Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Enjoy!

The war had not ended how anyone had envisioned.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts for the final battle. Hope had arrived, giving the fighters courage, courage enough to keep fighting even as their companions were cut down one by one.

The courage turned to despair when Voldemort appeared with the body of their savior being carried by the sobbing half-giant, but Harry had appeared once again, defying death and reason another time.

As Voldemort and Harry shouted their spells - one deadly, the other child's play - the spells connected once more, the green light arcing towards Voldemort -

And then a death eater had yelled something, thrown an object at the two, and there was whirl of golden light tinged with green and red, and both men disappeared.

The war had ended, but their saviour was gone.

Harry woke up confused.

He'd been Hogwarts - with Voldemort -

He sat up straight, eyes opening.

He appeared to be in the hospital wing, but the nurse bumbling towards him bore no comforting smile like Madam Pomfrey.

"Where am I?" he asked.

The healer clicked her tongue. "I think it's me who should be asking the questions, young man. Was it a joke?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

The witch waved her wand over him, nodding as if satisfied. She gave him a long, considering glance before answering. "You appeared in the middle of the Great Hall at breakfast, and hit your head. I suppose amnesia was always a possibility - do you remember anything?" Her tone had softened slightly.

Harry shook his head hesitantly, deciding that playing along with amnesia was probably the best option until he worked out where the heck he was.

"Your name?" she pushed.

"Harry," he responded before thinking. Crap.

But there was no recognition in her eyes. "Harry what?"

A last name. Any random name. "… Smith."

If she noticed his hesitation she didn't say. "Right, Mr Smith, you should rest. I'll inform Headmaster Dippet that you're awake, but I'll hold him off questioning until you're well rested. Generally, amnesia is only temporary - you'll get your memory back in no time." She gave him a nod and bustled off, missing the astonished expression on Harry's face. Professor Dippet.

Everything fell into place in Harry's head and he groaned.

The Death Eater had thrown time sand at them, sending them back - and he was apparently in Tom Riddle's Hogwarts.

No, Harry corrected himself. Might be in Riddle's time. For all he knew, Dippet could have been headmaster for a hundred years; the chances of being in the young Dark Lord's life span was low, let alone in school with him …

"Hello," a voice from the bed adjacent to Harry's called.

Harry glanced up and his heart nearly stopped.

Sirius was lying in the bed, hair as unruly as ever, eyes grey and careless -

No. This wasn't Sirius. This boy's face was sharper, his nose bigger.

"I'm Alphard Black, you're Harry Smith, right?"

Shit.

Wasn't Alphard the uncle Sirius had mentioned gave him some gold? And was blasted off the tapestry, Harry remembered.

He still could be in a non-Tom-Riddle-Hogwarts. Sirius would have been - Harry ignored the stab of ice going through his chest at the reminder - thirty-eight if he'd - if he'd lived at the time Harry had just been in - and Merlin if this wasn't hurting his head already - which meant he'd been born in … 1959. Riddle was born in 1926, so Alphard would have to be born … six years earlier in order to have a first-year Riddle? Harry groaned. "What year is it?" he asked tiredly.

Alphard raised his eyebrows. "You've really lost your memory? It's 1943. September tenth to be precise."

1943. So Riddle would be … Harry groaned, sinking back into his pillows. Riddle would be seventeen, in seventh year.

"Is that bad?" Alphard looked far too amused, and Harry was reminded with another sharp pang in his chest of how like Sirius he looked.

"No," Harry muttered, trying for a smile. "Just unexpected."

Alphard nodded. "So what amnesia have you got? There's different types, aren't there - partial and total and one where you still know how to do stuff - gosh, wouldn't it be awful if you got partial amnesia before exams and forgot everything?"

He paused, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry shrugged. "I s'pose so."

"Which one have you got then?" Alphard leaned forward.

"Erm." Should he pretend to have forgotten everything? No, he'd already said his name … "I remember stuff like my name and how to do magic but nothing else, not really."

"Wow."

The matron bustled back in then, saying sharply, "Leave Mr Smith alone, Black. I don't want to hear any talking." She glared at them both until they dropped their eyes. "Nox."

The room dark, Harry lay back down on his pillow and shut his eyes. He may as well try to get some sleep -

"Psst."

Harry sighed. "What?"

"Do you think you'll be joining lesson?" Alphard whispered.

