Harry couldn't stop shivering as the storm raged outside the broken-down house on the craggy island. Uncle Vernon had given him the thinnest, most raggedy blanket available and it did nothing to keep him warm; the hard stone floor only seemed to seep away the little warmth he managed to gather. Dudley was sound asleep, the thunder drowning out the sound of his snores. His wrist dangled from the side of the couch and the glow in the dark arms of Dudley's new watch showed that it was eleven thirty. Half an hour and then Harry would turn eleven.
With nostalgic longing Harry thought of his cupboard under the stairs. Sure, there were spiders and it was so small he usually felt the walls were closing in on him, but it was never this cold and at least it had a mattress…
A bolt of lightning illuminated the room at the same time as thunder cracked deafeningly once again. This time the rolling thunder covered not only Dudley's pig-like snoring but also Harry's cry of pain. The Dursleys slept peacefully on.
Clawing at his forehead Harry surged to his knees gasping. All of a sudden his scar seemed to be on fire, pain knifing through his head. Tears blurred his already poor sight as he made a grab for his glasses and put them on. The air in the room had changed subtly, and even before looking Harry knew they were no longer alone. There was somebody else in the room as well.
Lightning struck the little island again and again, providing a stroboscopic illumination of the small room. Harry looked up, gasping for air as he whimpered in pain, and could only stare at the house's two new occupants.
A pale young man in strange and colourful clothing and wearing a turban on his head stood in front of the rickety shack's door, blocking any escape; next to him stood a very short man with thin colourless hair. He couldn't have been much older than thirty-five, and he was thin more from malnourishment than body type it seemed.
The young man raised his arm and was now pointing what looked like a finely polished stick at the older man. There was something stilted to his movements, as if he weren't properly in control of them. Or as if he were a puppet and somebody or something was pulling strings to make him move. Then the older man pointed a similar looking stick at Harry.
"Imago Iunge," he heard them both intone at the same time and a blue light filled Harry's vision, seeming to surround him and the small man. A wave of dizziness swept over him, the burn in his scar intensified. The next moment Harry found himself lying on the floor again blinking his eyes open.
He groggily pushed himself upright, but what he saw made his breath halt in his throat. Standing next to the strangely dressed young man was no longer the rat-like middle-aged man but… himself. The eyes Harry stared into were as green as his own, hidden behind the same ugly glasses, and a lightning shaped scar was visible from behind unruly black hair. Even the same hand-me-down, too-large, pyjamas were the same.
The feeling of dread Harry had been experiencing from the moment the two men had suddenly appeared, as if by magic, intensified three-fold. His throat was parch dry; Harry wouldn't have been able to cry for help even if he'd been able to move a muscle. It was as if he were petrified. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run. He wanted to get out of there, away from the pale young man who was now pointing the strangely threatening stick at Harry. The doppelganger Harry was putting his own stick. Wand, flashed briefly through Harry's mind.
"You know what to do. Do not disappoint me, Wormtail," the young man hissed to not-Harry.
"Yes, Master."
Then, with one stride, the man in the turban stepped toward Harry and pressed the tip of the stick into Harry's shoulder.
"Apparate Riddle Manor," he spoke clearly.
Before Harry even had time to blink or flinch away from the sharp point digging into his shoulder, there was a 'pop' in his ears and the sensation of falling. There were suddenly wooden floor boards beneath him instead of cold stones, and dead silence instead of the raging of the storm.
The man took a step away from Harry, and Harry was able to move again. He scrambled to get away until he bumped into a wall, blinking away tears as the scar on his head continued to burn. They stared at each other for a moment, and the red gleam in the man's eyes made Harry shiver even worse than the cold on that wretched island had.
"Who- who are you?" he managed to stammer. "Why did you bring me here?"
The man curled his lip in a disgusted sneer and turned to face the large double doors along one side of the room.
"Clausa Riddle Mansion Voldemort," he intoned, pointing his stick at the doors, and the walls seemed to vibrate, humming for a moment. The man shot an amused smirk at Harry, pointed the stick at himself, said "Apparate Forbidden Forest" and disappeared with a 'pop'.
An oppressive silence seemed to close in around Harry, and for a long time all he could do was listen to the thundering of his heartbeat as the burn in his scar faded away.