[Chapter 2] Well, that never happened before.
Harry wanted to scream in frustration about all the shit that kept happening to him at every opportunity, and he had already opened his mouth to make his feelings heard, but that only resulted in dust falling into his throat, making him cough and spit around uncontrollably. In a chain reaction this only whirled around even more dust, making him sneeze. All in all it was pretty uncomfortable, and it took him several tries to get the bubblehead-charm up to prevent more dust from reaching his face.
One could say many things about Harry Potter, and not many would argue otherwise if you decided to call him dense, but he wasn't that dense. Dying during/after a ritual which had accidentally thrown a time-turner into the equation, only to come back to find your own home covered in dust? Pretty damn obvious that he hadn't been out for only a few minutes as previously thought. Now if he only knew how long he had been missing, and in which direction of time.
Okay, sitting around in a dusty house would do him no good, the only way now was forward, and forward in this case meant towards the nearest newspaper-stand to buy a daily prophet to get the date.
Or maybe through some rooms of the house to find a bit of money to be able to afford the newspaper, it wasn't like he was always running around with his pockets filled with money (and as long as the polyjuice hadn't worn off there was little chance of him getting access to his Gringotts vault - if that even still/already existed). A few cleaning-charms left the living room dust-free enough to search without constantly sneezing.
A few minutes later he had found enough change to buy himself a copy of the daily prophet as well as a warm dinner.
In Diagon Alley he immediately bought a copy of the daily prophet, and a few seconds later a few wizards turned around when young girl started to swear loudly about something she read in the paper (momentarily raising the amount of papers bought in this particular newsstand).
September the 7th, 1981.
Harry was back in 1981. He didn't like it.
„Fuck, why does this always keep happening."
The dinner which he later bought didn't really taste like anything, and if it did, Harry hadn't noticed it, too focused on his inner thoughts. What did this situation mean for him? How had things ended up like this? Would he now forever stay in the body of a girl? How could he turn back? How could he travel back into the future? What would he do if traveling back wasn't possible?
As difficult and diverse those questions appeared on first glance, on second glance they really weren't.
Why this had happened? Obvious, he was Harry Potter, that's all the explanation needed for weird shit to happen. Would he forever be trapped in this new body? Most likely, he was Harry Potter, that's all the explanation that was needed for weird shit to happen to him. How could he turn back? Well, temporarily probably using polyjuice. Permanently? With his look probably only using long-term exposure to potions that hurt more than the cruciatus. How could he travel back into the future? Probably using the time-turner, assuming he could find it. And that was assuming that he had reason to go back to the future, which he really didn't. „Shit is fucked" as the poets of the time used to say, meaning that the whole country had succumbed to the leadership of the pureblood supremacy, there really wasn't any reason for him to go back to that particular shithole that was the future.
So, what did the situation mean for him?
It pretty much meant that he was stuck here for the time being, and that there was nothing he could or would do about it.
Next question: If all of his old life-goals were out of the window (most of them being „life another day without getting a life-sentence in Azkaban for blowing up a politician who pushed for even fewer rights for muggleborns"), what should his new goals in life be?
The most obvious one would be to fix everything that had gone wrong the first time around. That was pretty much a no-brainer. But since he already knew the location of all horcruxes and the identities for most secret supporters of Voldemort, how long could this really take? One hour, two?
Apart from this he really couldn't think of anything that he would consider worthy living for. That might sound really depressing from an outside perspective, but from Harry's perspective that was just like it had always been. Just go with the flow, existing just for the sake of existing had worked just fine so far.
And with that Harry returned to his home (one of the many the Potters had owned) and started to prepare to fulfill his life goal.
[Chapter 3] Goals in life
26 hours later Harry lay down in his bed and slowly drifted to sleep, exhausted by all the stress the day had brought to him.
It had turned out that his first estimation for 2 to 3 hours for fixing all of Magical Britains future problems had been too optimistic, it had taken him a whole day instead.
Voldemorts horcruxes were destroyed, all secret supporters of his ideals had died by falling down some stairs (which hadn't been easy, since some of his supporters lived in apartments with only one floor, so he had to get creative there, conjuring ladders to fall down from) and several secret vaults for bribery and other political favors had mysteriously disappeared.
The authors of various newspapers were irritated that this adventure hadn't stretched over multiple days or weeks with many twists, since it would increase the sales dramatically, but Harry hadn't felt like rehashing something he had done way too often already. And yes, he considered once as „way too often".
The only horcrux that was left obviously was behind the scar of his younger self, who apparently existed in his world as well, at least if you believed the papers.
He didn't worry too much about that though, since he had gotten rid of it the first time around as well.
No, the horcrux he was thinking about the most was the ravenclaws diadem. Getting rid of this one had meant he had to sneak into Hogwarts using one of the many secret passages, and it had been quite nostalgic for him.
The old walls, the smell, the moving stairs - every single little thing had triggered an emotional reaction from him, throwing him back into a time where everything was easier. Not easy, but easier. Where people disliked you just because they disliked you, and not because of what you stood for. Where friendships were formed simply because one felt comfortable around another, and not for political reasons. Where detentions, loss of points and a few insane and/or evil teachers were all you had to worry about on a day-to-day basis, not torture, death or things even worse.
Harry smiled. Apart from the troll, Voldemort-possessed Quirrell, that fucking fraud teacher, having to worry about being killed by a mass-murderer (who should, if the documents had reached Amalia Bones, soon get out of Azkaban and be reunited with this world's Harry), having to take part in some hunger games bullshit, being tortured by a teacher and having to flee after the headmaster was killed, Hogwarts had been quite the experience, and all in all a time of his life he fondly remembered.
And the longer he thought about it, the more certain he became: He had never, in all of his life, been as happy as he had been at Hogwarts. Everything else had been a nightmare. His time at the Dursleys had been filled with abuse, his time at the auror forces overshadowed by the expectations for him to fix everything by himself, his love life (or lack thereof) had been poisoned by the many titles bestowed upon him, his unwanted position as important politician had been forced upon him, where he had once again felt like the puppet to the plans and desires of other people.
And in the end he decided that he had earned to take a break from all those things for a change. To leave the politics to the politicians, to leave the criminal-hunting to the aurors, to leave the fame to Harry, to leave the Dursleys to themselves, to leave everything behind - and return to the place where he once had been happy:
Harry Potter would return to Hogwarts.