This is UNSEENLIBRARIAN's FIC CHALLENGE criteria to me:

- Draco x Hermione

- Mirror of Erised

- Consentual or Non-consentual sex

Okie! Follows canon mostly (some creative license with Draco's interpretation of some events from "Deathly Hallows," since we never saw things from his point of view and it was easy to reinterpret them). Also, talks about the summer after the final battle, which JKR does not discuss in length.

Warning: Mature rating (M+) – sexual themes (masturbation, sadism, bondage, fantasy rape-not actual though, nudity, language).

THE MIRROR: THAT WHICH YOU MOST DESIRE…

By: RZZMG

He'd found it! Finally, after months of sneaking about the castle, searching empty classrooms, traipsing and mapping the labyrinth of the dungeons, and exploring dead end corridors, he had found where Dumbledore had moved it. The sly, old fox placed the magical relic in such a manner that it would be right out in the open, under everyone's nose, and they'd never know it. Fucking brilliant, really.

Here it stood, in the Prefect's Bath, in a darkened corner, camouflaged to look just like any other reflective surface in the room. Draco ran his hand down its familiar surface with a shudder. How he'd missed his monthly visits to the Mirror of Erised.

Goddamned Potter, he snarled to himself. If only Scarhead hadn't found the item in First Year, it never would have been moved at all. It had taken four years for Draco to relocate it, in between everything else he'd been expected to do by teachers and his parents.

He'd been actually pretty proud of his initial discovery of the Mirror of Desire the October of his First Year, having located it quite by accident one afternoon in that drafty, columned, otherwise empty room on the Fourth Floor. He'd skipped class, allowing his curiosity to take over as he explored his new, temporary home, deciding that the Fourth Floor was an ideal place to start (as he could just claim to be looking for the library and was lost if caught out wandering by some professor). After only twenty minutes gazing into it, Draco had figured out what the Mirror's purpose was (being the exceptionally bright, young wizard that he was), and he'd translated the backwards script over the top of its frame easily to confirm his suspicions. After that, he'd been careful not to fall under its alluring sway, only visiting it once a month to allow himself a much-needed fantasy break.

When the item had been moved by the Easter break of his First Year, however, he'd nearly lost his mind. By then, those quiet, stolen moments with the Mirror had become a ritual he'd enjoyed, as they'd allowed him to escape his reality for an hour or two and live in his dreams. It's not as if his eleven year old self's desires had been very sophisticated; far from it. He'd wanted the simple pleasures in life: winning insult contests with Potter (or sometimes, especially after a bad day, wishing he beat the bespectacled-faced wizard to a bloodied pulp), gaining the adulation of his parents (especially his father) or his housemates, joining the Slytherin Quidditch team, achieving his goal of receiving lots of presents, especially chocolates and candy. Still, at the time, those small daydreams had kept him from caving to the bigger pressures around him, and gave him a safe place to live out his fancies.

As a much more mature fifteen year old, Draco knew his desires had morphed along with his body and circumstances. Now, what he wanted the most was something he knew he would never, ever be able to achieve without the mirror's help. His greatest wish would forever be just a fantasy; he held no illusions about that somewhat irritating fact.

Making sure the door to the bath was locked with a wave of his wand, Draco extinguished all but a few of the candles in the room. Outside, beyond the stained glass windows, the sun had gone down and the moon's pale light rose up, creating an eerie array of muted, colored shadows across the floor. He began stripping his clothing off carefully, folding each piece and laying them atop one of the wooden benches nearby. This would become the start of a new ritual now that he had found his enchanted respite once more, he decided, and it would begin with the caretaking of his clothing. When he was fully naked, he knelt before the mirror and sat back on his haunches, gazing in, his hand primed on his cock. He knew what he wanted to see.

She was dressed as she was many times during the fantasies he indulged in his mind when he touched himself: dark green and black lacy bra, matching knickers and garters, black stockings that stopped at mid-thigh, emerald stilettos. The riot of her sienna-colored curls was tamed, as it had been for the Yule Ball, only now it flowed freely down her shoulders and back. Her lips were rouged, her dark cider-colored eyes sparkled with anger. She stood before him, defiant as always. In his hands, he held a wooden paddle.

