1

As an eleven-year-old boy (who some might less-than-fondly refer to as a prat) Draco was far more interested in selfish pursuits than any sort of personal growth. He tormented those he felt were beneath him (see: Potter and co.), demanded what he felt he deserved, and did not question the way of the world as taught to him by his parents.

So when he was out after dark, stumbling around the library, it wasn't because he was looking for enlightenment or even answers to his homework- no, it was so that he could tear some pages out of one of the required texts for History of Magic, hoping to irritate or at least hinder Granger, Potter's bushy-haired know-it-all friend.

Unfortunately for Draco, he was less than silent, having just recently gone through a growth spurt. So, when he tripped and fell into one of the bookshelves, his mission to harass Granger was hastily aborted at the sound of Filch's approaching feet.

Ducking away and sneaking into the shadows, Draco decided that it was easier to hide than run, and slid into a classroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He moved away from the door, then, backing up slowly until he backed into something solid, smooth, and definitely not desk-shaped.

He turned around (again, slowly) and examined what he'd bumped into. It was a mirror, a large one, with curling script around the top. He touched the surface of the mirror cautiously, feeling it slide beneath his fingers, and then stilled as he noticed what the mirror was reflecting.

It was him, of course, but he wasn't alone – his parents were there too, uncharacteristic smiles on their faces as they looked down at Draco adoringly. His mother knelt down and cuddled him, and his father met his eyes and mouthed the words, "I'm so proud of you".

Draco felt an ache start somewhere in his chest that he didn't quite understand. He turned around, but there was nobody there – just Draco, alone in the room, totally bewildered.

He didn't look at the mirror again. He just ran.

…

That summer, Draco did his best around the house. He didn't whine about things he wanted, he treated the house-elves well, and he listened attentively to his father at the dinner table. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, but occasionally the image in the mirror popped into his mind, and he felt that ache again, threatening to burst through his chest.

After the first couple of weeks, his father stopped lecturing Draco at the dinner table (he saved his speeches for his study), and his mother asked if everything was alright, a note of concern in her voice, someone who's noticed the disturbance of her normal routine and just wants it to get back to normal.

Draco looked down at his shoes and mumbled something like "I just want you to be proud of me." Narcissa looked shocked and confused for a moment, but hesitantly smoothed Draco's hair back from his forehead, trying to convey something that she couldn't say. After a few moments of silence, Narcissa knelt down next to Draco and hugged him. Then, she stood, looked awkwardly down at her only child, and gave him a tremulous smile.

It wasn't the picture in the mirror, and it never would be, but Draco thought it was enough.

…

When Draco was thirteen, he found the mirror once more.

This time, he was stalking around the halls, positive that Potter and his gang was up to something and hell-bent on catching them do it. He wasn't quite sure why it was so important for him to catch them in the act, but it had been important enough for him to dodge curfew.

On his second lap of the fifth floor, he saw something shining through a cracked door. Positive that he'd caught them in the act (of what, he wasn't sure), he tiptoed to the door and flung it wide open dramatically, resulting in a loud slamming noise.

But nobody was there, just a long, empty room and the mirror.

Draco stopped in the door, perplexed, then realized that the loud slam of the door opening might have attracted attention, and hurried into the room, shutting the door behind him. Once it was locked, Draco turned his attention to the mirror. As if under a trance, he walked towards it, feeling as though he was being towed.

Standing before it, he noted that he was once more occupying its frame (as that is how mirrors, magical or not, usually work), and he was, once more, not alone.

As soon as Draco comprehended the image, he jumped back with a yell.

"Merlin's pants!"

His company was none other than Potter and co. … and they appeared to be best of friends.

Draco attempted to convince himself that the mirror was playing a joke on him. After all, there was no way that they'd become friends, nor did he want them to become friends. Potter and his gang were Draco's nemeses. Draco repeated this helpful mantra until he'd calmed down somewhat, and then warily looked at the mirror once more.

The image hadn't changed. Draco took several deep breaths, staring at the mirror with a frown as Potter slung an arm around Draco while Granger laughed at something Draco said.

There had to be an explanation for this, and it had nothing to do with the return of the horrible ache in his chest.

