The Mirror of Erised

by ladyslytherclaw

Draco's son has never known love, and this is a memoir of his existence he calls himself a disgrace to the Malfoy name as a halfblood.

Title: "The Mirror of Erised"

One-shot- but if you want more, tell me.

'Father at least tries. He tries to give me love, even by just buying me things. I understand he isn't the kind of man who gives and receives physical affection easily.

But Mother… she is dead to the world. All she ever does is sit in that personal library of hers and try to lose herself even further in her books. She never pays any heed to me or Father. It's like we don't exist; we never existed. Does she know she has a son?

I wonder if she knows. Even if she did, would she love me?

I wonder if she married Father so she could be the rich, redeemed Muggle-born wife of a Malfoy. Perhaps she just wanted to get rich, and so she played with Father's heart.

I loved her once, and I suppose some small part of me still does, but for the most part, I'm hurt, and I hate her.

Even though I'm the Malfoy heir, I'm still a half-blood. I've tarnished the Malfoy name. I apologize to Father for being born every year on my birthday.

I try to be the perfect son, so he will love me, in his own way.

But I feel like I'll never be good enough.

Father has the Mirror of Erised in his study. I don't know how it got there; how Father got it.

I've never had the nerve to go up to the Mirror and see what my heart's deepest desire is.

I'm afraid because I think I know what it is.

However, I don't think I'll rest until I know.

So I open the door to Father's study and stand in front of the Mirror, my heart pounding.

At first, I see only my reflection and I almost laugh bitterly because I am not the happiest person in the world.

Slowly, my reflection changes, and I see myself standing, actually smiling, between my parents. Mother is holding me close, her arms encircling my waist, her brown eyes alive- aware, loving, and joyous- and Father merely puts a hand on my shoulder, but I can see the fierce joy and warm love radiating from his eyes.

Love, love as I have never known, is right there.

I reach out and touch only cold glass.

It is not real, and it can never be real. It never will be.'