Title: Harry Potter, Backwards with a Vengeance

Author: DWDuck (Patrick Mallard)

Rating: M for crude language, even cruder humour, and sexual situations.

Summary: Harry Potter dies for the 7th time, forcing Death to have a face to skull talk with the young man. After learning of the betrayals heaped upon him, as well as the horrors Voldemort and his followers would go on to perpetrate, Harry agrees to go back as an employee of Death, LLC. This story is an adult comedy based loosely on the Reptilia28 challenge. As an adult comedy, many characters will be OOC and cannon can just take a flying leap. There will be RW/MW/GW/APWBD bashing. Pairing will be Lunar Harmony.

Formatting Notes:

Thoughts - [italics]

Parseltongue - .:bold italics:.

Author Note: Please remember that this is an adult comedy "crackfic" and is obviously AU. There will be plenty of crude (potty) humor. If you recognize the works of the genius Mel Brooks being quoted here, you have led a good life.

Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been J.K. Rowling. If I was, Sirius would still be alive and the likes of the Malfoys and Ron Weasley would have been made to deal with the consequences of their actions. I am making no money from this story.

*HPBV*

Harry Potter leaned his head wearily against the ancient stonework inside the front entrance of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He barely registered the numerous cuts and bruises that covered his body. A particularly jagged, but small cut to his thigh still bled freely. He thumped the back of his head against the grey stone in a futile attempt to break free of the continuous loop of horrors he had already witnessed in this final battle with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The images that refused to stop playing over and over in his mind were:

Colin Creavey falling to an overpowered cutting curse sent by the traitorous Auror Corban Yaxley.

Nymphadora Tonks taking a killing curse to the back sent by her psychotic aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Remus Lupin exploding into a gory mist after being struck by an organ exploding curse cast by the "Upstanding Pure-blood Ministry Worker" Walden McNair.

Fred Weasley falling after Augustus Rookwood banished a dozen stone spears through his chest.

Vincent Crabbe, Sr. and Gregory Goyle, Sr. sharing in a passionate, naked snog behind the 6th year greenhouse.

The fact that the murderers had each been stunned and then revived at least once during the battle wasn't lost on him. Harry was brought out of his loop when his friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley came running down the corridor towards him.

"Harry! You're alive!" Hermione exclaimed before she nearly knocked him to the ground with one of her tight, reassuring "hermi-hugs." The raven haired young man buried his face into his best friend's bushy, brown hair and continued to cry for the dead. With his eyes closed, Harry failed to see the murderous glare his other "friend" sent the two. Harry pulled back quickly from Hermione when the noises from the battle suddenly fell off.

The magically amplified voice of the Dark Lord Voldemort floated over the battlefield. "Harry Potter! You alone can end this unnecessary bloodshed. Surrender to me in the clearing just within the Forbidden Forest in 30 minutes, and I will spare all of your friends, you have the word of Lord Voldemort," the noseless one decreed.

"Well… crap. I don't trust Tom to keep his word, but Snape's memories made it look like I need to let Tom kill me to finally make snake face mortal," Harry stated. "What do you guys think?" he asked.

"Honestly, Harry! The prophecy clearly states that neither can live while the other survives. It's your duty to let Voldemort kill you to give the rest of us a chance at surviving. The sooner you face your destiny, the sooner the rest of us can get on with our lives!" Hermione nearly yelled at him. Harry was so stunned by her vehemence that he failed to notice her glazed eyes and Ron slipping his wand back into his pocket.

Ron nodded his head in fake sadness. "She's right, mate. You need to face your fate like a real Gryffindor," he told Harry.

Harry closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. He missed the single tear sliding down Hermione's cheek. "Right. You two take care of each other and let Nev and Luna know I'm proud to have been their friend," Harry said with a weak smile. Squaring his shoulders, Harry Potter turned and walked out of the one place he felt was home.

