Title: The Mirror of Erised
Chapter: Two
Rating: R
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF
Author: Autumn Malfoy-Potter
Author's Note: I'm sorry the update took so long. Honestly, I tried to speed things up, but I have had quite a few slow beta's. One beta i'm not even sure recieved the email. If you want to beta edit this for me, feel free, and email it to me at Don't expect a reply though, because I can only recieve emails, not send them on this computer.
Mmm I decided to make Draco a writer in this ficlet. I don't know how it will turn out, and I don't think it is completly uncanon. Who know's what goes on behind those grey eyes?
I thought the song lyric I chose for this chapter fit it nicely. Let me know if you feel the same. I tried to find a good one. The original one I was going to use, will be used in the next chapter. It'd fit better there.
I started this before HBP, so I am going to keep going on as though the sixth book had yet to happen.
Critique and Comments are appreicated. Reviews are an writers best friend.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Lyrics also not mine.
Come as you are, as you were,
As I want you to be As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy
Take your time, hurry up
The choice is yours, don't be late
Take a rest as a friend as an old memoria
- Nirvana / Come As You Are
Chapter Two
Love was something Draco could say he was never really looking for. Some may say this was the product of growing up at Malfoy Manor, and Draco, in particular, would have to agree with them. He'd grown up watching his parents, their reactions, their emotions and he knew, just like any other child would have known: his parents were not in love. They were merely together for appearance. What would people say if they had a divorce? That was the only thing linking them together through the years. Draco wasn't foolish enough to make himself believe it was for him; it has never been nor ever would be for Draco.
At the age of sixteen when his best friends were falling in love, (even Crabbe and Goyle had found girlfriends). Draco sat in the library studying. He was determined to do something more productive with his time instead of finding someone, having a few messy shags and then being miserable with each other. He'd even go as far as saying that, his happiness was his alone and he wouldn't let any bloody female take it from him. Suck the life out of him.
There were more aspects about Draco that came from the depths of Malfoy Manor. Some of them made his father proud... others made him angry and resentful. One of these bothersome characteristics came to light at the young age of nine, when Draco had spoken out of turn (A mistake no proper Malfoy should ever have done) and had been punished for it. Sitting upon the windowsill inside his large room, he to was filled with rage, with insults. To the point that he thought, if he didn't let them out he may explode. If he told his mother about it, he'd be told to hold his tongue. No-Malfoy-Should-Ever-Lose-His-Temper chanted the voice inside his head, which sounded shockingly like his father's.
He took out a notebook from the den cabinet, and carried it up to his room. He raged upon these pages through the ink. Told his deepest thoughts and fears, and tore his father to pieces. It was then that the Diary Of Draco Malfoy began. He always made sure to hide it under his mattress, once he was done writing in it, so his thoughts had an air of privacy to them.
At first it was just used when angry or afraid, a source to confide to. But soon he captured moments in these pages, ones he didn't want to forget. It was months before his diary was summoned from its hiding place by a maid, who was putting new sheets on the bed. She had been pulling the sheets off the bed, when his diary had gotten disloged from its hiding place. She thought Malfoy Senior should know about his son's tendency, and handed the diary to Draco's father. He was not pleased at all. Not with all the names Draco called him, when angry. Lucius was a closed man, not one to touch, or care for his son, or even his wife. It was ordered for the house elves to spank Draco raw, and so they did, Draco didn't dare sit for a week without flaming pain.
He tried to stop writing but the more he kept things in, the more he felt like he'd explode from the inside-out. His first year at Hogwarts taught him better way's for keeping his journal private. When he was done writing, he'd wipe the notebook with a potion to make the ink visible to his eyes only. Malfoy Senior was no longer bothered by Draco's Diary, for Lucius hated creativity. Draco hated compression and sought out anyway for release, from then on his diary was secret, and wiped clean every time he finished.
The moments in the library were ones of reflection, even if he tried to make it look like studying. He'd spend hours sitting with his head in a book thinking. Sometimes he even forgot where he was, he fell so deeply within his own emotions. It was after these Library Sessions that he opened his eyes to greater prospects. The walk back to the dungeons always brought back the same fleeting thoughts: His father was in prison. He could no longer torment his son, and he was no longer pushed to join Lord Voldemort. Even if he was a fool, to write down his fears on paper, he wasn't fool enough to believe that joining Lord Voldemort would bring him protection. He wouldn't tell his friends it, but he was on the Ministry's side. Death Eater or not he knew he'd die before Lord Voldemort's fall; at least he would die ensuring that he was on the side his father was not.
