Disclaimer: The light at the end of the tunnel shouldn't be the only glow that guides you down the path. Ends justify the means but is the road you walk down the only one you have? On a side note, I do not own Harry Potter.

Tom Riddle was never a man who followed orders. But there was an unwritten rule in Hogwarts that when the Headmaster called, you answer.

So, putting down the rather interesting paper on dark arts written by one of the budding researchers from Durmstrang Institute, he rose up from his chair with a sigh. While Hogwarts was considered the best magical institution in Europe, research in the field of dark arts was always frowned upon despite the Headmaster's best efforts to increase awareness in the magical community. The scars from the wizarding war led by Dumbledore hadn't healed and the people of Britain were still wary of even the most basic of dark arts.

The bones in his back creaked as he stretched his body after hours of sitting stationary in a dreary corner of his office. The Headmaster usually left him alone for the summer but this year seemed to be a special case. He knew not what was running through the mind of the warlock but the headmaster was not a man who disturbed people for frivolous tasks.

His footsteps echoed through the hollow corridors of the castle and the only noises were from the portraits, who waved at him excitedly as he passed by. He returned their greetings in kind, knowing how much one could exploit the simple things like portraits that people casually ignore. The gargoyle opened the moment he stepped in front of it, showing the loopy stairway that led to the headmaster's office. The gargoyle used to be password protected until the headmaster decided that his office should always be open to students in need and decided to do away with it.

The office he entered was spartan, with a single mahogany desk and a high-back chair lying in the middle, surrounded by rows upon rows of bookshelves that were attached to the walls. The wall adjacent to the desk boasted a huge window that provided a spectacular view of the Hogwarts grounds, a sight that never failed to captivate him. Sitting in the chair and looking out of the window at the orange-red tinted evening sky was Gellert Grindelwald, arguably the most famous headmaster of Hogwarts.

The passage of time was kind to the old war veteran, who looked like he was still in his fifties despite his impressive age of eighty-seven. He had aristocratic features, with sharp cheekbones and an angular face and towered over most of the populace with a height of six feet and six inches. His once bright blond hair was now a stark white and hung to his sides like twin curtains, while his face remained clean-shaven, displaying thin lips that showed how little he smiled.

But in Riddle's opinion, the Headmaster's most notable feature was his hawkish blue eyes that seemed to penetrate into you the longer you stared at them. There was a rumor circulating in the halls of Hogwarts that the Headmaster didn't need legilimency to know everything about you. From his past experiences with the man, Tom could vouch that there was some truth to that rumor.

"It's only when you take time to pause and look around you do you realize how much things have changed," Grindelwald said as he turned to face the DADA professor.

"And what brought this up?" Tom slid down gracefully into the chair ahead of the desk and directed an inquisitive glance at the headmaster.

Grindelwald held up a letter in reply and levitated it over to Tom without a single twitch of his fingers. Even after all these years, the headmaster knew how to make him feel like a student all over again. Snapping out his musings, he plucked the letter out of thin air and gazed at it with curiosity. It didn't take him long to figure out what caught the interest of the busiest man in Britain.

"Harry Potter?" Tom whispered softly, a hint of confusion and sympathy laced into his tone. He knew how close the Headmaster was to the Potters and the devastating loss that made the man step onto the battlefield to end the war once and for all. "I thought Dumbledore left no survivors."

"For all his brilliance and resources, even Albus couldn't be that thorough," Grindelwald answered as he steepled his fingers. "This one must have slipped through the cracks."

"The address listed here is an orphanage," Tom remarked with an understanding nod. "The parents must've put up a fight to save their child. Any idea who they could be?"

"We can only speculate at the moment," Grindelwald said with a dismissive flick of his hand that signaled the end of the conversation. "I want to you to go to the orphanage and give the boy his letter."

