Disclaimer: yeah, I know the drill…none of the characters, places, etc. belong to me…except the plot. That's all mine to keep for my own sick pleasure:)

On the Other Side of the Mirror

Walk away

"Move it, you lazy boy!"

"No", came the calm, steady reply from the raven-haired young man sitting across the table from his red-faced uncle.

It was a bright Tuesday morning at the end of the summer and, like all other days, Uncle Vernon was yelling at his nephew to clear the table of the meager meal. Dudley's diet was slowly but surely taking effect, though even after about three years the family was still on it. Grapes had been Petunia's choice of fruit for that morning, much to the dismay of the males. The Weasleys and Hermione still sent him food, but for once in his life, Harry Potter no longer cared about their packages and letters. Their pitied tones and underlying hope disgusted him. Everything went under the loose floorboard. He felt that he would rather starve than accept that. He didn't want their pity, their troubles, and, above all, he didn't want the whole fucking wizarding world to look at him like he was some kind of symbol of their freedom. An guardian there to protect them from the big bad wolf. They controlled him, manipulated him for their own uses and yet, didn't tell him anything. They expected him to be their savior. All Harry wanted to do was to lead his own life.

At almost seventeen, Harry was tall, nearing six feet with tanned skin and nicely muscled shoulders and abs from laboring in the garden and playing Quidditch. At night, during his sixth year and this summer, he had also taken to going out running, often for many hours at a time. It relaxed him and provided the silence for which he yearned. The glasses were replaced with contacts, as he was sick of always breaking the goddamn things. His hair, unruly as ever, had ironically flattened out a bit after he decided that it was no use paying any attention to the uncooperative mess. His presence had also changed. Gone was the scared, skinny little boy that had trembled at the Sorting Hat. In his place stood a powerful man, physically and magically. Life had dealt him a cruel hand, and he learned the rules very quickly. It had hardened him, and his mighty walls of steel were built high and strong. Harry had lost far too many people to trust easily.

"NOW!" Shouted Vernon, is face turning purple beneath his bristled toothbrush mustache.

Harry's green eyes glittered coldly at his uncle. "Fuck you," he whispered, and then turned on his heel and walked out the front door into the warm sunshine. He was sick to death of their whining, their demands and the way they treated him like he wasn't even human.

He walked swiftly down the empty street until reached a black '95 Ford Mustang coupe which he had affectionately deemed his 'baby'. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring of keys. Opening the boot, he took a quick inventory of everything. School trunk, Firebolt, his laptop, several chemistry books (organic, inorganic, physical, polymer, and computational), a Princeton Review text ("Your Guide to Acing the SATs!"), six cases of bottled water, and his cell phone, which he grabbed.

When Harry had come back to Little Whinging after his sixth year he went to Gringotts and took out a few thousand galleons, a mere fraction of what was there. He converted the money to pounds and then walked out of the wizarding world feeling much better than he had in a long time. Before heading back to the Dursley's he went on a shopping spree: electronics, books, and a shitload of water.

Harry put the keys in the ignition, flipped on the cd player, filling the air with strains of Kenny Chesney. Giving the car some gas, Harry Potter drove down the street, leaving the life with his relatives behind forever.

As he pulled onto the highway, Harry began to review his options. He could drive to London and take the train to Hogwarts, although the thought of spending several hours on the train with a bunch of kids who viewed him as a god was highly unappealing at the moment. Realizing that the term did not start for another week, he decided, 'what the hell, I'll just drive there myself'.

Resigning himself to the road, Harry's mind began to drift back to the year before. Through the entire summer after his fifth year, the grief and guilt ate away at his insides until he was numb to all feelings and emotions. When school started again he pushed people away, including Ron and Hermione whom had finally gotten together. Harry desperately missed Sirius and was still coming to terms with the prophecy, which he began to dislike more and more. Depression set it, bringing along with it insomnia. The nights were spent running for hours and then lying by the lake. The small waves would wash over him, and his thoughts left, taking him to regions where the rest of the world had faded. And so the year passed, his slightly suicidal thoughts creating anger at the prophecy, Dumbledore, and the rest of the wizarding world for placing all their hopes in him.

