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𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝
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The Mirror of Erised is an ancient, ornate mirror with clawed feet and a gold frame. It’s said that the Mirror shows the most desperate desire of a person’s heart, a vision that has been known to drive men mad. The writing engraved in the frame of the mirror was a forgotten foreign dead language but if one looks closely it says: ‘I show not your face but your heart’s desire.’ backwards.
It’s rumored that men have stood before it, wasted away not knowing if what they have seen was something real, or even possible. It’s as though the mirror had latched a hook around you, pulled you in and forced you to see what could be just beyond the mind's subconscious. But what would happen when a certain Slytherin stumbles upon this mirror, and what are the things that he may be shown?
The Mirror was supposed to be taken elsewhere after an incident with Harry Potter, but for some reason it was still around in third year, lingering like a ghost in the corner of a dark room. With how tempting the thing could be, you’d swear that it was whispering to you, pulling you in like you were in some sort of trance. That’s exactly what was happening with Draco Malfoy.
Third year was so much different compared to the last two, and it seemed as though things were just going to get even more interesting for this year. Though, he questioned how things would go within the next four years.
One lonely dark night while wandering the corridors, usually he wasn’t someone who went out of their dormitory passed curfew but there was just something itching at the surface that he wanted – perhaps needed to do. That’s when he felt the deep urge to head towards an abandoned wing of the castle, where nobody usually goes. With his wand raised, and a Lumos casted. He dipped into alcoves to hide from Filch and Mrs. Norris, but would continue on his way towards this ‘pull.’
That’s when he found it, as if it was whispering to him. Telling him to come, come see your desires that are hidden beneath where not even you, yourself could reach, even if you think you know what your true desires are. It was manipulating, a trance within a trance of its own. How strange of a magical artifact.
Slowly, he proceeded further into the empty room until he stood tall in front of the mirror. His platinum blonde hair brighter than his Lumos. “Nox.” He whispered, and the delicate glow faded from the tip of his wand before sliding it into the pocket of his robes. His molten gray eyes staring through the mirrors surface, staring back at himself mainly. Slowly reaching his hand up to glide his fingers along the golden ornate frame as the coldness seeped through the pads of his fingers while he secretly admired it.
Pulling his hand away, a brow arched. “What is my deepest desire?” He questioned. Though he swore he already knew the answer. It was power. He wanted power. He was already wealthy, that was something he didn’t need more of as he was completely set in life. Eyes closing, and he entered a meditative state as if to clear his head of anything that may mess up with what the mirror could show him, or what the mirror perhaps knew.
When his eyes slowly fluttered opened; nothing was there but just himself. There was no sign that he even desired this said ‘power.’ There was nothing in there about his future. Perhaps there was a flicker of something with not being the greatest Malfoy disappointment to his father but it didn’t linger very long. Instead, a female appeared, making his head quickly turn around to look over his shoulder to see if anyone had come in, but no one was there. When he turned back... there she was.
“You’re bloody kidding, right?” He spoke to the mirror as if it was a joke, because this certainly was not what he desired at all. Draco shook his head disapprovingly. “No. I refuse to accept that this is what I desire. You’re a phony. That’s what you are!” He raised his voice. For a student who was sneaking out of their dormitory to come stand before a mirror, yelling probably wasn’t a good idea. He just – he couldn’t accept what he was seeing.
Hermione Granger.
Mudblood.
The Brightest Witch Of Our Age.
Gryffindor know-it-all, swot.
There she was, standing before him the Mirror’s surface in a raven-colored dress with her hair slightly pinned back. Her skin glowed like a light had been casted over it showing her fairly sun-kissed tone. Her brunette curls seemed tamed, and for a moment Draco got curious of how her hair would feel falling through the spaces of his fingers.
He shook his head. No, no, no. This has to be all wrong or something.
Hermione in the mirror was moving, she seemed much like the one he knew. Innocent looking, someone who’d have her nose buried deep inside a book. Getting all the correct answers and topping him in all his bloody classes. She looked elegantly beautiful; it was terrifying to see her like that. Maybe he was dreaming, oh, he hoped that he was.
