Draco stalked down the corridors at a fast pace, needing to get away from the dungeons and his fellow Slytherins, needing time to just be by himself, time to think and let down his daily masks without the risk of being interrupted and taunted at for showing emotions. The idea of anyone else seeing him in an emotional and weak state with his defences down made Draco shudder. No, if he was really so pathetic that he was going to cry, he needed to be alone. He walked briskly and stealthily through corridor after corridor, eager to reach a suitable room but at the same time eager to not get caught, or ambushed by Peeves. He was unaware of where he was going, all he knew was that he wanted to get as far away from the dungeons as possible.
Eventually he ended up in an unfamiliar and, from the state of it, long abandoned corridor. He looked nervously around, but was sure that nobody would be in such a desolate and grimy part of the castle. An unobtrusive classroom towards the end of the corridor caught his eye and he strode purposefully towards it, casting one final glance around him to make sure he was alone before opening the door and walking in. After closing the door to the disused classroom and taking in his surroundings, Draco took a step back in shock before composing himself and putting his usual sneer into place.
"Fancy seeing you here, Potter. Did the Weasel's snoring become too much for you? Wanted to –" he stopped his taunting midsentence when he realised that something about the scene was not quite right. He was viewing Potter through some kind of glass, and instead of looking shocked or angry, the other boy was simply mimicking his own poise, staring at him through the glass, with a slight frown similar to the one he himself was now wearing.
Draco stepped forward, coming closer to the glass to get a better look. At the same time, Potter stepped forward also, reflecting Draco's movements exactly. As he stopped in front of the glass, Draco realised with a jolt that it was not a piece of glass at all, but a mirror, showing an identical reflection of the classroom around him, apart from the fact that it made himself look just like Potter, sporting Gryffindor robes and the annoying, arrogant grin that he so often wore. Draco's eyes were drawn to the symbolic scar, looking more pronounced than usual, and for a minute he stared into Potter's eyes behind his glasses, shocked at the vibrancy, life and excitement he found there. He realised that the eyes he was looking into were a drastic contrast of his own grey, dull eyes, which possessed none of Potter's gleam of adventure after years of being subdued by his parents and blindly obeying their orders.
"What on earth?" Draco muttered, as he looked up to read the inscription at the top of the mirror, aware of the reflection copying his movements from the bottom of his eyes. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" Draco read out loud, confused. "Not Latin… an anagram?" For a couple of moments Draco analysed the words, trying to make sense of them by rearranging the letters, until he realised it was intended to be read backwards. "I show not your face, but your heart's desire?" Draco murmured, a frown settling on his forehead.
He looked back down at his reflection, and shook his head in disbelief. "What, is that supposed to mean that I want Potter?" he snorted, laughing coldly at the idea of having a crush on Potter, and grimacing at the thought of the response he would receive from his father if it were true. "That's not likely…" he said, still looking at the mirror and idly thinking how strange it was to see his words coming out of Potter's mouth.
"Could it be insinuating that I… that I want to be Potter?" Draco spluttered indignantly. "Why on earth would I want to be that arrogant idiot who is only still alive out of sheer luck?!" Draco thought about it to himself, wondering if it could really be true that his 'heart's desire' was to be the famous Boy Who Lived. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, imagining what life would be like as the precious Chosen One.
His immediate thought was that he wouldn't have any parents. A life without his father ordering him around, telling him how to act and what to believe, constantly breathing down his neck and waving that stupid cane of his around threateningly, ensuring that his orders were obeyed. Draco shivered at the mere memory of it, but at the same time wondered if he really did wish that he didn't have any parents. They loved him, didn't they? They provided him with everything he wanted, made sure he was showered with luxury. But… Draco pulled his left sleeve up past his elbow and stared at the Dark Mark glistening there, ugly and vile. He felt an impulse to claw at his skin and try to remove the wretched thing, but resisted the urge and instead sat himself cross legged in front of the mirror, still thinking deeply about what it showed him.
He didn't want this life. If he was an orphan he would have felt no compulsion to join the Death Eaters and try to follow the Dark Lord's cursed orders. If he were Potter… he thought of the admiration that the majority of the wizarding world seemed to heap upon him. He thought of the hatred and disgust he himself experienced every day at Hogwarts from students of other houses. He clenched his fists as he felt rage boiling up inside him. Those students, they had no idea. They had no idea of what he had to deal with every day, the expectations from his parents that he has to live up to, the intense loneliness and self-hatred that follows him around constantly, enclosing him in despair.
He thought to Gregory and Vincent, his supposed two best friends in the school, and a fresh pang of loneliness surrounded him. They weren't his friends, not really. They only stayed with him because of his name, because he was a Malfoy. They didn't like him as a person at all. They didn't even know him. Didn't understand him. Nobody did. He felt the tears threatening to fall from his eyes but pushed them back, he really was being pathetic. If his father could see him now… Draco put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, chasing away thoughts that would turn him into a sobbing wreck on the floor.
