The air in Hogwarts before the Christmas holidays carried a warm, mingled fragrance of pine needles, beeswax, and sugary desserts, blending strangely yet harmoniously with the castle's usual chill of ancient stone.
But for Harry, the festive atmosphere felt as though it were separated from him by a thick pane of glass—blurred and distant. He participated, he observed, yet could not truly sink into the cheerful noise.
The last few days before the break were loose and unfocused. On one particularly idle evening, when Draco was trapped by Pansy and several Slytherin girls discussing the latest Wizarding Fashion Christmas special, Harry slipped silently out of the common room.
He had no specific destination in mind. He simply wandered through the familiar-yet-strange corridors.
Hogwarts always hid countless secrets—even to someone who had lived an entire life before.
Then, as though pulled by fate… or perhaps caught once more in a trap carefully set by Dumbledore, he turned a corner and stepped into an abandoned classroom.
It was waiting there.
A very grand mirror, framed in ornate gold, resting upon two claw-shaped feet. At the top, a line of engraved words:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
The Mirror of Erised.
Harry froze. His heart clenched like a cold hand had seized it, then released just as abruptly, pounding painfully against his ribs. Memories of this mirror flooded him—bone-deep longing, illusionary warmth, deadly temptation.
He should turn around at once. To drown in illusions was meaningless.
Reason screamed warnings in his mind.
But his feet were nailed to the ground, unable to look away.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward, as though walking toward a cliff's edge.
He braced himself to see James and Lily smiling, reaching for him—that sweet, familiar, shattering cruelty.
However—
The reflection staring back was indeed him: black hair, green eyes, lightning scar. But not him.
The boy in the mirror was taller, with features sharpened into maturity, eyes piercing and deep. He wore a finely tailored black wizard's robe embroidered with intricate silver patterns at the collar and cuffs.
And standing beside him—
Was Draco Malfoy.
A grown Draco—no longer the boyish version Harry knew. Shoulders broader, posture elegant, grey eyes alight with poise and quiet confidence. He wore a deep emerald robe, the corners of his lips lifted in a faint, warm smile.
Their shoulders brushed gently.
And that wasn't all. The background behind them was not the empty classroom wall. A blurred crowd bowed toward them. Farther off stretched a serene, prosperous wizarding street. And in the distant glow of sunset—Hogwarts, gleaming as though it were but a scenic jewel within their domain.
The Harry in the mirror tilted his head slightly, saying something to Draco. Draco laughed—bright, unshadowed, real.
A rush of overwhelming heat surged through Harry, breaking down every mental defense he had.
A trembling sort of satisfaction—an aching, possessive desire.
He wanted this.
He wanted Draco standing beside him with that smile forever.
He wanted everything the mirror showed.
He wanted the powerful, untouchable future reflected there—one where no one could ever hurt them again.
This illusion was more lethal than his parents' smiles.
Because it wasn't impossible. It was the darkest, deepest truth of his heart—his goal, his obsession. And Draco… Draco was the indispensable, brilliant core of it.
His fingers lifted unconsciously, trembling as they reached toward Draco's smile in the mirror.
"Harry?"
A familiar voice called from behind him—sharp with urgency and worry—dragging Harry back from the edge of the abyss.
Harry jolted violently, as though doused in freezing water. He yanked his hand back and turned.
Draco stood at the doorway, brows knit, looking at him. His pale hair glowed like molten platinum in the dim light.
"What are you doing here?" Draco stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the massive mirror. Instantly, his expression sharpened with alertness and understanding. "I've been looking for you. Is that… the Mirror of Erised?"
"You… know about it?" Harry's voice was hoarse. He struggled to steady his heartbeat—struggled to mask the emotion that threatened to spill from his eyes.
"Heard of it." Draco replied shortly. He moved to Harry's side. His eyes didn't turn toward the mirror immediately—instead, he studied Harry's face with quiet scrutiny. "Dumbledore put it here? Typical bit of theatrics. It shows your heart's deepest desire, but they're all just fake illusions."
Then he cast a casual glance toward the mirror.
In that instant, Harry clearly saw Draco's spine stiffen—so subtly it was almost imperceptible. Saw a flash of raw emotion flicker through those grey eyes—longing and something like yearning—but it vanished immediately, so quickly Harry almost doubted it.
A moment later, Draco's expression settled back into cool, faintly mocking calm.
"What did you see?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He stared into Draco's eyes, searching. He didn't know what answer he wanted. Malfoy family glory? Or… something else?
Draco turned, offering a relaxed, faintly sardonic smile that masked everything perfectly.
"Oh, nothing remarkable. I saw myself as Minister for Magic. Father was so pleased he nearly donated Malfoy Manor to St Mungo's as a psychiatric ward." He shrugged lightly. "Clearly unreliable. Let's go—it's freezing in here."
He reached out without waiting for permission, grabbing Harry's wrist firmly, already pulling him toward the door.
Just before he stepped out, Draco cast one last quick glance at the mirror.
Inside, his reflection stood with a black-haired, green-eyed young man wrapped tightly in his arms—pressing a soft kiss to his hair, eyes overflowing with tenderness and possessiveness so intense it nearly breached the glass.
Draco's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. A fierce, starving longing flickered deep in his eyes—then he smothered it ruthlessly.
He turned sharply and followed Harry out, pulling the door closed behind them with a decisive snap—shutting away that alluring, dangerous world.
They stepped into the corridor. The classroom door closed behind them, sealing off the mirror.
"Forget it, Harry." Draco's voice echoed faintly through the empty corridor. His tone had returned to its usual smooth drawl—but deeper, somehow. "Your greatest desire is your greatest weakness. Don't let anyone see it. What we want is a real future—not illusions."
"Harry… what you desire most should never be found in a mirror. We should seize it with our own hands."
Harry said nothing, letting Draco lead him forward. The warmth from Draco's grip was steady and real.
Had Draco truly only seen himself as Minister? Then what was that longing, that unmistakable emotion in his eyes?
Questions churned through Harry's mind, mixing with the image of the two of them standing side by side in the mirror—rippling through him like a stone tossed into a quiet lake.
For the first time, he realized clearly that his feelings toward Draco Malfoy were far more complex than "only warmth," "an important ally," or "someone he owed." The fierce desire to bind Draco to him, to possess him completely, startled even himself.
Walking a step ahead, Draco kept his back straight and his stride steady. Only he knew the storm that image in the mirror had unleashed within him—the black-haired, green-eyed boy leaning into him with absolute trust, the future in which he could protect him wholly and stand beside him.
He would never let that desire become Harry's weakness—or anyone's leverage.
He held Harry's wrist tightly, as though holding the most precious treasure in the world.
The torchlight along the corridor stretched their entwined shadows long, long behind them.
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