In late March McGonagall requested another meeting about his commencing his Auror training after his seventh year. She gave him several papers to fill out and sternly told him not to miss the deadline coming up. A few days later he took them outside to do at the lake. But instead, one by one, he let the waves devour them, not really knowing why.

Just after exams, something changed. He had an epiphany, if you will. Harry came to the conclusion that sitting around on his ass moping about how pissed off he was at the wizarding world for expecting so much from him wasn't going to do anything. He realized that if he was not going to become an Auror, he basically had no future plans for life among magical folk. Not that this bothered him. The Gryffindor was tired of the press, the attention, and the damn scar.

Listening to the steady pounding of his feet on the paths around Hogwarts a couple nights later, Harry began to think long and hard about a future outside of the world he had known for over six years.

Two weeks later, his insomnia had all but disappeared.

Harry shook his head violently, attempting to keep himself awake. Glancing at the glowing green clock on the cd player it registered that the time was 1:34 am.

"Bloody fucking hell" he muttered to himself. An hour later he found himself checking into a dumpy hotel at a rest stop. He showered quickly and then crawled into the queen-sized bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, beyond exhausted.

Harry groaned, looking blearily at the clock on the wooden bedside table. 9:46 am. "So much for an early start," he grumbled. Pulling on a long sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit snug around his slim hips (he had to buy his own clothes finally—Dudley was now four inches shorter and still several inches wider), and ran his hand through the black shock of hair. He wandered down to the café he had spotted earlier at the ungodly hour of two in the morning. It was empty save for a couple girls in a booth on the other side of the restaurant near the wall. Sliding into a seat at the bar, he rubbed his hands over his face.

"What can I get for you, mate?"

Harry looked up. Standing in front of him was a young man, no older than twenty-five, with straight, dark hair that was cut short. Clad in a T-shirt, dark jeans, and a dirty apron, he had a glass in his hand that he was wiping dry.

"Uh, coffee, thanks. Black." He replied to the handsome bartender, who nodded and turned away.

Suddenly Harry felt someone behind him, running their hands up his chest. He jumped back from the touch. It was one of the two girls that were there earlier. The other was nowhere to be seen. She had curly dirty blond hair, and far too much eyeliner. She was wearing a tight, revealing tank and low cut jeans over tall heels.

"Hey sexy," she purred, "wanna get laid?"

Harry panicked for a second, then coolly came back with, "No thanks. I had a better one last night."

She pulled herself off of him and flounced out of the room. Stopping just before the door, she called back to him, "I'm Candi, by the way. With an i."

Harry turned back to the bar, rolling his eyes. "Fucking whores."

He heard a low snicker in the vicinity in behind the counter. The man turned around and set a steaming mug of coffee down, his eyes dancing with mirth. Harry grinned.

"She's had it coming for a long time. The girls come in and out every once in a while, trying to make a pitiful living. Bloody scare off a lot of customers. Don't think she's ever gotten that remark before, though." He smiled warmly, and extended his hand. "Kevin Cacham."

Harry took it, "Harry Potter." Kevin's light blue eyes flickered upwards, the movement that was so familiar in the wizarding world to Harry. He blatantly stared at Kevin. "Are you a…"

"A wizard?" He supplied to the confused Gryffindor, who merely nodded. "I used to be."

"You used to be?" Harry echoed. "How can someone stop being a wizard?"

"You can't."

"Then how…?"

"I left that world a long time ago." He responded slowly, his eyes watching something that only he could see.

Harry leaned back in his seat, his green eyes flooded with a mix of emotions. "I understand."

Kevin gave him a sad smile and went back to cleaning the glasses. Harry watched in silence for a few minutes before speaking again.

"So what do you do now?"

"Bartending." Said the man simply, " All over England, days and nights. It's a great job—free drinks, a liquor license, and you meet a lot of interesting people. I have quite a few contacts now."

Harry abruptly looked up. "Any way you could hook me up with some SATs over Christmas break?"