Using wandless, non-verbal magic, he forcefully turned her about, shackled her to the wall, and divested her of her undergarments until she was left in only the stockings and heels. He stroked the paddle up and down her trembling spine, pressed the wood in between her legs, rubbing it back and forth, then withdrew it and ran it over her hips, up her waist and around the front to lightly caress her nipples. When he finally did use it on her bared bottom, her mouth opened with unheard gasps of pain. He spanked her until she begged him to stop, and then he released her from her fetters, forcing her to her knees before him. Grabbing her hair in a fist, he forced her to suck him off, and oh, fucking gods, did she. Her mouth bobbed over him, taking him deep down her throat as he thrust against her lips.

Draco stroked himself to the vision, feeling his real life orgasm build just as the other him reached his peak. When his fantasy self ejaculated into his beauty's mouth, the real him came all over his hand and across the tile floor of the bath. Pumping his hand over himself a few more times, he looked up to the vision of him bending over and forcing his tongue into Hermione's mouth, his cum dribbling down her chin at the same time as he Frenched her wildly.

X------X

As he had in his First Year, he only visited the mirror monthly now, forcing himself not to look at it except during his designated times, no matter how often he visited the Prefects Bathroom (now that he was, in fact, allowed in here by the rules, as he was a Prefect). During those times when Draco indulged in his fantasies, they were continually to visions of violently dominating Hermione Granger. Sometimes, he'd take her against a wall, other times he'd tie her down with ropes and fuck every hole in her body. Never did he allow her to cum in those visions; the dirty, filthy Mudblood was to be used for his pleasure only.

In the safety of his mind, and with the mirror's help, he could live out his illicit affair with the girl he'd wanted to break and own for too long, ignoring Umbridge's edicts, ignoring his father's rantings about touching such filth, ignoring his upbringing's beliefs, if only for an hour or so.

X------X

The first night back at Hogwarts during his Sixth Year, after the feast had concluded and everyone had been sent off to bed, Draco had snuck back into the Prefect's Bath to make sure his beloved treasure was still there. A shuddering sigh of relief escaped him when he saw it, still camoflagued in the corner where it had been all last year.

Needing to escape the day's anxieties – Potter spying on him on the train, the humongous responsibility of fulfilling his new Lord's tasks, avoiding Dumbledore's seemingly knowing gaze at dinner that evening – he stripped his clothes off again in the same ritual, and sat before the mirror, knowing what he wanted to see.

She had filled out in his fantasy as she had in real life over the summer, her breasts a tad bigger, her hips a little wider, but was still the same defiant, beautiful, muddy Granger. This time, he tore her clothes off of her and screwed her on the table in the Great Hall in front of everyone's horrified gaze. He took her virginity brutally with one powerful thrust (many of his masturbatory dreams now involved this scenario), and then he fucked her forcefully and fast, demanding that she vow she belonged only to him; making her swear on her witch's magic that no other man would ever touch her like this. She was his to torture. When she cried out what he wanted to hear, Draco allowed his other self to cum deep inside of her. In real life, he orgasmed as he had a dozen times now in this same position, his hot seed arcing up and shooting against his chest and onto the floor at first, then dribbling, sliding down his fingers as he reached his end. He spent long minutes trying to calm his racing heart and haggard breathing after that, absently noting that he'd cum extra hard this time; but then again, he'd been without the mirror for visual stimulation for almost three months as the summer had kept him out of the school, so it made sense.

After cleaning up the mess, he redressed and said goodnight to his old friend in the corner before leaving the Prefect's Bath for his bed.

X------X

In October and November, no matter how distressed he was, he visited the Mirror of Erised. Each time, his "fantasy Granger" greeted him the same way – spitting her hatred back at him as he forced her to his bidding. It was a powerful enough illusion on both occasions to tide him over for a few weeks, allowing him good wank material in the interim. However, by the beginning of December, Draco slowly started figuring out that the Mirror wasn't enough anymore; he wanted the real thing.

Despite the internal dialogue that shamed him for his appalling, loathsome behavior, he found himself watching Gryffindor's Princess all the time, his obsession with her quickly rising to ridiculous proportions in as short a time as two weeks. He actually growled in jealousy beneath his breast whenever she touched or laughed with Potter, and he thought he'd lose his fucking marbles when he'd heard that rotten man-slag, McLaggen, was going to be her date to Slughorn's Christmas party (that Draco had been caught by that greasy squib, Filch, when he'd been pacing around the corridors, thinking up some way to gatecrash the party - his green-eyed monster in a right panic that night – was embarrassing in and of itself). That winter break, he was a mess back at home, praying for the days to fly by quicker so he could get back to school and see her (his mother mistook his nervous anxiety for being over the tasks Voldemort had set him… if only she knew the truth!).

