A Mask in the Mirror

Crash! The sound of something fragile breaking was very loud in the Slytherin dormitory. Shards of black porcelain mixed with water and a few red rose petals poured over the floor, accompanied by a great many curses, none of them spells. Draco Malfoy stood watching the water slowly soak into one of the carpets covering the cold stone floor, torn between anger and tears. He had wanted to save those roses, save the memory of the one who had given them to him. He had so few pleasant memories.

A masked figure, offering a single, long-stemmed rose. Tanned fingers wrapped gently around the dark thornless stem, stark and pale beside the rich blood color of the petals. A gentle voice, a quiet laugh. A hushed truth. Truth for truth. Love for love.

He bent, rag in hand, and began to sweep up the water, crushing the petals in the process. A shard of black glass ran across his finger, drawing a drop of bright blood. It stung. That was far more familiar.

Black wand gripped in pale fingers, colorless with the force of anger. Pain. Waves of it, running through his body, overwhelming his brain, until all he could do was scream. Pain, that went on and on and on and on…

The glass shards were gathered in a pile, along with the crushed remains of the roses. A flick of his wand moved the pile to the trashcan in one corner. He couldn't mend it.

A conversation. "What is evil?" he asked. "For that matter, what is good?" An answer slow in coming. "Evil is something so self-absorbed, that it can only want. It can't see something beautiful without wanting to own it, or wanting to destroy it so no one else can have it. Evil cannot create. Evil cannot mend. It can only copy and destroy." A rueful smile, words that were light except for the bitterness in the bottom. "I guess I'm evil, then." Another laugh from the woman. "No, friend. Never evil. Evil cannot love."

He rose with a groan, and walked over to sit at the polished wooden desk on one wall of the tiny room. The room was barely large enough to be called a cell, but it was his and his alone.

"What are you afraid of?" Her question this time. One she had every right to ask. One he knew the answer to, far better than he wanted to. "I'm afraid of being alone. If I didn't have you, what would I have left?" A gentle smile. "Ah, but you do have me. You will always have me."

Draco drew a sheet of parchment out of a drawer, and uncapped a pot of ink. He took a fresh quill, dipped it into the bottle, and began to write.

"I wrote to a friend today. He wanted to know who it was I was seeing. He isn't going to like it that I don't know." The masks that hid their faces could not hide their hearts. She cared about this friend. She didn't want him to worry. "I can take it off if you want me to." a gasp of surprise, that he would offer. "No. I'm not ready to know. And I don't think you would want to know who I am." He already knew, but that was beside the point. He would trust her judgment. She was a smart, kind, brave lady. He couldn't bear to lose her, as he would when she found out who it was.

Draco frowned at the paper. It was his third sheet. Every letter he tried to write to his father wound up being to her. Two sheets were already in the trash, the words Dear Ginevra Weasly clearly visible across the top.

He remembered finding out, realizing just who that vividly red hair belonged to. Realizing just who he had held close and kissed. Expecting to be repulsed. Amused at himself, finding only a quiet chuckle at the world's sense of humor. A little anger; but not at her, never at her. At the uncaring gods who would play such a cruel trick.

Finally he finished the letter. A lit candle stood on one corner of the desk, over which heated a small dish of sealing wax. He poured a little of the wax onto the flap of the envelope, and stamped it shut. The metal seal lifted out to reveal the imprint of a serpent biting its own tail.

"Ourabouros. He was a myth, the snake who tried to eat the world. I would think the serpent would know his own." The words should have been bitter, coming from her. Instead they held only gentle teasing. It was easy to love her, for her kindness, for her forgiveness. Sometimes it felt as though she would forgive him everything. But she couldn't possibly forgive him for who he was. No one human could.

The tawny owl took the letter, out the window, over the cold snow, below the freezing sky. Draco shivered, closing the window quickly and drawing his robes tighter around him. It was as though some god had foreseen what was bound to happen tonight, and had changed the weather to match.

He remembered when he had first met her. She had been sitting on the rim of the fountain, in the arching hall of the original ballroom, dating back to the days of the founders. Moonlight streaming in the skylight glinted almost blue on her shockingly red hair; a plain white half-mask covered her face from cheekbone to brow, leaving her lips revealed. Even with the mask, she was beautiful. He had been wearing a mask of his own, a black one. One with the same spells as were woven in to his. A kind of Fidelious charm. No one knows who's behind the mask, except those that already know who put it on.

