Need is necessary.
Want is liberating.
Desire is…

There had been a mirror once that showed not what was, not what would be,
but the sweetest, and yet the most torturous of images.
The sweetest, because it showed the fulfillment of one’s innermost
desires.
The most torturous, because, more often than not, the images it showed
were as unreachable as a reflection in an ordinary mirror.

*

The mirror stood in the center of the Room of Requirement, the tall
golden frame taking up most of the small circular chamber, which looked
nothing like the room engraved in Draco Malfoy’s memory after countless
hours spent inside it in his sixth year, nor did it resemble the room he
had grown accustomed to during his more recent visits.

He had come to Hogwarts looking for… Draco was not quite sure. Sanctuary,
perhaps, because his name was blackened and linked to darkness despite
the unmarred skin on his forearm, and the wizarding world did not forgive
as readily as its Golden Boy had. Solace, maybe, because his wounded
pride could no longer bear living among Muggles, drowned in their alcohol
or intoxicated by their drugs. Purpose, most likely, because he needed to
give his life a course lest he go insane.

Living at Hogwarts was not easy, with each hallway and every corner
tainted with memories, but it was easier now that those who remembered
him from their schooldays were gone. Living at Hogwarts was more bearable
an option than any of the others currently available to him. And yet it
was not enough, this silent kind of existence in the seclusion of the
castle, half-teaching, half-studying in the sections of the library he
had never before deemed worthy of his attention. Nothing seemed enough
anymore, as if a part of his life had evaporated during and after the
war, a part he would never get back.

He came to the Room of Requirement regularly – it held a strange
fascination that Draco did not dare examine too closely, this room where
his short-lived dark glory had begun and ended, the room both he and
Potter had been obsessed with, each in his time. However, this was the
first time since Draco’s arrival in Hogwarts that the room contained
anything but a brooding silence and a chair for him to sit in, or a bed
to curl up in when he was very tired.

He ran his fingers over the gilded frame, walked around the mirror to
inspect it; it was an old habit – during the war one could never be sure
that death wouldn’t leap out from seemingly harmless objects. No traps
here, though, no nasty surprises. Satisfied, Draco stood in front of the
mirror once again, and for the first time looked at his reflection. And
gave a start when, instead of bleach blond hair, he saw unkempt dark
locks, when his eyes crashed into a bespectacled jade-green gaze, with
the infamous lightning-shaped scar marring what should have been a
reflection of his – Draco’s – perfectly smooth forehead. Standing in the
place of Draco’s reflection was Harry Potter.

Several moments passed while Draco stared, blinking in puzzlement, at the
man in the mirror, an odd feeling taking root inside him. Eventually, he
shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, then turned away and left the Room
of Requirement with its strange new addition.

*

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” read Draco, chanting out
the words emblazoned along the upper part of the mirror’s frame as if it
was a spell. He had tried this before already, brandishing his wand in
sync with the incantation, but nothing ever happened, nothing ever
changed.

Nothing aside from the fact that, with increasing frequency, the mirror
now showed both Draco’s reflection and Potter, the two images standing
side by side, Draco with the grim, bemused expression he wore in reality,
Potter with a challenge in his eyes, a flame burning behind those
glasses, which reminded Draco of the way the Fiendfyre had reflected in
Potter’s eyes when he had come to offer Draco a rescuing hand.

It had been two weeks and still Draco found the mirror in place every
day, without a clue of what it was, or what the images it showed meant.
The library had let him down – he could not find any mentions of a mirror
like this in any of the books he’d consulted. He dared not ask anyone
about the mirror, either, not until he could be sure that the mirror was
not some dark artifact; it would not do much for Draco’s reputation if he
was found fiddling with some dubious object, especially one that seemed
to have a connection with the savior of the wizarding world.

“Is this my punishment?” he yelled at the mirror one evening after
another day of fruitless lingering in front of the mirror’s silvery
surface, with nothing but a Potter-mirage for company. “Is this some kind
of torture? Haunting me with your face until I go crazy, Potter?!”

He gave the mirror one last glance before stomping off and out of the
room. He was angry and it was easier to blame the mirror than face the
truth. He did not have to come back. He did not have to deal with the
mirror. He could forget its secret, forget Potter.

But Draco knew he’d be back the following day. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t
sleep soundly, couldn’t give up until he solved the mystery and made
Potter leave him alone.

*

“We could have stayed in Hogsmeade, you know,” Potter pointed out while
they trotted up the slope towards Hogwarts’ gates. It was quite a walk,
but it was the only way to enter the school now. In addition to
apparating, flooing and portkeying in and out of Hogwarts was now
impossible, too – the security was tighter than ever, though Draco
thought it kind of pointless now that Voldemort was long dead and all of
his followers either locked up in Azkaban or in their graves as well.

