Title: Beyond the Mirror's Edge
Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Contains mature language and sexual content
Rating: M
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. A spell goes wrong in Advanced Charms class, leaving nothing but a charred ring and a pair of empty shoes. Draco Malfoy must figure out what happened and try to bring Harry back.
Author's Note: I had more fun writing this Drarry than any previous effort. I hope that comes through.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco Malfoy was in the library when he heard the news. He was studying for his last exam before winter break when a clamor from the corridor broke his concentration. He pressed his hands over his ears and tried to block it out, telling himself he wasn't interested in whatever had his fellow students so riled up. But his curiosity was greater than his desire to commit advanced potion formulas to memory.

Sighing with annoyance he closed his textbook and tried to glean what the excitement was about without having to join the fray and appear interested. He was certain he could hear crying. Yes, someone was wailing and the sound was spreading. He couldn't hold out any longer, he had to know.

He swept his books into his bag and shrank it down to pocket size. Affecting a disinterested air he casually exited as though the timing were purely coincidental. The throng in the corridor was growing as classrooms emptied all at once.

"How can he be dead?" an anguished voice rose above the din as the crush of students in the hallway pushed towards the stairs.

"Who is dead?" Draco asked a sixth-year girl with tears streaming down her face.

"Harry!" She sobbed and shoved past him, too distraught to explain.

"What?" Draco was certain she was wrong. Or she meant a Harry he didn't know.

"Who's dead?" He grabbed the arm of a fifth-year Slytherin student who seemed more annoyed than upset.

"Harry Potter," the boy rolled his eyes. "Someone blasted him in Advanced Charms class. Left nothing behind but his shoes."

He said more but Draco couldn't hear him. For some reason his ears had stopped working. All he could hear was the rush of his own blood. His eyes swam and his legs felt like rubber and the whole room seemed to tilt around him.

"Malfoy!" Blaise Zabini showed up at his elbow, snapping him out of it. "Wonderful day today," he grinned maliciously.

"Oh, certainly," Draco nodded, trying to conceal his shock. He casually braced himself against the wall to stay upright as the corridor resettled around him.

"I can't wait to hear what old McGonagall has to say about it," Blaise nudged him along and they continued with the flow of students to the ground floor. Out of instinct everyone was heading to the Great Hall, even though no assembly had been called yet. But when the Wizarding World's greatest hero was blasted into non-existence, everyone assumed a statement would be made.

Draco moved with the swarm through the grand foyer and glanced to the fringe of the crowd where a small group of teachers had gathered. Granger and Weasley arrived in a rush and beckoned for them to follow. Draco ducked through the mass of students and trailed closely behind.

"We don't know yet," Granger was saying breathlessly as they rushed to the Charms classroom. She was clutching Professor Trelawney's arm and tugging her along. "We were hoping you could help us find out."

They ran into the Charms classroom where a handful of students, Headmistress McGonagall and several other staff members were gathered. Seamus Finnigan was crouched on the floor sobbing, and Luna Lovegood was holding him and rocking him gently.

"It's not your fault," she murmured sweetly. "It was an accident."

Up on the second riser a charred ring marked the floor and in the middle was a pair of shoes, Harry Potter's shoes, and nothing else. Draco couldn't help staring. Was that really all that was left of him?

"Tell me what happened," Professor Trelawney held a rather large crustal ball over the shoes.

"We were practicing a protection charm," Granger piped up. "Seamus sneezed in the middle of his and the charm hit Harry. And then he just disappeared."

"He's dead!" Seamus wailed. "I killed Harry!"

"We don't know that he's dead yet," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "Sybill, what can you see?"

Professor Trelawney took a deep, dramatic breath and touched her bug-eyed glasses as though focusing. She peered into the crystal and hummed in a gravelly tone, waving her hand intricately over the ball. Everyone in the room, including Draco, held their breath.

"I do not see the death of Harry Potter," she intoned. "I see a great nothingness, suspended in oblivion. I sense confusion, fear, desperation, pain, but not death."

"That's worse!" Seamus cried.

"Headmistress," the Head Girl, some no-name from Ravenclaw, appeared in the classroom doorway. She cradled an awkwardly shaped object in her arms, a carved wooden block with a round glass dial in the center.

"Bring it here," Professor McGonagall waved her over and carefully removed it from her grip.

Weasley glanced over as the Head Girl slipped past Draco and noticed him standing near the doorway. He scowled and sidled along the wall until he was within whispering distance. "What are you doing here, ferret face?" he hissed.

"I heard someone blasted Potter into the great beyond," Draco shot back, giving Weasley his best arched brow.

"So you came to celebrate?" the pain on Weasley's face was apparent.

"Is that my only option?" Draco sneered. "I have as much right to be here as anyone."

"Quiet please," Professor McGonagall set the wooden block on the floor next to Potter's shoes. "Albus never showed me how this worked, so it may take some trial and error."

The dial had two elegantly inscribed markings, one to the left that read Dead and one to the right that read Alive. There were no markings between, and nothing apparent to indicate which was selected. Professor Flitwick crouched near the device and nudged it closer to the shoes.

