It was only natural that Tom Riddle would seek out and explore the Room of Requirement after learning about it toward the beginning of his sixth year. He decided it would be best to keep the thought he had of what he sought from the room vague- I need a powerful magical object. After all, he was here to study this peculiar room and seeing exactly what it could summon for him would be a good place to start. The door appeared, and he entered.

Inside, there was only a mirror. The presence of that mirror, alone, proved the value of the room to him, for he knew it to be the Mirror of Erised. He approached it, smirking, and examined the object, both the frame and the glass. Naturally, he expected that, if anything, the mirror would show him in a position of power or, perhaps, carnage. That is to say that he was rather put out when, instead, it showed him such a stupid thing as a girl, and not just a girl, but one that he'd never seen who was wearing a bloody Gryffindor tie, at that.

His pristine face crumpled in anger. It was impossible that this was what the Mirror of Erised would show him; something this stupid that not only was a spit in the face of his ambition but also a sharp jab at his family history, namely the part where he's the heir of Slytherin and this mirror showed him a bloody Gryffindor. That, plus the way that every last bit of the suffering he had suffered in his life was the direct result of how his mother had destroyed their lives all because of something as stupid as lust and now this mirror is telling him that the one thing he wants most in life is some random girl? That, just like his mother, his life and all his ambitions will crumble at the hands of some stupid, useless attachment to another person? No, the only possible explanation was that this wasn't actually the Mirror but, rather, a poor imitation of it, summoned by the room since it was unable to retrieve the real thing.

Now, that conclusion made no sense, given how, were that the case, the room very well could have summoned fake versions of all kinds of magical objects, even something like the Sorcerer's Stone, but it clearly didn't. However, in his anger, that didn't particularly occur to him before he did something rather stupid and quite out of character for him- he punched the glass. He was somewhat surprised when the impact of his fist actually caused the glass to actually shatter but, moreso, when the shards of glass hung in the air, rather than falling, for a second or two, before they started moving around him. He tried to step away but couldn't because, within seconds, the glass had sucked him into the frame, which, now, was more like a portal of sorts.

He didn't realize that he was unconscious until he woke up, splayed across the floor in front of the mirror that, once again, had a complete glass surface without so much as a scratch on it. Tom didn't know what exactly had occurred but what he did know was that he didn't have time for this useless room and this wretched mirror. Standing up, he irritably brushed himself off and strode out of the room. His experience with the room already had him in a rather poor mood but the way people kept staring at him as he made his way through the halls made it worse. Still, he kept his face perfectly blank, refusing to make all his fellow students of his agitation. Unfortunately, before he made it back to the comfort of Slytherin common room and, by extent, his loyal minions, he was stopped by an old man wearing absurd robes who stared at Tom like he was a ghost. Not even, given that anyone in the castle would be well aware of the ghosts that dwell there and perfectly comfortable with them.

'May I help you, sir? You look as though you have something to say to me.'

'Tom Riddle… so that's where you went.' At the sound of the old man's voice, his blood went cold because he knew, sure as day, that it was Dumbledore who was speaking to him. Somehow, impossibly, in the span of a few hours, Dumbledore had gone from a middle aged man with greying hair to an elderly one with white hair, a long beard, and spectacles.

'What do you mean?'

Rather than answering him, Dumbledore insisted that they should talk somewhere more private and led him to the headmaster's office. To Tom's horror, the office was completely different and Dippet was only there in a painting, alongside all the other past headmasters. He wanted to shout at the miserable old fool before him, demand to know what was going on, what sort of sick joke this was meant to be but, instead, as always, Tom Riddle did what he did best- he held his tongue and kept his expression neutral.

'Fifty three years ago, you vanished without a trace. You were last seen by your housemates in class that morning but never showed up at lunch and, after that, it was as though you had completely ceased to exist. That day, as you know, was Wednesday, September 22nd, 1943. Today's date is Sunday the 22nd of September, 1996.' Tom leaned in closer, almost threateningly.

'And why, pray tell, should I believe a word of what you have just said to me?'

'Because, even if you don't right now, it would be good to keep in mind for when you find that you can't enter your common room and that all of the people you knew are no longer here.' The old man sighed. 'Look, Tom, I know we don't get on well but let me help you just this once or, at least, allow me to fetch someone else to assist you.' He scrutinized the man and, for the first time since he met him, saw nothing but absolute sincerity.

'Fine, then send for someone, if you insist.' Dumbledore nodded and, then, sent out a summons. The few minutes that followed passed in thick silence until the headmaster's little helper arrived.

'What did you need?' That little helper turned out to be a girl with bobbed black hair who looked to be about his age and, judging by her outfit, was a Slytherin prefect as well or, at least, she was supposed to be.