Potter… Potter had the Weasel and the Mudblood. Sure, they weren't the best company someone could ask for, but he was sure that they were understanding, that they were true friends towards Potter. They weren't just friends with him because he had a lot of money, or because he was powerful and influential, which were the only reasons Gregory and Vincent were friends with him. Granger and Weasley actually liked Potter. Actually respected him. Hell, everybody loves Potter, Draco thought. The Golden Boy. Dumbledore practically worships the ground he walks on. He would never give that kind of attention to me. He just automatically hates Slytherin house and anyone associated with it, the prejudiced asshole. Hell, the only teacher around here with any sense is Snape.
Draco smiled ruefully at Potter's image in the mirror. "I guess I would like to have people actually like me…" he spoke to himself. "And how is it even possible to be a better seeker than me when I've been practising my whole life?" The injustice stung Draco, and his jealousy over the other boy's superior flying skills caused his rage to come to the surface once again. "Of course they would make an exception to the 'No first-years are allowed a broom' rule for you, perfect Potter."
Yes, now that he thought about it, and was able to overcome his original contempt for the other boy, Draco realised that he was actually rather envious of his life, and all the fame, respect, power and love bestowed upon him daily. "I hate you, Potter," he whispered to the mirror, and was satisfied to see his hate-filled glare showing up on the features of the other boy. "Such a bloody hero, everyone falling at your feet, desperate for your attention. You're not as special as you think you are. Still… I would love to be in your position. Being able to make my own choices without having to worry about the well-being of my parents and what they think of me." Draco stopped talking, contemplating again how different his life might've been if his parents hadn't pushed him to follow a certain route in life.
"Maybe it's my fault…" he thought. "Maybe I should have tried to be more of a Gryffindor and show some backbone and reject their crazy ideas right from the beginning, before I got in too deep. But I'm too much of a Slytherin for that. And I care about them too deeply to simply disobey them so much." Draco sighed, and got to his feet, getting close enough to the mirror to reach out a hand and touch the fingers of the reflection. He closed his eyes, briefly imagining what Potter would be doing right now, imagining himself in Gryffindor territory with friends who actually liked him. Sure, if he were Potter, he might not have any actual parents, but he couldn't deny that he would have a lot of father figures and teachers who loved him, which, in Draco's opinion, was a far better situation to be in than his, who's only comfort was a father who had some very warped ideas about how a loving parent should behave.
Draco felt a tear run down his cheek, and took a deep breath in to control himself before he let his feelings overcome him. The idea of being Potter was becoming more and more appealing to him, he'd never felt a desire so strongly before. He desperately wanted to leave his life and all of the stress and responsibility that was heaped onto him by his parents and the Dark Lord. Crazy considerations of kidnapping Potter and pretending to be him by drinking Polyjuice Potion flashed through his head, before he quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
If someone had asked him what his deepest desire was an hour ago, he would not have been able to answer them, but now that the answer was right in front of him it was so blindingly obvious and Draco couldn't imagine it being anything else. He wanted to scream in frustration that his life was so completely out of his own control, he wished that he could turn back time to before he enrolled with the Death Eaters, when there was still a time when he could have abandoned the life that his parents had set up for him. Still, he thought, even if he had run away when he was only 11, he wouldn't have been able to last long, he was too used to being spoiled by his parents, he'd have no idea how to survive in the real world. It's not as if Dumbledore would have given him any protection, not as if he cares about students that aren't in his favourite house. And anyway, when the Dark Lord returned he would have made sure that his father was punished for his negligence as a parent, and Draco wouldn't have been able to live with that.
Draco liked to think that he didn't care that he wasn't popular, that the hatred aimed at his house from the rest of the school didn't bother him, but every time he saw someone praise Potter or show him friendship and love he felt a stab of jealousy, and every time he heard the other houses cheer following a Slytherin defeat he felt like screaming at their prejudice.
"All that power… All those lives dependent upon Potter saving the day. It must be nice to be able to actually be the hero, not the pariah who everyone hates." Draco desperately loathed Potter, but it wasn't the first time that he thought his intense hatred for the other boy might be due to the jealousy that coursed through his veins every time he thought of him.
Finally, Draco opened his eyes, and took a step back from the mirror. Resuming his seat on the floor, he let out the tears that he had been holding back all day, and sobbed without restraint until the tears dried up and his emotional exhaustion overcame him enough to make him crave his bed. He sat motionless on the floor, contemplating the night's events and thinking of which excuse he will use to explain his absence if questioned by Gregory or Vincent, waiting for his eyes to lose the tell-tale redness which will lose him the respect of his peers.
After a long time had passed, Draco stood up, and ran his hands through his hair, flattening it to a respectable standard, and with a slight Aguamenti charm he poured a small puddle into his left hand from his wand and splashed it onto his face, cleaning the tears from and waking himself up. He looked into the mirror with the intention of checking his appearance, but realised it would be pointless as the mirror did not show who he truly was and what he looked like, just who he wanted to be. With a last wistful glance at the mirror, he lifted his head up high, turned around, and walked out of the classroom, his mind full of the fantasy of being Harry Potter.