Author's Note: This is completely un-beta'd, though my wonderful friend Meruhime read it through before I went crazy and posted it.

I've been off from work and this idea has been kicking around since someone in Strictly Dramione asked if there were any stories involving the mirror. I was writing a rather serious scene for Every Part of Me and needed a break from it, and voila! The Test was born!

Snape had pulled Draco aside a few minutes before they were supposed to Apparate to the Manor. He told him about the test Voldemort was using on all Death Eaters, on all of those who wanted to join the ranks. His guts twisted with panic; he had never seen this mirror before. How was he supposed to craft a memory to project to the Dark Lord when he had no time to prepare?

He expressed this concern to the older man. "What am I supposed to do? I can't let him know who — what I want! He'll ensure I never get it!"

"Draco, I can't imagine you have anything to hide. The mirror shows your deepest desires. Surely a wizard like you, from your family, has nothing to fear," Snape replied.

But I do , Draco thought. I need to protect myself. I need to protect her.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued by his obvious fear.

"I need you to show me the mirror. Please. Project it to me," Draco begged.

His professor surveyed him some more. "Only if you tell me what you're afraid of, Draco."

The internal debate raged. Snape had killed Dumbledore for him last year. He had tried to help him at every turn, even when he had repeatedly refused his offered help. This would be another instance of that, of helping a younger man protect himself from the horrors of Voldemort. Draco knew he needed help this time; he didn't know if he'd be called upon to stand in front of the mirror first or last — there were no guarantees.

Decision made, he nodded and brought her face to the front of his mind, giving Snape a glimpse of the past seven years.

They were eleven, and he watched her curiously as she jumped up and down in class, desperate to prove she knew the answers, even if she had come from a Muggle family.

They were twelve, and he called her a filthy little Mudblood for the first time. The expression on her face made his heart twist; why did he care? He was just doing what his father had told him to do — putting the little Muggle-born in her place.

They were at the end of third year, fourteen, and she slapped him across the face. The fire burning behind her eyes made him want to burn with her.

They were at the Yule Ball, she was fifteen, and he was fourteen still, and she was dancing and laughing with Viktor Krum. She looked so different from her everyday appearance, her curls tamed into an updo and her face shining brilliantly with exhilaration as she had fun with her date. He watched her waltz, watched her jumping around to the faster music played by The Weird Sisters. He watched as Krum leaned in and kissed her painted lips when he thought no one could see them, and a feeling of jealousy exploded within his chest.

It was fifth year, she was sixteen and he was fifteen, and he had cornered her while she was on Prefect rounds. For once, she had been alone, no Potter or Weasley at her side. He had caged her against the wall between his arms, and he was questioning her about the DA, trying to figure out where they were meeting and when. It was his duty as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, after all. And if it meant that he got to invade her personal space, to breathe in the scent of her sweet perfume and honeysuckle shampoo, well… that was just a bonus. He watched as her eyes flickered down to his lips for the briefest moment, barely a fraction of a second, and he wondered if she felt it, too. This forbidden attraction that had been begging for his acquiescence for years. However, before he could think too much, she had kneed him straight in the groin and run off, her short uniform skirt swaying dangerously high and giving him a glance of even more skin for his fantasies.

It was sixth year, she was seventeen and he was sixteen, and he saw her sitting in an empty corridor crying. A female giggle, so at odds with her sobs, rang out in the distance, and Weasley appeared with Lavender Brown wrapped around him like Devil's Snare. A new development, Draco guessed, and he knew she was crying over these two. He longed to go to her, to hold her and tell her it was going to be okay, that she could do so much better than Ron Weasley. He wanted to kiss her tears away and show her she didn't go unnoticed.

But he didn't. He turned and walked away, leaving her on her own to lament the loss of that redheaded prat.

It was still sixth year, just a few nights before he was supposed to use the Vanishing Cabinet, so they were both seventeen. She had found him pacing the seventh floor corridor, trying to escape all of the worried Slytherins and come to terms with what he was going to do. He froze when he saw her, and she cautiously approached him. She placed a small hand on his right forearm and said, "Draco? Are you alright? You've looked ill all year, but—"

His eyes had locked on her hand for just a moment, relishing her touch, but then he remembered what was coming and who she was. "Get your filthy hand off of me, Granger! How dare you touch me!"

She glared at him. "I'm only trying to help you!"

He scoffed. "Like I need help from a Mudblood!"

He watched as she whirled around and strode off in the other direction, away from him again. Always away from him. It was safer for everyone this way, even if he wanted her to care about him more than he wanted his father's approval now.

