DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Just a oneshot. Not beta-ed.

Because everyone needs to write at least one time travel Tom/Harry fic. =)

The Intruder

One week into the new school year, his final year at Hogwarts, and he was already utterly bored.

Boredom was a familiar companion at the orphanage, but he didn't imagine he'd ever get bored at Hogwarts. The one thing that was supposed to be an escape route from the general apathy he tended to experience.

Still, it was incredibly mind-numbing to be surrounded by overexcited worms masquerading as students, being forced to listen to their mindless prattle. It was exhausting.

He was tired pretending to be someone he was not.

To pretend he was one of them.

Tom smiled politely at the Gryffindor prefect – he'd already forgotten her name- and averted his eyes in a demure manner while she kept congratulating him on receiving the medal for magical merit.

What a loathsome, repulsive specimen she was. A poor excuse of a witch.

Predictably, the girl blushed, taken in by his charm as so many others had experienced before, students and teachers alike.

He hated the predictability of it.

"Thank you for your support. I truly appreciate it," he said, and in his mind he imagined her demise quite vividly.

If only they knew.

He excused himself after a while, intending to head over to the Great Hall for dinner. She looked disappointed and he could barely hide his contempt and loathing for her. For all of them.

People were smiling at him, some were hoping to get close to him, but he brushed them all off.

The corridors were relatively crowded and it was difficult to restrain blasting these people away from him. He's always disliked crowds.

To be honest, he should've felt content and insouciant about the way certain things were going these days. The school was basically under his control, with the exception of Albus Dumbledore's meddlesome ways. He was well on his way to make a name for himself.

Even his followers were more steadfast in their behavior than ever before, dutifully practicing the Dark Arts and obeying his every command.

Yet, he couldn't escape a certain sense of emptiness that sometimes gnawed at him like a lurking shadow. As if something was missing. Something vital that would complete his journey toward greatness. A component on the road to perfection.

He didn't let it bother him too much, though.

Besides, there were more important issues to focus on. Issues such as Horcruxes, for example.

In any case, he'd work on creating more, making sure that his incoming reign was iron-clad and infinite...

...beyond silly boundaries of time and limited existence.

"Well, somebody must've had a long night?" Abraxas drawled, watching him closely as he approached their gang.

Tom barely refrained from rolling his eyes. The blond wizard was getting too comfortable around him and that was something he'd have to fix at some point. It wouldn't be too difficult. Just a reminder who was truly in control.

He stared him down instead, making the fool shut up with a single look, before taking his place at the Slytherin table.

"At least he's getting some, unlike you," Avery mocked and Malfoy sneered in return.

Tom poured himself a cup of tea, ignoring the bickering Knights beside him. They had twisted ideas of the things he supposedly did at night, but truthfully, there was not a single soul at Hogwarts he'd ever approach in the crude manner they suggested and fantasized about.

Not because of a lack of offers, mind you.

No, it was simply too disgusting to imagine himself with someone else in that way. It suggested that he was dependent on a person to satisfy these urges. As if that would ever happen.

"Who's that?" Nott suddenly asked, perking up at the commotion at the entrance to the hall.

He wasn't the only one. Students were craning their necks, trying to get a glimpse at whatever it was that was so interesting.

Tom looked up, less out of interest and more out of habit to keep an eye on his surroundings.

His thoughts darkened instantly when he noticed Dumbledore, clad in his ghastly robes, approaching the head table. However, it wasn't him that people were paying attention to, but the figure trailing behind the old man.

His eyes narrowed at that, inspecting the individual more closely.

The person was limping slightly and his black robes were in poor state, but it didn't detract from the mystery.

It was a young man who looked barely older than Tom himself. Black, tousled hair and round-rimmed glasses and was that...blood on his face?

Abraxas gasped, scandalized at the utter lack of neatness and propriety this person was exhibiting.

Tom was curious.

Indeed, who was that?

The boy limped to the head table, positioning himself right next to the Transfigurations professor and then he proceeded to watch the hall and the students carefully, which Tom caught instantly. Why so alert?

There was a wariness emanating from the person, but he didn't look awed or in any way surprised, which meant the boy must've been at Hogwarts at some point, Tom concluded.

