Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am only borrowing her characters to satisfy my own muse.

Chapter One: Repeat

There he was. After everything he had been through, this was it. Now was his chance. There was nothing left now, but to do it. It is what everybody wants, is it not? All he had to say was those two words and it would all be over, but would it really? Their killer would be put to death. Lord Voldemort would be gone forever.

Harry slowly approached the lone figure standing amongst the ruins of what used to be Slytherins' Keep, bodies of the dead and dying lied scattered on the ground surrounding him. Once this had been a beautiful place, of happiness and learning; a school where all were welcomed, but now there were only black crows and snakes, himself and the other man. The man standing across from him did not turn.

"You sure took you time in getting here" the man said in a harsh, scratchy voice that had obviously not been used to participate in daily conversation for a long while. The strong wind blew his long hair all over the place.

"Sorry." What else could he have said to that?

Harry shifted slightly. Did he really have to do this? Did he have to be the one to throw the curse? It was not that he didn't want Voldemort gone, it was just…he did not want to be the one to do it, to kill him. Once, Harry would have already thrown the curse. Once, Harry would be spitting on his dead and hopefully rotting body. Unfortunately that time was not now. What had happened to all his anger? What had happened to his will to kill this man?

"I cannot forgive you Tom, you know that is the one thing I cannot do," he paused just for a second to collect his bearings. "Today, Tom, I am going to have to kill you."

The man nodded in affirmative, realizing that. "I know, but for the record, I am truly sorry."

Harry frowned slightly. "I may know you are, but Albus does not and he has done far to much for me to turn on him now. Even if I didn't kill you, someone else would. Who knows, maybe even a Muggle would be your downfall."

The dark figure stood up slowly, his heavy, shreaded black cloak billowing behing him. What little moonlight there was lit up the mans pale snake-like face. "Do you believe in fate, Harry?" Voldemort asked, his blood-red eyes staring him down.

The man in question looked at him sadly. "Pig would fly before fate stopped existing." His rival took another step foreward, he was now only several meters away. Preparing himself, Harry clenched his wand in his good hand. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to kill anymore. If only-

"Yet you fight so hard against your own. Why is that?" The next thing Harry knew, he wasn't even an arms length away and Tom's fingers were delicately tracing the scar on his forehead which he had made there himself eighteen years ago. A burning sensation filled his mind. "We are wizard, Harry. We control our own fate."

The light! Suddeny that was all he could see. An eerie white light had completely covered his eyes. Everything was white. Why? What did he do? Just then a jolt went through his body.

"Bloody Hell, Tom!" Harry exclaimed as his vision slowly returned. Jerking out of whatever it was he was lying on, he stared at the light coming through the bottom of a what appeared to be a wall. Closer inspection told him that it was not that, but instead a crack at the bottom of the door. Quietly he pushed it open, praying that he had not been captured.

Apparently some of his prayers had been answered as there was no guard outside that door, and the door itself was not in a dungeon. No alarm went off, and there were no screams. 'Tom what have you done?' Taking in his surroundings he realized that not only was he in safe territory, but he was also at his old home, the cupboard under the stairs. "The Dursley's?" he asked himself quietly. No, there were dead and had been for three years now.

"No," he muttered, pleading with himself. "Oh Merlin, please no. Tell me he didn't." Exiting the cupboard he quickly moved to the staircase and proceeded to climb it two steps at a time. "Please no." Upon reaching the top he entered the closest room to his right. What he say made him freeze and his insides ran cold. Directly in front of him was a large porcelain mirror; a small child's image was in its face. That child was him.

He was short, maybe about 3'6" with large baggy cloths that seamed to fall off his frame. His hair was short, maybe shoulder length, messy, and a deep shade of raven black. His face was almost cherubic, and his figure slightly feminine. His eyes were a beautiful, yet eerily emerald green, but there was something missing, or something out of place in those eyes. Perhaps it was their striking resemblance to Albus Dumbledore's and Tom Riddle's. That air of power…

"God damn you, Tom." He had sent him back. Tom had given him a second chance. He was once again that boy whom was staring back at him from the mirior. That boy was him.

This was too much. To have this chance…he could change everything. He could save them, him. No. He would have to play this carefully. He could not let Albus get suspicious. He could not make those simple mistakes, those little slip ups that would tear apart his façade, but yes he could change things! There was no way he could site back and watch another war take place. He would not watch everyone he cared about die again, but how could he prevent it if he was stuck in his seven year old body?

A/N: How did you like it so far? Do you think it's worth continuing?

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