Snape released his mind and left behind an image of the mirror. What would the Dark Lord want him to see? He pictured himself in his Death Eater robes, standing side-by-side with his master, Harry Potter dead at their feet.

"Can you look?" He asked Snape.

With a nod, the older man used Legilimency to glance at his crafted image. "A bit overdone, but he'll be pleased. Maybe add your parents in. It'll make it more believable."

Draco did that, and then they Apparated to the Manor. His mother and father were nowhere to be seen, but they were in a room packed with Death Eaters. Snape, of course, was exempt from this test. He was looked at as the most loyal and treasured servant. Draco fell in line behind the others, watching as they were either permitted to leave or struck down, one by one. His nerves grew, and he honestly felt unsure if he'd be able to hold the facade when he was presented with his deepest desires.

He blocked the rest of the world out, just concentrating on what he should see in the Mirror of Erised. Voldemort had found this to be the perfect loyalty test, pulling it from the bowels of Hogwarts. He didn't want any Death Eaters with ulterior motives, and he knew most were untrained in Occlumency. Draco silently prayed he'd be able to slip through the cracks since he had been a natural Occlumens since his aunt had begun training him.

When it was his turn, he took a deep breath and strode forward.

"Welcome home, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed. "Step in front of the mirror. Let's see what your deepest desire is!"

Draco saw what was reflected, but he didn't allow himself to think about it. He concentrated on holding the image he'd designed, the image he knew Voldemort wanted to see. He could think about the real one later when he was alone and safe.

He heard the Dark Lord cackle wildly. "Well, Draco, I'm not sure you'll ever see that image exactly. You see, your father's loyalty wavers. He did not see me at all. He's been sent to the dungeons while I decide what I want to do with him since there was also no outright disloyalty present."

"And my mother?"

"Your mother has never been a Death Eater, and she has no desire to be one. She is far too delicate for our type of life. She is upstairs in her chambers," he replied.

"Very well. May I return to Hogwarts?" Draco asked, feeling his resolve crumbling.

With a nod, he was dismissed. Draco rushed through the Manor, towards where he knew the anti-Apparition wards ended. His brain hurt from the repeated Legilimency he'd endured, and his heart was pounding a furious rhythm against his chest. When he reached the Hogwarts gates, he passed the Death Eaters who had drawn guard duty with no problems; they had known he and Snape were off to the test proceedings. Since he was alive, he had passed — plain and simple. He felt guilty about not stopping in to see his mother, but he needed to get out of there before the Dark Lord had another go at his mind.

Draco reached the head's dorm in no time at all, collapsing to his knees and silencing the room. A sob ripped from his throat. He wasn't crying for his father's uncertain fate or for his mother's safety. No, he had been shown a glimpse of something he knew he might never have, and it was absolutely gutting him. He had never imagined the future in so much detail, but now it was all he could see.

He had been standing in the rose garden at the Manor, a little blond boy beside him holding his hand, and his other arm looped around a pregnant Hermione Granger's waist, his hand resting lightly on her baby bump. His mother was there, too, standing alongside the little family. They were all smiling, and it looked so fucking real. He could hardly imagine a Malfoy having more than one child, especially if a male heir was produced first.

Until he had looked in that godforsaken mirror, Draco had never known that he longed to be part of a happy family. He longed to be in love with his future wife, not just be married because they were contracted to one another. He wanted more than one child to dote on. He didn't want his heir to have a lonely, cold childhood like the one he'd had. He'd realized Hermione would be reflected in the mirror, but he didn't think he'd see a future image. He thought he'd see himself snogging her or just holding her hand in the castle. He hadn't ever imagined marrying her or having children with her. Yet, when he really looked at the little blond boy, his hair was not perfectly straight, and his eyes were brown, not Malfoy grey. Somehow, his brain had produced that image. It had to be buried deep in his subconscious somewhere.

In that moment, Draco knew this wasn't just a passing attraction, that he didn't just fancy Hermione Granger a bit.

He was in love with her.

In that moment, Draco also knew he had failed Voldemort's test. He wasn't loyal to the cause. He would do whatever he could to ensure the Order won the war, and he would do his best to make amends with the woman he loved. He hoped Hermione would forgive him for the way he had treated her over the years because, if given the opportunity in the future, he would treat her like the princess she was. He would cherish her openly, not just secretly.

Even if he was disowned and the scene in the mirror never came true, he knew he could be happy, as long as she was by his side.