. "I don't think Muggles have the ability to detect magic at work."

"Not always, Ron," Hermione said. "Medical conditions can produce the same effect as well." She then turned towards Harry. "You stopped responding, Harry. You even stopped breathing for nearly a minute. That was the worst moment I've ever experienced in my whole life."

Harry went silent, continuously dissecting what Hermione and Ron had told him. Moments later, he spoke, "Well, whatever happened, I'm fine now."

"That will be decided by Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Or at least Madam Pomfrey."

"Prof-." Harry suddenly stopped. He then looked around. Apparently, he was so absorbed in the conversation that he did not realize where he was at that moment. He found that the three of them were in a compartment and the scenery outside the only window available was moving fast. Then it hit him. "We're on a train," he said.

"Well duh," said Ron. "Where else?"

"Where are we going?" asked Harry.

Hermione slowly raised the book she was holding, ready to smack his head.

Harry, noticing what Hermione was doing, quickly grabbed the book. "You're not going to hit me once again, Hermione."

"I won't if you stop acting crazy," said Hermione.

Harry shook his head. "Alright, fine! Maybe I am a little bit crazy and maybe I'm a little bit 'not okay,' but for heaven's sake, will any of you please answer my question?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. "We're going to Hogwarts, Harry," said Ron. "Blimey, that bloke must have hit you really hard on the head."

"Hermione isn't a bloke."

"He wasn't talking about me," said Hermione. "Do you remember the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Which one?" asked Harry. That was a reasonable question from his perspective. He and Ron went to every World Cup organized after the Second Great War.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "We've only ever gone to one World Cup event!"

Harry shook his head again. "Me and Ron have gone to plenty. Now, which one is it?"

"You're acting crazy again," said Hermione.

"I'm not-."

"Harry," Ron cut in. "We've only gone to one World Cup event. We're still young, Harry. That was our first World Cup. Dad brought us there, remember? Along with Cedric and his father?"

"After the game, there were attacks mounted by the Death Eaters," continued Hermione. "We got separated amidst the chaos. Somebody kicked you in the head and you fainted. Several things happened after that, and it ended up with Barty Crouch accusing you of producing the Dark Mark."

Harry's eyes widened as the memories began to piece together. "Wait... yes, I remember now. The chaos, the terror... but that was years ago."

Ron gave Harry a worried look. "Mate, that happened just a few weeks back. Are you sure you're alright?"

Harry rubbed his temples, the throbbing pain intensifying. "I don't know what's real anymore. Everything feels so... jumbled."

Hermione placed a comforting hand on his arm. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Harry. Let's focus on getting to Hogwarts. Maybe Dumbledore can help us figure out what's happening."

Harry nodded, though uncertainty still clouded his mind. He looked out the window, watching the familiar scenery of the Hogwarts Express whiz by. He wasn't alone, and that was the only thing keeping him grounded. Together, they would uncover the truth, no matter how twisted it might be. The first piece of the puzzle began to take its place.

"And yet it wasn't me," said Harry as the memory of his first Quidditch World Cup attendance resurfaced.

"That's right. Well, we know who did it, or was falsely accused of doing it," said Hermione with a huff.

Harry remembered it well. Winky. Barty Crouch. Ludo Bagman. Mr. Weasley. They were all there. As memories of old continued to resurface, Harry finally managed to understand what had happened.

"Harry, you've been acting really strange since you fainted. You really need to see Dumbledore," said Hermione firmly.

Harry silently admitted that Hermione was right, but somehow, he wasn't keen on seeing Dumbledore. "No, not Dumbledore."

"Harry, you have to! Or I'll make you!" From the fierce look Hermione gave him, it was clear she meant business. She wouldn't let this go, not in the immediate future.

Harry sighed. "Alright, fine. But I'm not going to see Dumbledore this early. I'm going to see Pomfrey instead."

"Harry, Dumbledore will know what to do," argued Hermione. "Your mind is in a mess, Harry! You acted strange. You asked strange questions. You—you were NOT YOU!"

Harry shot Hermione a glance. Did she know, he wondered. "In what way?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know how to explain it to you. You're just—different."

So she didn't know.

At the same time, though, Harry knew she was worried sick about him. And he was touched. Hermione, ever since the first time he met her, had always taken on the role of a big sister to him. And Ron? He was more like a best friend/brother/trouble-attracting accomplice to him.

