Years after the war, life had settled into a calm rhythm for Harry Potter. He had managed to carve out a life beyond the shadow of his past, beyond the title of "The Boy Who Lived." He had served as an Auror for several years, gained the respect of his peers, and had finally taken a break from the relentless chase of dark wizards. When Hogwarts offered him the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the year, he accepted. Returning to the castle that had been both his home and his battleground felt like the right thing to do.
Hogwarts was different now. The walls, once steeped in the echoes of old battles, were quieter. The students were different too, none of them old enough to remember the war. For Harry, it was bittersweet. His life had turned out okay, but there was a quiet longing he could never quite place, a hollow space that no amount of heroics or career success could fill.
He had tried dating over the years. First, he had gone out with women—Ginny, and a few others—but the relationships always fizzled out, leaving him with a sense of unease, of something not quite fitting. It took him a long time to understand that it wasn't just the people he was with, but the very nature of his attraction. He realized, after much soul-searching, that he simply wasn't interested in women. But when he tried dating men, it wasn't much different. He had hoped it would be, had wanted it to be, but there was still something missing.
Now back at Hogwarts, Harry often found himself wandering the familiar halls, his footsteps echoing in the silence. It was both comforting and unsettling, these memories of his youth coming back in waves. He would remember walking these halls with Ron and Hermione, with all the hopes and fears of a young boy thrust into a world of danger and magic. Sometimes, he'd come across places that held particular memories—the spot where he first saw the Mirror of Erised, the corridor where he and Draco Malfoy had exchanged insults so many times.
One evening, as he wandered aimlessly, he stumbled upon an empty classroom. The door creaked open, inviting him in, and for some reason, he decided to enter. The room was dusty, forgotten, like many of the unused parts of the castle. And there it was, tucked away in a corner, covered in a layer of dust—the Mirror of Erised.
Harry felt a strange pull toward it, an almost forgotten curiosity. He stepped in front of it, expecting to see the familiar sight of his parents, or maybe Sirius, smiling back at him as they had so many years ago. But what he saw shocked him even more.
In the reflection, he saw himself, but not alone. Beside him stood Draco Malfoy, their fingers intertwined. They both wore matching wedding rings, their faces glowing with a happiness Harry had never seen in himself before. Draco was looking at him, not with the old disdain or rivalry, but with a softness, a love that was undeniable. Harry's breath caught in his throat.
He had always found Draco attractive, especially in recent years as they had matured past their old animosities. They had stayed in contact, tentatively at first, but then with increasing frequency. Draco had come out long before Harry had even begun to understand his own feelings. But it had never occurred to Harry that what he felt for Draco might run deeper than mere attraction or friendship.
Harry stepped closer to the mirror, reaching out as if he could touch the reflection, as if the glass could melt away and bring the vision to life. The warmth in Draco's eyes, the way they were holding hands—it was so real, so true. Was this what he truly desired?
He had always known there was a bond between them, something that went beyond their schoolboy rivalry, beyond the war. But could it really be love? And if it was, did Draco feel the same way?
Harry backed away from the mirror, his heart racing. The image of them together lingered in his mind, a revelation that left him reeling. It was terrifying, the thought of confessing these feelings to Draco, of risking their tentative friendship. But there was also a strange comfort in it, a realization that perhaps he had found the missing piece of himself after all.
