'Surely you know some simple charm against pain. Why do you not use your magic? Are you not a Magid? Are you not my Heir? You could heal yourself with a thought, if you let me show you how.'
Draco shook his head. 'Never mind. It doesn?t hurt. Except in that way of being really painful. But no, I?m not interested.'
'Draco,' said the Snake Lord, and Draco jumped a little. It was rare that Slytherin spoke his given name. 'You cannot resist using your power. You fear losing your soul, your identity. But what identity do you have? That given you by your father, forced on you by those you call friends. You don?t even understand yourself. You see the world too simply, as evil and good.'
'I?ve seen both,' said Draco. 'Evil and goodness. I know they exist.'
'Of course they exist. The covenant that holds the world together calls for opposites: the dark and the light, uniformity and chaos, bodied and disembodied. Each half needs the other to survive.
Without demons, there would be no angels. Without Slytherin, there would be no Gryffindor. Without Draco Malfoy…'
'No Harry Potter,' said Draco flatly. 'I get it. I?m not stupid.'
'Then don?t behave as if you are. You have powers many would kill to possess. Use them. Do what you like with them.'
'Nice try,' Draco said bitterly. 'You can?t do good with powers that come from Hell.'
'Why not? There are angels of death, as there are angels of destruction. And all demons were angels once, and will be again some day. Perhaps you are neither one thing nor the other, neither angel nor demon, purely evil nor purely good, but you are the Heir of Slytherin and you belong to me. You have powers. Use them.'
'Why?' Draco demanded. He could feel his face flush with angry blood. 'So I can be like you? Why, when it gives me no pleasure to use them? Maybe you like calling up the powers of Hell, but I don?t.
I wouldn?t be happy, being what you are. Did that occur to you?'
'And are you happy now?' Slytherins voice had dropped several octaves, turned silky and quiet. 'I could make her love you,' he said, and Draco flinched. 'The love potion was unsatisfactory, I know, since she knew its falsity. It was meant as a punishment, after all.
But I could make her love you and know no difference.'
Draco closed his eyes, seeing Hermione in her red dress as she had come to him in the clearing at the dragon camp, recalling the look on her face, misery twisted with longing, and the traitorous elation he had felt knowing that emotion was for him, those tears for him, not for Harry this time.
'No.' He opened his eyes, blinking away the memory of Hermione.
'There is a price,' he said, 'for happiness such as that.'
'There is a price for everything,' said Slytherin. 'For every advantage given to you, you will pay. For your looks, a price. For your talents, a price. For your strength, a price. For that second gift of life which returned you from death, a price. You are in debt to the balance of things, Draco Malfoy. You have been given more than you deserve. You were meant to pay that debt out in service. Service to me. It is what you were destined for. Fight it, and you will pay another and a worse way. What do you think will happen to the gifts you?ve been given, Draco, if you don?t use them?'
Draco heard his fathers voice in his mind. What happens to a clock if you wind it backwards? It breaks.
'Shut up!' Draco heard his own voice as if it came from far away, forced out through chattering teeth. 'I don?t want to hear any more.'
'Then don?t hear any more,' said Slytherin coldly. 'See.'
He turned and pointed his hand at the far wall where the heavy carved screens stood, their brilliant designs of writhing dragons so bright it hurt Dracos eyes, the backs of which felt as if they had been rubbed with sandpaper.
A spark shot from Slytherins hand, and the screens ratcheted back, folding outward to reveal what had been hidden behind them.
It was a mirror. Draco took a few steps forward, gazing in curiosity.
As he approached it, the mirror seemed to grow both in size and familiarity. It was as tall as he was, shaped like an upright diamond and thickly framed in gold, and stood on two large clawed feet. A great deal of artistry had gone into the carving of the frame, which was alive with the shapes of leaves and animals. Above the peak of the mirror were three carved words: Nosce Te Ipsum.
It seemed, he realized, very similar to the Mirror of Erised — at which he had only glanced when he had seen it that once at Hogwarts, knowing what it was and what he would see in it, and what Hermione wouldn?t. But the image of it was burned into his brain.
How, he wondered, could this be a torture device? 'You know, theres this thing about me, I actually like looking in mirrors. Call me insane, but — '
'You are not insane. Just very, very irritating.' Slytherin reached out and grasped Draco by the arm, dragging him forward so that he stood in front of the mirror, staring down at his feet.
'This is not the Mirror you are thinking of,' said Slytherin, behind him, his cold breath on Dracos neck making him shudder. 'This is not the Mirror of Desire, that shows men the wish of their hearts.
This mirror was made at the same time as that mirror, to be its opposite. This mirror does not show you what you want. Quite the contrary.' His hand slid around Dracos neck to clasp his chin, and force his head up. 'This mirror is called the Mirror of Judgement. It shows you what you really are.'
What you really are.
A shudder like a bolt of lightning went through Draco, and he tried to twist away, but Slytherin held him hard in a grip like iron, his arm across Dracos throat. 'No. I won?t look.'
'You will.'
'I won?t.'
'Open your eyes,' hissed the Snake Lord, and shook Draco hard.