'Ah, Pansy, there you are. This is Tom Riddle.' He gestured to the boy in question and Tom smiled, shaking the girl's hand in greeting. 'There appears to have been a bit of a mishap of the time variety that has caused young Mr. Riddle, here, to have been dropped in here from the 40s.' The girl, Pansy, snorted.

'Headmaster, isn't it unprofessional to call a prefect to your office just to try to pull a trick on them? You might do well to find a hobby.' Tom allowed himself to smile. He found this girl amusing.

'And here I thought you were conspiring with him against me. Perhaps that is the nature of this odd joke- that we are both meant to be tricked.'

'Pansy, I called you here because you are a Slytherin prefect and also in the same year as Tom but now I wonder if it would have been more wise to send for Miss Granger instead.'

'Excuse me? Fine, if you want me to play pretend and help out the time traveler or whatever, then I will, even if you are being unprofessional here.' Her mouth quirked up with humor. 'But don't imply that I'm so incompetent you need to get Granger to do my job for me; she's got her own house to worry about.' Dumbledore smiled in response.

'Good, then I will leave Tom in your capable hands, Miss Parkinson. In the meantime, I will see about acquiring clothing and materials for him.'

'Alright.' She turned to Tom. 'Well, come on, then.' Midway down the stairs, Pansy started talking to him. 'I don't know if you're a time traveler or not and, frankly, I don't care. Either way, all I know is that you showed up out of nowhere, are supposed to be a Slytherin, are apparently in our year, and, by the looks of it, you're supposed to be a prefect, even though we've already got ours. You don't need a tour so, really, all you need is the password to the common room, a bed, and a schedule. Two of those things will be taken care of which means that all you really need from me is the password. Does that sound right?'

'Yes.'

'Perfect.' They stopped when they reached the door. 'The password is "obfuscate."' They stepped out into the hallway. 'Lunch is in about 5 minutes, so we best get to the hall.'

There were two primary things that Tom noticed upon entering the hall- that he didn't recognize any of the students whatsoever and that the bloody Gryffindor he saw in that wretched mirror was sitting across the way, chattering with some of her housemates. This was the final push that caused him to recognize that yes, he really was in a different time and that, for once, Dumbledore was telling the truth. The rest of it, all that unpleasant business with that Gryffindor girl, he tucked away for later. He followed Pansy to the Slytherin table and, before they sat down, she made sure to introduce him.

'This here is Tom, Dumbledore says he's a time traveler but I think that's rubbish. He just got here, though, so play nice.' Her parting sentiment would've had him questioning the legitimacy of whatever version of Slytherin he was in were it not for her sarcastic tone.

'Wait, what's your last name?' The boy who asked the question resembled one of his more useful followers, Thoros.

'Riddle.' The boy's eyes went wide and the kid next to him that looked a bit like Abraxas froze, too.

'So, when you vanished, this is where you turned up.' Pansy wrinkled her nose in response to the whole exchange.

'Come on, Nott, don't tell me you actually believe this shite?'

'My grandfather went to school with a boy named Tom Riddle who was a brilliant and extremely gifted wizard. They had all kinds of plans until, one day, Tom vanished. Grandfather said there was no trace of him after their potions class that morning, that he never even made it to lunch.' The air was tense.

'I understand Miss Parkinson's disbelief. I, myself, did not, until I entered this hall, realize that it is not actually 1943.' The corner of his lips quirked up into a hint of a smile. 'You most certainly are not Thoros just as surely as that is not Abraxas sitting beside you.' The one who resembled Abraxas chuckled.

'No, I'm Draco. And you're right, Theo and I are most certainly not our grandfathers.'

'I don't suppose you have proof of your identity, just to be sure.' Tom smirked as he pulled out a locket from under his shirt.

'Given that you are related to Abraxas and Thoros, I would assume that you know what this is.' The boys looked at the locket in awe.

'Yes, we do.' He smiled.

'Splendid.'

Tom tuned out Pansy's incredulity at the situation and the rest of the noise around him as he turned around and caught that bloody Gryffindor staring at him. Even worse was how, when he caught her staring, she blushed and looked away. Knowing that that bloody mirror had not only shown him yet another insipid girl like all the others who fawned over him but also dumped him in a different decade presumably all so he could be around her infuriated him. Naturally, he refrained from expressing this outwardly but, rather, turned back around towards his companions.

'Who's the girl who was staring at me just now?'

'Oh, you mean Granger?' Draco grinned. 'Why, do you fancy her or something?'

'Absolutely not.' The icy tone of Tom's voice ensured that no one among his dining company would be stupid enough to insinuate such a vile concept again.