Disclaimer- The Harry Potter universe belongs to Joanne Rowling and Joanne Rowling alone. I do not intend to make any sort of profit out of this story; neither do I own any the characters, places and situations related to Harry Potter.

Chapter 1- The Mirror

Harry Potter, a petite boy of eight, was sitting at the end of his bed within his 'room', if it can even be called that. His 'room' was merely a tiny cupboard under the stairs of his relative's home. The monsters he lived with don't even deserve to own the title of 'relatives', as they treated Harry more like a slave than a family member.

The raven haired boy was sent to his room after burning the dinner he was preparing for his family of walruses. It wasn't even that burnt; only a slightly darker crust was forming on the outside of the cutlets he was cooking. But of course, his relatives over- exaggerated, as usual, and he was shoved into his closet and was commanded to stay in there for the whole week. Normally, Harry wouldn't have minded, but this time he wasn't getting any meals either! Luckily for him, he had smuggled a packet of crackers a few days prior to this incident, so at least he won't starve to death.

Harry sighed and looked around his room, searching for something he could occupy himself with for the time being. Unfortunately, Dudley had ripped his favourite –and only- book to shreds before burning it into a pile of ash. Harry collected the ash and poured it into a glass jar for memory, but it just wasn't the same. After realising that he had nothing to do, he lay down on his cot and stared up at the ceiling. Noticing a few spiders, Harry smiled and held out his hand to enable one to crawl onto it.

"Hello, little one," Harry cooed softly. Most people would be scared of spiders, but since Harry had been living in a cupboard full of them since he was a baby, he was used to them. The spider stared up at him blankly and blinked its many eyes.

"I know you don't understand me and I don't understand you, but we can be friends, right?" The boy stated with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

The spider continued to stare up at him without a change of expression. Harry sighed and held his hand against the wall. The spider gave one final glance at the human before turning away and climbing to its fellow arachnids. The boy stared at the spiders reuniting and felt tears stinging his eyes. It was embarrassing enough that no people wanted to talk to him, but even the spiders didn't want Harry. He closed his eyes and let himself cry freely. No one would care anyway, whether he cried in public or in solitude, but Harry preferred to hold his emotions until he was in a place where no one was watching. Where no one could point fingers at him and laugh and say nasty things about him. He cried until the teardrops refused to escape his body, he knew that meant that he had run out of tears. He wiped his eyes and looked out the window, a window as small an A4 paper, but a window none the less, and murmured, "I just wish I had someone to talk to, someone who can relate with me. I just… I just want a friend. Is that too much to ask for?"

Harry placed his head on his thin, stained pillow and covered himself with his only quilt. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, he even hummed his favourite lullaby in attempt to enter the dreamland, but there was something that wasn't letting him. He gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. He cautiously eyed the room. His eyes travelled past every object in his room, but when his eyes moved over a certain part of the area, he felt a tingle in his fingers. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but Harry had the urge to further investigate the strange feeling.

His eyes swept over said place once again and noticed the tingle in his fingers when he looked over to a dark corner. Eagerly, Harry made his way to the dark corner. Harry loved a mystery, but he had never had the opportunity to examine one, so this was something new to him. New and exciting. It was as though he were compelled, as though there was a magnet and Harry was drawn to it. The nearer he got, the stronger the feeling became and it was soon overwhelming. But Harry only stopped when he got to the destination. Vigilantly, he sought the object in front of him. It was a glass pane. Just a massive shard of glass, yet Harry was drawn to it like a moth was drawn to light. Embedded on one corner of the glass were two words in a shimmering blue: 'Wish Granted'.

Harry was greatly confused. What was that supposed to mean? After a moment in deep thought, he remembered what he had said earlier.

"I wished for a friend, a person to talk to. But this isn't a person; it's just a piece of glass!"

Annoyed and even more confused that before, Harry turned the glass over to inspect the other side. At first it seemed to be just like the first side he had looked like, but the longer he stared at it, the more the image within morphed. It had, at first, been just a faint reflection of Harry's face but soon became more defined. It showed the rest of his room, as if it had magically turned into a mirror. Then the reflection of his room started to distort. It became day time in the glass, his room was larger and there was only a bed. A young boy came into view, and Harry wondered if it was himself.

The boy was lying on his bed, reading a book, and a big book at that. Harry grimaced. Why would he ever read a book that big for leisure? It seemed absurd, yet this 'version' of him was doing just that. The boy looked peaceful and he didn't want to disturb him, but he desperately wanted to know what this was and what the mirror meant by its short message.

"Um… Excuse me?" Harry called uncertainly. The boy didn't seem to hear, so Harry called again, but with more confidence.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed to be looking around for the source of the noise. When he saw where Harry was, he walked slowly towards him and looked through the glass. That's when Harry realised that it wasn't himself in the glass. Sure, the boy did look quite like him, but his hair was neater and his clothes, although worn, looked tidier, his face was thinner and more defined than Harry's and his eyes were a deep, dark, grey-brown. Despite the dingy surroundings, he looked proper; formal. Harry wanted to ask what the boy was doing in the mirror, how he got in there, but he ended up asking "Who are you?"

The boy stared, momentarily stunned, before regaining his composure and answering. "Tom. My name's Tom Riddle."