Glitch in the Matrix

A response to reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge.

Summary: Harry Potter is informed by his afterlife caseworker that he has died. Again. He's died so often, in fact, that he'll only get one last chance to get things right. Poor Harry, though — the afterlife is nothing at all like what he'd expected, and things don't go anywhere close to how he'd planned when she finally arrives in the past. But she'll make the best of it, she swears.

Pairing: Harry-ish/Hermione

A/N: No, this is not a crossover with The Matrix films, though there are occasional Matrix-related references and jokes. Yes, this challenge has been done to death (pun intended), but I'd like to think that I'll be able to add enough interesting twists and turns to prevent it from being boring. Maybe this is the story's last chance to get it right?

This story owes a bit of inspiration to Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool, one of my all-time favorite stories here. The Mad Mad Reviewer is the only writer I know of who has written something similar to this, though my story would be very different. Unfortunately, I'm not sure exactly how I would progress with it, so I'm not certain that it will be written. Since it would likely be classified as "humor," though, I might not have to worry so much about avoiding cliches.

As always, thanks to Bonnie for not only reading this and improving on the original, but also for her help in developing the plot so far.

This will be the last addition to the Fluffle for a while. I have several more, but after taking a break next Tuesday I'll start publishing the next Witches of SHIELD story: Iris Potter and the Exile from Asgard. Additions to the Fluffle will probably resume after that is done.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does.

Chapter 01 - This Will Feel... A Little Weird

I opened my eyes without remembering ever having closed them. Had I blinked? Had I fallen asleep? I couldn't tell. Looking around made me even more confused. I found myself in a cavernous, pure white room: white seats, white floor, white walls, everything. It looked like a waiting room, though larger and whiter than any I'd ever seen before. The only things not blindingly white were the occupants, like me. Everyone was dressed differently, and when I looked down at myself I found that I was wearing familiar clothes — though I couldn't seem to place them.

Despite my confusion, I found I wasn't particularly upset. No one else looked upset, either. Everyone seemed calm. Peaceful. Completely content despite being in such a strange place. I heard soft tones off in the distance, and after focusing on them I concluded that it was some sort of elevator music. I hadn't ever been in many elevators (at least I didn't think I had), but the music definitely sounded like what I thought elevator music would be.

And as soon as I realized that I couldn't tune it out, I started getting antsy.

As I fidgeted, I tried looking around again in the hope of figuring out where I was. It wasn't long before I realized that there was something else odd and colored in this incredibly white location: cats. As soon as I noticed one, I started seeing them all over. Cats strolled through the room, and many looked as though they were going somewhere with a purpose. Cats sat and cleaned themselves on the far counter. Long haired, short haired. Ginger, black, and white. Striped and spotted. Everywhere, cats.

I shuddered slightly at the reminder of Umbridge's office, thankful that whoever had done the decor here had chosen white instead of pink.

Every once in awhile, I heard a name called out from somewhere, echoing throughout the room, and someone would get up and leave through a door on the far wall. The room never seemed to get any emptier, and I concluded that more must be coming in to take the freed-up seats, though I didn't see anyone enter.

"Harry Potter?"

I leapt up from my seat, wondering why it hadn't occurred to me to get up and walk around before, and I made my way towards the far door. The cats on the counter looked intently at me as I passed, which I probably should have thought more about. It seemed that I hadn't been thinking about anything carefully, not until I went through the door and found that no one was there.

No human, at least.

A cat was sitting there, which didn't strike me as odd anymore, but I didn't see anyone else. I didn't know much about cats, but I think it might have been Siamese. As I stared down the impossibly long, impossibly white hallway, I had the strong sense that there was supposed to be someone there to greet me. I turned around to go back, only to find the door closed and locked.

"Come along," said a bored voice, and I whipped back to see who had spoken. The hallway was still empty of anything save the cat, now walking away from me, its tail flicking back and forth in the air. After a few feet it stopped and turned around, it's eyes narrowed. I could see its mouth moving as I heard the same voice again, a little sharper this time. "What are you waiting for, Christmas?"

