Mistaken Identity

Harry Potter felt a wave of relief hit him as crashed through the bushes, reaching the safety of the wharf by the great lake. He stumbled over to his secret spot behind the tall reeds growing near the marshy bank. This place was his refuge from the outside world. Whenever the oppressive Hogwarts halls became too much, or the feelings he had been working to contain threatened to overflow, he would hide here. Slumping into the soft, dry autumn leaves shielded from the night's breeze as well as the watchful gaze of any passerby.

Now in this familiar territory and feeling more secure he promptly relaxed, giving into the waves of emotion that had been threatening to overwhelm him since he had left the Gryffindor common room. It had all been too much with Ginny, Ron and Hermione there. Everything that had been building up inside him for months now had started to overflow. The alcohol probably hadn't helped either, since he was hardly an experienced drinker. He had been choking back tears since his abrupt flight, but strangely, now that he was free to cry, for a moment it didn't seem like he would. Then he thought back to party and it all came to him. The guilt, the confusion and the deep-rooted unhappiness now almost inseparable from his very soul. He started to cry. Openly. The black wells of despair consuming him as he gave into the brief respite only tears could grant.

Then, that resounding voice in his head came back with full force. It asked him again: 'Why?' Why had this happened? Why did he put up with it? Why was he even alive? Stupid questions he didn't want to answer or even think about, but that just wouldn't leave his head. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't he stand to look into the mirror of a morning and see the wretched creature staring back?

'I hate you' he thought to himself. Sometimes he said it out loud, the entrenched depression seemingly so familiar. Probably since the death of Sirius, although that was merely a part of everything else these days. Perhaps it had been the catalyst? But then, thinking back, he had been angry throughout fifth year. Anger had been easier than despair, but these new problems were simply different. These were his friends - he couldn't be angry with them. So he had become angry with himself instead. Self-loathing had become a common feature amongst his thoughts theses days and in a strange way this relieved him of some of the guilt that he was forced to carry around. But tonight was different, for the well familiar anger offered no comfort. Whether at himself or Voldemort or whomever else, tonight the voices could not be silenced in this way. No, tonight all he could do was give into despair and the sobs that now wracked his slender body.

Only moments later his secret grief was to be disturbed by a sudden rustle in the nearby reeds. He held his breather for a moment, the sobs abruptly ceasing as he tried to listen carefully for any signs of intrusion. There was indeed someone, and for a brief moment he had felt hope. Maybe it was Ron? Finally his friend had come to speak with him.

"Ron?" he called out hopefully.

"Potter?"

The voice was not Ron's and with the realisation came the threat of total despair once more. However, he held firm, for he knew he could not let anyone see him like this. It was his secret burden and his alone. He held his breath again and silently prayed that the other boy would not find him, but while glancing over he had made eye contact with the Gryffindor. Neville had then pried apart the long reeds and stumbled through into the tiny clearing. His robes caught on a hidden branch and he tugged at them awkwardly for a moment before breaking free.

"Pot ..." he began to call out again, but then stopped when he noticed Harry sitting at his feet. "Oh ... Harry," he stumbled uncomfortably.

Harry took a quick breath and struggled to hold back the emotions that had consumed him only moments before. He closed his eyes and pleaded with himself to regain control. He had to maintain control. When he opened his eyes again he saw the other boy standing hesitantly nearby, with the strangest of expressions upon his face.

"Err ... are you okay?"

The question was awkward, made with genuine confusion and surprise. Harry could understand though - nobody was probably even aware of the depths he had sunk to these past few months. For a moment he struggled to answer: "Yes." But the tears turned the response into some kind of gurgle. He tried again and then again, yet still he could not form the word upon his lips. It was just so alien to his current state of mind. Instead, with a choke of tears he answered.

"No."

It was barely a whisper. Yet the conviction behind that single word was unmistakable to anyone. Neville seemed to hesitate once more. For what seemed like ages Harry thought that the boy would leave. However, after what seemed like a significant personal struggle of his own, the Gryffindor knelt upon the leaves nearby. Not so close as to be invading Harry's space, but near enough so that his presence could not be ignored. He remained silent for a long time as Harry tried again in vain to bring himself under control.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked eventually in a soft uncertain voice.

Harry desperately wanted to talk to someone, desperately needed to, but he knew he could not. Normally he would have regained composure by the time anyone had found him. He would have put on a neutral expression and convinced whomever it was that he was merely seeking a bit of fresh air, or perhaps some time alone. However, the buzz of the alcohol was strange in his system, and it denied him ordinary avenues of control. While he struggled to give some kind of answer he simply could not hold back the tears. Eventually he gave in, realizing that any response he could muster to the contrary would not explain the state he was so plainly in.

