Everything I Ever Wanted

A/N:

The idea has been adopted from Ashes of What Could Have Been after I found a summary of it on her profile and messaged her to see if she'd ever write it. She decided to let me have it after giving me what she had written and reading the chapter after I had changed it quite a bit and she had okayed it.

The link to the explicit version located on archive of our own will be up when I post the next chapter, which hopefully will be done this week or next week. Just cut out the spaces.

Story Start/Draco's POV:

Tonight was the night.

I felt something would change. I couldn't explain nor shake the feeling, so at eleven at night, when everyone in my dorm had fallen asleep, I crept out of bed, knowing that I had to go, had to be there, because something wonderful would happen.

I crawled out of my bed, changing into black slacks, a white button down shirt, a plain emerald robe, a black cloak, and quickly packed everything into my trunk. I was letting it, whatever IT was, take over. I got my shoes on and walked out of the dorm, up the stairs to the common room entrance, and followed whatever was leading me to a room which held a mirror. I walked to it and stood, looking into it, for about a minute until I saw a boy enter the room and look into it and straight at me. He looked startled because instead of his own almost inhumanly gorgeous features, inky black hair, and almost neon blue eyes, he saw me.

"The Mirror of Erised is supposed to show the gazer their deepest desire… yet I see a boy, beautiful, yes, but a boy… is this a representation of power, of immortality? … Or is Dumbledore's theory about me right? Do I truly just desire a friend, or companion, acceptance, or even love?" The boy mused, studying me as if he could figure it out if he just kept looking. "I thought my desire was obvious, that everything I did was for the purpose of achieving greatness, of renown, of glory…. but the mirror shows another thing entirely. While it can show a desire that may or may not be possible, it cannot show a desire that is nonexistent, or even slightly lesser than the foremost want of the one who gazes into it… so what, then, am I supposed to make of this, or how can I even hope to reach the answer?"

I knew to keep quiet until he was done with his musings, then let whoever was speaking for me talk to him. "What you see now is how you achieve power, the key to achieving everything you wish, and you are the way I will achieve what I want most. We both want power. My name is Draco Malfoy."

He had frozen, completely shocked, when I started talking, but he listened closely.

"This doesn't make any sense. This is the Mirror of Erised, but it cannot actually talk to a person-"

"Unless it is used by an heir of the creator. I am Nemesis Black's great-grandson, on my mother's side. The mirror was originally for revenge. Nemesis Black wasn't the most beautiful woman because of her scars, three that lined her face because of her mother, and had been mocked for her appearance since childhood, so when the man she secretly desired had harassed her once, she decided that if she would waste away without ever achieving her deepest desire, so would he and all those vain and foolish enough to gaze into the Mirror of Erised's depths. Then, after the man had died because he couldn't part with the illusion, her youngest nephew also looked into the mirror and suffered the same fate, so she modified it so those she and her descendants loved, as well as their family, would instead be able to achieve their greatest wishes, and made the effects lesser for others, so only those that are truly vain or evil will waste away. You are extremely lucky that you are here because I need you, otherwise you might have fallen victim to this mirror." I explained, the boy's face showing horror in the beginning but at the end showed immense relief.

"Thank you for that. I doubt I could have broken away had you not needed me. I'm not exactly good… far from it." He told me.

"What makes you say that?" I asked curiously, and he hesitated. "I don't even know your name or even what continent you're on, so I clearly won't be able to cause any damage to you if I say a word to anyone about you. Just tell me. I want to know."

He gave me a long, piercing look,his eyes locking into mine and I felt like he saw into my soul or mine. His face showed shock, then happiness, then went back to a blank mask that had one flaw: a small, exited, and happy smile was still unable to be suppressed. He casually used a series of spells to close, lock, and ward the door.

"I'm only a few days into my first year, it's past curfew, and I know that I have a high likelihood of getting caught, so can you please teach me the spells you just used?" I asked and he smiled.

He went over the instructions and twenty minutes later I had wards that would work. He sat down in front of the mirror on his end and I followed suit.

"You gave me your name, so I'll give you mine. It's Tom, Tom Riddle. I grew up in an orphanage in London, Muggle, even though I'm a wizard. Muggles absolutely detest magic, and when I showed I could use it, they hated me. They called me a freak, a monster, a demon, the spawn of Satan... they tried different ways to 'get the demon out of me.' They tried exorcising me, and the priest caught fire. They tried beating me, and everything they did to me they felt as if I was doing it to them, only twice as bad. The kids would gang up on me, until I got back at them and became feared. I've tortured, Draco. I made two children go insane. I've killed some in a fire that caught the orphanage, and another jumped off a cliff because I made her do it by magic, and another hung himself instead of face his fears. And I loved doing it." Tom told me, studying me intently.