Headmaster Dippet exchanged a few words with Dumbledore, but the boy wasn't paying attention to them. He shifted slightly, as if his right leg was bothering him.

The bloody appearance must've scared and confused the sheep, because the voices got progressively louder and more frenzied.

In the end, the headmaster needed to calm the student body down, but it was Dumbledore who unraveled the mystery.

"I'd like to inform you that Mr. Harry James Potter here will join the 7th Year students this semester. He's been home-schooled up until now, but I kindly ask you not to bother him with unnecessary questions, " Dumbledore admonished and Tom noticed the way the boy - Potter- grimaced at that, no doubt disliking that comment. The students would definitely ambush him now.

After that announcement, Potter was forced to be subjected to the sorting, staring ahead and ignoring the public commentary, even after minutes ticked by until he finally got sorted into Slytherin.

The polite clapping was about the only positive reaction Potter got out of this, but he nevertheless collected himself and approached the Slytherin table calmly. The snakes didn't quite know what to make of him.

There were also several seats left.

Usually, it would've been socially acceptable for a newcomer to sit with the first years, but Potter went against the norm, taking a seat besides Nott.

Malfoy averted his eyes immediately.

Potter didn't care.

Instead, he helped himself to a generous portion of treacle tart, ignoring the blatant stares, sneers and curious looks from his new classmates.

Then, after some time, Nott broke the silence, brave enough or foolish enough to actually engage the boy in a conversation.

"So you've been home-schooled, eh? Why come to Hogwarts then?" he asked, voicing what surely most of these sheep were curious about.

"Could you be more obvious, Nott? Why not start asking about his home life next, like a damn Hufflepuff?" Avery jeered, his upper lip curling in disdain.

Potter continued eating, not paying the idiot any attention; generally acting as if he wasn't surrounded by hungry hyenas.

"Well, are you deaf or something?" Nott challenged, perturbed by the ongoing silence.

His impatience was a weakness Potter pounced on ruthlessly and Tom recognized the tactic the boy used for what it was.

The new student didn't even have to do anything, and he was already ruffling a few pureblood feathers. His silence spoke volumes.

The boy was treating them as if they were beneath him. Not worth acknowledging.

Abraxas grimaced, showing his own discomfort with the situation in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability.

"If you don't want to talk, fine. But you could at least fix your appearance. Some people are still eating, you know?" he voiced.

Tom eyed the way the boy's lips twitched at that, as if amused. It was such a small thing; he barely caught it and only because he was watching the black-haired boy closely. It was the first outward reaction Potter even showed.

But then the boy did something completely unexpected.

Potter reached out and his fingers touched his cheek, no doubt aware of the blood that was still all over his face. And it looked eerie, as if he'd come straight out of war and was thrown into this situation by accident. Potter certainly didn't look like he wanted to be here at all.

The boy's thumb smeared the blood, tracing a path until it reached his own lips.

Potter licked away the blood and his intense, green eyes met Malfoy's grey ones, shining brightly in something resembling mockery.

He was toying with them.

Tom's eyes narrowed even more.

And then finally, finally Potter said something that seemed to bring everything to a standstill.

"Why so squeamish? Shouldn't the likes of you be used to the sight of blood?" the boy asked, before taking a sip from his pumpkin juice, washing away the taste of his own mortality.

At once, tension permeated the air.

No one had expected that. And treacherous idiots that they were, most of them were shooting wary glances his way, alluding to what everyone knew but never, never would say out loud.

Fools, the lot of them.

"That's awfully judgmental of you," Tom decided to cut in, putting an end to this charade. Pale, long fingers wrapped around his cup, mirroring Potter's calm demeanor.

Potter didn't glance his way, but his observant eyes caught the way the boy's hands briefly clenched around the porcelain. Tom sensed he wouldn't get more out of the boy, and it was aggravating to be challenged like that by a newcomer.

It was also exciting.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, which bothered most of his Knights, but made him just that more curious to see how this brash, new student would integrate himself.

'Why me?' Harry thought morosely, following his new/old classmates back to the dorm. It was one thing to fight and kill one of the darkest wizards of all time, be hailed as a hero and so on. He'd done his part. It was another to experience this type of conflict all over again.