He flopped gracelessly onto the bed, pulling the curtains shut and burrowing under the blankets, as though he could hide. He was going to tell her tonight. She deserved to know that she had declared her love to the enemy. He didn't want her to damn herself without knowing who she kissed. She needed to know that much. And he couldn't crush the forlorn hope that she really wouldn't care.

"Unless you happen to be one of about three people, and I know you aren't any of them because they are all back in the common room, you wouldn't want to know who it is you were talking to." A smile and he could only guess an eyebrow lifted in wordless doubt. "Ok, I said that badly. You might want to know, but when you found out you'd smack me." she replied with both sarcasm and kindness. "Oh? You must be really terrible to people who don't know you then." More truth to that than even she knew.

He pulled the blankets over his head, beginning to feel drowsy from the warmth. He lay there for a few more minutes, until sleep stole over him like a thick dark blanket, and he dreamed of her.

They had been meeting, now, for several nights. At first the conversation had been made slightly awkward by the lack of even personal names, until she- the masked woman- had made a suggestion. "May I call you dragon?" He barely restrained himself from flinching. She was a little too close to his real name. An idea occurred. "All right. May I call you Falcon?" She laughed, as sweet as a silver bell, and nodded assent. They sat like that for a moment, watching each other in the moonlight. The midnight blue walls of the hall were completely hidden in shadow, making it look as though the room stretched on to infinity. Only the fountain and the bench where they sat were lit, by the pale moonlight streaming in the skylight and striking the crystal drops of the chandelier. "Why dragon?" he asked. She looked at him, her expression hard to read behind the mask. "Because you seem like one. Proud, strong, and with just a little mystery." He had looked at her in wonderment. No one had ever said something that nice to him, and meant it. He wasn't sure he deserved it. "So why call me falcon?" she asked, shifting a tiny bit closer to him. It was his turn to laugh. "You are brave and beautiful." He had turned away, only to look back at the light brush of fingertips on his cheek. "Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot." His smile was bitter. "Coming from a stranger in a mask? I don't understand how it means anything at all." Hurt in her voice, hurt he wanted to take back. "Is that all we are? Strangers in masks? I thought we were friends, at least." He looked at her in surprise. She thought he was a friend? "You consider me a… friend?" a trace of bitterness in her smile, that he had to ask. "Of course, silly." Almost to himself, "I've never had a real friend before." If he had looked up, he would have seen pity flash across her features, and a certain weary sympathy. He didn't look up. "You do now." Pity gone from her voice, leaving only fierce determination. His voice was oddly high. "Friends, then?" now he did look at her. "friends." Her hand clasping his, pulling him into a gentle embrace. "Friends…" he breathed, as though tasting the word. His head was inches from her ear. They parted, but some of the closeness remained, gentle warmth in his chest where his heart would be. But he didn't have a heart. His exultation died, but his face merely smoothed to a neutral mask. Any Malfoy was a natural born actor. "Are you alright?" She asked, concern clear on her face. He stopped his first reaction, to react as he would to most people. She wasn't most people. Instead, his voice was soft, and painfully honest. "I don't know. I don't know that I ever will be." A second hug, doing much to banish the fear. He could love her for that.

Draco woke to the sound of someone pounding on the door and rose gracelessly. "Who is it?" he yelled, swinging it open. Only to come face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson. His face never betrayed his disgust. His voice did. "What do you want?"

She was angry. She was even lovelier when she was angry, but somehow it made him angry too. It made him want to go cause trouble for whoever had made her angry. She spoke abruptly. "Have you ever met someone you just could not stand?" He laughed, hollowly. "Mostly, my dear Falcon, it's people who can't stand me."

She simpered. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right..," she pouted. "Why wouldn't I be?" he snapped, slamming the door in her face. He leaned back against it and slowly sank down, until he was sitting. "Gods, why do you do this to me?"

