A/N: Not even entirely sure what made me decide to finally sit a try and write this one out. A different take on the rewrite concept that I have never seen done before. I was hesitant at first because it comes dangerously close to falling into the Gary Stu/ Mary Sue category. Rest assured I have come up with a plan to help prevent that happening, unfortunately I won't be able to implement it until i get to Halloween of first year. Be warned, Not beta read and only edited as well as myself and my auto correct are able.

Standard disclaimer: If you recognize it from somewhere. Odds are its not mine

That being said, I hope you enjoy. ^_-

~Shadow

He awoke with a start, his head bouncing painfully off of the stone wall he was leaning against. This was defiantly not where he had fallen asleep last night, which had been his warm and cozy bed at home. He stood slowly, his body stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard cement for…. How long have I been here? He wondered drowsily.

He glanced around the area and quickly determined that he was in an alleyway. It was shaded from view of the nearby street and was quite a bit cluttered with random boxes, crates and trash bins. A thread of panic began to pull at his mind. Why the crap was I sleeping in an alley? His brain finally becoming fully awake, be tried frantically to find a memory, ANY memory, of why or how he could have ended up sleeping in an alley. Drawing a blank, he sighed and moved to lean against the wall but stopped short when he felt his foot hit something that jingled a bit. Looking down he discovers that the object had been an envelope, an envelope with his name on the front. "Terry" Quickly snatching it up he slid down the wall, nearly tearing the envelope apart in his hast to open it. Inside he found a short letter and two of what looked to be Copper, (or maybe bronze?) coins of some type. Putting them inside his jacket pocket he unfolded the letter and began to read:

Terry,

I know you have many questions, and most will be answered in time. I fear I have already done much more than I should have but, should you succeed, the end result will be far more bearable than without my interference. I may have been forced to lay the paths a certain way but I don't intend to let it play out the way they plan. It isn't fair of Him to put so much pain and unhappiness on one person just for his entertainment. Which is where you come in Dear Terry, you are my wildcard so to speak. Do your best and follow your heart. Never forget that I chose you for a reason. Oh~ and check the paper.

~Fate

He blinked at the letter for a few moments trying to comprehend the implications of what was written. Reading it for a second time he looked around for a moment, scratching his head. "What paper?" He asked aloud in confusion as a newspaper carried on a gust of wind smacked him right in the face. Pulling it off slowly, he started chuckling unsteadily for a moment before it became more of a hysterical giggle. (I can't believe this, it's too ridiculous) After taking a minute or two to calm himself he took a look at the newspaper. The first thing that caught his eye was the papers name. "The Daily Prophet" Right there at the top of the page in big bold. (The Daily Prophet? No, it can't be possible…) His thoughts trailed off as the people in the picture of the front page article began to move showing a chubby man standing at a podium giving, what seemed to be, a very rousing speech. Finding the pictures footer he quickly read:

"Cornelius Fudge giving an acceptance speech after his reelection on Tuesday"

(Fudge?) He skimmed the article (Ministry of Magic! Wizarding world? Albus Dumbledore, Chief wizard of the Wizengamot!?) Dropping the paper he raked his fingers threw his short blond hair, knowing he had mussed it up but not caring in the slightest. (This is just too unreal) Fumbling in his pockets for the letter he had stuffed there while reading the paper he fished it out and read it for a third time slowly putting the pieces of information together. Glancing back at the "Prophet" he checks the date:

Wednesday July 17, 1991

(Ok, so that clenches it. Harry Potter started his first year at Hogwarts in '91, so I must be here to… do what exactly.)

Terry stared blankly at the papers in his hands, his mind in overdrive trying to find an answer, until one part of Fate's letter flitted through the chaos.

(Do your best and follow your heart.)

Maybe it wasn't so much as what he was needed to do as it is what he wanted to do. He shook himself visible to clear his thoughts. (So I wake up and find myself not only in the past, but in another …. World? Dimension? Gah, a place, whatever. Somewhere that Harry Potter is a real person. I'm here, what do I want to do?)

Thinking it over he found it wasn't hard to figure out what he really wanted to do. He had spent years with the story of Harry Potter. When the first book had come out he had been nearly the same age as Harry and his friends and with a new book being released almost every year following it had felt almost as though he had grown up with them. He had shared in their wonder and excitement, and in the later years, their sorrow and anger. Finally, at the very end, though it seemed that their troubles were over and that they had a happy life to look forward to, Terry couldn't help but feel it was bitter sweet. They had lost so much along the way and faced so much hardship and pain. Was it worth all that was lost? Could things have been different? These thoughts followed him for many years and he had spent much of it coming up with ways to change things, tweak things here and there, trying to dream up the perfect chain of events that would allow Harry Potter the best possible life, given his circumstances.