"Perhaps it requires a name," he said thoughtfully. "Harry Potter," he spoke in a loud, clear voice. A needle rose slowly from within the wooden frame and hovered halfway between the two demarcations. "Well it's something," Professor Flitwick frowned. "But what, I'm not sure."

"Try someone else," Professor Slughorn suggested. "Severus Snape," he called.

The needle dropped directly to the left mark with the word Dead scrawled above it. The group murmured quietly. "Minerva McGonagall," Professor Slughorn tried again. The needle swung to the right, to the mark with the word Alive scrawled above it. "Seems to be working now," he said musingly. "Harry Potter," he called. The needle swung back to the left, eliciting a gasp from the crowd, but then stopped halfway between the two indicators again.

"Curious," Professor Flitwick grunted.

"I told you I sensed no death," Professor Trelawney said sharply. "He is not dead."

"Yes, but it would also appear that he is not exactly alive, either," Professor McGonagall frowned, concern etched in the lines of her face.

"So what does that mean?" Weasley asked impatiently. "Where is he?"

"Let's try something," Professor Flitwick held up his hand for quiet. "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington." The needle swung to the Dead mark. "Well he's not a ghost," the diminutive professor harrumphed.

"I sense dark magic," Professor Trelawney said gravely.

"It was supposed to be a protection charm," Granger spoke up. "How could it turn into dark magic?"

"The sneeze, I suppose," Professor Flitwick stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It changed the pronunciation of the charm, which changed the nature of the spell."

"Who heard the spell clearly?" Professor McGonagall looked around the room. "We can review it with the Pensieve and try to determine the pronunciation. Seamus, Filius, come with me." She swept out of the room in a swirl of emerald green velvet robes. Luna helped Seamus to his feet and guided him out, followed by the full brigade of Hogwart's staff. Granger and Weasley remained behind. Granger slipped her arms around Weasley's waist and sniffled into his shirt as he stroked her hair soothingly. Uncomfortable with the vulnerable display, Draco turned to leave.

"That's right. Get out of here, Malfoy," Weasley called. "Go tell your friends in Slytherin house that they finally got what they wanted."

Draco looked back over his shoulder and eyed the vacant shoes. "This is not what anyone wanted, Weasley," he said regretfully, then departed.

Slytherin house was in high spirits when Draco arrived at the common room. The underclassmen, especially the first-years who had been sorted after the war, were reserved and conflicted. But the upperclassmen, especially the seventh-year repeats from Potter's year, were celebrating the untimely demise of Hogwart's own Golden Boy.

"I'll bet he comes back as a ghost," Pansy Parkinson said with a delighted shiver as Draco paused in the doorway.

"I'll exorcise him if he does," called Greg Goyle. He looked up and spotted his friend, "Hey Draco, did you find anything out? How did he die?"

"He's not dead," Draco said flatly, refusing to raise his voice to be heard over the clamor. In response to his tone one of the fifth-year boys silenced the music and everyone quieted down. "It was an accident in Charms class. Seamus Finnegan caught him with a spell and he disappeared."

"But he's not dead?" Millicent Bulstrode asked hesitantly.

"No," Draco frowned. "But not alive either."

"That's good enough for me," Goyle laughed crudely, swiping his finger across his neck and lolling his tongue out comically.

"Shut up, Greg," Draco snapped. He looked around the room in disgust, suddenly ashamed of the house he'd so proudly defended throughout his tenure. "Do you all really think this is something to celebrate?"

"He's right," Blaise stood and joined Draco in the doorway. "This is an unsatisfactory end. He should have died in a duel, not at Finnegan's incompetent hands." He clapped his hand on Draco's shoulder, "He was yours to defeat. If anyone was going to take him out, it should have been you."

"Well," Draco steadied his expression carefully. "Since he's not actually dead, perhaps they'll find him and I'll still have my chance."

An agreeable murmur spread through the room. The underclassmen, who weren't steeped in the hatred for Saint Potter like the older students, seemed more comfortable with this interpretation. It meant it was okay to hope he was alive, if only so he could be challenged later.

Draco excused himself to his room, one of a few private spaces afforded to the seventh-year repeats who had returned following the war. He closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, his mind whirling. He wasn't relieved to know that Potter wasn't dead, he told himself. It was an interesting turn of events, but nothing that affected him personally. In fact, he thought, Potter's disappearance meant they were temporarily guaranteed a break from his constant busy-bodied involvement in every bit of Hogwarts drama. It would be nice not to have to see his annoying face at meals and in the halls between classes. At some point he would be reunited with his shoes and everyone would go back to fawning disgustingly over him. But until then, it would be a blessed Potter-free existence, at least for a while.

Draco sat on the edge of his bed and repeated that thought to himself. It would be nice to be free of Potter's presence. Wherever he was, he was annoying someone else for a change. And if no one found him for a while, so much the better. It would be a relief not to see him around school. He told himself that he should be happy. Then he put his face in his hands and wept.