"I can't," he choked.

The other boy seemed to struggle again within himself. Then, after a moment's deliberation, he stood and turned to leave.

"Wait."

The Neville halted.

Harry wasn't sure if he found this a relief or disappointment. He wasn't even sure why he had said something to stop him from going. He founded himself breathing a little more regularly though and after a moment he spoke again.

"Don't go," he said in a trembling voice.

Neville remained fixed to the spot, a deeply concerned expression etched into his features. The night's breeze tugged gently at his fringe as he twisted his fingers about in his hands. He was clearly agitated, but he said nothing. Instead he slowly lowered himself to the ground once more. He was kneeling by the other boy again, closer this time.

"I can't go on like this ..." Harry managed before the waves of emotion wracked his body once more. "I just can't. I don't know what to do." The last word was garbled by the sobs that had started anew. "I'm just so ... unhappy." The effort became too much and any control he had been maintaining promptly collapsed. He sobbed hopelessly once more, this time in front of the other boy. Great gasp of despair marked by the occasional cough or snivel.

Neville seemed to give into whatever his own struggles had been and he reached over and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. It was not a comfortable gesture, but it was something and with it Harry felt himself give into his desperate need to talk. Words poured out of him that had been trying to escape for so long.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm always causing hurt and pain to everyone around me and I don't want to do it again, but I just can't see anyway out." His voice was desperate as if pleading with some unseen force to set him free.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked softly.

Harry didn't know where to start. There was just so much now - it had all blended into one great mess. Nothing was distinguishable from anything else. He missed Sirius so badly though, perhaps that would do for a start?

"I miss him so much," he whispered at last.

"Who?" the other boy asked seemingly confused.

"Sirius!" Harry cried. "Why did he have to leave me? It's not fair! Why did he have to die, for me? I didn't ask him too, I'm not worth it! Why couldn't he just stay at the Order's headquarters?"

Harry felt the guilt begin to consume him once more. The feeling was so rife within him these days that its presence was almost comforting. No, not comforting, just familiar. It was still a constant source of pain if somewhat dulled by time.

"I so wish he was here. I would rather it be me who died, not him. It's just not fair. Why do I always destroy people? Hurt anyone who comes near me? My parents died for me, now my godfather too."

Neville seemed to suddenly loose his nerve and got up to leave again.

"I think I should get Ginny," he fumbled.

"No!" Harry cried. "Please not her, I can't upset her with all this."

"But she's your girlfriend!"

Harry made a ghastly sound. It was something between a laugh and a whimper.

"I know," he choked, "and oh how I wish she wasn't."

Neville appeared stunned.

"You know when I got with her?"

The other boy remained silent.

"A few months ago, it was so very, very wrong. I'm ..." he trailed off staring into the night sky. "I'm so ashamed of it all."

Harry thought back to that evening only two months ago when they were seated together by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. She had been shifting closer and closer to him all night. Eventually, when everyone else had gone to bed, she laid leaning gently against his side, legs curled under the pillows, eyes fixed upon the fire. He could tell she had been nervous, for he was too. She had slowly placed a hand upon his leg and was gently caressing him, making circular motions with her index finger. He remembered the confusion within him. The guilt. He had been thinking of a Weasley that evening, in fact for most of the previous months. Not her though. He had been thinking of Ron, and how he missed their friendship.

"I kissed her on the couch on the evening of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match remember? I didn't mean to. It was just that everyone else seemed to want it you know? Everyone," he said exasperatedly. "I knew Ron had wanted me to be with his sister for ages. It would make such a tidy group. Him and Hermione, me and Ginny. A neat set of relationships that would bind us together forever. I so wanted us to be together. I missed him and Hermione. I thought this would bring us closer. I thought I might as well give it a try. So I kissed her and it felt ..."

Harry trailed off as he remembered how it had felt. Like pressing his lips against warm glass. No, it was softer but just as inhuman. It had felt wrong and only seconds later he had regretted it. He remembered thinking that he should apologise immediately. Explain that he had been just experimenting and promise not to do it again. But when he had turned to look at her he found himself muted by the expression on her young innocent face. Joy. Pure and simple. While he reeled with guilt and confusion she had told him about how long she had waited for this moment. How badly she had wanted to be with him. How happy he had just made her. In that moment, taken aback, he could say nothing at all. He had simply nodded and managed to smile in return.

"It felt wrong. So very wrong. I was going to tell her but ..." he had paused for a moment in thought.

"But?" the other boy asked, clearly fixated.

