Summary: What to do… What to do… That was all Harry could think about as he lazed around his home, watching through half-lidded eyes as his adopted son plotted world domination.

Pairings: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

Warning: AU, Time-Travel, Slash (this means Boy/Boy), Unmotivated!Harry, Grey!Harry, Killings/Torture, Human experimentations, Expect some character Bashings

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter obviously. But if I did Voldemort would be alive, happily married to Harry, and have dozens of mini-morts running around.

"English"

"Parseltongue"


Date: Unknown

Location: Unknown

The oppressive silence of the night was deafening as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior-Turned-Hermit, woke up in the middle of nowhere, blind as a bat without his round wire-frame glasses.

A jaw-breaking yawn stretched across his deceivingly young face, with wide blurry emerald eyes blinking in vain to try and clear his clouded vision. Not one to be bothered by the sudden change of his sleeping arrangements –from a dirty hard floor to a field of soft muddy grass– he proceeded to stand on shaky legs.

With an impassive face, he dug through his memories to figure out how he came to this predicament. He was as usual, conducting experiments on poor unsuspecting Squibs –his newest pet project– when he knocked one of his tinkered potions down and fainted immediately soon afterwards –he was clumsy after a few days of all-nighters!

Now that he thought back, it was kind of embarrassing to not know that your own inventions could knock you out in a second after inhalation. At least he could add that into his mental notes; P27 – could be used as a formidable knock up gas.

After he… fell asleep… his lab rat must've been freed from her bindings –the restrains needed his magic to fuel them. Harry considered himself lucky that he was dumped someplace unknown rather than being violently murdered for kidnaping the Squib and cutting her open without remorse. She was awfully lucky that he fell unconscious after healing her.

Since he was already in an unknown territory without his glasses, wand, and tools (all his pockets were empty), he decided that he was an idiot for not correcting his eyesight when he was free. He always had the image that glasses and white lab coats would suit his current occupation to a Tee. Oh and now he had to hunt down that runaway Squib before she squeals to the Prophet that the Wizarding World's Savior is actually a mad surgeon with an addiction to conducting human experimentations.

How bothersome. Next time he would use Muggle restrains… Such as handcuffs.

Harry decided that he had had enough time dawdling (Merlin knows how long it's been) and pulled up his left sleeve to his elbows, revealing an arm full of runic tattoos to the world. He bit his right thumb to draw blood, before swiping it to one of his tattoos on his left forearm. Not a Dark Mark if anyone's wondering. It was a circular shape as big his fist with squiggly lines filled inside–Parselrunes.

The tattoo glowed crimson for a few seconds and Harry waited until it dimmed down enough before plunging his hand into said tattoo. As he slowly began pulling, a miniature trunk appeared in between his forefinger and thumb. The crimson glow immediate stopped and reverted back to the usual black.

Harry, being the constantly exhausted person he was, dropped his trunk unceremoniously down the muddy ground and waved lethargically over said trunk. The leather brown trunk grew bigger in a slow manner, as if even it was as lazy as its owner.

Harry didn't mind and plopped himself onto the ground just in front of it. After a few more minutes of waiting, it was finally to its original size.

"Godric." He hissed out the password for his tools/weapons compartment in the ancient tongue of Serpents. Harry never figured out the reason as to why he still retained his Parseltongue abilities even after the Horcrux was obliterated, but accepted the fact with an idle shrug of his shoulders.

He took out various scalpels from within the compartment and absentmindedly placed them on his person. Finally armed and feeling much protected, he closed the trunk and returned it back to its matchbox-sized before forcing it into his tattoo –it was bothersome to wait for the trunk to shrink and his blood to sink into the rune.

"Now… Where the bloody hell am I?" He mumbled to himself as he slowly brought his sleeves down.

Seeing that he could see nothing in the dark, he summoned a few balls of fire to float around him as he began to walk leisurely. A few minutes passed by before he remembered that he could have easily apparated to Leaky Cauldron. He would've facepalmed himself if his arm didn't feel so heavy.

"Perhaps P27 has side-effects that reduce a person's cognitive abilities..." He nodded to himself absently.

Without stopping his pace, he apparated mid-step and appeared in the middle of Leaky Cauldron just in time for him to continue his steps. He tapped the pattern onto the wall with his fingers sluggishly and entered Diagon Alley with his hood up.

Luckily he had a hood that could partially cover his face sewn onto his lab coat. He disliked how the sheep would point at him whilst gossiping loudly. As much as it satisfied his sadistic side by killing Voldemort, the title of Savior wasn't worth it. He used to wish that he had had the power to rewind time just so he could sit on a comfy chair to watch how the Wizard Community fight their own battle, but alas, he became too slothful to even think of the 'what ifs'.

He idly wondered if his personality change came from the need to defy the Dursleys. They always had him run around without rest and when he grew older, he just wanted to sit back and work with his butt firmly planted onto his cushioned seat. It's a wonder how his body remained fit with his unhealthy eating and sleeping habits. He could only thank Hecate that his structure didn't turn out like his walrus of an uncle.

With an insufferable sigh, he entered a random shop and headed towards the shopkeeper. The person standing behind the counter was blurry at best and Harry couldn't even identify the gender.

"Excuse me…" He drawled in a lazy manner –vastly different from the pompous tone Snape used. "Do you mind pointing me to an optician's shop?"

"No problem lad! Yer eyesight must've been really bad if ya can't see it's next door."

"Ah… Left?"

"Nay, right."

"Thank you."

Harry walked off without waiting for the man's –his voice was too deep and husky to be a female–reply. He entered what he guessed was the correct shop and sauntered towards the counter.

"Evening. Does this place do eye-correction?"

