Mistaken Identity

Draco had spent the last half hour surreptitiously observing Harry from across the Hall whenever he felt certain nobody would notice. Even for a Sunday morning breakfast, the numbers of students were sparse especially at the Slytherin table. Nonetheless, he risked only fleeting furtive glances from behind a recent edition of the Daily Prophet. At other times, he stared blankly at the page in front of him as his mind poured over what it had learned the previous night.

Harry was so obviously depressed. From his half-hearted attempts at eating to the way he was slumped dejectedly in his chair, everything seemed so evident to Draco now. He could see the boy was barely listening to the conversations around him, and could almost feel his loneliness. Why didn't Granger notice? She was sitting right near him and was supposedly quite clever not to mention his friend. Even if she ignored his posture, eating habits and general behaviour how could she miss those eyes? Listless, dull and tired green eyes that focused on nothing but the empty space in front of them.

Then again, Draco admitted to himself, when was the last time he had seen Harry otherwise? Not even in the Quidditch match yesterday had the boy seemed normal, although only now did it become apparent to him. Harry hadn't played badly, quite the opposite he had been devastatingly brilliant. He had performed a variety of risky aerial feats and had earned himself a good deal of applause not to mention the match itself. However, he had not shown his usual inspiration and unique style, something that only comes from true enjoyment of a sport. Not even in those moments before and after beating Draco to the snitch did he seem to relish the game.

The Slytherin narrowed his eyes at the thought of being beaten, but the usual spark of anger and resentment did not follow. Everything was different now, and although he found this alarming, he chose not to dwell on it just yet. Instead, he refocused his musing upon the Gryffindor who appeared so isolated from the friends around him.

Draco understood what it meant to feel lonely in a crowd. To be surrounded by people and yet to feel so disconnected from them that their company meant nothing at all. He had never been particularly close to any of his fellow Slytherins. He had inherited his father's statesmen-like qualities and was no doubt popular and respected, but he had never felt much in the way of companionship for others. The Malfoy name and that which it stood for always overshadowed people's perception of him, and always constrained the ways in which he was to behave. It had not been so obvious in his first few years of schooling, but as he had begun to develop his own identify and understanding of the world it had become clearer and clearer that he was destined to be alone.

The underlying problem had always been that he did not think like a death eater. His mind was open, curious, flexible and independent. It just could not swallow pureblood rhetoric no matter how hard it tried and no matter how badly he needed it to. He didn't really know much about Muggles, but if they were such a threat to wizards then how could they be inferior? Why were wizards in decline when Muggles prospered? How was limiting wizarding education to purebloods-only going to help this? Why were Muggle-born wizards as good as any pureblood if they were second-rate people? And if Muggles were so dangerous as to be a threat, then how could there be nothing to learn from their ways? How could they build such vast cities and spectacular machines if they were so simple and stupid? How could any of these things justify a war amongst the already dwindling population of wizards? A war fought with basilisks and dementors. None of it made sense.

From a very early age though, Draco had learned not to voice such thoughts. He could clearly recall one evening during a dinner party at the Malfoy manner, where he had made the mistake of posing such a question to a prominent wizard and friend of his father's. The response had been a stunned silence quickly covered up by his mother franticly remarking upon the wine. Later that night, the incident had earned him one of the more severe punishments he could remember and it had taken considerable healing spells to hide the scars. Since then he had taken great effort to keep his thoughts secret, especially the older he got and the more his beliefs drifted from those of his parents.

Oh yes, he knew what it meant to keep secrets. To have them tear away at you from the inside, desperate to escape and to become known. He knew how hard it was to lock thoughts and feelings away, to burry them deep within the mind and to never dare acknowledge them. He understood what it was to live with the fear of being exposed, what it was to feel like an outcast. Most of all he understood the despair such deceit inspired, the darkness that settled upon the very soul. He understood only too well.

But he had also learned from a very early age that sometimes it was easiest to hide in plain sight. His tactic had been one of extremes. He would loudly voice his parent's ideology, openly champion the dark lord's dogma and swear to defend the birthright of pureblooded wizards. The more he disbelieved such things, the louder his cries had become. Though eventually he was to realise that it would never be enough to silence the inner doubt, at the very least helped to conceal it. Just as it was possible to be lonely in a crowd, so too was it possible to find haven there.

Draco involuntarily lifted a hand to trace the now invisible scars upon his cheek. He felt a brief resurgence of shame and bitterness at the things he had been made to endure. However, before he could dwell upon such thoughts, he found himself distracted again by Harry. The boy had slumped even further into his chair and was now lowering his eyes to the table. The reason for this soon became apparent as Longbottom shambled into the hall and sat down forcefully at the table nearby.

He must be hung over, Draco reasoned, assessing his shabby appearance. He must also have been quite drunk the previous night. Maybe the two had already chosen to ignore the events of the evening? Maybe they had explained everything away and blamed it all on alcohol? Maybe Longbottom didn't remember anything from last night at all? If that were so, nobody would ever uncover Draco's little masquerade.