"Me?" Though he loved teaching, Tom was never known to be the best with kids. They all seemed like morons to him and made him wonder if he was that stupid when he was their age. The relationship between him and his students was as professional as it could get. It was fortunate that he was the head of the Slytherin house as the members of the house were known to be self-sufficient. "Professor McGonagall is more suited for this than I am. I might scar the poor kid for all I know about how to act with children."

"I thought your history would help him relate to you better than with Professor McGonagall," Grindelwald countered easily. Not that Tom was trying to convince the man. It was well known that once the Headmaster decided upon something, even the end of the world couldn't stop him. It was more of an effort to convince himself that there were no other options and he had no choice but to do it. "And Minerva is already busy with muggle-born students. I don't want to burden her with more work."

Tom released a long-suffering sigh, hoping that the Headmaster understood how reluctant he was to carry out the task. "Alright. I'll try to fit it into my schedule."

"All you do is sit in a dark corner and read books the whole day. I am sure you'll manage," Grindelwald commented unsympathetically, with a glint of mischief in his blue eyes. "While you're at it, pick up this other student on the way."

"I knew I should have put up a fight," Tom cursed under his breath as the headmaster tossed him another letter. He gave the headmaster an evil eye as he read the name on the envelope. "Lily Evans? Seems like a muggle-born. What's so special about her?"

"Adopted," Grindelwald replied as a smirk formed on his face, giving his visage a terrifying look. "She comes from a long line of squibs that can be traced back to Salazar Slytherin."

Tom almost dropped the letter at that piece of info. Who would've expected that he'd meet a distant cousin of his someday? It seemed that two nearly extinct lines were popping back into the wizarding world. "This year's crop looks interesting."

Grindelwald merely hummed, looking deep in thought as he went back to staring out of the window. "That it is. But we need to be wary. Whenever things look interesting, chaos surely follows."

Tom fell silent at that, aware of what the Headmaster must be thinking. The presence of a Potter and a Slytherin would attract all kinds of vultures and spear-heading the predators would be a man whose very name instilled fear into the hearts of people all over the world.

Albus Dumbledore.

Tom started at the orphanage as he stood at the gate, reminiscing of the horrible childhood he experienced and the man that entered his room one day with the same letter he was holding now to change his life forever. Sometimes when he was bored beyond measure and was in a contemplative mood, he wondered what he would've become if the headmaster hadn't rescued him from that hellhole. Probably a horrible dark lord who couldn't stop monologuing to save his life.

The gate creaked as he entered the orphanage grounds and he had to dodge a dozen ebullient kids before he could reach the door. Why on earth did he ever think this was a good idea? He knocked thrice on the door and waited patiently until a stately woman in her fifties opened it to peer at him over her glasses. To his silent relief, the matron didn't look half as evil as his matron was. He prayed that he wouldn't be meeting a younger version of himself; abused with magic being the only refuge.

"Stephen's Orphanage?" Tom asked, ignoring the way the woman looked at his black robes with a hint of incredulity. "I'm Tom Riddle and I'm here for a ward of yours..."

The woman took a moment to reply, probably still confused by the sudden appearance of a strange man at her doorstep. At least, his good looks worked in his favor in these situations to avoid undue suspicion. "Y-yes. But you have to file a form first before you can adopt any child."

"No, no," Tom chuckled, the very thought of him adopting a kid sounded too funny. "I'm here for Harry Potter. He is accepted into our prestigious school and I'm here to inform him about the good news."

"I didn't know Harry applied for any schools," the matron frowned in confusion. Then she stepped aside with an embarrassed laugh to let him inside. "Oh, how rude of me, keeping you waiting at the door. Pardon my forgetfulness, Mr. Riddle, the years are not kind to me. Please come in. I'm Elsa Fry and the matron of the orphanage"

"Thank you, Mrs. Fry," Tom slid the letter back into his pocket and shook the offered hand of the matron. "And it was Harry's birth parents who enrolled him in the school before passing away."

