CRAVE THE WARM BOY- drarry

Mirror of Erised

Friday, 5th of March, 1999. 1h 45min.
Abandoned classroom, fifth floor, Hogwarts.

Draco stood. He looked horrified. Arms were hanging heavy from his shoulders, it’s the first time he had noticed how much his arms weighted to the rest of his body. His legs felt, wrong. His clothes as well, they felt weird on his skin, making him want to tear it all off, his shirt, as well as his skin.

There was a horrendous pounding in his head, and his heart was beating way too loud, making his ears ache. He felt like he needed to throw up, even if he hadn’t eaten anything in the last forty-eight hours. His breath felt distant, he couldn’t hear it at all, but could feel it. His chest going up and down, his lungs working, moving, frantically while he was trying, miserably, to make them all stop. At once, preferably.

He can see, clearly now, what has been keeping him away from focusing in class and doing his homework, as well as sleeping at night. He had this ache, an ache of lust, of lust for something that felt far away, lost, or forgotten. He would dream of a weird green flash, a flash of bright eyes and Griffindor robes and circular glasses and weird Christmas sweaters. He found himself unable to move in the slightest.

His arms felt unreal, while his legs were giggly, shaking violently. But his eyes stayed glued to one, one big spot on the mirror. A damned thing, it was. That stupid mirror, and that stupid Potter boy, hanging all around Hogwarts. Draco didn’t hear the footsteps. Particularly, the steps of the ‘Potter boy’ in question.

He stared at the mirror with a blank, raged, hopeless face, lost. That’s what he felt like he was, momentarily. Seeing, Harry Potter, the ridiculously handsome boy with the brilliant (ly ugly) green eyes and loose robes. There, he sat, in an Auror suit, one arm, muscular and seemingly strong, draped around his waist, his face burried in the blonde’s neck.

Him, in his reflection, was laughing affectionately at his husband, easily noticed by the exact same rings on their fingers, while kissing the top of his head. His future self seeming happy, purely happy. “Wow”, was the word, I find, for his face. The two, from in the reflection, didn't pay any mind at his presence.

He didn’t manage to take a step back, as he had wanted to do. He looked mortified, as the happy couple’s laughs echoed through the room. What he managed, was to drop down on the floor, never tearing his eyes from the mirror. He sat cross-legged in front of it, in complete silence. He was keen to find out, discover all the little details about them.

Because that wasn’t Harry and Draco, Potter and Malfoy. That was Harry and Draco, something coming straight from the blonde’s imagination, who had thought of being limited. Guess not, then?

Harry, who was watching the whole scene, made a true effort not to make a sound when witnessing Malfoy drop to the floor in front of the mirror. His legs urged him to walk forwards, sprint, catch the boy. But he didn’t. He had stopped himself from doing stupid things, but he might regret this particular one. Oh well.

He, managing to break the trance of staring at the blonde, looked at the mirror. What he saw didn’t shock him at all, as be had seen it before, but what had changed, and why? Why was the whole scene, of him dancing quietly with Draco, turned to face Draco and not him? Truth is, that the realisation hit him a few hours later, after he had gone back to the Griffindor tower. He just wanted the blonde to desire the same thing as him.

Draco stayed at the hidden classroom, in which Dumbledore had decided to hide the mirror in, for many hours. Harry stayed there with him. And at some point, after hours, when the sun was threatening to shine, Harry decided to go sit next to Draco.

And so he did. He got up, not caring if he was being quiet or not, and walked up to the boy facing the opposite way of him. The blonde didn’t react to the noise, but only shivered when he saw who his mysterious guest was.