A monster roared in Harry's chest, but unlike in his sixth life when he experienced a strong urge to beat Dean Thomas to a pulp for daring to kiss Ginny Weasley, this particular beast felt like a cross between an obstruction and a pincushion, growling uncertainly.
Harry let out a small laugh. "Come now, Eliz … Liz, I get it that you want peace inside Hufflepuff and all," he retorted, pacing in a tight circle, his gaze never leaving the stoic seventh year. "Merlin knows I'd like some peace in my own circle," he continued with a sneer, still consternated at the number of family rifts he'd managed to accumulate in thirteen years. The Dursleys, Hermione, Neville, the Weasleys. Would everyone leave his side?
"Surely there's got to be a least a handful of Hufflepuff students that can take my place?" Harry exclaimed, waving his hands to the side.
Liz returned his pleas with a diamond-hard gaze, her gaze resembling a cross between a Basilisk and one of Vernon Dursley's drill bits.
"This isn't about the Quidditch cup anymore Potter," she spat, stepping forward to poke a neatly manicured finger into Harry's chest. "This is a matter of house loyalty." She folded her arms with a strained breath, rolling her shoulders with a pop. "I've heard rumors from the faculty that the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Slytherin first year. Is that true?" she demanded, picking her chin with a degree of nervousness.
Ice cubes settled and danced in Harry's stomach. More than his ability as a parselmouth; he'd hoped that this scrap of knowledge never made its way into public knowledge, given Slytherin's overall reputation as a bunch of bullies and totalitarians.
"Yes," Harry acknowledged feeling a surge of dread easily the equal of any punishment from his uncle, that time he'd crashed a flying car, and the final confrontation with Voldemort.
Liz took a yellow handkerchief with deliberate slowness from her pocket, blowing her nose, before crumpling the soiled fabric, discarding and vanishing it.
The message was clear, demonstrate his value to Hufflepuff, or risk being barred from a second house, and most likely Hogwarts.
"One hour, Potter," Liz finished, her brows raised as she gritted her teeth. She walked briskly away, concluding with an admonition not to be late, before vanishing around the corner.
Harry buried his head in hands with a sigh, unwilling to give in just yet, or return to his chambers with his tail tucked between his legs. Was it too late to just run away, second chance and eternal punishment be damned? He stood no chance against the dark lord at present anyway, with a handful of allies, none of them expert duelists.
The boy who lived suddenly felt an unexpected pressure against his leg, similar to that of a textbook, but lighter, and with less weight. Harry peered down. A letter had appeared in his lap with no special effects, the high-quality parchment and lack of a signature providing a source of intrigue. Harry flicked the spruce wand to detect hostile magic or portkey signatures, finding none. Slightly relaxed, he tore open the envelope, running fingers through his hair as he read the message.
Report to the Great Hall in five minutes. Come alone.
No signature or symbol graced the pages, not even a house or other crest. Harry experienced some trepidation that this development represented a trap of some kind, but quickly decided to set aside his fears like the house he used to call his family, rising to his feet.
He quickly navigated the various passages, staircases, and silent crowds of students, pulling open the door to find it empty, with the exception of a single individual. A red-haired woman sat with her back to the entrance, sipping a cup of tea. She stood up and turned as Harry yelped, knees jerking as though a diffindo or sectumsempra had slammed into his legs.
Harry had last seen that thick red hair and green almond-shaped eyes right before his last death, one of several semi-transparent apparitions informing him that death was no enemy. Unlike before, this time the woman resembling Lily Evans Potter appeared solid, her expression serious but not unfriendly, just standing there.
Harry knew he'd totally lost the plot this time. Or more likely one of his many enemies stood before him in a tasteful brown dress and flats. Harry needed to show constant vigilance and leave, without delay. Harry sprinted for the door in a measured pace, only for it to slam in his face. His insides clenched; Harry turned. The … whatever it was approached slowly, shoes clopping on the worn flagstones, coming to a halt a dozen feet away.