By the end of January, he was consumed by Hermione Granger, making it impossible for him to concentrate on fixing the cock-sucking Vanishing Cabinet. The Dark Lord was becoming impatient with his lack of successes now, Snape had informed him, and he had to keep his Occlumens guard up constantly, so the bastard wouldn't know about his obsession over a Mudblood. The pressure was beginning to wear on his health.

It all boiled to a head two weeks after he'd nearly been killed by Potter in the Second Floor girl's toilet.

Draco snuck into the Prefect's Bath again that night (unlocked with with an easy, non-verbal Alohamora), intending on taking an extra look at the Mirror that month, feeling he'd earned it. He needed a release badly, his stress levels at an all-time high. As soon as he quietly shut the door behind him and locked it, he froze, hearing someone else in the bath. Even from the distance, he couldn't miss that frizzy hair leaning up against the giant tub's lip.

She was there, naked, not three meters from him, and seemingly oblivious to his presence. His initial surprise was overridden by instant fury. Granger had invaded his private space. He needed this alone time, and now he wouldn't be able to sit in front of the Mirror because of her. Ironically, the object of his fantasies was also the bane of his real life existence. But tonight, he'd reached his limit on feeling inadequate and being made a jape. The filthy Mudblood was soiling his life! It was time he did something more permanent about that…

"Imperio," he cast at the back of her head, and instantly, she froze in her action of waving the water back and forth in front of her, captured by his will. "Do not move except to breath and blink. Do not speak or make any noise unless I tell you to," he murmured loud enough for her to hear. He then cast a silencing charm on the room, extinguished some of the candles and began removing his clothes, occasionally pausing to reinforce his dominance over her mind when she struggled against the spell.

Nude, he slipped into the tub next to her, his wand on the lip, and turned about in the water to face her. Her face was flushed a pretty pink, her lips parted with surprise and her warm, coffee-colored eyes wide. She was leaning against the edge of the large bath, not having moved a muscle, as he'd commanded. "Put your arms down at your side," he bid and she complied. Slowly, he approached her, stopping when his erect cock bumped against her abdomen. "This bathroom is my space, Granger," he told her in a low voice filled with venom. "I wanted to be alone tonight." He stared across the short distance between them, looking her up and down with interest.

Her body was slightly smaller than he'd envisioned. The breasts were a not quite so endowed, but the nipples were a perfect pink and just the right size. The hips were a bit bonier, but the tummy flatter. Below the water line, he could make out her dark pubic hair; she'd always been shaved bare in his dreams. Overall, she was absolutely lovely and he wanted her.

Reaching out a hand, he lightly brushed a stray, sweaty curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He allowed himself a moment to stroke her cheek, feeling how soft her skin was. It was better than he'd imagined, actually. His fingers danced down, over her neck, and for a second, he gripped her lightly as if he would strangle her, then he ran his thumb over her pulse, smoothing downward over her shoulder and arm.

"I could fuck you right here and now if I wanted you know," he told her darkly, narrowing his eyes in contemplation. "I could force you to enjoy it, too. What do you think, Mudblood? Should I?" He looked into her eyes and saw the fear that he'd wanted to place there for so long… Yet, instead of this moment being a thrilling triumph, he felt it a hollow victory. This was just too easy.

Granger had always been so bold and insubordinate to him before, even in his imagination, and the truth was that he'd liked that challenge. He'd liked her sass, even though it drove him to insane heights of fury and made him want to hurt her. And the reason was obvious: because he actually respected her for not mimicking Pansy or the half dozen other weak-willed, simpering females he'd had his way with since Fourth Year. Seeing her like this now – frozen in fear, unable to move because he'd bespelled her – it seemed unsatisfactorily anti-climactic. Almost… repulsive, in fact.

All of his fantasies to this point were about dominating her, but now that it came to it, he realized a blatant, horrifying truth: conquering Hermione Granger was not what Draco Malfoy truly wanted to do with her. He was startled to realize that there was just no way in hell he could go through with his threat; he could never forcibly rape her in reality. Worse, he now understood why. What he wanted from her was infinitely more painful for both of them than any whip, paddle or depraved sex act his demented little head could conjure.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he sighed in defeat. "I'm going to tell you something important I only just discovered myself, Granger," he whispered, closing his eyes against the truth. "I like it when we fight. I like that you don't give in like all the other girls. I actually like your bloody Gryffindor spirit." He shrugged and opened his eyes to stare into hers, captured instantly by her beguiling gaze. "True, there's a small, fucked up part of me that wants to break you in half and leave you bloodied tonight while I have you here under my power. But the rest of me… it wants you to look at me like you do Potter and the Weasel." He chuckled bitterly at the surprise reflected in her eyes. "Don't worry, Mudblood, I know you would never consider me that way. You hate my guts. That's the way it's supposed to be." He brought his arm bearing the Dark Mark into her view and he smirked resentfully. "But even if there had been a chance before, there can never be now. You see why?"

