Disclaimer: As always I do not own Harry Potter.
AN: A random one shot that appeared in my head and decided not to leave until I wrote it.
In a remote village, unknown to most of the world thanks to its wizarding nature, in a house hidden from most but the one it was guarded against, Thomas Marvolo Riddle (currently masquerading as Lord Voldemort) had reached the last of his, already limited, patience. 'Avada Kedavra' he drawled lazily flicking his wand at the silly woman who had tried to stand in his way, as he dispassionately watched her crumple to the ground, exposing the infant in the crib behind her, he felt a brief pang of regret for his inability to please his most faithful servant, unfortunately it was probably necessary for her to die in order for his plans to reach fruition. The infant stood, holding onto the bars of his crib, innocent eyes just beginning to change from their baby blue, and stared at the distracted man who had made his mummy cry but something prevented him from beginning to wail as the man became lost in thought.
Tom mused silently about the long road he had travelled only to end it all in a small bedroom in a quiet little village victimising the very type of family he had originally wished for, he shrugged gallicly all the signs and his ,not inconsiderable, gift of foresight agreed he must do this if he were to have any hope of a achieving his long term goals, Thomas Riddle the Dark Lord Voldemort, the last Heir of Slytherin there would ever be and the end of the mad, near squibs, Gaunt must die having exposed the pureblood bigots as what they were and united the light, and a hero must rise in his place. He squared his shoulders and looked down at the child "hello Harry, it has been a long time my son and I am most deeply sorry but it must be this way, now drink the nice potion." A blood red potion keyed with the blood of the deceased James was gently encouraged down the boy's throat and Tom began to chant, his wand flicking in complicated and precise movements until, with a flash of green, his body crumpled to the ground dissolving as it touched the floor.
Ten minutes later an ancient wizard, with twinkling eyes and long white beard appeared in the bedroom with a pop his grandfatherly face excited, the dark lord had been defeated, at the price of the Potters yes, but this was a victory for the light! When the baby began to wail a look of surprise briefly flitted across his face and he began to check the room carefully, finding the expected three killing curses and the Dark Lord's wand he quickly reformatted his plans, the Potter boy could prove useful after all. Apparating away he went to send Hagrid to retrieve the young Potter Heir whilst he plotted the best place for him.
Alone again Tom concentrated on transferring his adult self into a disguised bunker within the 'baby mind' that he was now using as camouflage, he would have to be careful at first, the reproduction of his own childish persona would interact with the outside world with his adult intellect guiding only to emerge in a truly life threatening situation, which there certainly would be, his plans would provide for it. As Hagrid collected him he continued to plot, coming out of his thought just long enough to hear Dumbledore's jovial comments about his scar, unlike Minerva he knew that the old man had not even made the attempt and assumed that the manipulative old bastard had indeed taken the bait about his 'travel down the road to immortality' and the false prophecy where 'either must live for the other to survive'. Content that all his plans were firmly in place he settled in to sleep grumbling to himself about idiots that abandon babies on doorsteps with no explanation in November, even if magical kids were tough it was still only 4 degrees outside!
Years later 'Harry' (as he now thought of himself) had arrived on the train to Hogwarts, he looked thin and uncared for and smiled shyly at those who offered him help, all in all the perfect polite little orphan. As he sat in the last compartment talking to the Weasley's youngest boy, he reflected that being a metamorphagus was wonderful, the trace wouldn't attach to him since he was (in soul) much to old so he had been able to apparate and move around England without fear of being spotted. His travels had taken him to the Potter's account manager, where he had 'let slip' his living conditions, ever since then the Dursleys had been magically bound to treat him appropriately and compensated with the moneys set aside in his 'parent's' will. He had attended the finest school taking his Muggle qualifications and confounding the date just so that his identity in the muggle world remained safe, but he felt that Dumbledore had a certain image of his boy hero that must be lived up to. With the hindsight born from experience he knew that his open distaste for the abusive muggles he had lived with, his pride in his bloodline, along with his confident demeanour had been his undoing as a young man. This time, when presenting the hero that would save this magical backwater (from itself if necessary) he would be more careful, the stage was set, he was 'possessing' Quirell right now (the target chosen for his disgusting interest in small children) and 'Harry would defeat him using luck and courage. The next year the diary would use similar magic, and he had various other appearances planed culminating with his resurrection then defeat at the hands of a legally adult 'Harry'. Behind the scenes he would be making alliances, working on improving understanding and growing his finances, but now it was time to be sorted. Here goes nothing he thought unconsciously crossing his fingers as he concentrated on his Occlumency, projecting a brave, studious boy without an ounce of guile, he was unconsciously chanting 'not sytherin, not slytherin' as he put the hat on his head.
After moments of deliberation the hat shouted Gryffindor" and 'Harry' beamed widely as he walked towards his new house his plans were underway!