Time travel shouldn't be possible, unless you simply wanted to go back a couple of hours to fix things. Now he's gone back more than 50 years.

And it was nothing more than a crappy accident that happened, because he was too impatient to wait for backup.

The Auror department had been investigating the disappearances of several members of the Unspeakables. Predictably, it got quite violent and bloody once they managed to locate the scientist and dark wizard who was obsessed with bringing Voldemort back by changing the timeline.

Harry had cornered him, hoping to put an end to this.

But of course, he couldn't have a quiet, peaceful life. No, the man caused some sort of magical backlash, an explosion inside his laboratory that destroyed most of the inventory, which consisted of dozens of hour glasses and other obscure material.

There wasn't enough time to dodge the attack.

And now he was here. 1944. Hogwarts. And he was back pretending to be a student until Dumbledore could fix this whole mess.

It was such a mess in fact that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. Would he change the timeline, accidentally destroying what he achieved by making his existence known to this world? Was there another Harry Potter currently replacing him back in his own time? And if so, would he be stuck here forever in this place that seemed familiar and yet was completely different?

The damage was already done and now it meant he'd have to navigate carefully while in the presence of his mortal enemy.

Tom Riddle was a replica of the memory Harry had been shown after discovering the diary. Outwardly, he was all about composure and model student act. He was very much the type of person that ensnared others without them even realizing it.

And yet he was also Voldemort. Albeit a less experienced, still somewhat insecure version of the Dark Lord. Still. If Harry didn't know about him already, he would have never suspected it with the way the other acted.

The boy also dared to attack him verbally, challenging him by insinuating Harry had some preconceived, ill notions of their little group of psychopaths. Of course, Riddle had hit the nail right on the head, but what still surprised him was the fact that he did it in the first place.

From what he knew of Riddle, the boy should've faked pleasant smiles around him, welcoming him to Hogwarts despite Harry's shitty attitude towards their group.

He didn't. Which either meant Riddle was taking him seriously and thought that wasting his acting talent around him would do him no good... Or his attack was a form of drawing attention to himself, making it known that he would be an enemy if Harry didn't yield. Harry wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He had no desire to play with the mini Death Eaters and their poor excuse of a lord.

He was an adult. Not Riddle's shiny new toy.

"An excellent potion m'boy. Simply outstanding. Why, ladies and gentlemen, we have a new prodigy in our midst," Slughorn declared loudly, making Harry cringe.

No doubt, Snape would've cursed the man's head off for saying that. And then killed Harry for using his knowledge "to show off".

His Draught of Living Death earned him a spot in Slughorn's club, which also meant Harry would spent more time with the wizarding elite of pureblood brats.

He really did not need that. He really should've just fucked it up instead.

After class, Harry decided to escape to the Room of Requirement, which was still intact. It was somewhat difficult to be back here, knowing what happened to one of the students in the room in the future. The smell of burned flesh was a constant reminder, even if it wasn't there now. But the room was one of the few peaceful spots in the entire castle that allowed him to examine how to deal with his current predicament.

'I need a place to hide' he thought furiously, thinking about escaping Nott's insistent questions or Malfoy's stuck up attitude, the whispering so oddly reminiscent of his own time at Hogwarts as the Boy-Who-Lived.

He entered the room, sighing in relief when the door closed behind him.

"I didn't think anyone would know of this place," a voice called out and Harry froze.

Of course.

He was stupid to have come here.

Riddle was currently lounging in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace, surrounded by trinkets and weird objects. He was holding a book in his hand, no doubt something nasty about 101 ways to extend your miserable life.

"Riddle," said Harry neutrally.

"Potter," the boy shot back, eyeing him in amusement.

He closed the book, putting it away in order to focus on him.

"So tell me. How does a new student like you know how to locate this room?" His dark eyes were attentive, calculating. Harry stiffened.

"Didn't Professor Dumbledore tell you not to ask unnecessary questions?" Harry remarked, about to cross his arms, stopping only when he realized it would look defensive.

"Ah yes. Your mentor, I assume," the baby Dark Lord threw in, licking his lips. He was making himself more comfortable in his seat, looking like a king interrogating his lowly follower. And how Harry hated that.

