The tattered memory of Tom Riddle sat on the porch of number four Privet Drive, pressing desperately into the horcrux housed in Harry Potter’s forehead.
or
In which Harry Potter is unceremoniously thrust back in time and forced to deal with Voldemort whining inside his head. At least Death had the decency to apologize.
"Are you ok?!" Draco whisper-shouted in Harry's face.
Now, Harry couldn't see all that well without his glasses, but he could make out that Draco looked a bit different — his features a bit more defined with less baby fat. His voice, too, sounded a bit lower, cracking almost like Harry's does occasionally.
Harry nodded his head, his mind reeling.
"W-w-wha' are y-you d-doin' here?!" Harry whisper-shouted back between his smushed cheeks.
"I've come to rescue you, of course!"
To her great dismay, Daphne is quite certain that she’s—for lack of elegant vocabulary to describe the particular situation at hand—developing an…affectation for one Harry James Potter.