…

For the next few weeks, Draco forgot to be horrible to Potter's gang, as he was too preoccupied by what he'd seen in the mirror. He'd look up to make a caustic comment in potions, and then remember the smiles on their faces in the mirror, and chicken out. Thankfully, though they seemed confused, they backed off as well, leaving Draco to think out his problem in peace.

He couldn't talk to Crabbe or Goyle about it, as they were remarkably thick, and admitting to any of his smarter housemates what, exactly, he had seen would be taken as a sign of weakness. But who could he ask?

"Oh, by the way, Professor," Draco muttered to himself while doing his Transfiguration homework, "I was wandering around after curfew, and I found this mirror…"

Nope. Not going to happen.

Ironically enough, the image in the mirror was how he thought of the solution to his problem.

Granger, the living book, would probably know what it was.

His only problem would be convincing her of his sincerity, but he'd always thought that she was the most …softhearted of the three, and he was willing to briefly overlook her Muggle roots if she could help him sleep at night.

So that was how he found himself in the library on lunch break, cautiously peering around a shelf at a tired-looking Granger, writing out an essay for one of her multitudinous classes.

He had convinced himself to step forward and chickened out about a dozen times when Granger finally spoke.

"If you're going to jump out at me, you should have done it ten minutes ago," she said without looking up from her books, pushing a curl of hair behind her ear. Draco jumped a little, and then peered around the shelf at her. How did one go about addressing one's sworn enemy?

"Er, me?" was the brilliant response he came up with.

"Yes, you," Granger replied, laying her quill down and looking up at him, primly folding her hands. "What do you want?"

"Um..." Draco scratched the back of his neck, nervously. "I wanted to ask for your help…researching… something?"

"And have you pour ink all over my essays when I have my back turned?" Granger asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow. It was an impressively scary expression, and Draco froze, wondering if it was just safer to back away.

Something about his posture must have convinced her, as Granger sighed, considered, tidied her notes, and shoved them safely into her bag before beckoning him closer. "What is it, Malfoy?" she asked, not unkindly.

Draco examined her carefully. When he was sure she wasn't going to attack, he sat across the table from her and started, trying to meet her eyes, "I found a mirror in the castle that I think was enchanted, and I want to figure out what it is and why it …shows… what it does."

Hermione didn't interrupt him, just sat listening attentively like she did in classes, and Draco instantly resolved never to mock her studiousness again. Other things, perhaps… like her ridiculous hair… but not her focus.

"Well," Granger said, considering the problem, "It's going to be difficult to figure out if you don't know what its name is. What does it look like?"

Draco ended up giving her a quick run-down of what the mirror looked like and the writing on top, though he didn't tell her what he saw in it. Hermione nodded and made a couple notes, then gave him a hesitant smile. "I'll look up a couple resources for you, if you like. But you have to do something for me in return."

"…what?" Draco said warily, watching her like she was going to bite.

"Be nice to Harry and Ron for two weeks," she said firmly, a half smile curling up her cheek. "And I don't mean ignoring them. Be nice."

Draco almost choked on his tongue, but agreed, anything to get rid of the ache in his chest. However, as soon as she left the library he slammed his head on the desk. These were going to be the worst two weeks of his life.

…

The first week went by pretty much uneventfully, as Draco suddenly remembered all the homework that he had to do. He spent much of his time in the library (where Potter and Weasley rarely ventured unless forced) and the Slytherin Common Room, where none of the Gryffindor bunch could venture. Granger raised her eyebrows at him wherever he went, but he wasn't being mean to them, just… wasn't talking to them. It was, really, a vast improvement on the last two years. You could almost count it as being nice.

However, this method of avoidance didn't last him for long, as one afternoon in the library Draco looked up from his book (Famous Enchanted Artifacts) to see three Gryffindors: one looking very smug, and the other two bearing expressions which Draco wasn't sure if they were curious or skeptical.

Granger (Draco called her something rather less than nice in his head) elbowed Weasley, who had a box under one arm. The redhead cleared his throat, and delivered a line that sounded like it had been rehearsed many times.

"Would you like to play a game of chess?"

Draco barely prevented his jaw from dropping to the floor, and glared at Hermione. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Draco wondered why on earth she wasn't in Slytherin.

But, he had asked for her help, so he replied in an equally careful tone, "Sure, Weasley."