The weeks following the start of school brought new measures of safety around and within Hogwarts. The news that Voldemort really was alive once more had made the ministry more concerned about the safety of students. There was a team of Auror's standing position around the school, and Order members standing shifts at the entrances. Harry could often be spotted sitting at the gates talking to Remus Lupin. No one really understood what it was like to lose Sirius, but Remus did. Sirius was his last remaining friend, and Harry's last father figure.
It was a windy day, one of the last sunny days of autumn. The sun was shining weakly, casting stain class shadows of orange and yellow from the shading oak tree, which was planted a few feet away from the gates.
Remus Lupin was standing just within the gates, and kept glancing through the bars into Hogsmead watching for intruders. Harry was slumped against one of the cement blocks topped with a winged boar. His hair was even more untidy then usual, having been tousled by the wind.
"Professor?" Harry asked, his voice sounding slightly offbeat and uncomfortable. Remus winced at the title; he was after all, no longer a teacher.
"I have told you Harry, just call me Remus."
"Remus?" Harry asked, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "I was wondering... before I asked Malfoy... I mean, you know the school best along with my Dad and Sirius -" He stopped speaking in horror. It was the three syllables he wasn't allowing himself to utter.
"Yes?" Remus asked, as though nothing out of the normal has happened. "You were wondering what?"
"If - if you knew anything about how the Mirror of Erised could be broken? I think it is, but Professor Dumbledore, says its not." Harry plunged on, his cheeks flushed.
"What prompted this question?" Remus asked.
"I see Malfoy in the mirror... it must be broken." he murmured.
"That is impossible. The mirror is made to fix itself if, and only if, it ever breaks."
Harry's stomach plummeted to somewhere below his navel. He'd have to ask Malfoy... just what was he to say? "I see you in the Mirror, so I must most dearly want you!" sounded to corny to say, he could feel his cheeks burning at the thought. An idea popped into his head, a hopeful one.
"Malfoy must have cursed it."
"No. The metal has spells to keep it from being charmed. Spells no normal wizard, especially one still attending wizarding school, could break." Remus replied.
He stood up, wiping non-existent dirt from the back of his robes. He shouldered his backpack, and looked up toward the castle. He could glimpse student's moving just beyond the windows.
"I should be going Prof- Remus." he caught himself at the very last moment. The sun was highlighting Lupin's silver streaks in his hair.
"Take care, Harry."
Harry nodded. His green eyes, roaming the turrets.
"You to."
He turned his back to his mentor, and walked the slight hill up to the Castle. His mind edging nervously around thoughts of Malfoy, and what he had to do.
Draco was sitting on his four-poster, with the curtains drawn around him. All the other sixth years were down at breakfast. He pulled opened the emerald fabric to bring the rest of the dungeon dormitory into view.
The window, exactly across the room from his bed was open. Crabbe probably forgot to close it. Bird songs fluttered through the pane. He stood up, and walked across the room. The window was level with the ground outside; grass was growing, obscuring his view. There were two figures at the gates. One of their old professor, and the other of Harry Potter. He closed the shutters bringing him into near darkness, and crossed the space to his trunk.
He unlocked it with his wand, and pulled it open. Beneath the clutter of his robes, was a slim notebook with dog-eared pages. He opened it to the middle, where the frayed pages met the crisp new ones. Draco pulled from the depths of his trunk a quill and bottle of ink, bringing them to the edge of the bed and sitting down.
He dipped the quill into scarlet ink, and pressed it to the white sheet, letting words flow through his hand onto the paper.
The air smelled like gasoline and mowed grass;
Clean and fresh, but so dirty;
Like new shoes, that fill the nostrils with poison,
but shine for the human eyes.
He brought the quill to his lips, sucking on the end of it. Then dipped it into the pot of ink, pressing it back down. Plunged back into his thoughts.
He asked why everything so beautiful had to tear him to pieces;
and I murmured,
'because love is a shade you never get pure white';
And it sounded just like that time he told me,
'the mind is a carousel, some seats have more jewels then others';
And I wondered for nights after,
whether my seat was covered with jewels;
Or if it was a slab of wood painted black.
His face flushed red. He was not a romantic, sometimes when his hand touched a quill, it ran away with him to places he had never been. He'd die of humiliation if anyone knew he was artistic. He'd die if anyone saw the paper. None-the-less, he dipped the quill one final time.
I wondered whether he was in his bed,
asking why the world couldn't shine pearly white,
like teeth right after going to the dentist;
And I knew he was wondering, always wondering.
He laid the notebook on the bed, to wait for the ink to dry. Draco painted the page with the special potion from within his trunk, so no one else could view it. Thus, putting it back in his trunck and securing the lock.
As he pulled on his dress robes once more, the voice so much like his fathers chanted Malfoys-Should-Not-Be-Weak.