"My goodness, he would be delighted to hear that," the matron gave a genuine smile, dampening his doubts about her to mere skepticism. "I am not surprised he is accepted. Harry has always been a smart child, a bit of a prankster but his heart is in the right place."

"That's wonderful to hear," it really was. He didn't need to be a legilimens to know that his own matron spoke none too kindly about him to the headmaster. At least the more he heard, the more he was certain that he was just meeting another ordinary albeit an orphaned wizard. Tom looked around in hopes of finding the last Potter scion, as wizards always do stand out in muggles from their childhood itself.

"I'll go fetch him for you, Mr. Riddle," the matron must've noticed his wandering gaze as she immediately set out to find the boy. But the way she took one step after the other made him realize that he could get on with it faster if he could find the boy himself

"Ah, please, I can find my way, Mrs. Fry."

"Bless you, I am not as young as I used to be," she chuckled self-deprecatingly as she pointed at the stairs. "You can find him in the last room to the left on the third floor."

"Thank you," Tom inclined his head before climbing up the stairs, the cheerful smile on his face slowly disappearing as his Slytherin persona came to the forefront. It was such a bother to act like an overbearing teacher when all he wanted to do was apparate directly into the room of the boy, hand him the letter and disappear without a trace; The things he did for the school.

There were days when it felt like the whole universe was conspiring against him to make his life as chaotic as possible. Those were becoming rather frequent for his vexation.

Harry was sitting at the edge of his bed, adjacent to the window, pondering how he could annoy Nicholas once he went back home. Though he was given a single room, it wasn't spacious enough to fit anything other than a bed and a cupboard, so most of his alone time was spent lazing on the bed, having inane thoughts. But for the first time in a week, his early morning routine was disturbed by footsteps outside the door.

When he heard that Hogwarts would be sending a professor, he expected a younger but just as stern Minerva McGonagall to walk through the door, with her radiant green robes and pointy hat. A demonstration of turning into a cat from the professor and he'd be on his merry way to Diagon Alley before going back to Flamel Mansion. It'd be even better if he could charm her on the way so that he'd have her on his side when things inevitably went beyond repair.

So no one could blame him when he panicked and fired a stunner when Tom Riddle entered his room without even a knock on the door. Of course, the fact that the door was wide open was not his fault. The other kids of the orphanage kept barging into his room so many times that he decided it's better if he left it open.

Tom made a wandless shield to deflect the stunner, the only sign that he was surprised was the slight quirk of his eyebrow. "I come in peace, Mr. Potter."

Harry blinked once and then twice to make sure what he was seeing was real. Was that a smile on the bastard's face? Now that he noticed it, the man only had a passing resemblance to the Voldemort he knew and hated but since he had seen the younger Tom Riddle through the diary, he was sure that the green-eyed, bluish black-haired, smug-faced bastard standing in front of him was indeed Tom. In hindsight, he didn't do a great job by panicking but attacking Tom Riddle on sight was an instinctive reaction to him by now.

The man looked to be in his twenties despite being forty-four years old – another proof for the theory that the more powerful a wizard was, the slower they aged – and had a charismatic air around him. If not for his past experience with this man in his dimension, Harry would've been amazed by the sheer presence Tom emitted. For someone who hadn't even lived for half a century, Tom seemed powerful enough to rival the best of them – Not that he expected any less.

But what's actually surprising was the calmness with which Tom reacted to his abrupt attack. He'd have been writhing in pain from the Cruciatus curse the moment he attacked if this Tom had been the one from his world. All these deductions flitted through his mind in seconds and the next moment, Harry had an apologizing smile on his face, which was as fake as the one Tom was wearing. "Sorry, sir. You looked like one of those shady people Mrs. Fry warned us about."

If Tom was annoyed by his comment, he didn't show it. He casually walked into the room, looking for all appearances like a man who just walked out of his shower, and conjured a chair in front of the bed before sitting on it. "I'm more impressed than angry, Mr. Potter. Even some of the fifth year students in our school struggle with the stunner and you have just performed it silently and wandlessly."