Kevin stroked his lower lip, lost thought. "Yeah," he said after a moment, "I have a friend in Chelsea who might be able to help you out."

After exchanging email, cell numbers, etc., they said goodbye and Harry checked out.

The Boy Who Lived arrived at Hogwarts a few days later, just as the sun was sinking beyond the horizon. Peering through the twilit mist, he caught sight of the Hogwarts Express, rumbling away in the darkness. "Talk about good timing…" he muttered to himself.

Not wanting to 'arrive with a bang' again, as Snape so delicately put it when he and Ron crashed into the Whomping Willow second year, Harry ducked into one of the carriages behind a group of rowdy third years. He figured he would just try to blend in with the crown and then come up with an explanation for Ron and Hermione later when he got a chance.

Unfortunately, that chance never came.

"Where the hell were you!?" The red-haired boy, now an inch shorter than Harry, was storming down the stone hall toward him.

"We were worried sick about you." Put in Hermione, the anxiety obvious in her eyes.

Any remote excuse that Harry had come up with so far vanished down the drain.

"Talk to someone who cares, please." He replied coldly.

"Harry, what happened to you…"

"I finally woke up and realized that I am nothing to the wizarding world. Only their key to a Voldemort-free world. I'm not even a person, just a symbol. They don't give a damn about me, or how bad they hurt me. They simply don't fucking care. Hermione," he continued, his voice softening, "I'm living the wrong life here. I'm trapped. Tied down with a prophecy, and controlled by expectations that are inescapable. I want to fly, to be free. And you guys and the rest of the world are fucking it all up." He glanced at the redhead, whose eyes darkened.

"Come on, Hermione. We are obviously not wanted here." Ron picked up Hermione's hand and pulled her away, while she looked back at the dark-haired young man uncertainly.

Harry sighed and leaned back against the wall. He let his head fall back wearily onto the hard stone wall with a resounding thwack. He closed his eyes and slid down the stone until he reached the floor. He dimly recognized the sound of footsteps approaching, but he was too weary to open his eyes to find out who it was. A hand nudged his shoulder he opened one eye slightly and saw a hand in front of his face holding out a smoking cigarette. He gratefully took it from the hand and dragged hard, feeling all of his muscles relax as he breathed out the smoke. Handing it back to the person, he opened his eyes fully and turned to the body next to him.

"Bloody fucking hell!" Harry jerked away from the blond.

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry recovered quickly. "Of what, Malfoy? A Death Eater?"

Malfoy's eyes went from humorous to serious at the Gryffindor's words. "I'm not a Death Eater, Potter," He answered quietly, his eyes staring down the empty hall, looking at nothing and at everything. And for some reason beyond his comprehension, Harry believed him.

"And so passes the famous Gryffindor Trio." Malfoy's intoxicating gaze met Harry's again.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Malfoy snapped his fingers under Harry's nose. "Wake up, Leo. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I've watched you the entire last year. You pushed away your friends, and your life. You didn't give a damn about anything or anyone. You didn't eat or sleep. Potter, you were fucking suicidal."

Harry stared at the young man, curiosity shining excitedly in his eyes. "You've been watching me, Malfoy?"

Malfoy flushed and looked away. "You know I have," he muttered.

Harry looked critically at his nemesis. Malfoy's body screamed sex appeal, with his pale, flawless skin, white blond hair hanging in long straight bangs over icy silver eyes. Harry had long known that he was gay, a fact that he had to guard very secretly from his uncle, but he had no idea that Malfoy swung that way.

"What happened to us, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes mournfully lingered on the floor, deep in thought.

"What do you mean?"

"Why have we done nothing but fight for six years?"

Malfoy dragged on his cigarette. "I dunno," he said after a while, "Maybe because there is nothing better to do."

He turned his head to Harry and ran his finger impulsively down the side of his jaw.

Harry froze. That like touch sent a shock through him like he was struck by a bolt of lightening. Draco leaned toward the ebony-haired boy, their eyes caught in each other's hypnotizing depths.