'For my part, I consider that it will be found much better by all parties to leave the past to history, especially as I propose to write that history myself.'
~ Winston Churchill

It was with troubled eyes that Armando Dippet surveyed the student sitting before him. On one hand, he believed the boy's story to be true - he certainly did look as if he had barely made it out of muggle London with his life... and was that blood on his sleeve? However, there was also a hunger in his eyes that unnerved him, but he pushed that thought aside as quickly as it came.

Dippet felt that after decades as Headmaster, he was good at reading students, but the boy in front of him was proving difficult. He was more than sure the emotions the boy was displaying now were a product from his experiences, not his actual character... But there was still that niggling thought in the back of his mind...

"Harry, your file says you were home schooled before... before the accident?" Dippet winced over his phrasing, but the boy never seemed phased. Still in shock, the Headmaster thought sadly.

"Yes, I was schooled to a sixth year level," came the quiet, reserved reply.

"Good, good," replied Dippet distractedly, "Now we will need to conduct aptitude tests to confirm this, but the results will take about a week to come back. Nevertheless, we shall get you sorted first, and settled, no need to pile everything on at once after all, and conduct the tests when you are of a more... sound frame of mind. Does that sound alright?"

"You are very kind, Sir. Thank you." Emerald eyes shone with gratitude, and Dippet suppressed a smile.

"I realise that this is a delicate subject, but did your parents leave you with enough money for basic living necessities and the such?"

"My mother," the boy coughed a little here, the grief in his eyes going straight to Dippet's heart, "I apologise, my mother always gets... I mean got our family by on the bare minimum to save away enough money for me to get by once they were gone."

"I see, she was a wise woman. If you need anything else, you can either approach myself or Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore," Dippet offered a small smile which Harry did not return, merely returning to gaze at the floor, "Now," he looked at his watch, "I am afraid I am late for an appointment. Gerda can show you to our guest rooms where you can sleep for a little bit before the Sorting."

Harry never even looked mildly surprised when a house-elf materialised next to him, leading him enthusiastically from the room. As the door shut with a resounding creak, Dippet tried not to sigh. Hogwarts was the best place for this boy, hopefully he could recover amongst the support of his peers.

Harry Potter paced the guest room impatiently, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Unlike his thoughts, the room was cheerful, situated in one of the many turrets that held the castle. The midday sun shone brightly, beaming in through the vast windows, and creating little crystals of light as it bounced off anything remotely reflective.

Harry wanted to close the curtains, his fingers itching for the silk tassels.

So far it had went well. Dippet had swallowed his story about a home-schooled boy who barely made it out of the air raids in muggle London hook, line and sinker. Of course, the documents that Dumbledore had sent back with him had also helped.

Involuntarily his mind went back to the last look of his Headmaster. Dumbledore's robes breezed around him, as his magic flared, barricading the doors from the Death Eaters outside. His office that had once felt so spacious, had became a prison, and both the inhabitants knew Hogwarts had fallen.

That was when Dumbledore had produced the time-turner, his blue eyes shining with worry as he explained this had never been tested, and that it really was a worst case scenario plan.

Harry really wanted to tell the Headmaster that if the worse case scenario was them being moments away from death with the Order in tatters, they had reached that long before now.

Dumbledore had went first, sending instructions to his past self, before returning, placing the time-turner around Harry's neck, and sending him hurtling through the pages of history to 1943.

Now he was here. This year a basilisk would be let loose. Tom Riddle would learn of his true identity, and take the first steps to become Voldemort.

But that wouldn't happen.

This year, Tom Riddle would die, Harry would save the timeline, and Voldemort would never have existed.

It was a good, solid plan.

If only it was that easy.

A/N: Shamelessly I have to confess I started writing this after reading Fate's Favourite by The Fictionist. I haven't written Tom/Harry in a while, and certainly one that isn't slash... It may end up that way depending on my resolve, but I'm actually trying to do something different - I already have a time-travel story like that.

Anyhoo, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and I really would appreciate a review - it's been too long since I dabbled in this pairing!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, I am simply a poor student with too much free time.