Was that… sorrow… for him? No, that was horror at knowing the truth of what he really was now. It had to be. Draco was a Death Eater by his own choice; no one could possibly feel sorry for him now.

He touched her cheek reverently, stroking her with a tenderness he'd never imagined he'd feel for her. All his fantasies had involved forcing her to submit to him, but now he knew that if he did that to her, she would cease to be Hermione Granger – the girl he loved. His chest ached with the truth and he swallowed his disappointment heavily, fighting back the wavering tears in his eyes.

He was so bloody tired. These tasks and the knowledge of what would befall him if he failed… it exhausted him, weakened his emotional state, made him vulnerable. That had to be the only reason he felt like curling up into her lap and crying right then.

His fingers trailed over her lips and he felt his heart clench. "Just once, please," he pleaded, and leaned forward, slanting his mouth over hers without pause to consider the ramifications of this hasty act. Pouring all of his desire and agony into that kiss, Draco wrapped his arms about Hermione and pulled her sweet, soft flesh against his. She remained motionless in his arms, as he had given her no commands to follow, and yet, he couldn't seem to make himself pull away long enough to order her compliance. Instead, he felt and he wished.

Hermione's temperature-sensitized nipples brushed against his chest, causing his penis to jerk against her belly, he thrust one hand into her hair and caressed her long curls with his fingers, and he twined his tongue about hers languidly, tasting mint toothpaste and a flavor that was uniquely Granger. In those few moments that he locked them together, Draco finally understood why they called it 'falling in love,' for what he was experiencing was the equivalent of plummeting from the sky at an impossibly dangerous speed. His pulse raced, his desire for more of this addicting sensation overwhelmed his good reason and rationale, even as his mind whirled and his body was caught up in a nameless, immeasurable pleasure that left him breathless. Kissing Hermione was greatly reminiscent of the feeling he experienced fast diving after the Snitch from some great height during a Quidditch match, only a hundred times more profound and powerful.

When he pulled away and let her go it was with great reluctance and regret. Now that he'd tasted her, he knew he would crave her still; he would be haunted by this kiss all the rest of his days. He shut his eyes against the pain, feeling the tears roll down his cheeks. "Fuck," he whispered mournfully, shamefully, knowing the truth: Draco Malfoy really was a ruined man. The Mudblood had destroyed him, instead of the other way around. He was as fucking pathetic as his father had always claimed.

Sniffling, he wiped his cheeks clean, knowing what came next. "I'm going to have to Obliviate you," he explained apologetically. "I can't have you telling anyone about this. If I don't get expelled and thrown into Azkaban for attempted rape, the Dark Lord will kill us both. I'm sorry, but you can't remember any of it."

He led her out of the bath, cast a drying spell on her, wrapped a towel demurely about her and sat her on the bench with her wand lying next to her. He placed her fingers over it, to reassure and calm her, seeing the anxiety in her eyes. Then, he redressed himself. When he was ready, he knelt down before her and placed his wand against her temple, looking her in the eye. "You're going to forget anyway, right? So, here it is, Granger, the biggest secret of my life: I'm in love with you," he finally admitted aloud. "Me, Draco Malfoy, your arch-enemy. You win," he remarked with a sad smile. He tucked more hair behind her ear gently while talking. "Maybe someday, if we both survive this war, maybe you won't hate me so much. Maybe you'll give me a chance… and we can pick this up then." He gave her one final, sweet kiss. "See you around, Hermione."

He stood up, his Hawthorn rod still pressed to her temple, and spoke the words to release her from the Imperius Curse. "Finite Incantatum." Immediately, he followed that with the hex for removing a person's memories. "Obliviate." Talking Granger back as she fell under the effects of the second spell, he removed all memories of their interaction, leaving her with the impression that she had yet to go for her dip. Their brief interlude would be entirely a non-event as far as she was concerned.

Hurrying out before she came to, he headed back to his Common Room, then up to his dorm. He quickly threw off his clothes, got under the covers, cast a spell for privacy around his bed and closed the curtains fully. Draco then wanked to the fantasy of consensually making love to Hermione Granger. He came harder than he ever had to the image of her pretty breasts thrust to the heavens as she rode him and screamed out his name in real ecstasy.