The two male Gryffindors looked somewhat taken aback, but Draco had to give Weasley credit- his eyes sparked at the idea of a game, and he sat down across from Draco and started to set up the board. The other two members of the Golden Trio sat down next to them to watch, and in Potter's case, make unhelpful comments.

Draco sent Hermione one final scathing look before settling in to focus on the game.

(Weasley won, but only just)

…

Thankfully, after that interlude, Hermione let the rest of the week pass without comment. Draco met her in the library feeling considerably more light-hearted, hoping that today he was going to discover the mystery of the mirror.

However, when Hermione showed up, he was to be disappointed. She was carrying a large stack of books, none of which looked likely to solve his problem, and had circles under her eyes that looked deeper than the Mariana Trench. He'd known that she'd taken on more classes than was humanly possible this year, but really, this was ridiculous.

Draco stepped back into the bookshelves, suddenly deciding to hide himself. He pulled out Hogwarts: A History from its spot on the shelf and started to read, not sure why he wasn't angry or why he was staying.

Hermione worked, and worked, and worked, and fell asleep over an essay. Draco put his book back, finished, and walked over to her, noting that she hadn't finished Snape's homework for the next day.

For reasons unknown to even himself, Draco finished the essay for her, reasoning that if she burned herself out, she couldn't help him. Then, he tidied up her books, pulled her cloak over top of her shoulders, and left her a note.

No rush on the mirror. Get some rest.

P.S. I'm not playing chess with Weasley again. I swear he cheats.

…

Hermione tried to apologize profusely to Draco, who told her it was no big deal. The strangeness of the situation was beginning to dawn on him, as never in a million years would his 11-year-old self have forgiven any of the Golden Trio for their transgressions, however minor.

It was all that damn mirror's fault, Draco thought, and threw armadillo bile in his cauldron instead of crushed lavender.

Walking to the Great Hall after the lesson, Draco caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't been spending as much time with them recently, preferring to talk to Nott or Zabini, which was why he was surprised to see Goyle with his wand out, about to hex Potter from behind. He could have sworn that Goyle didn't have two thoughts to rub together, let alone the ability to try to curse someone under his own steam.

Draco pulled out his wand automatically, responding to the presence of Potter and Goyle's threatening figure. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he wanted to be ready.

Goyle raised his wand a little higher, opening his mouth, and Draco did something that he never expected to do.

He hexed first – at Goyle.

Goyle howled, dropped his wand and clutched his face, Crabbe turning to his aid. Potter and his gang entered the Great Hall none the wiser, and Draco turned around, no longer hungry and totally stunned at himself.

Instead, he marched up to the hospital wing and demanded that Madam Pomfrey check to make sure he wasn't ill, poisoned, or cursed.

He wasn't.

…

It took a couple of weeks, but Draco managed to convince himself that he'd just been teaching Goyle a lesson for trying to hex someone in the back. Slytherins might not be brave, but they shouldn't be vicious, he told himself.

Finally, partway through the spring term, Draco marched into the library, sat across from Hermione, and asked without preamble: "Have you figured out the mirror yet?"

Granger looked up from her papers and raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too."

"I've been patient," Draco defended himself. "I just… need to know."

Granger rolled her eyes, and pulled a book out of her back. "I found this a few weeks ago, but you've been avoiding me," she said with an accusatory glance.

"It's not like we're best buddies, Granger," Draco said. "And I haven't been mean to you or your pals, which I think you should appreciate."

In truth, he'd thought that perhaps Granger was the reason he was acting so weird, putting ideas of being nice to Potter and Weasley into his head. Not speaking to her was, he decided, the only solution to be freed from whatever she'd done to him.

Hermione sighed and pushed the book across the table to him. Underlined were two different entries on the same page – Important Magical Mirrors.

Draco read both entries carefully. One of them showed the viewer scenes from their past, so Draco could eliminate that one pretty easily. He skimmed that entry, and went down to the other one.

Mirror of Erised.

He read the entry, and then blanched at what it said. The Mirror of Erised shows the viewer the deepest desire of their heart. The image may change over time, but is no less true than the first time the viewer stands before it.

Pushing it back at Hermione, he tried to keep his voice steady. The ache was back, and he felt a little bit sick.

