Disclaimer: If you think I own Harry Potter and its affiliated things, methinks you need to get professional help. J.K. Rowling is its rightful owner.

As the sun rose on an average home in an average neighborhood of Little Whinging in Surrey, a boy began thrashing violently in his sleep. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, he was in no danger of rolling off of his bed, as he slept in the closet under the stairs. It was not a lack of space or the comfort of the cupboard that he was there, but the cruelty of his aunt and uncle, who had the unfortunate task, or so they claimed, of raising him. Luckily however, it was one of the seldom times that he had not thoroughly enraged his uncle, and therefore the padlock the normally kept him sealed within the tiny cupboard was not locked.

After a few moments, the boy sat up rather quickly, reaching for something that wasn't there. He winced at a phantom pain that burned within him, and then decided to get a drink. Realizing that his uncle would soon wake up to begin getting ready for work, he also began making breakfast. Finishing his glass of water, he set about making the Dursley's favorite foods, turned the coffee maker on for his uncle's coffee, and the kettle on for his aunt's tea. He set about making pancake batter for his cousin, who would throw a tantrum if he didn't have something sweet at every meal, and then six other times a day as well. He frowned, it seems that Dudley, his beachball of a cousin had tried eating the bag of sugar again, as his aunt had placed it on the top shelf, well out of his reach, even with a chair.

Suddenly, it began to float, right down to his outreached hand. His eyes widened, and a rare grin spread across his face. He left the cabinet open, and went back to the task at hand. He poured the flour in, and then, focusing as hard as he could, pulled the next ingredient out of the cupboard, made it pour itself, and then put it back. He then pulled out the whisk and set it about its task as he pulled out over half a dozen eggs and over a pound of bacon, butter and the bread.

The boy's uncle walked into the kitchen right as the eggs cracked themselves into a hot and buttered frying pan and dropped the newspaper he was carrying. He became very pale, and managed to shriek, "P-p-petunia," at the top of his lungs. Said woman bounded down into the kitchen wrapped in a bathing robe and shrieked. Gathering every ounce of courage in his body, the boy's uncle went to punch the boy in the stomach to make him stop. Distracted though he was, the boy noticed his uncle's attack, and stepped to the side. His uncle, being overweight and of poor balance, fell, breaking a chair on his way down.

Enraged, he stood back up, and went to hit the boy again. The boy, however, was distracted by a voice in his head telling him to hurt his aunt and uncle, to make them suffer, as they had made him suffer. The voice made the scar on his forehead burn as though the cut was fresh and someone had poured salt and lemon juice into it. He didn't notice his uncle's fist until it collided with his face, snapping his glasses in half and sending him to the floor. His uncle picked him up by his neck and threw him in his closet, locking him in. He didn't notice however, as he quickly succumbed to the pain from his scar and blacked out.


The boy came to in a familiar place, though from where he recognized it, he couldn't remember. He sat up to find himself on a couch, sitting in between a man with black hair like his and glasses, and a redhaired woman with eyes like his. "Mum, dad?" he asked, but they didn't seem to hear him. There was a large crack outside, and the man went to the window to peer outside. Harry followed him, and saw a man in a black cloak walking up the path to the house.

The man paled. "Lily, its Him, take Harry and run, I'll try to hold him off," he shouted as the door exploded inward. He raised his wand, but the lethal blast of green light was already upon him.

"James," the woman screamed, grabbing the boy and running up the stairs. She set the baby she, was cradling to her chest in his crib and turned to face the man at who had just entered the room.

"Step aside, girl, I only want the boy." He said. She pleaded with him, but to no avail. "I said step aside, woman." When she refused the another blast of the same green light took her life as it did her husband's. The baby, who had been crying fiercely, stopped, glaring at evil man who had just taken the lives of his mother and father. Harry reacted as the man shot a third blast of light from his wand at the baby, jumping in between them in an attempt to shield the baby from the horrible fate that awaited it, but the curse passed right through him, twice. Once as it flew towards the poor child, and once as it reflected back at the caster. With a scream of inhuman agony, the man was gone, exploding into dust and destroying the part of the house behind him.

There was a flash of white light, and then the baby was gone. The older Harry glanced around, to find a boy his age standing upon the ruined black robes. He was inhumanly pale, with black eyes and only slits for nostrils. Strangely, he had the same scar Harry did, the irritated red flesh showing clearly. The boy seemed completely wrong, as though his very existence was a blight upon reality. The boy smiled viciously at him. "We meet again, Harry Potter. To think, I slept inside you these nine long years. But where are my manners? I, am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful sorceror in the world. I am even greater than the Great Albus Dumbledore." the dark lord said in a hilariously high pitched voice.

"Thats a silly name," Harry said bluntly. "I mean, you must've really been made fun of as a kid, with a name like that."

"No its not, its a wicked name," the boy replied.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Keep telling yourself that," Harry dismissed him cooly. "Where are we?"

"I will, thank you very much," the boy snapped coldly. "This is, or was, the memory of the day that I tried to kill you."

"That wasn't very nice of you," Harry scolded him.

"I'm not a very nice person, see." The evil child made a rabbit appear and then snapped its neck.

"Thats terrible, why would you do something like that? How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"Well, first I grabbed it firmly at the head and back, and then I twisted really hard," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Not that you twit," Harry retorted.

"Ah, well, when your a wizard you can do all sorts of things, like your little display in the kitchen," Voldemort answered.

"Well, I guess I'm a better magician than you are, I mean, plenty of people can pull rabbits out of their hats. I made things fly around the kitchen," Harry speculated.

Voldemort's slits flared. "How dare you claim to be greater than the great Lord Voldemort!" he yelled.

"Your worse than my cousin," Harry muttered.

"HOW DARE YOU COMPARE ME TO THAT MUGGLE FILTH," he screamed. "I will not tolerate your insolence." The snakelike boy charged Harry, who despite being abnormally small for his age was bigger than the other boy, and had much better reflexes from "playing" with Dudley and his friends. He sidestepped and tripped the other boy. Harry twisted the other boy's arm behind his back to keep him from attacking.

Unwilling to be defeated so easily, Voldemort switched tactics. He pushed Harry off with a wave of magical energy, and then stared into his eyes. Harry's scar burned as the sneak attacked his mind. Harry quickly counterattacked with his own mental assault, following it up with a physical one. Despite his attempts to push the dark lordling out of his mind, he got flashes of what the other boy planned. Voldemort planned on taking over his body here as they battled in Harry's mind, and using it as his own, he planned to once again attempt to destroy the magical world and an old man with a really long beard. Harry realized that he couldn't allow the boy to win as his fist collided with the other boy's cheek, splitting the lip and sending him sprawling. The physical attack did its purpose and broke the mental link between them. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD," Harry roared at the boy, and began to push him out. The boy screamed in otherworldly agony as he began to get torn open at the forehead. Harry pushed harder and harder, and the tear grew, light pouring out.

"NOOOOOooooo," the boy shrieked as he dispersed into dust as the older version of him had done so earlier. Harry panted, but felt relieved that it was gone, like he could focus like never before in his life. He felt lighter, no longer having the evil soul tainting his own. Exhausted from the exertion of physical, mental, and magical force, Harry returned to the couch from which he had woken on and allowed himself to pass out.

A/N: I realize this is kind of short, but I didn't want to go any farther with this chapter.