"The look in her eyes. She smiled at me, so happy." Harry turned slightly, so as to face Neville, or at least face the boy's feet. "I hadn't made another person smile like that in a long time. I just couldn't tell her. I couldn't say that I had felt the opposite, it would have crushed her. I would have been hurting another of my friends. Harry fucking Potter once again reeking misery on those who care about him."

Harry found himself crying again. He brushed half heatedly at the tears, sniveling occasionally. He remembered the guilt that pounded through every fiber of his being has he sat there with her and listened. Listen to her recount all of the times she had thought he was going to kiss her and had been disappointed. Listened as she explained how perfect they would be together.

"You can't be with someone just to make them happy," the other boy said softly.

"I know, but she was happy. It wasn't her fault ... and Ron. He ..."

Harry remembered that next morning vividly. How he came down from his dorm with the full weight of misery and guilt upon his shoulders. He had been ready to speak with her then. Stop everything before it had gone too far. But he had run into Ron. His long time friend was leaning against a chair and was smiling. Not that vacant, distant and uncomfortable smile that he had forced upon his face for months before, but a real and genuine smile. Harry remembered the joy that had filled him at that moment. Ron had forgiven him. Everything was back to normal. They had talked then, not about Ginny but about normal things - Quidditch, classes, and the evils of Snape. But it had been genuine. The first genuine conversation since summer.

"He was my friend again."

"Weasley's always been your friend," Neville stated, clearly confused.

Harry coughed and spluttered into another fit of tears.

"No he hasn't. He ... he had been pretending, but it was all better again and ... I so needed him to be friends with me. I just couldn't go back to how it had been before. It had been tearing me apart."

"Harry you aren't making any sense ..."

"No!"

The desperation began to fill Harry's voice again, and Neville found himself effectively silenced. He could not hide his absolute disbelief and confusion over what he was hearing though. Not that it seemed to matter anymore. Harry seemed barely aware of his company now, so lost was he in the recounting of his tale. He didn't even seem to notice the hand slowly withdrawing from its uncomfortable rest.

"Things hadn't been the same since ..." he trailed off.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to gain control of his feelings. Could he really tell Neville everything? He would be taking a big risk. What if the other boy said something? It could isolate him from everyone else - more so. However, Harry new he had gone too far to stop now. Even if he wanted to, he could not have held back the words.

"I ..." he choked. "I betrayed him ... I ..."

He thought back to that night and his brief stay with the Weasleys. He had been so alone, so isolate over the summer. Once more cut off from his friends for security reasons, he had been forced to struggle alone with the guilt and grief of Sirius's death. With the nearest thing to a loving family member now gone, he had found himself feeling like an orphan once more. There were certainly no comforting words from the Dursleys. Despite all of this, he had not allowed himself to cry then. Instead, he had wallowed in the now familiar self-loathing and anger. He had been neither eating nor sleeping, for discomfort was a welcome distraction. Locked in his room with only the voices in his head shouting: "Why?!" over and over, he had struggled alone.

"I just needed ..."

He had needed comfort, so terribly, and he knew Ron could provide it for him. When finally he could bear no more of the Dursleys, he had got on his broom and flown to the Burrow looking for Ron. Damn Dumbledore and the Order, he had needed his friend. He had woken the boy up in the middle of the night and had collapsed onto his bedroom floor. Ron had embraced him in an instant, and while he clutched to his best friend Harry had sobbed and tried to explain what was wrong. However, once he was there he found he could not speak. Perhaps he had mentioned the name 'Sirius' at one point but mostly he had just cried and cried, all the while Ron holding him tight.

Then it had happened.

He didn't remember how or why.

He had been half seated on the floor with the other boy kneeling close. Ron had been asking him what was wrong over and over but he just hadn't been able to respond. He had been pressed into his best friends warmth, with his forehead resting upon the nape of the other boy's neck - tears soaking through the pajama shirt collar. Ron had gently pried him away and raised his chin with a single finger. In that moment, Harry met the gaze of the nearest person he had to family. He saw open, honest concern - more than that, he saw love. He had held that gaze for what seemed like ages and then, he had lowered his eyes. He stared at his friend's soft lips held slightly ajar and, in a moment's weakness, he had lent forward and pressed his own lips upon them.

"I kissed him," he whispered out loud, shame and guilt written into his distraught features, eyes staring into nothingness.

"Why?" Neville asked, in a voice so soft he wasn't sure if he had spoken.

"I don't know. I just needed to feel ... something other than what I was feeling. I just did. It felt good ..." Harry was frustrated as he tried to explain how that brief contact could have had such a profound effect upon him. He had felt warmth and comfort flow into him, keeping the darkness at bay. But, it had been only too brief and moments later it had all been so much worse.