"Thanks," he managed weakly, before running off to the Slytherin Common room to try to comprehend what the Mirror had shown him.

…

He was sure that Granger must be totally perplexed as to his behavior, but he couldn't much bring himself to care; the realization that the deepest desire of his heart, apparently, was to be friends with the Golden Trio, (or whatever else the image meant…unfortunately, Draco couldn't think of an alternative) had shaken him and he absolutely refused to interact with them. Maybe it would go away.

Despite the fact that he had classes with the three of them (read: the most uncomfortable hours of Draco's life), he decided to pull off the Herculean task of Never Speaking to Them Again. Considering that he used to only trade insults and sneer across the Great Hall at them, it wasn't hard to hide behind Crabbe and Goyle's bulk and avoid them in the hallways… or so he thought.

Now that he didn't want to have anything to do with them, they were everywhere. Potter was in the Great Hall, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Weasley would be right next to him while feeding Flobberworms in Care of Magical Creatures. And Hermione was everywhere – the library, the halls, the grounds… he couldn't escape.

(sometimes, his traitor brain would ask him if he really wanted to)

The Slytherins were curious, but didn't ask- they weren't exactly a bunch to talk about their feelings. The only comment that Blaise offered was that Draco's marks had improved, which Draco took as approval, and Crabbe and Goyle refused to speak to him, which was a bonus.

After a few years of non-stop rivalry, even the professors had picked up on the weird tension. Draco was stopped by Professor Snape and even Hagrid, of all people, both of them asking if everything was alright (well, Snape asked if 'whatever it was' would affect Draco's performance in his class, but Draco knew what he meant).

He managed his amazing balancing act until the end of third year, just as they were on the train. Hermione marched into his compartment and stood there, hands on her hips, impervious to the stunned stares of Nott and Zabini. Her eyebrow raised, threateningly, and Draco looked back at her with lost, confused eyes.

It must have meant something to her, because she nodded once, turned on her heel and left.

…

Next year on the train back to Hogwarts, Draco was no closer to figuring out if what the Mirror of Erised had shown him should or did mean anything to him. However, the break had refreshed him – he hadn't had to dodge the Gryffindors for months, and he was feeling rested and ready to resume his normal course of action regarding the trio: demonstrative disdain.

That plan was shot to bits when Draco passed their compartment, returning from the loo. He would have hurried by, but he caught his name: "… if Malfoy's going to…"

Curiosity peaked; he ducked out of sight, pressing an ear to the panel. The hall was empty, thank Merlin, so he was free to eavesdrop without judgment. He tuned in to Potter commenting, "I wouldn't trust him. Whatever was going on last year, I'm sure he'll come back with his usual set of insults."

Draco raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to comment, and then realized that they couldn't see him.

"I dunno," Weasley said, sounding uncomfortable. "He did ask for Hermione's help, and you'd think that he wouldn't have anything to do with a muggleborn."

Draco nodded at this obvious character reference, but Potter snorted in disdain. "And then after she gave it, he avoided her! And us!"

"Are you complaining?" Hermione asked, amused. "He could have hexed us instead."

"Maybe it's character growth," Weasley mused, mouth full.

"Maybe it's a plot," Potter retorted.

"Maybe the two of you should try not to antagonize him, see where that goes," Granger suggested gently, a curious tone to her voice. Draco wished he could see her expression.

"Him first," Potter said. Draco rolled his eyes at this obvious piece of immaturity and crawled away.

He did wonder, though, about that conversation, and at their expectations of him. He'd never expected Weasley to defend him. Granger, yes, because she was a softhearted kind of person, but Weasley?

Until he figured out what to do with this information, he decided, he would be magnanimous and keep his thoughts, and curses, to himself. After all, maybe it was character growth.

…

A month into the new rotation of classes, homework, and weird non-confrontational meetings in the halls, Draco found the Mirror again.

It was after a particularly late Quidditch practice – Draco was determined to catch that bloody Snitch this time – when he dodged into a room to hide from approaching footsteps. Ear pressed to the door, trying not to breathe, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, behind him.

He turned, slowly, not sure what to expect. A ghost? Dumbledore? What he did not expect was to see the Mirror of Erised looming in the background, surface shining innocently with the promise of knowledge.

