Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Twisted Reflection

By Silver Sailor Ganymede

The boy stares into the mirror. He sees a face that is almost colourless, and haunted, completely colourless eyes… eyes that are not his own. He sighs; his Father's curse is wearing off, but it still has some hold on him. But as soon as his Father realises the Imperius curse is no longer in effect, his Father will merely curse him again.

He stares into the mirror again. The reflection has changed. It stares at him, a smirk on it's face. That reflection is the way that his Father forces him to be, the way that everyone else thinks of him as being. This reflection is not the way he really is; it is caused by the Imperius curse.

He looks up again. The face has changed once more. Tears fall from the colourless eyes and it is shaking its head.

'Why?' The reflection asks him. 'Why do you let him manipulate you like this? Why?'

The boy shakes his head at his reflection. "I can't help it", he mutters. "I can't fight him…"

'Why?' His reflection asks again. 'Why don't you try? Surely you don't want to be a Death Eater'.

"No", the boy replies. "No I don't… but it can't be helped; I am a Death Eater now… whether I like it or not".

'Why don't you fight his curse, Draco?'

'I can't'.

'You can', it replies, not relenting. 'You just think too little of yourself'.

"NO!" he yells. "I think that I'm weak because I am weak!"

'Stop being so stupid and fight his curse next time!'

'I can't! I can't! I CAN'T" He screams. He punches the mirror. It shatters. The glass falls to the floor. He picks a piece up and runs it across his arm. It begins to bleed.

The boy smiles. He is still alive; usually he can not tell whether he is alive or blood trickles down his arm and begins to drip on the floor, beside the pieces of the shattered mirror.

"Well, well, Draco", a voice hisses. "What are we doing?"

He spins around, his colourless face becoming even paler as he sees his Father standing behind him.

"I see that my curse has worn off" his Father mutters. The boy is scared, he doesn't speak and his Father smirks, "Imperio".
The boy feels himself floating, falling into the state that is between life and death, falling into the abyss of peace.

'Fight it off', the other voice mutters. 'Fight it off'.

He tries, but it is impossible. He cannot banish his Father's curse. He drifts away again, trapped inside himself by the unforgivable curse. Now, once again, he is no longer truly himself. In this state, he, Draco Malfoy, is merely a twisted reflection.