Take Two

1. Mirror, Mirror

No natural light made its way to Hogwarts' dungeons, which were located deeply beneath the earth surface. Only a few flickering torches on the bare stone walls provided however scarcely light. The bathrooms were even poorer lit than the dorms or classrooms down there and it was not seldom the case that one Slytherin girl or another (or the more vain Slytherin boys) used toothpaste instead of shaving cream or hair conditioner instead of shower gel (resulting in quite fluffy hair on their arms and legs) due to the poor visibility.

The blonde boy currently occupying the bathroom, however, wasn't intent on taking a shower (and if he were, he'd know every hygiene article of his blindfolded, mind). He was standing silently, his Slytherin robes perfectly neat as always, looking straight ahead.

The air was cool and thick with apprehension. Pale brows furrowed as his vis-à-vis' lips turned into a superior smirk. The smugness in his eyes was mirrored clearly in Draco's grey ones, and the other way round. They seemed almost blue, if Draco hadn't know better, he'd say so; but he did know better.

Taking a step forward, his frown eased slightly; this was too easy. Who would have thought that he could finally get back at Harry Famous Potter for all the times that he'd embarrassed and outplayed him?

"You look charming, as always, dear," a husky, female voice whispered, flattering. "You've done something with your hair ... it looks even finer and silkier than usually-"

"I haven't slicked it back," Draco interrupted, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as bemusement lit up his eyes for a moment. But as this was neither the time nor the place for amusement, it died away quickly. "Show yourself."

At his command, the mirror's surface in front of him suddenly swirled in perfectly centric circles, as if the glass were made of water and Draco had just thrown a stone into it. The surface became slightly uneven, and the Slytherin's reflection vanished as 3D facial features emerged from the mirror. A long, slightly crooked nose, small glittering eyes and a thin-lipped grin greeted him, as the mirror's soul took form.

"Now, do tell me," Draco drawled. "What is the news, concerning my little project? Something interesting? Something embarrassing? Or even something scandalous?"

"A little bit of everything I would say, my dear ..."

"And ...?" prompted Draco. "Don't keep me waiting. You should know I'm easily offended ... and I'm not afraid of seven years of bad luck, if you know what I mean."

"Some things are worth a bit of stalling for the dramatic effect ... dear boy."

"Don't call me 'dear boy', you piece of glass," Draco snapped. "Go and tell me what you found out or I'll find a replacement for you. It's as easy as that."

The mirror sighed. There was no pleasing Draco Malfoy. "If you insist ..."

"Of course I do, you stupid mirror," Draco spat under his breath. Finding a decent (and obedient one to boot) mirror these days was a real Sisyphus task. They all had too much character on their own; it wasn't fun anymore.

"But I've got a better idea," the mirror went on. "I could ... show you ... but only if you want me to, of course!"

Sly little thing. Again, Draco was well aware of *why* he used the mirror in the first place. "Show me," the Slytherin growled with a smirk. "And if you ever pull something like that again, I am going to replace you with a Muggle mirror ... and don't presume I wouldn't do it; you should know by now to what extent I'm taking my revenge ..."

"Whatever you say, dear boy ..." And before Draco could snarl his response, the mirror's surface swirled again, contorting the face, before coming to a halt, now showing the Gryffindor 3rd year boys' dormitories and no longer Draco's reflection. The Slytherin grinned at the scene unfolding before him; never would he have thought to get such a perfect close-up of the lion's den. Oh, the sheer endless possibilities, all the insider information he could get, all the secrets ... Draco was beyond ecstatic.

He sat down at the bathtub's edge (fleetingly thinking of a bowl of popcorn to put the finishing touch to the picture) and filed away all the information for possible future use like the sly little Slytherin he was. Soon, he was totally submerged into "Gryffindor Place" (as he silently dubbed it). Oh, if the mirror only could permanently safe what he taped, Draco would make a fortune selling copies. Not that he actually needed the money (unlike a certain redhead), but some possibilities remained that could have rather nasty outcomes for Draco ...

'Back to the movie,' Draco thought firmly and redirected his attention to Potter and Co.

Granger was sitting on what appeared to be Potter's desk; her robe was unbuttoned, showing her - for a girl - surely nicely shaped legs in a way too short to be called decent skirt. Draco grimaced at the sight. How could one possibly stand this sight without permanent eye damage? Weasley didn't seem to mind as much, judging by his nearly drooling expression. Merlin, get a grip! Weasley's shortcomings in the financial department weren't compensated by his overly refined manners - or lack thereof, more like.

