To her, July 31 was a special occasion, which she spent alone in the cupboard under the stairs. To the Dursleys, it was like any other day. The first time she learned it was her birthday from Petunia, she asked Vernon if she could have a small cake, just like Dudley had. After being chased around with sticks by Dudley, she never asked again.

Usually she'd break a rule on her birthday as a gift for herself. This year she was going to sneak up the attic to bring a few books over to her little world and try learning how to read. She doubted Dudley would even notice them missing, since he was as dumb as a rock. So it was all fine.

The attic was like a mega sized cupboard, in the way that it was also dark and cramped. Kirsten did not like it as well. Nevertheless, it was better than the cupboard because while cramped it was still bigger, meaning it would be easier to stretch her feet. A single light bulb hung over the center area, so there was at least a bit of light. The only thing that made it worse was the horrendous amount of dust, but that would be all gone after a day of cleaning.

The floorboards were rough against her bare feet, and Kirsten nearly tripped at the entrance. It was currently midnight, the official start of her birthday, meaning everyone else was asleep and the perfect opportunity to snatch some books. With a flick she switched the light on, and moved towards the shelves.

'Learn Your ABC's', 'The Cat in The Hat', maybe that was enough. She looked over to 'The Ugly Duckling' and picked it too for good measure. These three should be enough for the week.

It was moving back down from the attic through the ladder when she fell down. Her foot slipped from the step, and her whole body came along with it. For a while she was floating, suspended in air, before gravity took hold and dragged her down. Knocking her head against the floorboards with a resounding thud, and everything went black.

When she blinked her eyes open, she knew she was going to be in trouble. Because she was back in the cupboard under the stairs, with her pillow and blanket. That was when she realized she wasn't alone.

"Does your brain have to be so small? Why are we in a closet? Or is this a cupboard?"

In front her, sharing the small space of the cupboard, was a man Kirsten was completely unfamiliar with. Dark eyes, a sharp nose, concrete jawline, he looked like an aristocrat from one of the dramas Petunia loved to watch. He looked down at her in disdain, while Kirsten looked up cluelessly.

Kirsten didn't really object to the presence of the man, aside from the fact that both of them pushed the cupboard to its limits. He was crouched down in front of her, his handsome face twisted in a sneer. It was a change that she appreciated, since now she wouldn't be alone. She blinked back owlishly before beaming at the stranger in front of her.

"Make it bigger." The man commanded with a voice of authority, his eyes glaring into hers. Kirsten felt half a mind not listening. Stranger danger always came up on the ads on television, where a man dressed as a police officer would repeat the same lines over and over like a broken stereo. She learned to tune them out by the age of three. But if she was stuck with him and she wasn't dead, maybe it was fine. Because surely he would have already done something.

"How?" Because Kirsten had no clue on how to make cupboards bigger. She supposed praying wouldn't work, but it would be the closest shot she had.

At her question, the man looked like he couldn't believe she was asking. "This is your mind. Shouldn't you know?"

"No?"

"Just will it!!" The man snapped, his voice cold and lined with irritation and impatience. "I can't believe that I got trapped in the body of a child."

"Kay."

So Kirsten willed it. She imagined climbing up the ladder into the attic with all the books, the dustiness that came along with it, the shelves that lined the walls, and the single light bulb that hung over the center.

For the quickest moment her world distorted, colors blending, everything around spinning, as if caught in the eye of a hurricane. A sense of vertigo came over her as everything around continued twisting and turning, before finally settling at the attic. With the shelves lining the walls, with the dangling light bulb, with the ladder behind her. In front of her was the stranger, who looked to be nauseous and doing his utter best to hold back the bile. Kirsten only sat down, and stared at the man clutching his stomach.

This was someone from outside. Outside really did exist. Like the Dursley's, he looked more or less human, with a pair of eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth on his face. He was quite tall, much more compared to Vernon who resembled a teacup. He moved with a fluid grace, unlike the blundering and clumsy Dursley who needed her at beck and call to clean up. Even holding back vomit was looking graceful.

"Are you okay, stranger?" Kirsten walked nearer, hunching over in front of the man, who was on the floor slightly succeeding in pushing vomit back. He no longer looked green, nor was he clutching his stomach as he did a while ago. "I never knew it made people vomit."

"I didn't too." He replied snarkily. "Now what's your name?"

This was something Kirsten wasn't sure if she should answer. The ads always said to never give strangers your name. The police officers said that they could try tracking you down for malicious intent if you ever gave out your name.

"Well?" The man asked again. "I don't have all day."

Kirsten looked at the man hesitatingly, still unsure whether she should be giving her name to the man she found inside her cupboard. Because she would hate it if it brought her extra trouble. Aunt Marge might just feed her to the dogs, for real this time.