"Like I plan on ever talking to the squib or Looney ever again," Ron muttered under his breath.

*HPBV*

The dense trees of the Forbidden Forest thinned out into a clearing ringed with Death Eaters, dark creatures, and the truly scum of the Earth - politicians. Standing in the center of the clearing was one Tom Marvelo Riddle, known to the Wizarding World as Lord Voldemort. The ring of monsters opened to let their lord's nemesis enter. Low muttering from the crowd swelled as Harry strode purposefully to face his parents murderer. When he was only a few steps away, Voldemort held out his hand. "Your wand, Potter," the Dark Lord demanded.

"Fine," Harry growled back as he handed over his wand.

Voldemort looked down at the wand in his hand and then back up at Harry several times. He finally stopped and looked straight into Harry's eyes. "I can't believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book! What a goof! What's with you man?!" Voldemort taunted while his troops snickered. "You know what… let me give it back to you," he offered in a slightly less condescending voice, holding out the younger man's wand. When Harry reached out to take his wand, the Dark Lord snatched it back and tossed it over his shoulder. "Seriously… you fell for that too?! What a loser!"

"Arsehole," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Potter?" Voldemort inquired.

"I was just going to point out that you gave your word that you would spare my friends," Harry said.

Voldemort made a grand gesture with arms towards his followers. "Never let it be said that Lord Voldemort goes back on his word!" he proclaimed. Focussing once again on his enemy, Voldemort hissed out in parseltongue, .:I'll spare them from the disgrace of living as the pathetic mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors that they are!:. "Any last words, Potter?" Voldemort asked.

[Fuck me with a bludger!] Harry mentally cursed. Deciding to be defiant with his last words, images from Voldemort stepping out from the caldron after the resurrection ritual in the graveyard sprung into his head. Taking an obvious glance at Voldemort's crotch and then back up at the noseless face, Harry smirked. "You may kill me, but at least I've had a penis for the last three years," he taunted.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed in hatred. A green light and a snarled, "Avada Kedavra!" were the last things Harry experienced before everything went black.

*HPBV*

After a paradoxically both short and yet eternally long feeling of falling through a void, Harry came to with a jolt sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair in front of a large, brown, ornately carved desk. The desk was in the center of a large office with dark brown wood paneling along the walls. Sitting across from Harry at the desk was a large figure wearing a blask cloak with the hood up. The hooded figure was sitting with it's back towards Harry, and held a corded phone up to the hood with it's skeletal left hand. The other hand was hidden in front of the figure.

"So tell me, are you wearing anything under your toga tonight?" a deep voice asked. After a moment the voice added, "Oh yeah! I love it when you act naughty like that!" The dark cloaked figure's hidden hand started to move rhythmically up and down. The motion froze when Harry politely cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Hold that thought love, my secretary let some lost soul into my office. I'll call you back," the deep voice said and hung up the phone. Harry heard the distinct noise of a trouser's zipper going up.

The black cloaked figure spun around before both occupants of the room let out a startled yelp as Harry Potter came face to skull with Death. "Well… fuck," they both blurted out.

Harry's brain rebooted and a look of pure confusion crossed his face as he stared at the cloaked skeleton. Pointing a finger at the phone, Harry stammered, "Wait… how… skeleton…"

Death snorted in amusement. "There is a reason it's called a 'boner'. Anything beyond that is a rather personal question, don't you think, Harry Potter?" Death replied.

"Um, right… sorry," Harry said lamely.

Death shook his head and sighed loudly. "My wife is going to beat me to myself when she finds out you're here early again. After that, she'll probably make me sleep on our futon for the next millennium. Have you ever tried to sleep on a futon?" he moaned. When Harry shook his head, Death went on. "There's a reason why we supply them to the folks in hell to use in their every 666 year rest break."

Harry just sat silently listening to Death rant until something the Grim Reaper said sunk in. "What do you mean here again? I don't remember this office, and I sure don't remember talking with who I assume is Death," he inquired.