"I ... I hurt him ..."

The effect had been instantaneous. Ron had suddenly pushed him aside, not roughly but firmly. He had then crossed the room and sat upon his bed, not making eye contact for what seemed like ages.

"It was ... awful," Harry whispered, now in a dreamlike state as the memories flooded back. Waves of sorrow hit him as strong as they had back then. For the next few moments, all he could feel was the bitter rejection, the confusion and the guilt all over again, as if it had only happened a minute ago. Ron, his best friend, had reached out to him and he, Harry, had abused it. He had believed at the time that Ron would never look up, never speak to him again. When finally the other boy had spoken it granted him no relief. Ron had said a few comforting words about Sirius and about how it was natural for Harry to feel upset. However, they had been hollow, carefully measured and somewhat distant. Then he had set about making the other bed in his room, all the while eyes fixed clear from Harry's. When he did eventually glance up something was so very wrong.

"He was different then ..." Harry chocked, as he remembered that look. It was a look he had never seen before in his best friend. There had been a smile but it had been false. There was a distance, a shield across his expression normally reserved for those he didn't know that well. Harry remembered trying to say something but being cut off. "What?" Ron had demanded firmly, eyes full of warning. They dared Harry to speak but at the same time promised consequences if he were to continue.

"You what Harry?" he had said again, anger rising.

At that point Harry had known that his friend was offering him an ultimatum. He was prepared to forget about the incident because of the circumstances, but it was conditional. It could not ever be spoken of again. It was to be buried and forgotten. In return for this Ron would likewise pretend everything was as it was supposed to be.

When he had failed to respond to Ron's question the redhead nodded almost imperceptibly. The deal had been struck and in proof of the fact, Ron had then forced that tortured smile upon his face once more before continuing to make the bed. Silence was to be exchanged for friendship and yet somehow Harry felt that he had lost on both accounts.

"I lost my best friend that night. Things just weren't the same. He seemed so distant and ... just different. It wasn't like he ignored me or anything ... I mean I didn't know he was with Hermione I hadn't spoken to either of them for ages. When we got back to Hogwarts they ... spent most of their time together. I mean that's okay that's only natural, but ..."

Harry trailed off again as he once more renewed his tears. This time they were somewhat softer though and he was calmer than before.

"I decided I would stay with Ginny if only so as we could go back to being friends. But since then, things have just gotten worse. Sometimes, when we double date I can almost forget about things and enjoy their company but I know now its only because I'm lying. I'm living a ridiculous lie and I just seem to hurt everyone no matter what I do. Everything is such a mess there just isn't a way out. I want ..."

Harry stopped suddenly as he thought about what it was that he wanted. It was a fleeting notion, though dark and terrible. One he could still barely understand let alone recount. A solution that promised finality to everything. This secret he could not share though, it was too private.

"Want ..." the other boy said, trying to coax a response.

Harry suddenly looked up at his companion, the realisation of what he had said striking him so hard he nearly lost his breath.

"You won't say anything will you?" he pleaded.

The other boy seemed lost for words

"I mean I'm drunk and rambling, let's just forget it okay?"

Neville nodded mutely.

Harry suddenly felt afraid. He had allowed himself to acknowledge everything and it had only made things worse. He had hoped speaking about this would make things better, but all it seemed to do was bring everything to the forefront of his mind. He hated himself even more now, the realisation bringing about a desperate instinct to flee. Abruptly, he stood and faced back towards Hogwarts.

"I'm just being silly Neville. Just forget it!" he half shouted.

He took off then, tearing past the other boy and into the night. It was a hasty and desperate flight, for he dared not face condemnation for what he had said. Tomorrow he would diffuse all this somehow. Talk to Neville and convince him that it had all just been alcohol-induced raving.

If Harry had been minded to stay though, he would have been quiet surprised at the events that were about to unfold. He would have seen the other boy remain fixed to his spot for several minutes longer and would have noticed his mouth agape and his eyes staring off into nothing. He might have caught a glimpse of a single tear making its way slowly down a chubby cheek. He defiantly could not have mistaken the sudden spasms of flesh and mutation of form - chubby Gryffindor features receding to a more slender and elegant frame.

Smooth white skin.

Strange grey eyes.

Long blonde hair.

He would have seen the polyjuice potion wear off, and an unflinching Draco Malfoy sitting where the Neville doppelganger had sat only moments before. If the shock of all of this had not been too overwhelming, he might just have noticed the one thing that had remained the same throughout the entire experience - that single trailing tear.