Harry Potter and the Malfoy Girl

This is just a draft of the story. The main story by the author is "WE WERE NEVER OURS" Author name Apricus9. INTRO: The hall was vast and eerily silent, its stone walls darkened by the soft embrace of night. Only the moonlight, filtering through a towering glass window on the far side, lit the room. The pale glow from the moon caught the frostings on the window's delicate patterns, casting intricate, ethereal shadows on the polished stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of ancient wood and dust, the kind of silence that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words, leaving the space feeling almost sacred, like a forgotten secret waiting to be discovered. At the center of this room stood the Mirror of Erised. Its enormous golden frame gleamed faintly in the moonlight, with ornate, gothic carvings that twisted and danced across its surface like shadows with minds of their own. Serpentine swirls curled up the edges, and hidden symbols pulsed beneath the intricate designs, as if imbued with ancient magic. The mirror's surface rippled gently, almost as if it were not a reflection at all but a doorway, a portal to something far deeper than mere sight. It beckoned, showing not the present but the heart's most secret desires, and its presence felt all-encompassing, as if it held the weight of dreams long buried. Standing before it, a 12-year-old girl, dressed in the green and silver of Slytherin robes, looked up at the mirror with a gaze both distant and absorbed. Her platinum hair caught the moonlight, cascading in soft waves around her face, almost glowing in the silver light. Despite the grandeur of the hall, she seemed small and alone, her figure casting a long shadow against the cool stone. Her robes flowed around her, dark and elegant, but they seemed to fade into the shadows, as though she were part of them—an echo of the darkness. Her hands were clasped before her, fingers intertwined as if to hold something invisible, something intangible. Her expression was one of quiet sorrow, as if she were standing on the edge of something she could never quite touch. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes fixed on the mirror, on the reflection it showed her. The surface of the mirror seemed to shimmer faintly, and in its depths, a distant image stirred—a figure, a place, a moment that was blurred, as if it existed only in the deepest corners of her mind. Her gaze softened as she stared at it, her lips parting ever so slightly, as if the words she wished to speak had no voice, no sound. It was the face of something long gone, of something lost to time—perhaps the embrace of someone she would never hold again, or a future she could never reach. And as she gazed, the words appeared upon the glass, glowing softly, as if etched into the very fabric of the mirror itself: "You'll always be my favorite 'what if.' But now, you're just a memory I revisit when the world feels too heavy." The script was elegant, flowing in bold cursive, its lines curling and swaying like the very emotions it spoke of. The words seemed to pulse with the sorrow and longing that filled her heart, an ache that reverberated through the room like a silent song. The girl's reflection seemed to blur around the edges, as if even the mirror itself was uncertain of whether the image was real or just a dream. She could not touch what she saw, could not hold it in her hands. But it was there, in the mirror, glowing softly in the moonlight—her deepest desire, her heart's most desperate wish. The room felt heavier now, the air thick with the weight of unspoken dreams and forgotten hopes. The girl's fingers tightened, her heart pounding with the realization that some things, once lost, could never be found again.