"Of course you don't remember. Every client of Death, LLC that has to be returned to Earth gets their memories wiped before we send them back," Death explained. "For your information, young man, this is your seventh premature arrival. While every man has a premature arrival at least once, seven times is pretty sad," he lectured.

"I've died seven times?" Harry asked for clarification.

Death held up one bony finger in a gesture for Harry to wait as he opened a drawer on his desk with the other hand. Reaching into the drawer, Death pulled out seven thick folders and dropped them on his desk making a loud "thwack" sound. The Grim Reaper opened the first folder and began to summarize what was in there.

"Your first premature arrival was the evening after your parents were killed. Hagrid was taking you to the Dursley's on Sirius Black's flying motorcycle. He sneezed when he flew into the pollution above London. Turns out that not even a magical child can bounce after falling 300 meters. On the plus side, you landed on a mime sending you both to us," Death told him.

"At least some good came out of it," Harry agreed.

Death slid the first file to the side and opened the next one. "The second premature arrival occured during your first quidditch game. You caught the snitch like you remember, but that time you choked on the damned thing. Things might have worked out for you since a muggle-born sixth year jumped down onto the pitch and attempted to perform the Heimlich maneuver on you. He was stunned by several professors since they thought he was trying to sodomize you. It didn't help that the Slytherin stands kept chanting 'Surprise Butt-Sex!'. Thus your second time here," he said.

"Fuck me," Harry swore.

Death nodded his skull, "Yes, that's what they thought." He slid the folder over, and opened the third one. "Your third premature arrival happened in the Chamber of Secrets after you killed the basilisk. You only managed to take one step away from the giant snake before it gave one last death shudder, rolling over onto you. The pressure of that much snake on you popped your head like a zit. Ended up splattering your brains all over the diary and Ginny Weasley," Death told him.

Death slid the third folder over and looked down at the fourth one. It was covered in yellow warning tape, sealing it completely. With a shudder, he slid it over to the done pile without opening it.

"What happened during my fourth death?" Harry asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

Death leaned back in his chair before pointing at a spot on the floor behind Harry. "That's where you arrived after you died a fourth time. You were curled up in a fetal position moaning something about rubber chickens. When I couldn't get you to stop or make any sense, I made the mistake of reading the file," he said. For a moment Death stared straight ahead, not moving, as he relived the horrible memory. Eventually he spoke again. "My secretary came in and found me curled up, moaning next to you. After mercifully wiping your memory, I sealed the file," Death explained.

Without giving Harry a chance to respond, Death opened up the fifth folder and then chuckled a bit. "Your fifth premature arrival happened thanks to the first task of the improperly named Tri-Wizard Tournament. Seriously, there was a witch competing and there were four of you," he said. When Harry made a "get on with it" motion with his hand. Death nodded his skull. "Right, sorry. Anyway, during the first task you got too close to the dragon while flying around. The dragon's flame lit the twigs on your Firebolt on fire. The combination of dragon flame and the Firebolt's proprietary runes under the twigs caused something akin to the afterburners on a muggle fighter jet. You ended up as the youngest wizard in space. Like the wizards who had reached space before you, you found out re-entry is a real bitch," the Grim Reaper stated. "The poor American military pissed themselves trying to figure out why the UK had launched a 'missile' without warning them," he snorted in mirth at what he labeled the "Space Boy" folder.

That file folder was slid to join its predecessors. Death's mirth quickly dried up as he opened the sixth folder. "Your sixth time in my office was thanks to your battle in the Department of Mysteries. You were fighting in the room with the entrance to my walk-in closet," he told Harry.

"Wait… hold on," Harry interrupted. "The Veil of Death is the entrance to your closet?" he asked, not believing he had heard right.

Death nodded his head. "Yes, and I still can't figure out how an interdimensional doorway ended up below London," he replied, shaking his head in wonder.