Draco froze in place for one moment, staring at the mirror, wondering briefly what it would show him. Then he remembered what it showed him last time, and how it was slowly but surely ruining his life and driving him insane (an exaggeration, maybe, but only a bit).

He opened the door to run –

-and flung himself into the waiting clutches of Filch.

Life just had it out for him, Draco mused miserably as he scrubbed cauldrons, weeks later.

…

Christmas at Hogwarts Castle was always – no pun intended – magical. Draco decided to stay because sitting in a suit across from his parents and making awkward conversation was not his idea of a good holiday, and stuffing himself at the feast and enjoying the decorations in the Great Hall was.

Also, this year they were having a Yule Ball.

The night thereof, Draco found himself dressed in his best dress robes, trying to decide whether fluffing his hair in front or slicking it back would be most attractive. Unfortunately, he would never find out, as Blaise informed him that they would be late for the start of the Ball, and so he had to leave his hair as – is.

At least it wouldn't be a mess like Granger's was sure to be, he thought smugly, an illusion that was promptly shattered by the Golden Trio's entrance to the Ball. He would have thought couldn't you give me one second of glory? if he was able to think anything at all; as it was, something prickled uncomfortably in his stomach at the sight of Granger, all dolled up in periwinkle blue.

She was being escorted by the two buffoons she called friends, and Draco was dismayed to note that even Potter's hair was relatively flat. Really, the entire evening was a waste, now.

He remembered that he wasn't supposed to care about Potter and Company a moment too late, giving a resigned sigh.

The Trio swept by Malfoy with their usual assessing glance, and moved on once they'd determined that, like the rest of the year, he was no threat. Soon after, the Ball began, and as Draco was taken in hand by one of the Greengrass girls, he determined to forget about them and simply enjoy himself.

And he did! After all, Draco was a handsome young lad, and while the girls weren't lining up to dance with him, he never lacked for partners. There was good music and good food and everyone looked happy, and Draco took a break from dancing to lean against the refreshments table and take it all in.

A curious scene, then, unfolded in front of him, as he leaned against the table. The Golden Trio wasn't far off, Weasley and Granger watching Potter like mother hens as the Chosen Dunce blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, presumably asking the dark-haired girl in front of him to dance.

Disgusted, as Draco didn't particularly want to be enlightened as to Potter's love life, nor see women fawning over him, he was startled when the girl laughed, high and shrill, and said loud enough for everyone to hear that she didn't want to dance with him.

Draco's mouth dropped open, and Potter flushed red and mumbled something before returning to Weasley and Granger, who both looked murderously at the girl. Weasley looked like he wanted to curse her, but Granger grabbed his arm, and they both accepted Potter with comforting arms.

Something twanged in Draco's chest once more at the sight – pity? Envy? And he took a sip of his punch to distract himself. The girl turned slightly, and he spotted her as Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker. Pretty enough, but apparently, not a Potter fan.

Pushing the incident out of his mind, as it was a bit of an uncomfortable feeling for Draco to sympathize with Potter, he scanned the floor, hoping to find Daphne for another dance. Spotting her at a table not too far from the solemn Golden Trio, who were in quiet conference, he put down his glass and started to weave through the crowd.

He was almost there when a dark-haired girl circumvented his path, holding her hand out. He stopped, perplexed, eyes traveling from the hand up the golden robes to the smug face of Cho Chang. Behind her, the Golden Trio had frozen expectantly, but to Draco it felt as though the entire room had stopped to hold its breath.

"Draco," she said in a familiar tone, though they'd barely ever spoken beyond the Quidditch pitch, "Shall we dance?"

Draco cocked his head, considering her. She was pretty, and smart, and good at Quidditch, and that should have been enough – but, unbidden, the image of her sneer rose in front of him. It was rather familiar, that sneer, and Draco didn't like the feeling.

So, he pulled a smirk onto his face and said, without quite knowing why, "I'm sorry, I don't want to dance with you."

The room started moving again, as Cho froze with her hand out, unable to miss the emphasis behind his words. He bowed his head politely and moved around her towards Daphne, floating by the perplexed faces of Potter and Weasley, and the pleased (?) face of one Hermione Granger.

And so, that was how it was that later, when the song changed to something like a waltz, Draco found himself tapped on the shoulder by Miss Granger, asking him for a dance.