Ron, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally gave his own opinion. "She's right. You've been acting strange since you fainted. This isn't normal, Harry."

How perceptive of him. Maybe that was why he and Hermione ended up getting married, Harry thought, despite Ron being clueless most of the time. It was time to stop them from worrying more about him. At least he owed them that much. "Alright. I'll go see someone, but I won't be going to Dumbledore."

"But why not?" asked Hermione.

"I'm just not ready yet," answered Harry. "I need to understand what's going on. I will see him once I'm ready. Just not immediately."

Hermione sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll take you to the hospital wing once we arrive."

"After the welcoming feast, Hermione. Let the bloke eat first," said Ron.

Harry couldn't help but smile at that. "Thanks, Ron. I could use a good meal."

"See, Hermione? Food is always the answer," Ron said, grinning.

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. After the feast, we'll go to the hospital wing. But don't think you're getting out of this, Harry."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry replied.

As the train continued its journey, Harry leaned back and let his friends' familiar banter wash over him. The road ahead was uncertain, but with Ron and Hermione by his side, he felt ready to face whatever came next.

"But—"

"He's right, Hermione," said Harry. "You don't want me to go to bed hungry, do you?"

Hermione huffed. "Fine!"

She immediately grabbed the book Harry took from her earlier and dived into it. Both Harry and Ron snickered.

The three of them went silent for the rest of the journey, with the exception of Hermione, who reminded them to change into their school robes just as dusk set in. Throughout the rest of the trip, Harry kept thinking. He finally understood what was happening, but he still didn't know how or why it happened. By some freakish circumstances, he was thrown back in time from the year 2072 to the year 1994. He was still attending Hogwarts in 1994. It was supposed to be his fourth year of schooling, and he was fourteen, turning fifteen that year. He was still young.

Something bugged him, though. He knew that something big happened during his fourth year, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He bet that the same thing would happen again this time around. If only he could remember what it was. One thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn't like it.

Hermione was right, actually. Dumbledore probably had the answer. But, and this was a very big but, he had long suspected that the old headmaster had the ability to read minds. If Dumbledore indeed had that kind of ability, how would he react to it? What would Dumbledore do if he realized that the young Harry Potter had been replaced mentally by a 92-year-old man? How could he explain it to him?

Harry decided he didn't want to know. At least not immediately. But deep inside, something told him that one way or another, he and Dumbledore would cross paths and the headmaster would one day know. For now, keeping that information a secret would be his main priority. At least until he knew what his purpose would be.

The Hogwarts Express chugged slowly as it entered Hogsmeade Station and ground to a halt as it reached the platform. Feet shuffled, and soon the corridor outside the trio's compartment was filled with students waiting to exit the train.

The three of them were already in their school uniforms. Harry, for one, felt uncomfortable. It wasn't because of the uniform. It fit him perfectly, and they were brand new. The fact was he felt like a pervert. He may have looked like a teenager outwardly, but mentally he was a 92-year-old man. A 92-year-old man wearing a school uniform. Harry felt like throwing up.

"You okay, Harry?" asked Ron. "You look like you're about to throw up."

"Does it show?" asked Harry, swallowing hard.

"Well yeah," answered Ron. "Your face turned a slight shade of green."

If only they knew, Harry thought. He slid the compartment door open. "Don't worry about it. Come on."

As they stepped out of the train, the cool evening air hit Harry, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The familiar sight of Hogsmeade Station brought a wave of nostalgia mixed with a strange sense of displacement. He was back in a time he had lived through once before, but everything felt new and confusing.

"First years, this way! First years!" Hagrid's booming voice cut through the crowd.

Harry's heart warmed at the sight of Hagrid, unchanged and as towering as ever. He caught Hagrid's eye and waved.

"All right there, Harry?" Hagrid called out.

"Yeah, Hagrid. Just a bit of a rough train ride," Harry replied, forcing a smile.

"Well, get yerself up to the castle and have a good feast. That'll set yeh right," Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry nodded, feeling a bit more reassured. As they made their way to the carriages that would take them to the castle, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in his own past. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, their youthful faces filled with excitement and anticipation. He envied their innocence and wished he could share it.

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