The problem, Harry realized later, was finding time to talk to Malfoy. Perhaps, he was trying his best to keep busy, but all Harry knew was: he could not find a moment to eat let alone search the corridors for Malfoy's blond head. All the same, Harry found that he had much less time to dwell on Sirius, and his own thoughts, thus he felt somewhat happier.
The common room was emptying as students filtered to work outside. Harry was tempted to catch the final rays of sunlight for the year, but didn't want to put himself in the middle of the spotlight.
Though, with Hermione's nervous glances and Ron's fidgeting he found himself quite as uncomfortable in the common room as bigfoot in size two shoes. He stood up, said a few farewell words and set off through the portrait hole.
The corridors were as empty as the common room. Most of the students seemed to be sprawled upon the front lawn, drinking pumpkin juice or watch the giant squid stretch lazily. He hardly noticed where he was going, when he rounded a corner and bumped head first into someone. The person squeaked and fell onto the floor, as did Harry. His glasses flew off his nose; he groped the floor for them until he felt glass beneath his fingers. Pulling up the frame he tapped it with his wand and muttered "reparo". The glass assembled itself into two ovals and flew back into the frame. He pushed them onto his nose, and looked to see who he had run into.
Draco Malfoy was sitting up, rubbing his head. His hair was not as well taken care of as usual, and there was dirt on his robes. Malfoy was silent for a moment before he stood up, his eyes falling on the other boy, he scowled.
"Oh if it's not Potty Potter, where's The Weasel and that jumped up Mudblood?"
"And if it's not Mr. Ferret."
Harry knew it was childish, but he also knew that asking Malfoy to be his friend was both embarrassing as it was illogical. Malfoy wasn't the type to answer questions to an obvious enemy.
"Mean-Nasty-Gryffindor. It hurts me deep down and tears me to pieces." Draco gave a fake sob, wiping his eyes. He turned his pointed face up to Harry. "Go of to sit with your sodding Gryffindors, Sir Chosen One."
Harry's anger was reaching boiling point.
"For crying out loud I just saw you in the sodding Mirror of Erised you stupid bloody Slytherin! I just wanted to know why you cursed it"
"What Mirror?" Draco shouted, his marble face was tinged pink from frustration.
"The Mirror of Erised, it shows you want you want most in the world! Why the bloody hell did you curse it?"
Draco stopped for a moment, his face stony.
"I didn't curse it! Don't be daft! I haven't even heard of the mirror before now! I'm tired of your stupid lies, you may be The Chosen One but you don't have the right to waste my time!"
Harry decided on the moment, the best way to ask Malfoy to talk was just that, to ask him. He didn't think Malfoy would take the mirror seriously, and was right. So, on one final attempt her asked:
"Want to talk?"
This seemed to take Malfoy aback. He glanced at Harry suspiciously searching the other boy's features from some sign of a joke.
"What did you just say?" He asked Harry, seemingly under the impression that he had misheard Harry.
"Want to go talk?" he repeated.
Malfoy's eyes glinted. He stared at Harry in surprise before covering it up with his usual stony expression.
"You seem to have mistaken me for The Weasel."
Draco got up to walk away, but Harry grabbed his arm. He had to talk to Malfoy, or he'd go mad. He had to find out why the mirror showed him this arrogant piece of scum.
"Let go of me." Malfoy spat with barely suppressed rage. His fist's clenched into balls.
"No. Not until you speak with me, about the mirror."
Draco considered him with wary eyes.
"Your serious aren't you? You really saw me in a mirror. I always knew you were mad. Fine. Only if I can bring Crabbe and Goyle. So I know you aren't building an army of Gryffindor's, to jump me while I'm all alone and innocent."
Harry raised his eyebrows. He firmly doubted Malfoy had ever been innocent, but was worried that upon saying that the other boy may leave.
"No way! Crabbe and Goyle stay in the Dungeons!" He yelled. Draco sneered.
"Fine. Then I stay in the Dungeons as well." Malfoy said, turning away.
Harry crabbed his arm.
"Fine." He muttered
"Tonight in the kitchens at ten o'clock, then. At the very least this should be a laugh." Harry's mouth fell opened upon Malfoy's words. This snapped Harry back on posture.
"Curfew is at nine." He stammered.
"Captain Obvious are we?" Draco taunted.
"No it's just- "
"What? Scared Potty?"
"No." Harry said honestly.
"Fine, then. Be in the kitchens at nine, Potter."
With that Malfoy walked a way. There was a mixture of anger and thrill shooting through Harry. Even if Malfoy made his skin crawl with fury, he was one of the only people who didn't treat him different, because of his status of The Chosen One.
With his emotions filled with confusing questions, he walked down to the Entrance Hall, his mind somewhere else.
To Be Continued...