He accepted.

…

After the Yule ball, feeling pleasantly fuzzy and unusually predisposed to like the world, Draco took a wrong turning to the common room and ended up in a room he'd never been in before. It was warm, homely, and had the Mirror of Erised standing smack in the middle of it.

Instead of running, though, Draco felt an odd surge of courage (probably brought on by his good mood). He felt focused, mind clear, calmer than he'd been since he'd seen the Mirror in his first year.

So, he stepped forward.

He took a moment to center himself just right, planting his feet and standing tall as if to face an enemy. Posture straight, head tilted, he breathed in, and looked at the Mirror.

The only sound in the room was a long exhale and his beating heart, as he saw himself, still in his Yule finery, once more with the Golden Trio. They, too, were in their dress clothes, smiling and laughing as they'd been with each other at the Ball – but with one difference. This time, they were with him.

He wasn't shocked. The year of denial and avoidance had faded into background noise, and he made eye contact with each of the trio – Potter, Weasley, Granger – in turn, acknowledging them in the Mirror. For some reason, they didn't feel like enemies, not any more.

Draco wasn't sure what they were, now, but as he turned slowly away from the mirror, he decided to find out.

…

Thus began what he was sure was the most perplexing month in Gryffindor history.

The Gryffindor – Slytherin match had been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances (read: the Slytherin Captain had contracted a mysterious illness) and now, after the Yule Ball, it was all set to happen. Not having won a match against Potter since Second Year, Draco felt a bit resigned. After all, he could out-fly the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, but Slytherin's team was a bit too… thick… to out-fly Gryffindor. It pained him to admit it, and usually he mouthed off about Gryffindor's bloodlines or wit or something, but not today. Today, Draco was turning over a new leaf.

20 minutes into the match, it was very clear to Draco that Slytherin was not going to win. The Gryffindor Chaser team moved as one, and unless Draco could get the Snitch, Slytherin had already lost. Flying high above everyone, Draco spotted Potter go into a dive, and reacted without thinking, plummeting after him with determination.

The stadium was on their feet as Draco spiraled after Potter, gaining on him rather easily. In fact, they were neck-and-neck, and Draco could easily shove Potter to the side, kick his broom, and grab the Snitch.

But he didn't.

Instead of resorting to foul play, Draco feinted, attempting to grab the Snitch under Potter's nose. He did his best, but –

He missed.

Sighing lightly and slowing, he watched Potter do a victory lap and turned his own broom to the ground. He felt oddly light, for someone who'd just lost, and when the Gryffindor team sank to the pitch, he strode across the ground to shake Potter's hand.

Funnily enough, the shocked expressions on Potter's teammates' faces were almost as good as they would have been if Slytherin had won. Potter merely looked bemused, but replied "good game" nonetheless, and Draco walked back to the locker rooms feeling proud.

…

His next attempt to become a better person was in Potions. Draco normally sat at a table with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, set a bit away from the Golden Trio and Neville. It used to be a perfect distance for sneering, but now, it afforded an opportunity for his next good deed.

Longbottom was a disaster at Potions. It might have been because Snape loathed him, or it might have been because he was clumsy – Draco didn't know, and he wasn't predisposed to wonder about the minutiae of Longbottom's life. Draco, on the other hand, was rather good at Potions – he didn't do well just because Snape liked him. Snape suffered no fools.

Today, they were creating a Cure for Migraines, which wasn't actually that difficult if you weren't, you know, thick. Or Potionally Challenged, if that was the correct term. Regardless, Draco could already see that Longbottom was nervous, hands trembling a little as he chopped up lavender.

Glancing up at Snape, Draco was disquieted to see that he was watching Neville with a hawk-like glare. "You will hand in vials of your potion when it's done, for marking," the Professor said apropos of nothing, and Neville squeaked and nearly chopped his fingertip off. "And no helping Longbottom, Miss Granger," the teacher said smoothly before sweeping to the other end of the room.

Unknowingly, Snape had helped Draco's next Good Deed gain fruition. Though he watched Hermione with a hawk-like eye, he did no such thing with Draco. Thus, when Neville tried to chop newt eyes, only to have them slide around (one flew off the table), Draco saw his chance.

