Then both of Harry's Killing Curse scars suddenly split open with the fiercest, most burning, white-hot pain imaginable. He fell to a knee screaming, clutching at Hermione's battle dress for support. The pain was blinding ... and Harry's eye was streaming with boiling liquid. He couldn't see, couldn't sort his mind to react. Panic set in, he was eleven years old again, weak and frightened and about to die at Tom Riddle's stolen hands. He knew it.