"Do you believe in destiny?" "I don't know, Dragon, but you make a very good case for it." "Huh?" "I mean, what are the odds of two people, both wearing seeker's masks, meeting in an abandoned portion of the castle? Let alone falling in love." Golden fire burned through him, and he turned to face her. "Are we in love, then?" Even with the mask, he could see her blush. She froze like a startled deer—then ran. He stared after her, wishing he could take the words back.

He had missed one of the rose petals. It lay on the floor in front of him, dark blood-red against the smooth white stone. The edges were beginning to dry to a dull black.

He had come, barely daring to hope that she might. Footsteps crunching on gravel made him look up. A vision for weary hearts stood before him. A navy cloak glittering with false stars covered her squared shoulders, and her face was calm, still hidden by the ivory mask. "You… remember what I said last night?" He nodded, and rose to stand before her. Not as a challenge, but trying to comfort. She was blushing. "I think… no, I know… I'm in love with you." Her voice picked up confidence as she spoke. The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, he felt a rush of pleasure stronger than anything he had ever felt. A masked figure, offering a single, long-stemmed rose. Tanned fingers wrapped gently around the dark thornless stem, stark and pale beside the rich blood color of the petals. A gentle voice, a quiet laugh. A hushed truth. Truth for truth. Love for love. "I love you, too." They embraced, and lip brushed lip in a single kiss.

It was time. He had to go meet her. He had to go tell her. Draco sighed. Love hurt. He knew he loved her. That wouldn't change. He knew who she was. He went to the closet, and dressed in his favorite robes, a rich midnight blue, nearly black. Last was a mask of the same color. A seeker's mask.

"Why are they called seeker's masks?" He had asked. It was her brothers who had named them. She should know. "They were named after a book. In the book, a seeker's mask doesn't have eyeholes, and it's used in a game. The seeker has to touch someone, and when they do, they have to become them. The seeker has no identity."

He opened the door slowly. There was no one in the hall. His footsteps echoed, uncomfortably loud in the nearly empty castle. Everyone else had gone home for Christmas, leaving him, pansy, and a handful of others. The halls were silent. He met no one.

"I love you so much." Hearing the words from his own lips surprised him, but he knew they were true. She grinned. "Half as much as I love you?" Then she grew serious. "I want you to know who I am. I want to know you say that with full knowledge." Golden hands stole to her face, gripping the edge of the ivory mask, and in one jerk, pulled it off.

The doors of the ancient ball room stood before him, tall and imposing. Normally, they would comfort him. This was his haven. Today it only made the tension worse. If he lost her… he couldn't bear to lose her.

Golden hands stole to her face, gripping the edge of the ivory mask, and in one jerk, pulled it off. He couldn't restrain a gasp. Not at who she was. He had known for nearly two weeks that Ginevra Weasly wore the ivory mask. He gasped at the sheer unrestrained beauty of her, the fire that burned in her eyes. Right now, she was almost defiant. Tense, waiting for a blow to fall. She thought he wouldn't care for her, knowing who she was. He smiled. "You are every bit as lovely as I thought." She smiled too, and crystal tears of relief glittered in her eyes

He walked over slowly, seeing her dark and elegant against the pale stone of the fountain. Waiting for him. He walked slowly, feeling dizzy. He wasn't ready for this, she would hate him forever! He took a deep breath. Dragons are brave.

She smiled, and crystal tears of relief glittered in her eyes. He saw the question on her face, and brushed a finger over her lips before she could voice it. "I want to show you. But I'm scared." I could see the sympathy in her eyes, and the challenge. "I will tell you. Tomorrow, I will show you. But let me just be with you tonight." She had nodded, mollified, and he had stayed. They had not touched, just spoke of little things till the moon began to set and both fled the shadowy hall.

He stood before her. She wore no mask, one brow cocked in reminder of their bargain. Pale hands gripped the edge of the black mask. Numb fingers slid it slowly off, baring the aristocratic face. Draco Malfoy stood with his face bare, and offered a prayer to anything that might listen.

"Please."

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Not sure how good it is, just another one-shot. You know the drill, please please please review. If it was awful, tell me why. Yes, that really is the ending. I might do a sequel, but I kind of like stopping it there. Thank you for your time, I hope you enjoyed the story. BTW, Seeker's Mask is a real book, and a very good one at that.

Dyslexic Angel