Standing to head to the ingredients counter, he paused behind Neville and picked up the newt eye, placing it on the desk next to him. "You know, you can mash them with the flat of the blade," he offered. When Neville jumped and looked up at Draco with wide eyes, he offered the other boy a friendly smile and proceeded to pick up some goldenrod from the counter.

Sitting down with his goldenrod, he watched as Neville examined the newt's eyes suspiciously, and then looked up at Hermione to check. She, however, was busy searching through her own bag, and Potter and Weasley merely looked bemused. Longbottom took a deep breath, squished some of the eyes, and then added the correct amount to his off-colour cauldron.

As Draco knew it would, it turned the correct colour instantly. Neville glanced at Draco, who mimed stirring clockwise and smiled before turning to his own work, smirking at Potter's furrowed brow.

Weasley, however, merely looked thoughtful, and Hermione glanced at Neville's successful potion and smiled.

…

After those first two good deeds, the Golden Trio no longer ignored Draco – instead, they watched him curiously, from afar, as if they were watching some exotic animal in a zoo – too dangerous to get close. Feeling a bit affronted but still determined – never let it be said that Slytherins weren't ambitious – Draco continued to be polite and helpful, much like any other student. He held doors, nodded to professors, and even helped a small Hufflepuff find their missing cat. Through it all, the Trio whispered and watched, making Draco feel very much as though he was on probation.

His third good deed was different – it was requested of him.

Weasley found Draco in the library, working diligently on his Transfiguration essay. Draco didn't notice him standing by the table until he'd finished his paragraph and looked up to find the tall redhead standing there holding a stack of books. He blinked in surprise, opened his mouth to give a customary caustic comment, and then remembered that he was trying for character growth. He settled for a greeting. "Weasley."

"Malfoy," the redhead replied. Then he gestured to a chair. "Can I sit?"

Draco blinked again, looking around the library to see why on earth the other boy would want to sit at Draco's table. There were other spots – whole tables, in fact - free, and Draco felt something suspiciously like hope bubble in his stomach. "Sure," he replied casually. "Go right ahead."

What was more astounding – Weasley actually did.

Conversation was apparently not required, so Draco went back to his essay, scratching out lines on willpower, wand motions and wizardry and wondering why one-third of the Golden Trio had decided to sit at his table. Was it a test? Was it a prank? Was it… being friendly?

Weasley cleared his throat and Draco looked up, quickly. "Hey, did you do the essay for Charms?" the other boy asked nonchalantly. Draco blinked again.

"Yeah, just finished," he finally replied, searching through his own stack of papers to find it. "Half a foot on the Banishing Charm, right?"

Weasley nodded. "Do you remember what Flitwick said about its origins? I haven't been able to find it."

This was surreal, Draco mused. He looked down at his own essay, considered, then outlined the brief history of the Banishing Charm as Weasley nodded and took notes.

When that was done, the two of them returned to their separate work, not speaking another word until the period ended and they went their separate ways. Regardless, as Weasley gave him a courteous nod and walked towards Gryffindor tower, Draco felt like he'd just passed some kind of test, and returned to the Slytherin common room with a spring in his step.

…

It was nearing the end of the year, now, and Draco felt as though he had grown mightily over the last five months. The Golden Trio nodded at him in the halls, spoke to him in the classes they shared like they would for any other student, and no longer glared at him suspiciously. Draco's professors had taken to complimenting him in class, due to his renewed studiousness, and at the end of his Ancient Runes exam, Professor Babbling had told him that he'd earned 107%. Best, the curious ache in his chest that had been present for years seemed to have relaxed somewhat.

Thus, the day after their Transfiguration exam, Draco was sitting in the front courtyard with the sunlight on his face, feeling content and at peace, when some buffoon had to get between him and his sunlight. Cracking an eyelid, he noted that it was Crabbe and Goyle, and that they didn't look at all pleased.

"You're blocking my sun," he informed them, closing his eyes again. "Something you need?"

Whatever the response he expected, it wasn't the response he got. He felt a large, hammy fist grab the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. Draco yelled and smacked at the hand, stepping back from the two of them in shock. "What was that?" he asked, furiously.

"You're different," grunted Goyle, standing to the side with a perplexed expression.

