Chapter Text
Malfoy hadn’t meant to see the mirror.
Really, It wasn’t intentional. But whether it was, or it wasn’t— It didn’t matter. Because it felt like he was always meant to see it, Maybe not that night, perhaps the other day, or another night, but he was always bound to. Fate just had that twisted sense of humor.
On a particularly cold evening, A quarter past eleven, Malfoy found himself unable to sleep. The mark on his arm burned hot like hellfire, so he tossed and he turned, His mind running rampant with thoughts he refused to acknowledge in fear of what it would make him, and what it would mean. His already had a terrible last few months as it is, Malfoy didn’t want to add to it by making these thoughts real.
So, Instead of trying to make sleep come to him, Malfoy made the very reckless decision to get up and wander the halls late at night. If he got caught by filch? Well, It wouldn’t be as bad as everything else.
And that’s how he found it. A tall mirror inside an empty classroom with barraded windows.
At first, He thought nothing of it— It was odd, sure— To have a mirror inside an abandoned classroom, But his spent long enough in Hogwarts to not question these unusual things.
Malfoy had half a thought to leave the room, go back outside and wander the corridors and enjoy the thrill of possibly getting caught(Adrenaline has become the only thing that makes him feel alive nowadays), But something stopped him. Made him pause, Reconsider—
And it’s strange. It’s just an old fancy-looking mirror, And yet Malfoy found himself curious.
Instead of turning around and taking a step through the door, Malfoy took a step forward. Not backward, not the other way around— Forward. Like something is pulling him towards it.
Malfoy thought he’d have a heart attack the moment he stood in front of it. He felt his blood run cold and his heart beat faster in his chest, Because what he saw wasn’t a gaunt boy with dark eyebags and tousled hair.
He saw himself, except happier. Healthier, His cheeks plump and rosy and a genuine soft smile on his face. In his reflection, He wore a short-sleeve, And whatever Malfoy anticipated on his forearm wasn’t there. The mark wasn’t there. Just pale, unmarked skin.
But it wasn’t just the reflection of his happy and unmarked self he saw— He saw Harry. Beside him, Holding his hand, Their fingers intertwined, And the raven-haired boy looked exactly the same… Except he had a bright smile on his face rather than a sneer.
Malfoy stared, for a long time.
That night etched itself into the forefront of Malfoy’s mind, So much so that he kept going back, Just to see another glimpse of it. And that’s how he found himself every night— Sneaking out whilst everyone slept just to sit infront of that damned mirror and stare at it for hours without moving.
Every night. For the past two months.
It became a routine(more of an addiction, really), Malfoy sat there until daylight poured into the barraded room, and he did nothing but simply stare at the mirror in silence. He wished he had eight eyes, Just so he could look at every detail in the mirror. And Harry’s face too.
Because what he sees in there, He knows deep down— is what he wants. What his been craving for so long. The mirror solidified the thoughts he had been ignoring all these years. And it only got harder to breathe each day.
Night by night, Malfoy felt heavier with an aching sadness, because he knows— he knows he won’t have this. Whatever this is he sees in the mirror, It’s unrealistic, it’s impossible, unreachable. And it grows on him, settles like a heavy rock he can’t quite get rid of, and yet despite this— Malfoy can’t help but keep coming back anyway. Sitting in front of the mirror just to do it all over again. Just to see a glimpse of what life could be, And how peaceful it must feel.
It fucks with him so much that he begun to forget his objective, his mission, Sacrificing all of his time just to come back, over and over again.
And then one night it all came crashing down on him— Malfoy has always known it, The terrifying reality that Harry, The boy who lived, the savior of the wizarding world— Won’t ever look at him with those soft eyes and fond smiles, He won’t take Malfoy’s hands and tangle their fingers together, And Malfoy damn well knows that the mark won’t go away. That it’s a permanent fixture, there’s no getting rid of it, And it’ll continue to burn. But the burn in his left arm pales in comparison to what he had to accept; Harry won’t, and will never be his.
An unfamiliar sound struggles to get out of his throat and he ends up choking on it as tears form in his eyes. A sob. His crying.
Maybe it’s the burn, Malfoy could pretend his crying because of the burn— But in truth, his numb to it.
It hurts far more to think that it’s all just an illusion, That it will never come true. Because Harry hates him, And he’d be ashamed to be with a death eater, to even look Malfoy straight in the eyes and give him another chance. Because that’s not possible, and it’s all because of him.
And so, Malfoy hates himself even more. Because maybe if he’d grown up a little different, maybe if he’d known a little more, judged a little less, perhaps life could have been better.
But fate is cruel, isn’t it?
Malfoy was always bound to end up here. Alone, crying silently into the night with no one to hold him and tell him it’ll be alright. He was always doomed from the start, There are no happy endings awaiting him at the end of the book. Just bitter regret and a sadness he’ll carry with a heavy heart.
It truly is exceptionally lonely, To be Draco Malfoy.