I gaped at the cat, completely dumbfounded.

It shook its head in what looked like exasperation. "We go through this every time. I'm frankly amazed that Agent Crookshanks has been able to put up with you for such long periods. I only ever see you for an hour or two at most, and even then only every few years, but you still manage to try my patience."

"Wha—?"

"Look, we don't have all day, kid," the cat informed me, and it sounded annoyed. "Are you going to follow me, or do you want to spend the rest of eternity waiting in limbo? It's not a pleasant place, let me tell you. The music alone will probably drive you insane within a century."

I closed my eyes and shook my head hard; when I opened them again, the cat was still there and looked even more irritated than before. I wasn't sure that this wasn't a dream, but it wasn't acting like any dream I remembered ever having.

"Uh, follow you? I guess?" I responded. It sounded stupid even to me, but you try holding a conversation with a talking cat and let me know if you do any better.

It rolled its eyes and started off again; this time I decided to tag along. I was starting to want answers, and so far, the cat was the only... thing? Person? Well, whatever it was, I hadn't encountered any other likely source for information.

After a long hike through a hall that didn't seem to have an end, no matter how hard I tried to peer into the distance, the cat finally stopped and used its shoulder to push one of the many identical doors. When I entered behind it, I found myself in a very white, very boring-looking office. The only color was supplied by a pair of old, worn, red leather armchairs.

"Uh, who — or what — are you?" I asked as soon as I was seated and the cat was up on the desk, looking at a file.

"My name is Morris — I'm your caseworker."

"But... you're a cat," I insisted.

"Well spotted. Now, we need to discuss your—"

"But... but... a cat!" I tried to insist again, hoping to get some answers.

Instead, it rolled its eyes at me once more. "Indeed. I'm glad to see that you're still able to grasp the essentials. I guess Riddle's explosive curse to your head didn't do too much damage."

"Cat!" I exclaimed, pointing a finger at it. In my head, at least, that seemed to be a perfectly sensible argument for why this was a crazy situation that someone should start explaining, pronto.

Apparently the cat didn't think my reasoning to be nearly so incisive, judging by the withering look it gave me.

"No, not too much damage at all," Morris said, definitely sounding sarcastic now. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get down to business here. We have a lot to cover."

"But... but..." I wasn't about to give up now.

"Fine! If it will make you feel better, I'll explain. Again. Yes, I'm a cat. If you'd read your mythology, you'd have learned that cats are guardians of the afterlife. That's where you are, by the way: the afterlife. Yes, you died. Yes, it was pretty messy. What you're experiencing right now is what we guardians are tasked with doing for all eternity: spend long, boring hours dealing with boring people who don't understand why they died or what's happening to them next."

"I died?" That was a lot more important than even talking cats.

"Yes, you did. Like I said, Riddle killed you. As soon as you jumped up in front of everyone, revealing that you'd been playing dead, he decided to try again. This time, though, he chose to do it in a way that ensured you'd stay dead. It was the first smart thing he'd done in quite a while, in fact. Anything else you'd like to get off your chest, sport?"

"Uh... why cats?"

"Aside from the fact that we're a superior species? Apparently, you humans accept death more easily when there's a cat present. It's probably due to our aforementioned superiority, though quite a few of you insist on hugging and scratching us for comfort. While others in this department are rather tolerant of such behavior, I personally find it demeaning, so don't even try it. Now, are there any more questions, or can we finally get to work?"

I simply shook my head. Had I been honest, I'd have rattled off a dozen or so questions, but the cat had started showing its teeth, and I had a feeling that I was on thin ice with it. Or him. Had he been fixed? I really didn't want to ask that.

"Good. You're quite the problem child, did you know that?" I shook my head again. "Well, you are. This is the eighth time you've been here. That's not merely a record for me personally, but for any other caseworker on this level. You're quite the topic of conversation around the water bowl."