“I thought you’d enjoy the fresh air, Potter,” Draco said, his breath
coming out in frozen puffs. The walk was good exercise; his heart was
beating vivaciously in his chest and he felt pleasantly warm despite the
biting winter cold. “Besides, I told you I need your opinion on
something. And that something just happens to be in the castle. So shut
up and try to keep up,” he said and glanced over his shoulder towards
Potter, who was lagging behind; his shoes may have been good enough for
London’s streets, but he kept slipping on the snowy path.

He heard Potter let out an aggravated huff and smiled to himself; it had
been way too long since he’d had a chance for a bit of verbal teasing.

“We’d forgiven each other, Malfoy, and I came because you need my help – “

Draco snorted. The only thing he needed from Potter was for him to be out
of his head, which meant out of that tantalizing mirror that fed Draco’s
mind with images and coaxed dreams out of his subconscious that Draco
could no longer tolerate.

“I came because you asked civilly, and I am prepared to be perfectly
civil, too, but if you can’t – “

“I get it, Potter,” Draco interrupted. “I wasn’t trying to fight,” he
added, letting his voice soften. “I just really need someone to – “ Draco
stopped himself right there, but Potter was already grinning, that
self-righteous grin that made his eyes twinkle and rippled the skin
around them with crow’s feet. Draco had spent more hours staring at that
smile in the past few weeks than he could count.

“I will try my best, Malfoy,” Potter said and it actually sounded like he
meant it.

*

Potter gasped when he walked into the Room of Requirement after Draco had
willed it into existence. Draco turned to him to see him stare at the
mirror, eyes wide and his mouth forming a small red O. He quirked an
eyebrow – the mirror was nice, sure, but it was not that spectacular.
Unless… Draco’s heart skipped in excitement when he realized what
Potter’s reaction could mean.

He stepped towards Potter, stopping by his side so they both stood in
front of the mirror. He kept his eyes trained on Potter’s face, though,
the real Potter’s face, carefully avoiding the reflection in the mirror.
It was not difficult. Potter had a few almost invisible freckles
scattered on his nose, and his lips were chapped, probably from the cold.

“I haven’t seen it since my first year at Hogwarts,” Potter said. “I
didn’t even know it was still here.” He turned towards Draco, a small
dreamy smile on his face. Draco wondered if this was what he looked like
when he woke up from a pleasant dream. If Harry Potter knew the luxury of
pleasant dreams at all.

“You know what it is, then?” Draco breathed. It had been a desperate move
to call on Potter, but it had seemed the only option left, and the option
that made most sense. And, judging by the lack of outrage on Potter’s
side, the mirror was nothing bad.

“Of course. The Mirror of Erised.” Potter’s smile saddened as he reached
out towards the mirror and traced the edge of its frame with a finger.
Then he looked back at Draco with a curious expression. “How did you know
that I’d know, though?”

“I think that should be obvious,” Draco said, struggling to keep his eyes
from rolling. “Did you look into it?” Not waiting for an answer, he
grabbed Potter’s arm and tugged him forward so they both stood in front
of the mirror once more. He avoided the reflections and focused on Potter
again, then started to explain: “It shows you whenever you look into it –
I mean, not just when you look, that would be normal, but it shows you
when I look into it, even when you’re not here. And that is a little
suspicious, don’t you – what?”

Potter had gone pale, and was gawking at him as if Draco had suddenly
grown a second head.

“You – you see me in the mirror?” Potter stammered.

This time, Draco couldn’t help himself. He rolled his eyes. “Yes. Just
look if you don’t believe me.” He reached for Potter’s shoulder,
positioning him so that he was by the side, out of direct view for the
mirror, while Draco stood face to face with the surface. “It shows you,
or me and you, it depends, and – OH GOD!” he shrieked, because in that
instant, he finally glimpsed the reflection in the mirror. It was not
accurate, as usual, showing not reality but something else. “What are you
doing with it, Potter?!” he inquired with a glare.

Potter stood observing him quietly, shaking his head in confusion or
disbelief, as if he didn’t know what was going on, as if he hadn’t just
seen what Draco had seen, the image of them entwined in an embrace, lips
joined and hips flush against each other, Potter’s hand on – oh no, he
was not thinking about that! It was too wrong, too intimate. Everything
about the image was, and while it was maybe tolerable to see himself
snogging Potter in a dream or two, this was different. This was too
dangerous, especially with the real Potter so temptingly close; it was
not a good idea to –

“What did you see?” Potter asked, seemingly unperturbed and looking
almost amused now.