But there was a drafted breeze that shifted around in the room, blowing dust bunnies and dirt around on the floor leaving goosebumps to wake on his skin, and hairs to stand on ends at the back of his neck. Of course, that creepingly odd sensation that in a way told him that this may or may not be real. Though, he wanted to stay, and maybe that’s where he goes wrong.
She smiled at him. She bloody smiled at him, and how dare she even spread those filthy lips. How dare she even come about in the damn Mirror. No, how dare him for even coming here in the first place. Now, when and if he leaves. He’s just going to sit there and think about what the hell he’d just seen, and perhaps the way he treats her may even change and... no – no that cannot happen, will not. He refuses to let this be the case.
His mind was not his friend right now, it wasn’t helping in a situation such as this, at this time.
Draco got frustrated, ripping out his wand. “Lumos.” It lit, and the light casted over the shadows in the room, even made Hermione in the mirror fade away. He shook his head angerly and left the room all together. Leaving behind the Mirror of Erised. “What a bloody waste of time.” He grumbled to himself, quickly making his way through the corridors and back to the dungeons.
That night had come and gone the moment his head hit the pillow. Exhaustion sweeping over and covering over his body like a blanket full of comfort. Morning came, and the sun peaked through the windows just barely. Every student got dressed in their robes, including Draco himself. He didn’t wake up in a good mood, after what he had seen and dealt with last night it was something no one would understand; nor was it going to be something he even spoke to anyone about. It wasn’t anyone's business anyways.
“Hello Draco.” Pansy greeted once he took a seat at the Slytherin table. “Did you sleep well?” She asked, why did she even bother half the time anyways?
“It doesn’t look like he did, Pansy.” Goyle chimed in.
“Was I asking you? Is your name Draco?”
“No, obviously not. I answered because it doesn’t look as though Malfoy is in the talking mood, now does it? You aren’t very observant to these kinds of things, I'm not at all shocked.”
Pansy’s mouth gaped open, her eyes fleeted towards Draco as if he was going to stand up for her or something, waiting for him to defend her. Except he wasn’t even listening in on the conversation, nor was he even watching either of the bicker about him. Usually when it came to someone talking about him, his ears would get that tingly, buzzing feeling – either that or just gets that weird strange sensation inside that someone was talking about him. This time around though? He wasn’t at all moved.
They continued talking, and he drowned them out. Thinking back to last night when he snuck out, and went to the bloody forsaken room. His eyes wandered towards the Gryffindor table, in search for a certain bushy-haired brunette know-it-all witch, and for a moment he thought maybe she wasn’t there but just then she took a seat with Harry and Ron, smiling about with her eyebrows fairly loose. Her hair was slightly pinned back, much like how he had seen in the Mirror.
In the moment; she seemed so care-free, like a feather blowing in the gentle breeze. Twirling, and furrowing to its freedom. He must’ve been staring a little too long, because the next thing he knows, her eyes met his. His expression was stoic; unreadable – almost expressionless. Matter-of-fact, his heart had just dropped to the pit of his stomach. She just figured him out, all in one quick look and head on eye contact.
Their eyes remained locked. She looked almost passive aggressive, as if she was partially disgusted but also partially shocked that he was even looking at her in the first place. She was probably thinking that he was going to curse her for even looking at him, for holding that eye contact for little over a minute now. For a moment, he swore that her breath caught in her throat because her lips parted.
Her delicately soft pink lips formed a space between once was a pressed thin-line.
Draco broke it first. Turning his head away from her, and reverting his gaze back to Goyle and Pansy while they bickered.
“You never chew with your mouth closed.” She complained, (even though Goyle did chew with his mouth closed now thanks to Draco, of course).
“And you’re just always complaining about something.”
A gasp.
“You both are bloody annoying. You do know that right?” Draco finally said something, letting his eyes shift back and forth from the two. “Always on about something.”
They both shut up. It’s like they had been Imperio'd or something, because anything he says or does something they seem to either listen or just go along with it. It liked that; he liked the power he had and didn’t care. That’s what he thought – no that’s what he was sure he would’ve seen in that bloody mirror. Now that he can’t stop thinking about Her, he wanted to destroy the thing. Get rid of it.
But as of right now, his thoughts were just going to be consumed by what he’d seen in it. Hermione Granger, the little golden girl was what he desired,
And he hated it.