Okay, so it's not the one I was working on, but inspiration hit this morning (thank breakfast).

Title: Folded up like Paper Dolls
Series: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter (?)
Rating: PG-13 for British cursing...
Warnings: cursing...no spoilers, as long as you've read at least the first book...
Disclaimer: If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing FANFIC, now would I?

"And you can't get away from a
mirror if you stand in front of it all
the time, right. But if you step away
from it, you don't notice it any more.
And that's what the stage is like for me.
See, an image becomes meaningless
in as much as it's always temporary."

--Neil Young

"Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want...whatever we want..."

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts...However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

--Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, J.K. Rowling

"Do you realize what I would give not to have parents, Potter?"

It was spoken softly, almost whispered, but the envious and hurt tone was not missed. He looked over the boy in front of him before running a hand over his blond hair.

"Did you know my father used to beat me? And that my mother would just stand there and let him?" Draco let out a rueful little laugh. "She would tell me I deserved it. Of course, he had to stop when I started school, thank Merlin. He didn't want questions. He didn't want anyone to know that Lucius Malfoy's world was less than perfect."

He regarded the boy in front of him with an obviously pained expression. He reached out and touched his cheek, then continued on.

"Do you know why I hate those bloody Weasley's? Do you know what I would give to be a Weasley? To have parents who felt more towards me than disgust and disappointment?" He gave another rueful little laugh.

"Did you know that at the end of every term I am terrified out of my mind at the prospect of going back to my own house, Potter? Do you know how much I hate you because you don't go home to Malfoy Manor at the end of the bloody school year? Do you know how much I would give to be able to be you? To not have the bloody parents I have? Do you realize that I would rather be your know-it-all, little mud-blood friend than be myself? Do you realize, Potter, that I'd rather be anyone else? Do you realize how much I hate myself, Potter? How much I hate you for not being as miserable as I am? Do you--"

"Malfoy? What are you doing? We've got to get to class."

Draco Malfoy stared into the mirror in front of him. In it, he could see Blaise Zabini standing in the doorway behind him. He straightened.

"I'm coming, Zabini."

The other boy laughed as he leaned against the door frame. "What were you doing anyways, Malfoy? Talking to yourself in the bloody mirror again or something? You really do have--"

"GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE OUT OF THE ROOM ZABINI!"

Zabini ran.

Draco turned back to the mirror, regarding the boy in front of him. He took in the carefully slicked back hair, the impeccable state of his robes, the lack of anyone standing beside him. He reached out and brushed his fingertips over the image it presented to him before posing one last question to his imagined rival.

"Do you realize what I'd give to have friends like you have Potter, instead of just followers?"

His hand pulled away from the piece of glass before him as it pulled itself into a fist. As he punched the mirror, breaking it, he felt as if he was no longer in control of it. He watched the crack spider out across across the once pristine mirror, he smiled. He hated its facade from the day he had first walked into that dormitory and caught sight of his reflection within its confines. He smiled at the image that looked back at him, cracked and broken. And finally, he turned to fetch his bag off his bed, his mask slipping back into place, before joining his court in the common room.

How do you feel? That is the question
But I forget.. you don't expect an easy answer
When something like a soul becomes
Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope
And while your outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me

'Cause I'm looking at you through the glass...
Don't know how much time has passed
All I know is that it feels like forever
When no one ever tells you that forever
Feels like home, sitting all alone inside your head

How much is real? So much to question
An epidemic of the mannequins
Contaminating everything
When thought came from the heart
It never did right from the start
Just listen to the noises
(No more sad voices)
Before you tell yourself
Its just a different scene
Remember its just different from what you've seen

--from "Through the Glass", Stone Sour