Draco raised an eyebrow, pushing Crabbe's hand away from him and noting uneasily that his hand was half the size of the other Slytherin's. He didn't comment.

"You're spending too much time with other Houses," Crabbe growled. "Slytherins…" he paused, probably trying to put the next few words into an understandable sentence.

"Nowhere in history does it say that Slytherins have to be total prats," Draco snapped. "Nor that we should be cruel to other Houses. We protect our own, yes, but that doesn't mean we have to hex others."

This speech took a moment to pass their thick skulls, but the two part-trolls seemed unperturbed.

"Stop being nice to Potter," threatened Goyle, "Or.."

"Or else!" Crabbe said triumphantly, cracking his knuckles.

Draco's desire to get out of this situation peacefully vanished in about 10 seconds flat.

"Look, I'm sorry that the two of you believed the shite that I spouted when I was eleven," he informed them, "But grow up a little. Just as I don't get to tell you what choices to make any more, you don't get to tell me." The two of them frowned, but Draco didn't give them time to respond. He didn't notice the three students coming up behind him, listening. "I'm not the one with the incorrect concept of Slytherins. You are. And you're giving us a bad name. So leave." Draco stepped forward menacingly. "Me." He stepped again, and they flinched. "Alone."

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, raised their fists, and froze at a piercing yell. "Mr. Crabbe! Mr. Goyle!"

Professor McGonagall was entering the courtyard, raising a deadly eyebrow. "And Mr. Malfoy," she said, sizing up the situation. Draco looked 'round and saw the Golden Trio behind him, wands out, and groaned inwardly. Great. She probably thought he was threatening them…now he was going to get detention .

"Miss Granger, what is going on?" McGonagall inquired.

Draco sighed.

"Crabbe and Goyle were threatening Malfoy," Hermione said promptly.

McGonagall opened her mouth, blinked, furrowed her brow, and then tried again. "As noble as the three of you were to come to his defense, there will be no hexing other students on the grounds," she said dryly. "Or physical altercations, gentlemen," she added to Crabbe and Goyle, freezing them with an icy glare. "I'll be mentioning this to your Head of House. Try to stay out of trouble."

She swept away, and Crabbe and Goyle skulked after her. Malfoy watched them go with a glare, then glanced back at the Golden Trio.

"Draco," Potter said with a nod, and they went on their way.

…

In retrospect, perhaps Draco was a bit too optimistic to expect the Gryffindors to welcome him with open arms after their first couple of years at Hogwarts. At least they didn't consider him Public Enemy Number 1 any more, he mused as he climbed aboard the train leaving Hogwarts. He chose a compartment with Blaise and Theo, deliberately stepping on Goyle's foot on the way.

Watching Hogwarts move away from them, Draco leaned back into his seat with a sigh. Blaise, watching him with an indecipherable expression, remarked, "There's always next year," and Draco looked at him in surprise.

"That there is," he acknowledged with a small smile, as the food trolley pulled up outside their door.

The remainder of the ride home was uneventful, with Draco, Blaise and Theo (and the Greengrass girls, who'd joined them partway through) chatting about their summers and other random things. Draco might have missed it during his crusade this year, but his Slytherin friends were a good bunch too, he realized, selecting a Chocolate Frog at random and rejoining the conversation with glee.

On the platform, they all bid each other farewell, waving and hugging goodbye before searching out their parents. Scanning the area for blond hair, Draco spun on one foot. Brunette… black… redhead… he blinked. The Golden Trio was standing in front of him.

"See you next year, mate," Weasley started, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Have a good summer," Potter added, waving at a lanky, long-haired man with tattoos before offering Draco a smile.

Hermione stepped in closer for a quick hug. "Bye for now," she added, and Draco started to smile.

"Have a good summer, you three," he replied, and hugged Hermione back.

END OF PART ONE

A/N:

This fic was supposed to be short and poetic and more of a 5-times trope with the Mirror. It metamorphasized into this sort-of humorous, lengthy monster. I hope you enjoy it anyways! Part 2 will be up in the next couple of days.

Just to make it clear – Reflexionem is set in an AU where Voldemort died in Godric's hollow. Thus, the timeline is vaguely equivalent to the books, but the happenings are completely different.

Thanks for reading!

Isefyr