"My name is Kirsten." She answered with suspicion in her eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Suddenly the man laughed. It was a cold dark thing, reverberating throughout the attic, slightly echoing against the walls. It seemed to be everywhere, surrounding her, all at the same time. Even if the man was clearly in front of her. Then he laughed again, as if under some sort of mania or insanity. It was chilling to the bone, not that Kirsten minded it.

"Is this some sort of cruel joke?" He rasped out. "Your last name Potter, ain't it?"

Kirsten's eyes widened as she slowly nodded. And another round of chilling laughter ensued, this time louder as he seemed to be pushing his lungs to the limit. Maybe Kirsten was famous?

No. Because if she was famous, then she wouldn't be living in a cupboard beneath the stairs, leashed to the Dursleys with not a single second spent outside. If she were famous then people would know her and look for her. Maybe she was someone special to him, she didn't understand why the man was laughing though.

"Do you know my parents?" Kirsten asked curiously. "Vernon said they died drunk in a car crash."

But he was still madly tearing his lungs apart, so Kirsten wasn't even sure if he heard what she asked. She was fine anyways, continuing to stare at the man, intrigued. Because the only people on television who laughed like this were mostly the bad guys. She wasn't really sure what to think.

Slowly his laughter subsided, leaving him panting for air. Kirsten repeated her question, "Did you know my parents? Vernon said they died drunk in a car crash."

Then it began building up again, from mad giggling to full blown cackling. Kirsten was beginning to wonder what people from outside really were like. Because using the Dursleys and the random stranger from her cupboard as examples for the rest of society would provide skewed results. Or maybe they were all like this. Either constantly grumpy, mad at her for no reason at all, or laughing insanely.

Suddenly he stopped, slamming the floorboards of the attic with his hands. "Do you think I'm a joke, Potter?" He hissed angrily, eyes glinting maliciously. "Do you think I'm here to play games with you? Do you even know who I am?"

Kirsten stared back calmly, unfazed by the loud sound. "No."

There was something about her reply that ticked off the man even more. She wasn't sure if it was from her nonchalance, or maybe from her constant monosyllabic answers to his questions. But something was making him angrier, because even she knew when she should begin acting cautiously.

His eyes flashed red. "I am Lord Voldemort."

Silence.

"Sure." Kirsten nodded. Because what was she supposed to say? "I'm Kirsten Potter."

"Sure?!" He hissed. "What do you mean sure?"

Kirsten really didn't understand where he wanted this conversation to go. Did he want recognition for being a lord? From the shows on television, lords usually were among the top of the hierarchy, owned lots of land and money, and had an innumerable amount of slaves. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do.

Maybe groveling? The lord of the church the Dursleys loved going to said that He liked worship. Maybe all lords like worship? Or did they like money more? She wasn't sure, but maybe choosing one of them would ease him up.

"Umm…" Kirsten eyed him cautiously. "Do you want me to bow to you? Because I can do that, it wouldn't be too much of a problem. Or gold. If you want gold, maybe I can loan from the Dursleys. Do you want gold?"

The man looked at her incredulously. "Child, do you even know who I am?"

Kirsten furrowed her brows. She never did hear his name on television, nor did the Dursleys ever speak of it. "Not really… are you supposed to be famous?"

For a certain time, the strange handsome man just continued staring at Kirsten. Kirsten stared back unflinchingly into his dark eyes. For a while they were at an impasse, neither willing to back down. The man for his pride, Kirsten for… she didn't really know. It just felt right to stare him down as well.

Was she supposed to look for something? He was very pretty, something she had already seen from the start. Maybe she was searching for something hidden? Something he would be hiding, in his pockets, shoes, underneath his clothes, she didn't understand.

Suddenly he deflated, like all the energy just escaped his body, and he slumped down backwards, falling to the floor and leaning onto the shelves. "You really don't know don't you? And you have no clue who your parents are either. You also have no understanding of the kind of world we live in." The man said, looking at her. "What did they do to you?"

Kirsten blinked her large green eyes owlishly. "What?"

"Kirsten, do you live with muggles?" The man sneered at the word at the end. "Ordinary people, ones without magic?"

Kirsten only looked back at him. "I've only met five people in my entire life."

At that, the man looked at her with a strange glint in his eyes. "What are you talking about? You haven't been to school? How about the people taking care of you?"

"Well, I live with a walrus, a horse, and a whale. Sometimes Vernon's sister would come over to hand me over to their dogs, and you're the fifth. I'm pretty sure they all don't have magic, considering the fact that I live in a cupboard and receive my rations based on my behaviour. This week I had one day when I received three meals." She ended it proudly, finally able to share her achievement with someone.