"Please don't take offense, but why do you need a closet anyway? Aren't you always in that cloak?" Harry asked politely. He managed to bite back a laugh as an image of Death wearing a Hawiian shirt, shorts, and sandals with socks popped into his head.

Death leaned over his desk menacingly, causing Harry to shrink back in his chair. "Mr. Potter, do you have any idea how many thousands of different shades of black there are?" he demanded.

"Um… no, sir. Sorry, sir," Harry stammered.

Death leaned back and chuckled, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Neither do I, but apparently my wife does. She bought me a cloak in each one. Just between you and me, I think they all look the same and just grab one at random," he admitted conspiratorially.

"Anyway, back to the sixth time you died," Death said, bringing the conversation back on track. "You and your friends were holding your own until you took a bludgeoning hex right in the balls. Everyone, your friends and Death Eaters alike, were too busy wincing and saying 'ouch' to stop you from stumbling through the arch. Since no mortal can exist in my closet, you were redirected here," Death explained as Harry crossed his legs protectively.

Death tapped the final folder with one skeletal finger. "And that brings us to your most recent premature arrival. What in the name of Charon's moldy nutsack did you think you were doing letting Tom Riddle kill you without putting up any sort of fight whatsoever?!" he snarled.

"What choice did I have?!" Harry shot back. "Besides, Ron and Hermione thought I should do it. I can't think of a time when Hermione has steered me wrong, and I doubt my best-mate would just have me waltz out and kill myself for no good reason," he argued.

Death smacked his skull above his eye sockets with a skeletal hand. "Crap, I always forget about the love and loyalty potions," he muttered to himself, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Potions?! What potions? What are you talking abou… AAYEEE!" Harry screamed the last bit as Death pressed a hidden button under his desk, dropping a bucket of cold water from the River Styx on the young man. After much trial and error (along with plenty of laughs along the way) Death had come up with just the right amount of water from the Styx needed to flush mind altering potions from the recently departed.

"Tell me, Harry, what are your feelings towards Ron Weasley now?" Death asked patiently.

Without hesitating, Harry replied, "He's a greedy, idiotic, backstabbing arsehole whose only accomplishment is the disgusting amount of food he shovels into his gob at every meal." Harry stilled for a moment as he processed what he had just said. Death nodded his skull. "Shite…," Harry sighed. "And the love potion?" he asked dejectedly.

"Fangirl who looks like your mum ring any bells," Death replied.

"Well, fuck," Harry swore. "What about Hermione? Please tell me my friendship with her wasn't potion induced," he begged.

Death laughed at Harry's question. "Are you serious? If given half a chance, that young lady would fight her way through both Heaven and Hell just to bang on my door, demanding I give you back to her," he responded. After a moment of silent introspection, Death added, "Come to think of it, I think it was only sending you back the previous times and the imperius curse Ron had her under near the end this last time kept her from doing just that."

Harry sighed in relief. Memories of the last time he saw Hermione were triggered by Death's comment about Ron using the imperius curse on Hermione. He ground his teeth in rage before he spat out, "I'll kill that redheaded wank stain!"

"Ahhh, you see therein lies the problem of you having died seven times. Mortals are only allotted seven chances at fulfilling their destiny. Since you have reached your limit, you won't be getting another chance to fulfill the prophecy, bind your soul with either of your soulmates, and live to a ripe old age of 212 with your lover. Voldemort will go to rule the Wizarding World after completely destroying Hogwarts, killing everyone who took shelter there," Death said.

"Backup a tick. What do you mean by my soulmates?" Harry requested.

Death opened his desk drawer again and rifled around a bit before withdrawing another file before opening it. "According to my wife, Lachesis, and her friend Aphrodite, you were fated to meet and fall in love with either one Hermione Granger or a Miss Luna Lovegood. If you were truly lucky, you might have ended up with both of them. And when I say lucky, I mean LUCKY! It's always the brainy ones if you know what I mean," he replied.

