Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Harry Potter or any related books, movies, places and ideas. It's all property of the wonderful JK Rowling... Up to this point at least. (Subscribe for updates on world domination plans.)

PROLOGUE

FATE AND THE MACHINE

Log #015085023 - 01100110 01100001 01101100 01110011 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100111 01101001 01101110 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111

Hello there.

I probably got the date wrong: nowadays it's seems so hard to keep up with Time, for the unyielding Chronos will never tire and never cease his march. I have only the rhythm of my heart to guide me and even it can no longer cut and hack my days into portions. Ice can only shatter, stone can only brake, none of them can ever move, and such is the case with my heart..

Who am I even talking to?

Yes, you.

Maybe you'll prove to be a suitable distraction.

Can you hear it?

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years … all ticking away slowly, but steadily, right up until you are no more.

Your one brief flicker of consciousness in the roaring flame of Time put out.

Oh, how I envy you, friend.

By the way, can I call you friend? It's just a little word, it no longer holds any meaning for me, really- But I miss saying it.

As long as I can remember I've fought and now I stand here victorious.

Also so terribly, terribly alone. It's crushing sometimes, but only sometimes.

I have the wastelands to watch and rule over and this realm of silence is a rather perfect fit for the king of solitude.

Some would say that we won, and the victory for our just cause - and, of course, it's only just our causes that are just- is worth it. There's, of course, a that tiny little problem that everyone who ever sat down and picked up a pen to describe some or other act of heroism; there is no "we" anymore.

It's just me now.

So, my dearest friend, I ask, did I win?

He turned away from the screen, ordering the machine to shut down. The daily logs never managed to help him order his thoughts, despite how much he tried. There were still a mess.

He remembered some things: couple of faces; a couple of funny words, a broom, a sword, a closet, a castle, a house, a stick, a stone and a piece of shimmering cloth, but that was all.

Sometimes, in his dreams, the memories appeared, vivid and full with details from the life he had lost. At the dawn, no matter how much he tried to keep the images and sounds from escaping, he never once managed to hold onto them.

So he continued rambling to the machine every day.

In the end he felt just as empty, just as lonely, just as frustrated, trying to reach and grasp (at the very least) at the outlines of the life he thought was once his.

And, then, one day, when the flickering number announced that this one was going to be his log #01508600, darkness, thick and greasy, engulfed him.

And then Harry James Potter was once more.

Later he didn't know whether to curse or praise what happened that day.

But one thing he knew: he was going to have the time of his life.

Perhaps the Fates were going senile.

Perhaps there was only one god and his name was absurdity.

Perhaps it was just magic.

But, in any case, someone had decided that throwing a thousand-year-old bored man with amnesia who had lived through ten world wars in the body of a child was a good idea.

And that someone was most definitely at the very least utterly mad.

A/N: English isn't my native language, so if you happen to stumble across any grammatical or other errors of mine, please, feel free to point my attention to them. Any other reasonable criticism is welcomed. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it.