Granger leant back, supporting her weight on her palms, and ... was that a suggestive stretching? Draco thought he was dreaming. He'd always known the Gryffindor Trio was weird, but that was just ... beyond his wildest imagination. Now, the riddle was solved why Granger was in the boys' dorm, all alone except for Potter and Weasley. Kinky. Who would have guessed?

Full of determined anticipation (he only did this for blackmail's sake, of course), Draco made himself more comfortable and resumed his spying activity. Only to be a bit ... disappointed. Potter seemed oblivious to Granger's antics, and even Draco had to admit that there was nothing subtle about them. The Golden Boy merely sat cross-legged on his bed, leaning against the headboard, chatting away with a quite obviously somewhat frustrated Granger and a quite obviously flustered Weasley, where the term 'obviously' *obviously* applied to everyone but Potter. It was nothing short of a shame. How could this blind and deaf boy be the rescuer of the Wizarding World? A sick joke of fate was the most plausible answer.

"Yes, great material," Draco drawled sarcastically. "Potter's too daft to get it that someone's got the hots for him. Nothing new here ..." He still contemplated the meagre outcome (maybe Granger fancying Potter could serve for a few laughs) as said Granger left the dorm, frowning and most likely pondering what the next step was going to be in her plan to conquer the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Remain-Obviously-Oblivious.

"Why do you have to be so cold to her?" Weasley asked, and Draco frowned. There was more? Oh well, the more the merrier.

Potter sighed. "I'm not cold towards her, Ron, but I'm not hot for her either. In fact, all that I feel in Hermione's regard, as you know all too well, is brotherly, strictly platonic love. OK?" Potter stretched shortly, and then got off his bed, heading somewhere Draco couldn't see due to his restricted view. Draco gasped in shock as Potter stepped back in front of the mirror. He was actually trying to - no, it must be a dream! Draco pinched himself, then yelped shortly; he was awake - comb his hair. Judging by the state of the black rat nest, the Slytherin had doubted that Potter knew what a comb was anyway (Granger's frizzy mess only cemented his theory).

"Wonders never cease," Draco murmured, watching as Potter struggled with the comb, wincing every so often in sympathy as hair was pulled out roughly.

"I'm not - ugh! - standing in your - ah! - way, Ron," Potter panted. "You know, you can have her ..."

"Don't talk about her as if she's a piece of meat!" Weasley snapped. "Only because you don't have feelings, doesn't mean she doesn't either!"

"That's not how I meant it," Potter said, abandoning the impossible task of taming his hair and turning around to face his friend (thus granting Draco the sight of his impossible back of messy hair). "I just don't see her in a romantic sense, and I doubt that I ever will. You know that, Ron ..."

"That's still no reason to be so disrespectful! Even if she can't hear you, I can, and that's enough!"

"You know what, Ron?" Harry asked rhetorically, before answering himself. "You really should do something about that crush of yours. It's just not healthy. Hermione doesn't have a chance with me; she's just working herself into something, and the deeper she gets, the more she'll be hurt when she finally realizes there won't be an 'us'. But if you can divert her and convince her that you are serious, she'll come to terms with it sooner, and we all will be happy." Potter plopped back down onto his bed, bouncing slightly.

Weasley shot him a dark glare. "Oh, you are just so clever," he drawled in a startling sarcastic manner. "Tell me, why don't you follow your own advice then, huh? Your crush has lasted longer than I can even remember!" Now it was getting interesting. Potter had a crush on someone for longer than Weasley on Granger? Wow, whole new dimensions.

"Stop it, Ron," Potter said wearily, as if they'd had this discussion umpteen times already. "You know how it works."

"Yes," Weasley replied snidely. "You get to say what I have to do with my life, but every time I try to help you, you block me completely!"

"Ron," Potter practically begged. "That's not true. I truly appreciate your help, but you also know how it is with myself and luck; they just aren't compatible."

"Stop wallowing in self pity," Weasley said sharply. "Doesn't suit you too well."

"I'm not wallowing, I'm just stating a fact. But it's not a big deal. I've got a crush on someone - again - but this someone's not interested - again!"

"You do it - again! - wallowing ..."

Potter smacked Weasley with a pillow. "Stuff it! You have no idea how it is!"

"Oh?" came the deceivingly calm reply. "You think so? And what about Hermione? I know perfectly well how it is to feel rejected even before you make your first approaches! All she ever talks about is Harry this and Harry that ... It's like she doesn't see me at all, well, at least not as a man," Potter snorted and Draco grinned in silent agreement, "but just like her brother. Do you know how frustrating that is? When the one you love doesn't even seem to mind?"