"Actually, I don't. I led a rather sheltered life," Harry admitted. Death leaned across his desk and beckoned Harry forward with a crooked finger. When Harry leaned forward as well, Death whispered in Harry's ear. While Death explained things to Harry, the young wizard's eyes got wider and wider. When Death was finished, they both leaned back into their chairs. "Are you SURE there isn't any way I can go back?" Harry pleaded.

Death tapped his lower jaw while he thought. "Well, there might be one way, but I'm not sure if you'll go for it. You see, while mortals can't go back after seven deaths, we can send employees of Death, LLC back one extra time. Of course while you aren't on the clock, you can spend your free time however (or with whomever) you want," Death said, baiting the hook.

Harry was about to agree to anything when a voice that sounded like Hermione's reminded him not to leap before looking once again. A voice like Luna's asked if there was any pudding in the afterlife. "What exactly would I be doing as an employee?" Harry asked for clarification.

"Simply put, our employees find those special individuals truly deserving of hell and give them a one way, express ticket there," Death replied. The Grim Reaper turned slightly and pointed to a wall on Harry's left side. "I'm confident that with enough hard work and the help of either one or both of your soulmates, you might be able to break into this century's top 3 employees," he suggested.

Harry looked to where Death was pointing. At the number three spot was the name, "James Bond" followed by "Frank Castle" at number two. Harry did a double take when he read who had top honors. "Are you seriously trying to tell me Elton John is your top employee?" he asked.

Death shrugged. "Our best employees have almost always been those who no one would ever suspect," he replied.

"Makes sense, I guess," Harry conceded. "Back to what you said earlier. By deserving people, I take it you mean Death Eaters and folks like them?" he inquired.

Again Death nodded before he added, "And Ron..."

"Sold!" Harry blurted out, interrupting Death.

"Excellent!" Death exclaimed. With a snap of his fingers, a contract made from the finest animal skin appeared on his desk. A second snap of his fingers produced a quill made from a raven's feather. He slid both towards Harry. "While you're reading the contract, I'll go over some of our employee benefits. One of the primary ones for those working in the Wizarding World is our own special brand of Occlumency and Legilimency," Death said.

Harry looked up from reading the contract. "I can understand why I might need Occlumency, but why Legilimency?" he asked.

"Every once in a while, you might come across a target who you are on the fence about so to speak. This version of Legilimency allows you to look directly into their souls to see the stains they've accumulated. It also gives you the ability to share your memories with a soulmate," Death replied. Harry nodded that he understood and went back to reading the contract. When he was done, Harry looked up and reached for the raven quill. "Good, now all you need to do is sign where indicated by the post-it notes," Death instructed.

When he finished adding his signature, Harry put down the quill. "Done! So when do I head…" he started to say before disappearing from the office.

Right after the newest employee for Death, LLC was sent back to the mortal realm, a beautiful woman wearing a shiny, white toga faded into view next to Death's chair. "That had to be the biggest load of hippogriff shit I've heard this millenium! You know damn well that my children of prophecy get extra lives due to how imprecise most of my employees can be," Fate scolded her husband.

Death held up both hands to stop his wife from going on a Hermione like rant. "Peace, Lachesis. I have a good reason for what I did," he replied.

"I'm listening, and it better be good," she said.

"Since you yourself proclaimed that Harry would be the Peverell descendant to finally combine all of my hallows to become my boss, I thought I would teach him the ins and outs of my company by starting in an entry level position," Death explained.

Fate thought for a moment and smiled as she slid onto her husband's desk. "Ooh, you know how I love it when you're sneaky!" she purred.

"I do get the occasional good idea every thousand years or so," Death joked.

"Well, I for one think you should be rewarded for this one," she told him. "How about we finish in person what we started on the phone earlier," Fate offered as she swung her legs open, showing she truly wasn't wearing anything under her toga.

"SCHWING!" Death exclaimed happily.