X------X

Draco did not visit the Mirror of Erised again until Seventh Year, when it was clear that Hermione Granger was not returning to Hogwarts. She, Potter and the Weasel had gone off on some quest, he was sure, to find a way to defeat his Master. He wished her safety and luck, praying The Golden Trio would be able to do something to stop the madman who had taken up residence in his home.

When he looked in the Mirror that day, his greatest desire was for the exact same thing as he'd just thought.

He did not return to seek out his respite the entire rest of the year. He shunned the Mirror entirely.

X------X

On his final day at Hogwarts (having returned this summer after the final battle to practice for and sit his N.E.W.T.s at McGonagall's invitation), Draco visited the Mirror of Erised for the last time before the graduation ceremonies kicked off. It remained in the Prefect's Bath, in the exact same corner it had stood for the last six years. He figured it was probably forgotten about, with Dumbledore the last staff member to actually know its location.

As he looked into it for his final wish, Draco knew what he would see: Granger, dressed in her graduation dress robes, her crazy hair pulled back from her face and tamed finally, pink gloss shining her lips, which were turned up in a smile just for him. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms about his neck and leaned in, pressing her mouth to his voluntarily. This act, he knew, would lead to a lifetime of shared kisses between them.

If only…

They hadn't spoken once since that fateful day at his Manor House, when he'd bent over her prone form after his Aunt Bellatrix had demanded he check 'the Mudblood' to make sure she was still breathing, when it had appeared at one point that she had possibly died during her torture session. He'd found her to be alive, but semi-conscious, and he'd whispered that he was sorry in her ear, and tried to put his wand in her limp hand, but Fenrir stepped forward at that moment and hauled Granger back to her feet and smacked her about to wake her. After that, he hadn't had any opportunity to help her, nor to speak to her again while the war was on-going. Truthfully, he couldn't see as how she'd have anything to say to him other than to call him out as the coward he'd been.

Yet, several times this summer, he'd seen her gaze at him strangely during independent study in the library or the hallways or at meal times in the newly repaired Great Hall, the look on her face was one of intense calculation and consideration. And just last week, she'd bucked up the courage to approach him finally, but his fierce scowl had sent her on her way quickly enough. He knew what she'd been about and he didn't want her pity. He and his family had made their choices, and now they were social pariahs and they'd live with it. As he'd told her back that night more than a year ago, this is the way it was supposed to be between them. He'd picked the losing side, and this was his just punishment, so he didn't deserve to get the girl and walk away into the sunset. That sort of thing only happened in fantasies.

Sighing deeply, Draco stood before the Mirror of Desire and made up his mind. He'd come here for one final thing, and now he was determined to see it though. He was sure this was what Dumbledore would have wanted him to do. In fact, perhaps doing this very thing had been his ultimate fate from the beginning, and why he'd become friends with the Mirror to begin with.

Palming the large rock that he'd taken from the grounds that morning, he tossed it once and caught it. "Time's up," he told his old mate, smirking into the reflective glass, taking a long, last look at his imagined Granger. "No more wishful dreaming for either of us."

When Draco left the Prefect's Bathroom that afternoon, the Mirror of Erised was permanently destroyed, and its glass shards pulverized into a thin pile of scattered, useless sand and silver nitrate particles that reflected the myriad of colorful sunbeams through the stained glass windows above.

~FIN~

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This started out as a challenge based off of a fan picture both UNSEENLIBRARIAN and I found online of Draco seated on a throne, smirking, wearing his half-unbuttoned school uniform. It was titled "The King of Slytherin" appropriately (if you want to see it, the URL is below). UNSEENLIBRARIAN challenged me to write a story about what Draco was thinking in that moment, having to do with the Mirror of Erised (a clever challenge!). As I was writing this story all yesterday, I looked often at the picture – my muse, and for that, this fic must rightly also be dedicated to that extremely talented artist who gave me such wonderful material to borrow from for inspiration (whomever you may be).

I have one more challenge from UNSEENLIBRARIAN involving this same image. I will write that up this next week. It will be a part of a series called "THE MIRROR."

I hope this story met with your approval U.L.!

Please let me know what you think, readers. I love reviews. ^_^

URL for the image: http://th06(dot)deviantart(dot)net / fs11 / 300W / i / 2006 / 251 / b / 9 / The_King_of_Slytherin_by_

Remember to replace "(dot)" with "." and remove all spaces in between for the URL above to load right. This is the only way I can post URLs to this site, unfortunately.