Beyond The Mirrors edge

Chapter 3

The problem with spending winter break at Hogwarts was that there wasn't much to do to pass the time. He was the only Slytherin to stay on this year, and from what he'd observed in the Great Hall at meals, one of only a handful of students in the entire School who had chosen not to leave. The relatively few staff members who had stayed did their best to keep an eye on them, and the ghosts tried to liven up the meals so they wouldn't feel lonely.

Draco didn't feel lonely. He was bored. And tense. And sad in an inexplicable way. He didn't miss his parents, or Christmas for that matter. Neither Lucius nor Narcissa had been warm and comforting the way most people's parents were. He did miss the bygone Christmases of his youth, before his father had been overtaken by sycophantic devotion to the Dark Lord, when they were able to enjoy the spoils of wealth without the fear of death or prosecution or both.

He didn't miss his friends, in fact they were hardly friends anymore. The were sycophants in their own right, and frankly he'd had enough of mindless devotion. He missed the feeling of locking horns with a well-matched opponent, the feeling of superiority after a spirited volley of insults, nostalgically playing over his most favourite memories of the past seven and a half years.

What bothered him was the number of those favourite memories that involved that bloody Griffindor boy who he most definitely did not miss. Virtually every moment that he would rank at the top of his Hogwarts days involved that owl-eyed git and his two buggery friends. He comforted himself by focusing on the way those encounters had reinforced he superiority, and rationalized his preference of those memories for that reason alone.

He found himself standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the corridor to the Charms classroom. He couldn't let himself go down there again. He still wasn't sure whether he'd imagined the needle moving, but he couldn't let himself stand there and stare at it again, waiting for something to happen.

He slowly became aware of a warmth spread along his right arm. It started at his elbow and spread down to the palm of his hand. He looked down but could see no reason for it. But there it was, unmistakable warmth, as though something were pressed up against him. He thought about the last time he'd felt a similar warmth on his hands and before he could think twice he was bolting for the Carms classroom.

He ran as fast as he could, only partially aware that the instant he had moved the warmth had disappeared. But he ran to the case containing the life-death meter anyway and sputtered to a halt before it, breath suspended fearfully.

The hand pointed resolutely upward, halfway between Dead and Alive. He gave it a moment, waiting to see if it would wiggle. He held his hands out, wondering if the warmth would return, if the needle would move, but the air was cool and damp. The needle did nor budge.

He turned and rammed his fist into the storage closet door, cursing himself for his optimism, cursing himself for giving a damn. He rubbed his face and took a shuddery breath, then peeked at the meter again. Nothing. Not a flicker of movement.

"Bollocks," he muttered to himself. "Where are you, Potter?" He shook his head and silently admonished himself again for wondering. Feeling foolish l, he returned to Slytherin house for the evening. He went to bed early and had fitful dreams.

He was wandering the darkened corridors of the school, an elaborate maze with no ending and no beginning. He turned a corner and Potter was standing before him, shoeless and looking very scared.

"Can you hear me?" Harry asked.

"Of course I can hear you," Draco was annoyed. "But where are you?"

"I'm right here," Potter looked desperate. "I've been here the whole time."

"Where is here?" Draco asked, looking around at the unfamiliar stone passageway.