“As if you needed to ask, you pervert!” Draco accused. “I should have
known it was all your fault!” he yelled, even angrier because he could
feel the blush on his face. “I asked you to come here so you could help
me get rid of it, not make it worse! It’s not very easy, you know,
Potter, seeing your face every day in the goddamn mirror, and now seeing
you kiss me. It’s driving me insane, so if you could just stop the – “

Suddenly, Potter’s lips were on his, chapped and warm, swallowing his
words. A hand curled around his nape to keep him in place, with nowhere
to escape, trapped between the mirror reflection and the real – very
real, solid and oh damn, hard – Harry Potter. Draco felt life rush
through him, making him dizzy as if he was in the air on his broom,
reaching for the Snitch with Potter straining towards it right beside
him. It had been ages since he’d last made out with anyone, since he’d
last wanted a real – available – person enough to go through with it. It
was too much, the sensations slamming into him as Potter’s tongue pushed
into his mouth while Potter’s thigh wedged itself between his, creating
delicious friction. It was what Draco had dreamed about in the past weeks
or even longer, much longer. It was all that and more.

And then it was over.

Potter let go of him as suddenly as he had seized him and stepped back
while steering Draco towards the mirror.

“What do you see now?” he panted.

Draco stared at him in confusion for a second – he had forgotten about
the mirror, and the Potter-mirage usually lurking on its surface. Then he
complied and peered into the Mirror of Erised. He saw –

“I see myself,” he breathed in astonishment. “Just myself.” His hair was
tousled and his lips puffy, vividly red. Excited, he looked at Harry.

Harry nodded.

“How did you – was that some kind of a charm?” Draco inquired, moving
towards Harry. He felt light-headed, and his stomach fluttered. “I didn’t
quite expect the method but I must admit that it worked.” He let out a
laugh; a peculiar warm glow was taking over him, one that Draco couldn’t
quite pinpoint, with a hungry undercurrent of desire. He craved – wanted
– needed more. “It worked quite well, even,” he gave a feral grin.

He was standing in front of Harry, who had his back pressed against a
wall now. Harry’s eyes were wild, burning, and Draco reached out to
remove the glasses; they would just get in the way.

Harry batted his hand away, then pressed a palm against his chest to
maintain the distance between them. “It wasn’t a charm,” he whispered,
looking anywhere but at Draco. It was irritating – after all, Harry had
just kissed and groped him, and while that had been a surprise, it had
felt kind of right. There was no reason to play the shy virgin now.

But Harry gave him an almost anguished look. “It was – The Mirror of
Erised shows you what you want most. Your heart’s most –“ he took a quick
breath, blinking a few times, “– the most desperate desire.”

Draco froze as the information penetrated through the daze. Then he
relaxed again. The hard part was over – now that they had kissed, there
was no point in denying it. He did desire Harry. The insistent tension in
his trousers was proof enough. And as Harry seemed to be fine with the
situation, too – he’d taken the first step! – there was nothing in the
way of a long, hot –

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“What?” It didn’t make sense. They had just – “Wait, Potter – Harry.”
Draco clasped his fingers around Harry’s wrist just as Harry started to
move away, shuffling along the wall in the direction of the door.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything for you, Draco,” Harry sad, his gaze
trained on the door.

“But you just –“

“It wasn’t real!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his wrist away.

“Right,” Draco said wryly. “And the bulge in your trousers is your
hankie.” He eyed Harry’s crotch ostentatiously.

“It’s not –“

“What did you see in the mirror?” Draco demanded.

Harry mumbled something, a low, irritated grumble in his throat.

“What did you see?” Draco raised his voice. It had an unpleasantly
hysteric pitch about it. What had he gotten himself into? He reached both
arms out and planted his palms on either side of Harry’s shoulders,
trapping him against the wall.

“That’s none of your business,” Harry sighed and gestured for Draco to
release him.

“Tell me,” Draco insisted, moving closer, close enough to feel the heat
emanating from Harry’s body. He wanted to delve right back into it. When
Harry winced, he groaned in frustration: “What did you SEE, Potter?!” he
yelled.

“NOT YOU!” Harry bellowed and roughly pushed Draco out of the way. In the
next instant, his wand was out and pointed at Draco. “Don’t make me hex
you,” he muttered and quickly proceeded to the door. “Goodbye, Malfoy,”
he said and slipped out of the room.

Draco’s first instinct was to run after him. His hand was already on the
handle when the truth slammed home. There was no point. He let his hand,
and then his entire body, sink, sliding to sit on the cold stone floor.
At least, he told himself, at least the mirror would leave him alone now.

But when he caught a glimpse of the reflection on the surface of the
Mirror of Erised, Draco Malfoy wailed in pain. From the mirror, the Boy
Who Lived was smiling at him.

*

Desire is the sweetest torture.

~fin