The World Of Dark Wonder {Harrymort}

mirror

"Don't touch a darn thing except the Christmas boxes, you grubby animal!"

Harry muttered under his breath, swearing all Wrath Of Hell on his relatives. His Aunt heard this of course, she heard everything he said. And of course, it wasn't like he cared, he meant to be rude and 'disrespectful' right back.

He rolled his eyes, and said louder, "Whatever, mate."

He stepped up faster into the attic as soon as he'd said that. His Aunt sure could pack a mean pinch when she wanted to.

"Where or where did I put those damn things?" He asked himself.

He saw the mirror first.

"What in the Good Lord's ass?"

He stepped lightly over to the large thing, peering as much as he could see with what little light was coming through the small attic window. It was engraved, and shone with a gold tint. He'd never seen it before, and there was no way his relatives would've volunteered to put this here themselves, without his help.

So how did it get there?

He tripped of course, over the uneven floorboards, and cursed himself.

"For FUCK'S sake-"

And landed perfectly fine, on a cold hard ground, and instantly felt cold from a chilly Autumn wind.

"What the mother fucking fuck,"

He shot straight up, on his feet, and spun around. The mirror was there, but it was silver. Through it, he saw the attic. How? How in God's fucking graces-

"You made it!"

He spun around, heart jolting to see a boy his age sitting on the grass, smiling huge.

"What?"

He became overwhelmed with dizziness. It was so surreal. He fell down on his knees, rapidly blinking away the black spots.

"Oh, sorry, Ma said that might happen. Here."

He was given a brown bottle, that looked similar to root beer, "What....?" He said again, not really comprehending. The bottle was shaped wrong, with a label that said 'Butter Beer'.

"Just drink, it tastes good I promise."

So he drank it, not expecting the fizziness and taste so unlike anything he'd ever had. He drank the whole bottle in one go as the boy spoke, revelling in its amazingness.

"Listen, you probably have no idea what's happening. That's okay. Ma and Pa warned me, but I said I could totally do it. And I did!"

"A-and what...what did you do, exactly..what..how?"

The boy took his hand, prying the brown bottle from his it, and then Harry felt it. It was a weird sensation: a tingling running up and down his arm. Then, an image. It popped into his head, without cause. He couldn't have possibly conjured such a picture, because it was him, from a different angle, looking overwhelmed and beaten: he had black bags under his emerald eyes, his hair a wild mess of curls and his clothes sagging on him all dirty and rumpled. He was a right mess. In that moment, he realized that that was what the boy was seeing of him. And he understood.

Harry overrode the magical thing the boy gave him and decided to try it himself. He wanted to see if this boy was really who he thought he might be.

He looked into the confused blue grey eyes and focused, setting his hands on the boy's temples.

In his mind, he remembered. He put forth all the instances of where he'd been so confused and angry and sad. Once, where he'd thrown a tantrum when he was very young and had never forgotten how he'd broken Dudley's toy because he was pushed aside and neglected and wasn't given a toy as well. He'd never forget because his Uncle hit him for the first time, and three times after and consecutively locked in the cupboard for two days.

He let go, and whispered to a shocked face, told the boy who brought him here—told him what was the only possible explanation for all of it.

"Magic."