"I guess. What else would they do with me?"

Alphard made a sound of acknowledgment. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." Harry quickly added, "I think."

He could nearly hear Alphard's smile. "You'll be in our year then, with Tom -"

"Shh!" The hiss came from over by the door to the matron's rooms. "Or I'll stun you, Black, I swear."

Alphard grumbled but said nothing more, and the room was soon filled by his soft snores. Harry, however, could not sleep at all, thoughts of "Tom" running through. By this point he would have released the basilisk, killed his parents - that was his sixth year? No, maybe it was seventh … It was done over the summer in any case, so the Dark-Lord-to-be would already have one horcrux, possibly two.

Alphard had sounded happy when he mentioned him though. So Riddle must not seem like a total psychopath yet - or maybe Alphard was a follower? He was a Black after all - but no, Harry quashed that thought with another burst of guilt. Sirius had been a Black. Andromeda was a Black. And Sirius hadn't mentioned Alphard in anything but a positive light; if he'd been a death eater, even for a short time, Sirius would have said, would have let that colour his tone.

But that meant Riddle was obviously still using his masks, still the model student, even at this point with the weight of Dumbledore's suspicion on him and a horcrux on his finger.

Merlin, it was going to be so weird to see Dumbledore alive. Didn't he have red hair at this point? A small smile appeared before turning sad again. McGonagall … would she be a student? Maybe not. Slughorn was teaching, though, with a full head of hair if Harry remembered the memory correctly.

He needed to get back to his own time. But he couldn't tell anyone - he'd have to work it out himself, in an age where there were no timeturners, and any research would be in the Department of Mysteries. He'd have to break in, or work his way into infiltrating it. But the later would take far longer.

And then he had to deal with Tom Riddle.

If Riddle took even enough notice of him to recognise him seventy years later, it could give the future Voldemort too much information and create one of those time-loop-thingies Hermione had talked about.

He missed her already.

Shifting onto his side, Harry curled up in the covers. He would need his sleep for tomorrow. Letting his mind relax, Harry started the Occlumency he'd been almost successful with a while ago, before he had dropped the feeble attempt Hermione had coerced him into. It was useful for getting to sleep.

Voldemort hit the ground with a thump, but sprang to his feet, wand up. The Potter boy had -the wand - was he dead?!

He was on a hillside, wind biting at his skin. Far too cold for Britain. Not exactly what he'd imagined the afterlife to be.

One of his followers had done something, of that much he was certain. It had been a kind of sand … time sand.

So where was he?

Disguising himself with a flick of his wand - which still wasn't working properly, he noted with dissatisfaction, Potter had been right abut the ownership - he started off towards the cluster of buildings he could see in the distance. He couldn't risk Apparating in case he chose a destination too far away - he could do up to a thousand miles, but any further risked splinching.

It took him a few hours to reach the dwellings, which were horribly muggle. Voldemort sneered as he passed a couple of beggars, one child and one a young woman, who looked at him with mouths gaping.

"Tell me what year it is," he commanded.

The woman looked at him blankly. "Was?" she asked.

"What. Year. Is. It," he repeated, fingers twitching on his wand.

"Ich verstehe nicht," she said, shaking her head. "Bitte?" she held out her begging bowl.

German. No matter. "Legilimens," he said, and stepped back after a minute. The images running trough the woman's mind were ones of war, of losing, of a dead husband and harsh measures, of money being worse than useless but she had nothing to do but beg for food. From what he had gathered, it should be around nineteen twenty-five.

Nineteen-twenty-five in Germany … an idea took root in Voldemort's twisted mind, and a smile crept onto his face. He barely noticed as the muggle shank back, pulling her child with her.

Focusing on his destination, he Disapparated with a faint crack, leaving the two witnesses staring fearfully at the air.

So ... what d'ya think? I know the Harry-goes-back-to-Tom-Riddle's-Hogwarts is not an original idea but hopefully the addition of throwing Voldie back as well mixes it up a bit.

This one has vaguely more planning than HiPS, but HiPS is still my primary story. Currently I'm just writing random parts of one-shots, full length ones, ideas - it's a right mess.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. The amount of attention this gets depends on both my inclination and your opinion, so drop a review (pretty please?) :P

Oh, and the German is purely off the trusty google translate so please say if I've got it wrong. Thanks!