"Oh yes! Welcome. Are you in need of it?"

"Yess."

"Let's see…" He heard a few drawers opening and closing, some glass clinking together, and finally an 'Aha!' from the person. "Here it is. Follow me lad."

Harry's eyebrows frowned when he was mistaken as a young boy once again. He knew he looked young, but that could only be the results of epic genes. The woman waved a blurry hand towards the direction of a wall, and only after standing in front of said wall, noticed that it was actually a door.

"After applying three drops each, you need to wait half an hour without opening your eyes. This is the room where our customers remain whilst they wait."

He nodded and proceeded to the closest bed inside. It wasn't as soft as the ones he slept in back home, but it was much better than the floor he usually passed out on. Who knows how many disgusting things had been accidently dropped by yours truly? Even Kreacher screeched about how the stains were impossible to remove.

"How much?"

"Twenty galleon per eye." That's was… kind of cheap. He roughly estimated that it would've been around hundred or so.

"Alright."

"Be sure to keep them firmly shut after I apply. It might bring slight discomfort but nothing else." She reassured as she did just that. After telling him to call her if he needed anything else, she walked off to who knows where.

A few minutes past before his eyes started itching like mad. Harry wondered if scratching was allowed. Not wanting to take a risk that could lead him to him losing his sight, he retreated into his mind so that he could refresh his memories on what his latest test Subject looked like –he needed to hunt her down ASAP. Or maybe have Kreacher do it. He is the Black's House-elf.

It wasn't his fault that faces of people that aren't important were blurred from his mind. His Squib-rat had wavy chestnut brown hair that reached mid back, honey hazel round eyes with thin and short lashes, a bigger than average hooked nose, and sausage lips. She had a round face and her body was average at best, with B cup breasts. She was also naturally tanned.

He couldn't recall what her name was but he did remember branding his Squib-rat SR12 on her left forearm. She was his twelfth experiment and he knew that he would solve the mystery behind why Squibs were unable to use Magic by the end of his fiftieth or so Squib-rats. He was confident and had the right to be. It wasn't arrogance if it's true.

His experiments were usually fruitful, like how he had created his very own Philosopher's Stone with a few more positive additional effects, or what happened to a soul after being eaten by a Dementor. He also did a lot of weird tests and created new Potions and objects when he had sudden inspiration.

Not wanting to think back to how Dumbledore had locked his capabilities when he was but a mere toddler, he solidified his newest memories into orbs and placed them onto his memory shelves. His mindscape was an exact replica of the Hall of Prophecy, with serpents roaming around to guard the place. Only Parseltongues were able to stop his beautiful guards, since he commanded his lovelies to attack anyone, including allies. He would take no chances since the information pertaining to his experimentations had been stored into his red orbs –they were dangerous to both Magicals and Muggles alike.

Many would think that he was maybe an intermediate Occlumens due to his mind not having any outer walls, but Harry made it that way due to his sadistic nature. He took great pleasure in viewing a person convulse in front of him when they tried to enter his mind. No matter how many times he had warned the general public that his mind was a dangerous place, some still tried. Of course his snakes had their fun and after a moment, the person would be declared brain dead or insane.

One of his reasons of being a Hermit was because majority of the sheep wanted him shipped off into Azkaban. As amusing as it is for them to accuse him of being a Dark Lord in the making, he preferred lazing around on his bed most of the time if there were no projects to be done. If the work of a Dark Lord was to sleep and work at his own pace, perhaps he would try in the future.

He was dragged out from his mindscape when someone shook his shoulder. Harry discreetly had one of his scalpels in his hand.

"Young man?" The woman's voice flowed to his ears. "You can open your eyes now."

Harry did just and retracted his scalpel. His eyes watered at the lighting and he blinked a few times to rid of his tears. His vision was finally cleared and he could see without anything being blurred, much to his relief. Though now he would have to make his own fake glasses to keep his scientist image.

"How is it? Can you see clearly? Any complications?"

"Mm… I can. No complications."

Harry sat up and handed her the required fee before leaving the store after thanking her. Once he was outside, he froze. Diagon Alley looked different… Too different even with his ten years of being a Hermit in self-exile. He had never seen some of the shops before.

Furthermore, the Wizards and Witches were wearing outdated clothing that could only be from the 1920s or 30s. Did the Wizarding Community regress whilst he was busy chopping apart humans!?


A/N:

I just got this sudden idea when I was reading a few KHR fics that portrayed a very lazy Tsuna. I kind of wanted to write a Lazy!Harry fic just for the heck of it. And since I'm addicted to Time-Travel… why not do both!? I'm sure Tommy and Harry would make a good couple. One is ambitious whilst the other is not… (O3O)v

I know I should be focusing on my other fic, but pssh… If other writers could concentrate on five on-going stories at once, I could do it too!

Story recommendation for today: On a Pale Horse by Hyliian. Death is Harry and Harry is Death. How awesome is that? If that doesn't make you want to read, I don't know what will. So… Death is bored after a long period of his immortal life. Dumbledore was daft enough to summon a 'Hero' from another alternate dimension that has already defeated Voldemort. The bored immortal decided that he would follow the 'summons' and met the members of the Order and his counterpart. The story is rather new and still ongoing, but it is amazing. I love how the author portrayed Unhinged!DeathHarry. I'm unsure if there's romance or if it's GEN, but I'm 99% sure that it's not LV/HP. Death loves the taste of Voldie's soul too much to date him. And besides, I'm sure if he goes into a relationship, he'll be considered a pedobear (the age gape is amazing) and a prude (just because he can't touch others without them dying).

Rainbows and Absinthe,
GenderlessPerson