"But I—"

"No, you wouldn't remember any of the previous seven. We don't let people keep their memories when we send them back in time to try again." The cat used one claw to open a folder that contained a large stack of papers. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were about me, given the way the cat shook its head sadly every so often.

"Oh? Does this—"

"No, it doesn't happen often, only with people who have a great destiny that they keep screwing up." The cat gave me a pointed look.

"But I—"

"Yes, you made Riddle mortal, allowing someone else to kill him (and thank you for that), but that wasn't all you were supposed to do. What, did you think that this one measly task was going to be the highpoint of your life?"

"Hey!" I said rather loudly. "How is it that you're answering my questions before I ask them? Are you reading my mind?"

The cat sighed. "Eighth time, remember? You and I have been through all this before. Over and over. You aren't very original."

"Oh. So what—"

"For one thing, you were supposed to get together with your soulmate. She would have ensured that you had an easier time defeating Riddle, not to mention helping you reshape Wizarding Britain afterwards."

"Soulmate? Who—"

"Someone named Granger," the cat said, continuing to use one claw to flip through the file. "She's handled by a different caseworker, and Agent Crookshanks' reports are sent to a different department entirely, so I don't know much about her."

"But she's—"

"Your best friend. Yeah, I've heard. Didn't anyone ever tell you that best friends can make the best long-term romantic partners? Even dogs know that, and they're hardly paragons of intellectual prowess."

"Hah! That isn't what I was going to say!" I exclaimed, jumping out of my seat and pointing at the cat again. "I was going to say that she's like my sister! See, you don't know everything!"

Morris smirked — smirked! I didn't know cats could do that. Not even McGonagall's cat form ever did that. Then he reached over to the side of its desk and used his paw to slide an envelope across to me. He gestured with his head, so I picked it up and examined it for a moment before ripping it open.

Inside was a single piece of paper, and on it were scrawled the words: "She's like my sister! See, you don't know everything!"

I looked up and gaped at Morris before falling back into my seat.

"You've tried that on me the last four times. Are you ready to move on?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding dumbly. I'd never been outsmarted by a cat before, not even Mrs. Norris. I wasn't feeling too good about myself just then. "What's—"

"Soulmates aren't like what you read in those cheap romance novels," he said. Looking up from his file, he smirked again. "And yes, I happen to know that you frequently snuck Petunia's romance books into your cupboard for a bit of 'light reading.'" I felt myself blush and wondered what else this cat knew about my private life.

"I know everything about you, in case you're wondering," he continued, tapping his claw on the pile of papers he was going through. "It's part of my job. Now, as I was saying, a soulmate is simply someone you can connect with on an especially deep level — mentally, physically, emotionally, and of course, magically. Working together, soulmates can accomplish a lot more than they can apart or with any other partners. Got it?" I nodded, figuring there wasn't any point in trying to ask a question since this cat would answer it before I finished.

"Oh, and by the way, you don't have any siblings, so what do you know about what it feels like for someone to be like a sister?' He paused for a moment, then added, "Have you seen any brothers treat their sister the way you treat that Granger girl?"

I thought about how Ron, Percy, and the twins treated Ginny. They teased her, they disregarded her opinions, and did all sorts of things that I didn't typically do to Hermione — at least not since we'd become friends in first year. It slowly dawned on me that the cat had a point, much as I was loathe to admit it.

"Exactly. Now, listen up: you have an important decision to make. Your first option is to move on. You managed to deal with Riddle, even if you didn't kill him personally. In some ways it was probably the most essential part of your fate. You certainly did a whole lot better this last time than you ever managed before. If you don't want to try anymore, we'll understand." I nodded. "Your second option is to be sent back in time so you can be reinserted and try again — but this will be your last chance."

"Why would this be my last chance? Why not any of the others?"

"No one gets more than nine chances at life, obviously," Morris said with a shrug. "If you do worse this time, that will be it. The world will have to deal with the consequences, no matter how awful."

"Nine? That wouldn't be because cats only get nine lives, would it?"