"You're not imagining things, sweetheart," the woman spoke in a light, yet serious tone, eyes crinkling with a smile. As Harry stood a step back, determined to blast the door into dust, Lily continued, her hands folded. "We told you we'd be there every step, remember?" she finished with a soft smile.
"Mum?" Harry whispered, striding forward to grasp the woman's hand. It did not pass through. Harry lunged forward to hug his mother, weeping silently. The long-forgotten scent of Lily's lemon perfume caressed his nostrils, the woman's light grip bringing him a sense of peace he hadn't felt in many years, occasional moments in his last third year as he recalled.
Several questions filled Harry's mind. Stepping back, he blurted out the first things that occurred. "How are you here? Is Dad proud of me? What's the afterlife like?" A sudden moment of clarity occurred. "Have you taken the place of my reaper? Where's Dawson?"
Lily snorted. "Dawson? Your ex-reaper faded the second the timeline changed, and rightly so." She touched her mouth, frowning. "You were sent back to make things right, make more friends, and improve yourself and your image, not make things worse, and certainly not leave you hanging without a clue!" She ruffled his hair, waving Harry to sit at a small conference table that appeared to their left. "To answer your questions, your father is proud of you, and regarding the afterlife, I can't discuss specifics, but it is peaceful," she two seats away from the boy who lived, gritting her teeth.
She consulted a clipboard filled with images, notes, and changing texts, running her finger down a list in a frown, face set in a neutral expression. "I know you've had a hard time sweetheart, but you've got to control that temper of yours!" she finished, pointing at the abased teen. She wiped sweat off her brow. "Unfortunately, due to your constant efforts to alienate your peers, and the morons currently working in the Ministry," Lily mock vomited before continuing. "Hagrid, Luna, and Neville are now actively working against you. You can't trust them," she said, making a brushing motion with her hands.
"You're wrong!" Harry blurted as he jumped to his feet, fingers scraping the table. "Luna and Neville, maybe, I treated them bloody horribly, but Hagrid's for the light through and through, he wouldn't hurt me," he retorted, face twisted with stress.
"Sit down, young man, we're not finished!" Lily snapped, eyes resembling deep pools of water and intense flames. She took a breath, continuing with a sigh. "Yes, things are going to be harder from here on out, but take some advice from your mother, if you would," she continued. Teenagers never listen. Harry folded his arms, but remained silent, jaw set. "If you can't count on the institutions, stick with your loyal friends, never allow anger to control your life, be kind, and for Merlin's sake don't strut like your father once did!" she concluded with an exasperated but fond smirk. "I love you." Her image rippled like water before growing transparent, fading out. His mother was gone, returned to the next great adventure, leaving him alone once again, Harry brooded with a small pang of resentment. Harry tumbled to the floor as the chair and table followed a few seconds later.*
Thanks to the vicious Dursleys, the distinct lack of support from Hogwarts and the Ministry, and his friends' constant dramas, Harry wasn't exactly inclined to look on the bright side often, if ever. But his mother's comment about his father's arrogance struck hard. If nothing else, Harry wanted to prove to the world that he was a respectful, studious wizard with something to contribute to society besides being a figurehead and scapegoat as needed. He lowered his head, fists clenched, as he strode out of the Great Hall, door opening at his touch.
Harry silently promised as he left the hall that this time, he would win a third-year match cleanly with no hiccups, Comet 260 and Hufflepuff robes notwithstanding. He would build a reputation of his own to reckon with, for his house, the public, and most importantly, himself.
*This last bit was inspired by the West Wing episode Season 1 episode finale "What Kind of Day Has It Been," when Josh forgot his chair had been removed.
Credit to firebird-fenix, who suggested that Dawson be reprimanded or in this case wiped from existence/fired, since things have gotten significantly worse for Harry.
In response to other reviews: Harry is more aggressive in this reality, will stop being a doormat, is messing up a lot at present, but will not go dark. There will be no character bashing, per se, just showing their flaws, intense drama, and putting them though the mill.
Harry and Hermione won't resolve things until end of 4th year, I believe, not sure yet.
Please be patient, writing takes time, and I have many other things to do.