"Stunner? You mean the red beam, sir?" Harry tilted his head in confusion, acting for all intents like a clueless child.

Tom didn't give any indication as to whether he bought the act or not. "Hmm, yes. May I ask how you did it?"

In a way, it was fortunate that it was Tom who arrived to give him his letter. If it had been any other professor, he'd have been facing a thorough investigation about his magical prowess. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, was a prodigy among prodigies and a stunner from an eleven-year-old might only seem mildly interesting to him rather than groundbreaking as it should be. But he wouldn't have cast the stunner in the first place if it hadn't been for Tom but that was neither here nor there.

"I saw it in one of those movies and copied it," Harry lied effortlessly. "None of my friends can do it for some reason."

Tom gave him an inscrutable glance and Harry could see the gears whirring in the mind of the professor. He hoped that this Tom was as averse to muggle culture as the Tom of his world was and would merely chalk it up as a fluke that worked due to sheer luck.

"That's because you're a wizard, Mr. Potter!" Tom declared grandly, his eyes still scanning Harry for any signs that might give away the truth.

Harry wisely averted his eyes, thinking of anything that could throw the man off his trail. Then a brilliant idea struck him. "Okay."

"Okay?" Tom repeated incredulously, his suspicions set aside for the moment in the face of this blasphemy. The only reason he was a bit enthusiastic about the trip was to see the reactions of the kids when he told them about magic; For all the times Professor McGonagall crowed about how wonderful it was to see the faces of the muggle-born students when they learn about magic, he expected a little entertainment out of it. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"What other explanation is there?" Harry shrugged with an air of nonchalance. "It's not like I am a Jedi or anything."

"What?"

"Movie reference."

"Oh," Tom nodded, though it was obvious that he was rather disappointed at the lack of reaction from Harry. On the other hand, Harry couldn't help but draw some sick pleasure from this. For all the times Tom Riddle of his world ruined his life, he was only returning the favor. It didn't hurt that their initial topic of conversation was completely derailed off track. If there was one thing he learned from Nicholas, it was how to thoroughly annoy the heck out of people.

"So, you are a wizard too, Mister?"

"Ah, where are my manners? I am Tom Riddle, Professor of Defense against Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Tom answered as he held out of his hand, which Harry shook with great reluctance. If Tom noticed his hesitance, he didn't comment on it. "And of course I am a wizard too, Mr. Potter."

As a proof, Tom set the cupboard on fire wandlessly and looked at Harry as though daring him to not be impressed. Harry couldn't stop the amazement from showing on his face at the effortless use of wandless magic – He could do some basic spells without a wand but his skills were still far below people like Nicholas, Dumbledore and as it seems, Tom Riddle – but he'd be damned if he let the bastard have the satisfaction.

"I really hope you know how to repair it, sir," Harry was the very image of a scared, downtrodden child. "I have all my belongings in that cupboard."

Tom coughed into his hand to mask his embarrassed flush and reverted the cupboard back to its original state with another flick of his hand. "You needn't have worried, Mr. Potter. Those flames do not burn anything."

Harry quirked an eyebrow to show how unimpressed he was with that reasoning. "Really? The first thing you show an impressionable eleven-year-old is how to burn things?"

If anything, the flush on Tom's face deepened further. "Like I was saying, the flames do not burn anything."

They shared an awkward silence during the time which Tom was cursing about things like 'How it wasn't going like he expected', 'Knew shouldn't have accepted it,' 'Never going to have kids...'

"So, Professor..." Harry began hesitantly once the silence stretched long enough. "You didn't tell me why you are here."

Tom sighed, the meager enthusiasm he possessed when he first arrived had long since evaporated and took out the envelope from his pocket. "You are accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Mr. Potter – A place where you can learn magic for the next seven years. All the things you need for the upcoming school year, should you decide to attend, are listed in the letter there. I assume you are interested?"