Morris narrowed his eyes and glared. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Now, are you going to make a decision, or do I need to make one for you?"

I frowned, not liking that response, but he was right that I needed to decide. Calling it quits now was appealing since it would at least produce a decent outcome, even if not an optimal one. And what were the chances that I'd be capable of doing better? "If I did so badly the previous seven times," I asked, "what's to say that I'll do better on my ninth? Maybe this last one was a fluke?"

For the first time, the cat smiled. "Good question. It's possible that this last time was a fluke, but given that your next attempt would be your last chance, the rules can be relaxed a bit. In your case, we can let you go back with your memories intact."

Now it was my turn to finally smile. "You mean, I'll already know everything, like the locations of the horcruxes? I'll have the same skills?"

The cat nodded.

"If I can't do better with that, I'd have to be an idiot."

The cat nodded again. "Very true. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you that the current odds on you completing your final attempt with an improved outcome are 3-2. Against."

That made me scowl. Apparently I wasn't popular here... wherever "here" was. "Fine," I said, "what else would I have to do besides eliminate Voldemort?"

The cat looked back down at the papers on his desk. "Like I said, you should get with your soulmate, Granger. She'll be a big help. You'll need to begin reforming the magical world after you kill Riddle, but that's a long-term project. Oh! Be careful around Dumbledore, he can do as much to harm as to help. Telling him about all this probably wouldn't be a good idea. You can tell your soulmate, but not him."

"But... why?" Telling Dumbledore had been at the top of my list of things to do, especially if I was sent back to the point of being a little kid. I figured that I'd spill the beans and let him take care of everything. If I got lucky, Voldemort might be taken care of by Christmas in my first year!

The cat shrugged. "He's old. He's set in his ways. He's stretched too thin with too many jobs. He doesn't trust anyone enough to tell them all his plans, so he never gets an independent critique of his ideas. Take your pick."

"But he always helped so much," I insisted. "And he cared a lot about me, too. He'd do anything to help me succeed!"

"Really?" the cat drawled. "Just looking at recent events, where did he come up with that hairball scheme to send three teenagers on a scavenger hunt across all of Britain to find horcruxes? When the fate of Wizarding Britain, and possibly the world, is at stake, you don't counter the forces of evil by giving vague hints to a bunch of kids and hope that they work out the puzzle before the final credits roll. This is real life, not an episode of Scooby Doo!"

I couldn't stop a snort of amusement as an image of Voldemort came unbidden to my mind, standing there in handcuffs and complaining about having been thwarted by a bunch of meddling kids. And their owl, too. "Maybe you have a point," I said reluctantly.

"More than just a point. If you take the time to think about his decisions — putting you with the Dursleys, making you rescue Sirius instead of doing it himself, insisting that you participate in the tournament — you'll find plenty of reasons to question him. He's not evil, but he's not as smart as he thinks he is. And he has an agenda that won't necessarily correspond with yours."

"Sirius!" I exclaimed. "I can save him, can't I?"

The cat nodded and looked pleased. "Everything is reset, so you can change whatever you want. Free will and all that. Remember that the more you change, though, the less reliable your knowledge of the future will be. If you change something big, like saving Sirius or Cedric, you'd better be prepared for the consequences. No more do-overs after this time."

"Alright, send me back."

Apparently, death and taxes are not the only permanent constants in the universe. There is a third: bureaucracy. Even in death, there was still bureaucracy. I must have sat there signing documents for hours before Morris, who looked even more bored than I felt, finally declared that I was done and led me out of his office.

"One thing you need to know," Morris said as we started walking down another impossibly long hall. "Resetting the timeline sometimes produces little changes in reality. Fiddling with the timestream is no easy task, after all. So there are likely to be glitches that you'd not normally notice since you'd usually have your memory reset as well, but this time you might. The bigger the reset, the bigger the chance of glitches occurring."

"Like what?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"Well, you remember what Neville Longbottom looked like?' I nodded. Who could forget Nev? The tall, strong, dark-haired warrior of the final battle was nothing at all like the shy, pudgy kid I remembered from the first train ride. "He started out a blonde."

