Title: The Mirror of Erised (5/?)
Rating: PG-13 or light R
Spoilers: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP
Summary: Harry is growing up. He has seen more than most boys his age. Lost in a spiraling depression, he is thrown out by a sudden realization: he no longer sees his parents in the Mirror of Erised. Now he sees: Draco Malfoy?
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They belong to JKR. :) The Lyrics also don't belong to me, they belong to Anna Nalick.
Author's Notes: I'm nervous about this chapter. More nervous then the others. A lot of this was taken from notes or diary entries I wrote, and twisted to fit the characters needs. I have always believed that a story is strong if the author puts more of themself in it.
A few notes, from questions I have been asked:
1. The "Dark Haired Man" Will become important to the story.
2. Draco's notebook will become an important aspect of the story. I won't say how.
3. I have been thinking about making this a tad bit Remus/Sirius. Of course in the past, but I might just write another story for that. It was just a thought, not a sure thing.
Another this is, this chapter isn't as long as the others. With school it has been hard to find time to write. Honestly, I didn't want to rush the story. So, I am taking my time with it. Some chapters will be shorter then others.
I hope you all like it.
'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,
And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table.
No one can find the rewind button, boys,
So cradle your head in your hands,
And breathe... just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe
Anna Nalick - Breathe (2am)
Fate. Everyone said, sit still and it will work itself out. Draco didn't believe gifts and chances were just handed out to patiently waiting individuals. Options were something you had to work for. Fight and give you opponent all you had. You had to want it, taste it.
Draco was thinking about options as he walked towards the dungeons, dressed in rain drenched clothes. Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps he was pondering options that continued to open and close. Almost like doors. A door that walked beside him, his shaggy black hair hanging in his face.
Potter was an option. A friendship or a bitter enemy. It could go either way. The right end of the spectrum being an open door and the left a closed one. Potter was leaning dangerously to the right.
The reached the concealed dungeon entrance. Draco turned to the other boy.
"Wait here," He told Potter, and was reminded horribly of telling a dog to 'stay’. He murmured the password under his breath (basilisks). The dungeon wall first moved inward, then to the side, with the sound of scraping stone.
Draco walked through the empty common room, bedecked with eerie green lights and into the sixth year dormitory. Clothing littered the usually messy floor. He grabbed a set of robes, peeling off his wet ones. The air felt cooler then normal, from his damp skin. Without bothering to dry off, he put on his fresh robes.
The Slytherin dug to the bottom of his trunk, and unsheathed an old pair of black robes. He hadn't worn them in ages. Not since the last day of summer, and the disaster that occurred. He couldn't think about that. Wouldn't. He had enough on his mind with the black hair-ed man looming in his dreams. He pushed it away to the very back of his mind.
The black, well kept robes, would fit Potter just fine. He had been surprised when Potter had asked to borrow his clothes. The Gryffindor boy had said that if he went up to the tower he'd be late for the first class of the day. Draco had agreed but warily.
He stashed the clothing in his arms, and trekked back through the dormitory, through the common room and into the hall way.
"Thanks. If I’m late for Potions again Snape will murder me. Then again, if I went he probably would to..." Harry growled, when Draco came through the stone door. A bitterness in his voice took him aback.
Draco's breaths were coming in short, when he said "I can help you if you like. Potions isn't hard if you understand it..." What? Help Potter? What did I say that for? Get real!
Harry just stared for a moment before agreeing "It might help. I don't know, I’ll have to think about it..."
Draco handed the robes to the other boy, Potter smiled. There fingers brushed as the fabric was transferred from Draco's hands to Potter's. It sent a weird electric thrill through his veins, from the very spot Harry's hand touched. It made him uneasy. He pulled his hand away, and could feel his cheeks burn.
Malfoy's Were Not Ashamed.
But this Malfoy was, for a moment in time before catching himself, and walking up the steps to the Entrance Hall. He left Potter standing confused behind him as he fell into step toward his first class of the day.
Sometimes it hurt to breathe. It hurt to see. To talk. Harry opened his bleary eyes to look out on the drab world. He saw everything and nothing at all. The sky. The lights. He held his breath until his lungs wanted to burst, and let it out. It all seemed hard in those moments. Moments before he fell down, or stood up. His nerve endings ran high. His blood pumped through his arteries.
He wanted to yell out. Harry needed to yell out. He needed them to know the chorus chanting in his mind. Harry couldn't talk. Couldn't. Everyone was watching. Everyone was waiting for him to fall, even if it seemed paranoid in his own head. It was right. It couldn't be wrong because what was really wrong? What was right? It's an opinion that everyone had to believe in and in actuality none of us did. He'd play the game, he would learn the rules. Harry made tactics. Then he loss. That was life.
He'd walk to his night-stand and try to find a sleeping potion, double the original dose and wait. Wait for darkness to consume. For his mind to slow. For it to stop. It needed to stop. Had to. And then it did and he didn't know what was worse. The screaming or the silence. If he listened silence yelled louder than a thousand train's rolling by on metal tracks. That hurt. It all hurt and sent his brain spinning off the center of nowhere and everywhere because where was he really? That isn't a place he really knew. He didn't know how he got here. Or when he would leave. His body wasn't even his own in the end.
The earth is one big mystery and just thinking about it made him feel boneless. That was when the chemicals running through his system took effect and his thoughts stopped. Because the potion pushed them out. Black wedges across the screen behind his eyes.
Draco sat at his desk, trying very hard not to think about Potter standing wet in front of him. The feeling of damp skin on damp skin and what it could possibly mean. He was glad he had walked away when he did, toward his first class.
He took out his writing pad, from within his trunk. He could hear the words flowing through his minds and veins. The honest and true words, that he sometimes wished he could have swallowed so long ago like his father wanted. But he wasn't his father. As he set his quill on paper he wrote:
I worry about very tedious things. I worry that I will never amount to anything. I will never "perform to my potential". I will never be an auror because I will never be smart enough. I will never have a girlfriend because I will never be handsome enough. Never is such a big word when you feel so weak.
Grown up's tell me I am not trying hard enough. I don't work hard enough. They don't know how hard I am on myself. How very badly, I need to be perfect. I hold in my screams until the morning, when I stand out at the lake and scream until I am gasping for breath. My voice is raspy for the rest of the day.
I hate Saturdays, because I have Twenty-Four free hours to fret. May be I am Saturday. I used to be such a wondrous day. We could sit out on the Quidditch Pitch until the stars came out, and then we'd go through the darkened halls to the Astronomy Tower. We'd lay down and look up at the milky way. When we were kids everything was so much easier. The world was so much bigger and I couldn't wait to get out there. Now I want to hide under my bed, and hold onto my floor to keep things from moving. Some of us don't want to leave Hogwarts because Hogwarts is all we know. So Hogwarts is all there is.
I listen to my "friends", while sipping butterbeer. When I listen close enough I don't hear anything at all.
He lay down on his four-poster. The pad of paper laid on his chest, with the quill and ink sitting on the night stand. He pulled at his clothes, and worried about what could have been. What was to be. It frustrated him to roll on his side and fall into a restless sleep, full of the black haired man.
To Be Continued...
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