"Yeah," Potter whispered, staring at the canopy of his four-poster. "But at least, Hermione doesn't hate you ..."

It was getting more interesting by the minute. Potter's ailing heart belonged to someone who hated him - quite a wide selection, then. Voldemort would be on the top of the list; but no, Harry was maybe weird but not that desperate to suffer from necrophilia. Snape maybe? Draco scowled. Harry didn't have a chance with the Potions master, for he was already taken by a certain professor of his. Also, Harry didn't seem to be the kind of boy to be interested in his own gender in any case.

"Why, Harry," Draco whispered. "If you'd only have chosen to be with me, you'd have saved all this pointless aching. And I wouldn't see myself forced to spent my Saturday evenings locked up in the Slytherin bathroom to spy on you ..."

"Alright. You win," Weasley sighed. "I wouldn't want to know how it is when Hermione hated me." He got off the bed, started undressing, and then went thankfully out of the mirror's range. "It's his own fault," he went on, slightly muffled, and Draco pricked up his ears. A he? "He'd be lucky if he could get you; even I can say that. With his whole 'I am mightier than thou' attitude, I wonder why you ever fell for him, but," he cut Potter off, who wanted to defend his choice, "I can accept it ... now."

"Thanks, Ron," Potter said, also changing into his pyjamas. Draco wasn't sure if he heard everything what was said then, he appreciated the sight far too much. Potter was small (Draco himself wasn't a giant either - thank Merlin), but deliciously built; his skin was a bit more tanned than Draco's own pale one; all in all, the boy before him was more than a living phenomenon.

Draco sighed and averted his gaze. He shouldn't quite gawp like the perverted voyeur he felt he was, especially since he knew that Harry ... Potter was in love with someone else; someone else who hated him and thus didn't deserve him.

The bathtub's edge suddenly felt very cold under Draco's fingers. Why was he doing this? Spying on Harry, using everything against him, when all it got him was a broken heart? Was he already this deep into masochism? Was Harry really worth it? Sure! So, Draco watched on.

"Even though I think he doesn't deserve you," Weasley said. "If you think he's going to make you happy, I'm going to keep my mouth shut. But if he calls me or Mione names again, I can't guarantee for his safety."

Potter smiled, and Draco's eyebrows shot together. Name-calling?

"I'll take care of that," said Potter smiling.

"Your word in Merlin's ear," Weasley mumbled, earning him another smack with the pillow.

"You'll see, Ron. If only we were together, I'd tame my feisty little dragon ... or I'd let myself be tamed ..."

Weasley made a gagging sound, and Draco's mouth dropped open. Harry called his crush 'dragon'?

"Sorry, it's just," Weasley said, throwing the pillow out of Potter's range. "Taming your dragon just sounds ... wrong!"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Potter grinned. "If I had a chance with him, Draco would be mine and I'd never let him go again."

Weasley shook his head, and Draco ... hadn't heard anything after the mentioning of his name, as he'd fallen backwards into the tub, banging his head on the tap. Wincing slightly, he pulled himself out again and turned off the water (which had miraculously started running as the back of his now throbbing head had met the water regulator).

Did Potter ... Harry just say Draco? As in Draco Malfoy? As in his own name? The Slytherin snorted shakily. There weren't *that* many Dracos around, where there? But did that mean Harry ... thought he hated him? All right, there may have been angry (but still passionate) words, a few hexes and attempts to get Harry and his loyal sidekicks deliberately into troubles ... But that didn't mean Draco *hated* Harry, au contraire. Draco had never had a worthier (and sexier) enemy than Harry in his whole (thirteen year long) life. If he'd known he was the one holding the Boy-Who-Lived's affection, Draco would have taken advantage immediately. Oh yes. His advantage, Harry's advantage; there wouldn't have been any difference.

But now ... Draco frowned. Was it too late to put all differences behind them when he knew that deep down they both wanted the very same? Draco refused to believe that. He had the Merlin-sent (or rather, Mirror-sent) proof that Harry - he still couldn't grasp the whole idea - loved him. And he knew he loved Harry. Every other problem that might occur should be solvable in the Slytherin's eyes. Draco closed said eyes briefly as a sudden surge of powerful emotion rushed through him. No, he definitely wouldn't replace his mirror with a Muggle one. He'd frame it in gold - no, no need to exaggerate; silver would be sufficient. Or maybe gold and silver intertwined ...

Draco squealed in anticipation. It didn't matter as long as Harry was going to be his ... and he Harry's.