"They deserved it. I don't hate you. I'm not disgusted by you. And I don't fear you." I said sincerely.

He studied my face carefully to see if I was lying, his eyes meeting mine and I got the same feeling, that he could see everything I ever thought, said, done, or wanted, then slowly, a brilliant smile lit up his face, making him look even more gorgeous than before.

"I can't believe it… even my housemates fear me. I told them the same thing and I saw the terror in their eyes. Incredible." He looked beyond thrilled, then paused and said hesitantly, "I want to get to know you. Maybe… maybe I could try to become your friend."

"I'd like that." I smile, and his smile widens. I decide to tease him slightly about how he acted: a bit nervous and hesitant, either afraid of rejection or afraid he'd make the wrong choice. Either was likely. "Of course, I'd like it more if you didn't try and succeeded… shouldn't be that hard, really."

He laughs. "Fine. I will become your friend. Is that phrasing more suited to your taste?"

I noticed he sounded like my grandfather, with the way he spoke, but instead of finding it strange or boring, I liked it. It was what I was used to and thus was comforting to hear someone speak like that.

"Yes, that's much better. Where do you go to school?" I ask.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm a third year Slytherin." He tells me, and I pause, trying to remember him. It would be easy enough to miss him, because there were nearly a hundred students in Slytherin and I hadn't even been there a week, but I thought I knew most third years.

"I'm a Slytherin as well." I tell him and he studies me, clearly trying to remember seeing me.

"I don't remember you, I'm afraid. How close are you to Abraxas, anyway? He should have mentioned a relative coming to Hogwarts." Tom asks, and I blink.

"Abraxas Malfoy died last year, at age sixty-four. The date was May 16th, 1990... I don't know how he would have been able to warn you, and he's the only Abraxas Malfoy you could have been talking about." I'm completely confused.

"What? It's only 1940. And I just saw him three days ago, at the Sorting. He's in my year. Quit joking around." He looks angry.

"I know you can tell if I'm lying. Do so now." I tell him, and he rolls his eyes but obliges me. His eyes widen in shock, but then he begins thinking.

"So the mirror somehow managed to bring us together despite time. It must be why I needed to find this mirror, and why you looked in it in time to save me. Have you seen this mirror before?" He asks, and I think.

"When I was four, during my father's trial. He nearly went to Azkaban but managed to stay out. I was brought to the Black family home and babysat by Nemesis so I wouldn't be near my mother, who was crying. Nemesis told me stories about the dark, about how we should have won, about what we would have been if we had, then let me explore her house, telling me not to go into the room of mirrors, so of course I got curious enough and when she left, I tried finding it. I wanted what she told me. I also had overheard mother cry about father having no hope of winning the trial, and I wanted him to win it. I saw my family in it then… and a ghost turn into a man with red eyes that scared me. I was four and ran from the room, crying because it was the scariest thing I ever saw. I ran into my father's arms, who had come home, looking relieved." I can tell Tom's completely focused on the story. He looks away, then when he looks back, I see a smile.

"Who was your leader?" He asks.

"Lord Voldemort." I tell him, trying not to show fear at the name.

He writes his name backwards with his wand so I could read it properly, then swishes his wand, and the letters rearrange themselves to I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. I stare in utter shock.

"The man who you saw with red eyes turn from a ghost to human was me. Nemesis Black used you to get me to rise again. She made you want that by telling you those stories. The timing for me to rise wasn't right because you were too young to actually help me. Now you can, which is why you came back to the mirror to finish getting your desire. The Voldemort you know couldn't be reached by the mirror, but I could because the mirror was here in 1940, which is why you're talking to me instead of him. Somehow I'm better suited for this than him as well… this is brilliant." Tom looks thrilled as he pieces the information together to find an answer. "Swear you'll help me."

"I swear." I tell him, and his smile was just as delighted as it was wicked.

I was under the boy's spell completely and I knew he knew it by the way he looked at me: a pleased smirk was on his lips, and the thrill of having absolute, complete control over someone was apparent in his eyes.

He whispered something in Parseltongue, and I knew somehow exactly what he said.

Mine.