(And now that I am here, I have the chance to try.)

His resolve hardened, Terry stood, folding the papers to fit in his pockets while checking to see what else he had on his person. A quick search of his pockets turned up his wallet with drivers license, bank card and 20 dollars in assorted bills still intact, a pack of gum, his key ring and Cell phone, which after a quick glance at he figured it was next to useless to him now. ("No service signal" yeah no shit) His last jacket pocket turned out his iPod, a folding knife with a 3 inch blade that he used at work and the two bronze coins that he now guessed to be Knuts.

Stowing his thing back in their rightful places he made is way to the mouth of the alley. (Time to get the lay of the land so I can figure out where to start) He came out onto a medium sized street that didn't seem to have much traffic and only one of the few people on the sidewalks gave him a quizzical look at his sudden appearance from the alleyway. Glancing around he saw a few shops dotted up either side of the street with what looked like a diner or something up on the next corner over. (London maybe?) He turned his head to look the opposite way and about gave himself whiplash when he snapped his gaze back to the pub in front of him. It wasn't much to look at really, almost kind of rundown, but it was the sign that was hanging by the door that had caught his attention. It showed a large freestanding pot with a fair sized crack down one side and a large puddle below it. ("The Leaky Cauldron" Well I'll be damned) Terry retreated back into the Alley to formulate a plan. (Where to start? I have to be smart about this, it isn't a daydream anymore that I can just wipe the board clean and start all over if I make a mistake. There are so many things I could get rolling before heading to Hogwarts on September 1st…) The thought drew him up short and fear shot like ice through his body. He turned to face a nearby window and looked over his reflection. His short blond hair was tousled a bit from him continuing to run his hand through it and his normally sky blue eyes were clouded with grey from fear. There was a smudge of something dark across one of his cheeks and he quickly wiped it off with a sleeve, restoring his slightly feminine face to its normal pretty boy look instead of giving off a grease monkey vibe. His hooded leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans and boots didn't show any indication that he had spent the night in an alley, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was him.

(I am 22 years old, how the hell do I expect to get into Hogwarts. I could pass for 20 ish… maybe, but definitely not as an 11 year old) He began to pace thinking of possible options. (Maybe there is a potion, or some type of magic I could use. I don't know, who would I even be able to get to do it for me, I have no money, two knuts doesn't count … wait, can I even use magic. What if I can't? Oh man, I don't have enough time to….) Terry was still pacing when a sudden lance of pain in his chest brought him to his knees. "What the Hell?" was all he managed to get out before the pain erupted again and began to spread across his entire body. Feeling as though he was being burned from the inside out it was all Terry could do to not scream out as the pain began to pulse in time with his heartbeat and then everything went blissfully dark.

Albus Dumbledore leaned back into his chair with a tired sigh. He had just finished sending out this year's batch of acceptance letters to what would soon be Hogwarts newest class of first years. Plopping one of his favorite candies, a lemon drop, into his mouth he began thinking about the coming school term. This year was one he had waited so very long for. Young Harry Potter was finally making his return into the wizarding world and there was much to do, yes so very much to do. It was a hard balance, trying to make sure that Harry would be prepared for the coming years all the while allowing him to have the childhood that it seemed he was fated to never obtain. He had failed James and Lilly once already, and that has weighed heavily on his old soul for many a year now, so he would make sure that young Harry will survive the trials he was sure to face. He had plans, oh yes, so many plans, and he was not going to let anything stop them now. Not when he had been setting this play up for so many years. A chime sounded from the parchment on his desk and a cold shiver went down his spine from head to toe. Looking to the parchment, the register for his perspective first years, he saw that a new name had just been added to the list. With an odd sense of unease the aged Headmaster picked up his quill to pen what he hoped to be the very last acceptance letter:

To Mr. Terry S. Rayne

Thoughts, Ideas and Constructive criticism are all welcome. I love to know what you think. Fate's Gambit has me stumped at the moment, as none of the characters seem to want to talk with me right now. So sense this seems to flow easily enough, I will probably be able to do a few more chapters fairly quickly.

Good afternoon, Good evening and Good night-

~ShadowzeroV7