Prologue:

Harry had never felt so angry, pointing his wand furiously at Dudley, having to struggle to refrain from more than mere threat.

No news, no nothing! He was infuriated, tired, bewildered and hurt.

Had it not been he who had fought Voldemort? Seen Cedric die? And all Dumbledore and - even worse! - Ron and Hermione could offer him were meaningless scraps of nothing disguised as comfort.

He ground his teeth, knowing he shouldn't be, but revelling in the fear in his cousin's eyes. It vented some of his own frustrations.

"Point it somewhere else!" Dudley gasped, white faced and sweating.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-"

All of a sudden, Dudley gave an odd, shuddering noise, as if doused by icy water.

For a split second, Harry thought he'd done magic without meaning too, then reality hit unwelcomingly. His eyes widened with horror.

The stars had gone out, every light in the area - gone. A horrifically familiar cold crept across him, snaking its tendrils into every bone in his body.

He didn't have the power to put out the stars.

He struggled to see, while Dudley whimpered into his ear, pleading with him. He answered distractedly, searching out the threat.

This was impossible…and yet, he would recognise this sensation anywhere, it haunted him.

Dementors.

He heard them before he saw them, the rattle of their breath, like death itself.

He continued bickering, increasingly annoyed, with the fat whale, only snapping out of it when a fist smashed into the side of his head with a colossal wham. He was lifted off his feet, white lights popping in his eyes.

"You moron, Dudley!" he yelled, eyes watering with pain as he scrambled to his knees, feeling frantically for his wand. He head Dudley, the stupid oaf, blundering away. "DUDLEY COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!" He roared.

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. He screamed for his cousin to keep his mouth shut, wishing he didn't have to part his lips for the warning, but feeling that sense of obligation that he must. He scrabbled desperately for his wand once more. "Where's - wand - come on - lumos!"

He cast the spell automatically, desperate for light, find it nothing short of a miracle when his wand tip ignited. He snatched it, darting to his feet, only to turn around anf freeze.

The dementor was right behind him, and, the next second, it's rotting hand was on his throat.

"Expecto Patronum!"

All that came was a whisp of silver, as his mind was consumed by memories.

Memories of beatings, and graveyards and dark haired boys…what?

And then, as its lips touched his, he fell into darkness.

The darkness receded a moment later, and Harry thought, if this was losing a soul, that it wasn't so bad.

There were blurs of colour around him and then - and then he hit the ground with a sickening thud, completely disorientated. Ow.

Shrieks around him, worried exclamations…magic…he could feel tinglings of magic. He opened his eyes, squinting around him, everything aching.

He felt exhausted all of a sudden.

There was nothing but panic, panic that stirred his guts to a frenzy of fear.

What had happened? Where was he? H-Hogwarts? Had he somehow apparated to Hogwarts? But no, there was a full potion's class going on…what?

"Someone go and get the Headmaster and the nurse."

One voice cut through the haze of terror, a clear, authoritive voice that he recognised from somewhere. He turned his head, noting that another figure was very close…really close? Had he landed on someone?

The table was certainly broken…he was lucky he hadn't landed in the cauldron!

He should say sorry. He turned…froze.

No.

This was some sick joke. It had to be. It just had to be.

The figure turned around to face him too, with icy, intelligent violet eyes that seemed sear right through to his soul.

"Tom Riddle?" he demanded, furiously.

He saw the other's attention snap to him fully, more intense than anything he'd ever felt before, a hand closing on his chin harshly, and…

He sank into blackness again.

Tom Riddle was bored.

It was about a week into his fifth year, and though he was delighted to be back at Hogwarts and magic, he was bored.T

he syllabus was laughably easy for him, and he was certain he'd mastered most of the curriculum in his third year. Oh well, it was better than being amongst the filthy muggles and their bombs and their war. He closed his eyes slightly, resisting the urge to shudder.

Of course, the Wizarding World had it's own war with the threat of Grindewald, but a war of wands and power was so much grander and exquisite than the fire and explosions and ugliness on the streets of London.

He could feel Lestrange, the pathetic cretin, trying to catch his eye, but he ignored it. They all catered to him, so under his thumb nowadays that it wasn't even a challenge to keep his empire running smoothly.

Still, they were amusing enough to play with from time to time, to see how much he could take from them and twist them before they caught on. And then, when they did, to see if he could take them even further, making them believe they were everything…before discarding for the trash they were.

Oh it was delicious to watch them scramble and bicker for his attentions after that, doing increasingly desperate things just for a snatch of his gaze, a kind word from his lips.

He added the hellebore to his potion, stirring it, ignoring the admiring gaze of Slughorn alternating between himself and Prince.

Another 'O', of course. He never got anything else, he didn't allow himself to. Nothing could go wrong-

There was a sickening crash, a body out of nowhere, falling seemingly out of thin air, landing hard on his little table, pretty much on his lap actually had he not shot out of the way.

He had a moment of disorientation, confusion, everything in splinters before him.

Then there was chaos.

People screaming, being down right absurd and pitiful.

It was just a boy.

Admittedly, it was a very strange boy who fell out the ceiling, but they didn't need to squeal so irritably.

Black hair, straighter than his, but with the same shade, tanned skin, a small figure…terrible clothes, glasses, and, what a curious scar? It was like a lightning bolt. He was mildly interested.

It was something new, either way, that he hadn't played with before. A moan of pain slipped past the strange boy's lips, and then his eyes opened, squinting around the room.

They were stunning eyes. Emerald, killing curse green. He would have looked relatively ordinary otherwise. He was handsome enough, too, not that he cared about some things, but some of the females had started whispering with an obnoxious excitement.

Oh for crying aloud, were they all going to simply stare like idiots? Of course, it was foolish of him to think they would rise above their joint stupidity and grow a brain.

"Someone go and get the Headmaster and the nurse," he ordered, concisely, suppressing a sigh, pushing some concern into his tone for good measure.

He sounded the model student. Perfect.

Those eyes turned to him instantly, probably drawn to the only non-shriek in the room. They locked gazes, and, those eyes widened.

Green eyes. Alive eyes. Confused eyes. Defiant eyes.

"Tom Riddle?" the boy demanded, incredulously, almost fearfully, certainly hatefully.

His own eyes widened in response, before he could catch himself.

Did this boy know him? He didn't know the other - did he?
His mind buzzed through millions of questions and an utterly unsatisfied amount of answers.

He lunged forwards instictually, grasping the other boy's jaw, his fingers sliding over smooth skin, tightening when the boy automatically tried to jerk away from him.

And then, the pain clouded over them entirely, dulling the vividness…passed out.
He felt a momentary flash of disappointment, before gathering himself, offering to take the unexpected arrival to the Hospital Wing, where Dippet would no doubt meet them.

He hid a smirk.

It seemed things just got interesting.

A/N: So, terrible, generic prologue, but we must start somewhere mustn't we with time travel cliches?

As you might have guessed, I have started the PP rewrite early. :) Yay. I hope you enjoy this as much as you liked Fate's Favourite.

I'd love to hear your comments.

PS: What should I call this? 1) Past's Player 2) Luck's Lover 3) History's Hero
I can't decide and am, thus, switching randomly every so often at the moment...