"You're assuming too much," the Potter heir and Auror said in dismissal, not letting the boy's attitude get to him. Riddle was younger than him. He was not in control. He was no credible threat.

"And yet you're not denying it," Riddle explained, pausing slightly to inspect Harry's tall form, dressed in new 'old-fashioned' Slytherin robes.

"Nevermind, Potter. You will find that I don't much care to follow Albus Dumbledore's rules, especially when it comes to people I'm curious about."

Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"That's very honest. Didn't think you'd be the type to admit such stuff," he said, turning away slightly to inspect a blood-stained axe lying nearby. The room's knick-knacks never failed to make him more curious. Tom Riddle also looked like he owned the place, fitting right in, what with his habit to steal other peoples' possessions.

Riddle frowned briefly, probably irritated with Harry's casual speech. He recovered quickly, though.

"Something tells me you already know this, so why pretend?" His smile turned sharp, feral almost. "You look like the type who appreciates... a more direct approach. I'm simply accommodating you," the younger wizard said, spreading out his arms in a welcoming gesture.

"How magnanimous of you," Harry drawled, not the least bit impressed with the boy's ego. Riddle may be powerful, cunning and book-smart. But he was also a murderer and therefore undeserving of any considerations on Harry's part.

Truthfully, he should've already thrown an Avada at the menace and be done with it. Too bad he didn't know what would happen to his timeline if he did that.

"I'd like to think so myself," the megalomaniac said pleasantly. Harry was already fed up.

"Alright, since you're here and I can't possibly get a peaceful minute to myself with you in here, I'm gonna leave you be. Have a nice day, Riddle," Harry said finally, turning around and heading for the door.

He didn't expect the boy to draw his wand, but the sound alerted Harry and with his honed reflexes he retaliated, whirling around to charge ahead, knocking the boy's infamous yew wand out of his hand and pressing him back to his seat. His superior physical condition overpowered Riddle easily and he enjoyed the way the boy's eyes widened, pupils dilating in surprise and something unidentifiable.

Harry's face drew closer and he relished in the boy's quickening pulse, holding the brat's wrists in an unyielding grip. The fire crackled ominously behind them and Harry sensed the boy's magic, responding eagerly, preparing to throw him off, to destroy him. Maybe it was foolish to think the wanna-be-lord was no threat.

It didn't matter in the end.

"Listen to me very closely, boy. And listen well," Harry hissed, unable to mask his anger. "I'm not interested in your mind-games. No matter how much it gets you off thinking of people as nothing more than your playthings, leave me out of this!"

Unfortunately, that statement seemed to excite the bastard even more. The time traveller grew frustrated.

"Just stay out of my way and keep your bootlickers on a leash, because if you don't, I won't hesitate to get rid of your lot," he threatened, slightly alarmed when the boy's dark eyes gained a crimson hue.

"You know," Riddle murmured, eyes gleaming brightly. And his own face showed unrestrained passion, a curiosity that broke his usual calm exterior, his fake persona. Harry watched the display with no small amount of surprise, thinking it odd that this boy was even capable to show emotions other than anger and disdain for the human race.

Thinking of him in emotional terms was disturbing, because he didn't want to humanize him, didn't want to associate the Dark Lord with anything other than a monster.

"You know," the boy repeated, breathing heavily, using Harry's brief confusion to extract one arm from Harry's grip. Cold fingers touched the Auror's cheek, the exact same spot that Harry had touched yesterday.

It was a shock to his system.

And it made Harry reckless.

He covered the boy's hand with his larger one and nodded in return, angry at the world for throwing him into this situation.

It seemed no matter what he did, his fate was irrevocably tied to this person, if you could even call him that.

"I know everything, Lord Voldemort," he said. Hearing that, Riddle hissed in pleasure, enjoying the way his true name, his destiny rolled off the time traveller's tongue.

Fuck the secrecy and timeline, the other boy thought bitterly. Harry had always been a bad actor and he wouldn't change now.

"I know everything," he said again, locking gazes with crimson.

The words broke existing barriers between them, confirming Riddle's suspicions about Harry's circumstances of arrival while at the same time giving both people the opportunity to play a new kind of game.

At least, Tom Riddle wasn't bored anymore.