"Yes," Harry replied as he read the parchment. Everything was the same except for the name of the Headmaster and it appears that Grindelwald had just as many titles as the Dumbledore of his world had. "But where can I get all these things, Professor? I don't even have any money to spend."

Tom rose up from his chair and vanished it with a swish of his wand. "I'll explain it all to you on the way, Mr. Potter. Do you mind if we pick up another student on the way?"

That was unexpected. "Um, no?"

"Excellent," Tom clapped cheerfully, looking as though he was finally free from all the burdens weighing him down in his life. He offered a hand as looked down at Harry with that cheerful smile still plastered on his face – Harry was beginning to suspect something sinister hidden behind the smile. "Let's go, shall we?"

Harry looked at the offered hand as though it was an alien object. "You don't expect me to hold your hand while walking, do you?"

"Don't be silly, Mr. Potter," Tom rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out of their sockets. "We are not going there by walk."

The suspicion returned full force and Harry took a step back – He could see where this was going. "Then how?"

Tom's reply was to place his hand on Harry's shoulder and a moment later, the room was empty.

Harry swayed on his feet as he landed on the hard, unforgiving ground and his face held a greenish tint that bespoke of nothing good. Tom lent a helping hand to steady him but the small act of kindness didn't make all wrongs right. "What the hell was that, Professor?"

Even a deaf man could hear the annoyance in Harry's tone. His hate for magical transportation was only second to his hate for Voldemort. Tom, meanwhile acted innocent but Harry could swear on his life that this was an act of revenge against him for his cheek that morning.

"That's apparition, Mr. Potter," Tom explained, his tone betraying no emotion but his eyes glinted with dark glee. "It's a form of magical transportation."

He thought the Tom Riddle of this world was decent compared to his. He was wrong. This bastard was just as sadistic as the other one.

"It's a way to kill people, that's what it is," Harry mumbled under his breath as they walked down the cobblestone road to the house of the other student. He still had no idea who they were going to meet but Harry felt that he should recognize the neighborhood. The whole vicinity reeked of familiarity.

They reached a modest two-floored cottage surrounded by dozens of flower beds on all four sides – whoever it was must love flowers. Tom, in a surprising show of manners, knocked the door and Harry heard a shout of 'Coming!' from the inside. Then the door opened to show the prettiest girl Harry had seen in his life – both the lives.

Fiery red hair cascaded down her shoulders to reach her mid back, with bangs framing either side of her round face. The slight paleness of her skin contrasted with her dark red hair and a wave of freckles dotted her button nose. Her thin, pink lips were stretched into a beautiful smile, with twin dimples etched onto her cheeks.

But her most striking feature was her vibrant green eyes that shone with an intelligence beyond her age and glowed with a luminescence that could put the full moon to shame.

She was simply breathtaking….

"Lily Evans?" Tom asked and comprehension dawned on Harry like a thunderstorm.

It seemed that he was destined to meet all the prominent people of his old life in the most unexpected ways possible. If that wasn't fate screwing with him, then he didn't know what was.

Stuck between fate and death, Harry realized at that moment that this life wasn't going to be any less chaotic than his old one.

Author's Note: Ending on that happy note, should I just say that I am hopeless at following my update schedule? Technically, this should be posted tomorrow but for being a month late, I am posting it a day earlier. I know. My kindness knows no bounds.

The most important question to which everybody needs an answer...is it het or slash? All I have to say is that I have nothing against slash but it'll be all over the place and awkward if I write it. So, no Slash in any of my stories in the near future.

While we're on that topic, there's obviously going to be romance in this story but Harry wouldn't start kissing every eleven year old he can find. There will be hints of romance in initial chapters and it picks up as the story progresses and characters get older.

Now, I won't be revealing any pairings as that ruins all the suspense and gives away the plot. But you'll know as you read the story. It's no plot twist.

See ya!