"Blonde? Him?" I exclaimed, stumbling slightly from the shock. Blonde was totally wrong for his coloring and facial structure.

Morris nodded. "His hair shifted on your third reset and never changed back."

"Wow, anything else?" Suddenly I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.

"Mostly small things. A couple of students look like entirely different people from what they were originally — Lavender Brown and Katie Bell, for example. They're the same people, but with different bodies. You'll need to be careful around strangers, in case you actually know them."

I nodded in appreciation, knowing that that could have gone bad. "Anything else?"

"No, I've never heard of anything more significant glitching after someone has been reinserted. Beyond that, I recommend that you take a little time to get yourself reaquainted with being in a younger body, but don't take too long. You've got a lot to get done! It would be a good idea to talk to Granger as soon as possible. Get your bond started and tell her the truth. Her ability to organize and plan will help."

"Oh, what about the horcrux in my head?" I asked as my hand shot up to my scar.

"I was wondering when you'd finally ask about that. You'll still have it, of course, but don't assume that you need to die to get rid of it. Dumbledore was hoping that an incredibly risky and convoluted scheme would ultimately keep you alive, and while he turned out to be right, briefly, he was playing a dangerous game. Look for alternatives."

I nodded in thanks as we entered an empty room with a large red circle in the middle.

"Is that him?" asked a ginger tabby cat who was sitting at some sort of console. There were two others there as well, and they were all staring intently at me.

"The one and only," Morris said as he sauntered over to them. It had been disturbing arriving in the wizarding world and discovering that I was famous for something awful that I didn't remember, but this? This was ten times worse. Or maybe seven times worse.

"Stand in the red circle, please," the white cat instructed, and I quickly complied.

The black cat whispered something to Morris, causing him to poke the other cat, telling him to hush. It sounded suspiciously like, "Can I make him blonde this time?"

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, talking loud enough to be heard over their sniggering.

"No, no, nothing at all," Morris insisted. His eyes were twinkling an awful lot like Dumbledore's did, and given how he'd warned me not to trust Dumbledore too much, that made me worried.

"When am I going back to?"

"You'll see," Morris answered, not making me feel any better.

Just before everything went black, I could have sworn I heard that damned ginger tabby say, "Whoops."

The first thing I became aware of was the biting cold. Then I heard Hermione's voice.

"You did it!"

I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly as I looked around. It was night. I was outside, near the Black Lake. I'd done it!

"Look, they're all gone!"

What was she talking about? What was gone, and why should I care? I dropped to my knees, feeling incredibly drained. After a few moments, the reason became clear: it was the end of third year, and I'd just driven off a host of dementors, saving Sirius. That's what was gone! I had to smile as all sorts of plans started forming in my mind.

"I said you were an incredible witch, Senna!"

First thing I was going to do was talk to Hermione and... huh-wha? Who or what was Senna?

My head whipped around to look at Hermione, and long, red hair whipped around, too, covering my face and getting into my mouth, which at the time was wide open in shock.

It took me several seconds to spit the strange hair back out and shove it away from my eyes. Why was I wearing a wig? I looked up at Hermione, confused. "Who are you talking to?" I paused and frowned and put a hand to my throat. "And what's wrong with my voice?"

"Senna? Are you feeling alright?" She knelt down and looked intently at me with a worried expression I'd seen on her face all too often.

"Who's Senna?" I asked.

"Why, you are, of course! What's wrong? Those dementors must have affected you more than I'd realized! You could have died!"

I was struck by a chill that was deeper and colder than that produced by any dementor. I grabbed some of the unfamiliar hair and pulled it forward so I could get a better look at it — and I felt it pull sharply on my scalp. I released the hair and my wand fell from my hand as I grabbed my chest, where I found two small, soft mounds.

Slowly, I let one hand drop farther down and grabbed nothing. Nothing at all.

Somewhere, I heard someone scream, then everything went black again.