Silence was met as the man processed her words, gears in his brain shifting, before he managed to churn out the message between the lines. A horrified look crept up his face as he opened his mouth. "You've met five people. In your entire life."

"I am an indentured servant." Kirsten pointed out nonchalantly. "Something about paying off the debt my parents had when they crashed the Dursley's car. If you're asking me why they didn't buy insurance, I'm clueless as well."

And the stranger continued staring at her with this weird look on his face, some blend between horror and surprise. She was slowly beginning to become creeped out by the amount of time total he's spent silently staring at her. This time, instead of staring back, she began moving to one of the shelves and reached for a book. Ignoring the man whose eyes trailed her, she sat down and began learning how to read.

She already knew the pronunciation of individual letters, so she quickly skipped on to reading words and spelling them. Meanwhile, the man continued to eerily stare at him, face now void of any emotion. She dutifully ignored him, and focused on her book. Because if he was going to waste time staring at her, then she wasn't. Time was precious, and there was only so much of it.

Kirsten watched the man from the corner of her eye, who was now in a thinking pose. There was some intensity, some energy in him, that seemed to draw her eye. Like a miniature sun, something so bright you couldn't possibly ignore it, even by covering your eyes or turning away. This time he didn't seem as angry anymore as a while ago.

"I know you're watching me."

"Of course I am." Kirsten scoffed. "What if you're one of those kidnappers or murderers they always show on television? Petunia loves watching those kinds of dramas. Die Hard was one of her favorites."

The man ignored the nonsense she spouted, and thinly smiled. "I am one, actually. I murdered your parents. They never died from the car crash, and I gave you that scar."

Her parents.

Her parents were faceless. She never knew them, never remembered seeing them. She didn't even know what they looked like aside from the traits she'd genetically received from them. She didn't know them, and she would never get to know them.

Now she was here, hearing that this man was the murderer of her parents. That her parents weren't drunks that died in a car crash, but instead from an assault, and most probably gave their lives to protect her. This man was one who had also attempted to take her life, only for it to backfire and fail. Lord Voldemort, was the one who had caused her to live a life like this.

But she didn't feel anything, just a sense of disappointment. She didn't feel anything towards the man. And on a deeper level, Kirsten knew that there was something wrong with her, but put it aside anyways.

Because she was here now, and she couldn't turn back time. She would never get to know her parents as parents, and from her perspective, they never existed at all. Even if it was his fault that she was stuck in the cupboard beneath the stairs, she had already come to terms with it. So she looked up from her book, stared straight into the man's eyes, and said, "Sure."

For a while silence reigned, as neither party spoke. Kirsten continued learning how to read, and the man… the man continued to think. He seemed fond of the action, choosing thinking and staring over speaking to her directly like people did normally on the television. He wasn't like Vernon who spouted the first things that came to mind, nor was he like Petunia who only talked to her whenever she wanted to insult her.

Instead, the man seemed to think of her as someone respectable. The Dursleys had only treated her with hatred and hostility. Lord Voldemort, so far, was a nice change of pace away from the high shrills and loud shouts. "I think I like you."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Even if I killed your parents? You're supposed to hate me. I even tried killing you." He said the last sentence with annoyance. "Are you sure you still like me?"

"Yes." Kirsten answered quickly and confidently. "You're not like the Dursleys."

The man smiled a grim smile. "It seems we will be meeting each other much more often then. Let me reintroduce myself." The man stood up from the floor. "I am Lord Voldemort, but for your purposes call me Tom. I will be spending the rest of my stay in the deepest parts of your mind."

"I'm Kirsten Potter. And I'm good at cleaning dishes."

When Kirsten woke up, it was only twelve o' five. In other words, only a few minutes had passed since she fell from the ladder and bumped her head on the ground.

And while she did get to meet Tom, it didn't mean that she no longer had to deal with the effects of a concussion. Her head was ringing, her vision distorted: going double before crossing over each other. Trying to clear her eyes of the blur, she noticed the hand she held to her head was dripping with some dull red liquid.

As she pushed herself up from the ground, she stumbled back down, falling again with another thud. She cried out in pain as she fell back down, her head knocking on wood again. She could feel warm liquid seeping through her fingertips, coating her skin and nails. The metallic scent of her own liquids filled her nose.

Tears poured out of her eyes as the pain began becoming unbearable. The liquid was pouring out faster now, she could feel it running through her hands which she held to where it hurt most. Slowly she began blacking out, her vision repeatedly fading in and out.

Then she could hear a door slamming open, screaming, yelling, and everything went black.