The Slytherin momentarily smirked with satisfaction, but just as quickly the sentiment was forgotten. If nobody knew about last night and Harry hadn't confronted Longbottom, then nobody would be aware of the Gryffindor's plight. No one would know how badly he needed help, how desperate he had been for understanding.

Good, Draco thought to himself. Why should he care about what happened to the stupid show off? The Boy Who Lived had every witch and wizard looking out for him while Draco himself had been forced to confront his own struggles unaided. He had been at the doorstep of despair himself only a few months ago and he did not have any of the support Harry had now. Well, excepting some timely advice and teachings from Professor Snape. But how much had that helped?

Thinking back on these events as he did now, Draco grudgingly recalled that such help had indeed made a difference. Without the potion master's help he might not have survived the trial. He might not even be here right now.

Still, Harry wouldn't need help from a Slytherin. With so many people looking after him it wasn't as if Draco could contribute anything anyway.

But Harry did so obviously need help.

Draco could not recall the last time he had seen fierce defiance in those bright green eyes. He was certain he would have earned such an expression last year, on the train trip home for summer holidays at least. However, he couldn't remember clearly, nor could he think of any other time since. Doubtless this was due at least in part to the changes in his own behaviour at Hogwarts this year. He had been keeping a lower profile as instructed, and was involved less with other students - Harry or otherwise. Perhaps Harry had been in trouble for longer than he knew? Perhaps none of his friends had been able to help?

"Morning Draco Darling!"

The said Slytherin almost fell off his chair at having been so startled from his silent contemplation. He quickly recovered though, and made sure to keep his eyes well clear from the Gryffindor table as he turned his attention to the girl beside him.

"You didn't come and get me!" Pansy pouted, before he had a chance to speak.

"I forgot," he said, without even trying to remember whatever it was that she was talking about. He really didn't want her company at the moment, it made thinking so much more difficult. How was he going to get rid of her?

"So, how'd last night go?"

A sudden sinking feeling in his stomach made itself known as he recalled the girl's role in yesterday's scheme. He had been so baffled and intrigued by the way things had turned out that he had quite forgotten about everything else.

"Well..." he began hesitantly.

"I am sorry about the Longbottom thing," Pansy interrupted. "You'd swear all Gryffindors are as poor as the Weasleys! Sharing hair brushes is so gross, how was I suppose to know?"

Draco largely ignored the girl's whining and obviously well rehearsed defense. Yesterday's plots seemed like months ago now and what bothered him more at the moment was all the noise she was making.

"Did you end up getting any good gossip at least?" she asked eventually.

The sinking feeling transformed itself into outright panic as Draco suddenly found himself confronted with an issue he had been avoiding. Though he had been thinking of nothing else but the events of the previous evening, he had confined himself to curious musings. The obvious question of what to do with all of these new found insights had not been properly considered. Could he tell her everything? Have the Slytherins use such secrets to tear apart his long time rival? With only a moment to decide on a course of action Draco found himself answering almost instinctively.

"No."

"What no gossip at all?"

"Things were out of context," he managed to fumbled without really understanding why.

Pansy arched an eyebrow in response.

"Gryffindors are boring anyway," he snapped.

The girl apparently wasn't interested enough to pursue the matter, much to his relief. Instead she served herself a plate of breakfast and wandered over to join some of the other sixth year girls who had begun arriving. He thankfully watched her leave, but was once again distracted by events occurring at the Gryffindor table.

The Weasley girl had emerged from the hallway and was wandering over to the boy in question. She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck from behind and kissed him softly behind the ear. Harry had not seen her coming and was startled long enough to let slip a bitter look of regret. It had only been for a brief moment though and was quickly supplanted by a strained smile and soft peck upon her cheek. The girl practically glowed in response as she settled herself down next to him and began to babble away incessantly.

Draco had caught that lost moment though even if no one else had and he could not help but feel an intense pang of sympathy for the boy and what he must be going through. It was with such thoughts in his head that he found himself finally deciding upon a course of action. It wasn't that he cared what happened to Harry, he reasoned, it was just that he felt uncomfortable with the responsibility of being the only one aware of situation. Once he felt sure someone else was aware of the problem, he could leave the whole stinking matter for Harry's entourage to solve. Perhaps then he could refocus his attention upon his own predicaments.

Draco realised he had been staring too long and quickly checked the Slytherin table to see if anyone had noticed. Seeing nothing suspicious, he lifted the newspaper again and began again to think. How was he going to alert someone? Who was he going to tell for that matter? With all the animosity between them he doubted a direct approach would work. He needed some other plan ...

"Draco Darling don't sulk at me!" Pansy demanded, snapping him out of his thoughts for the second time in as many minutes.

He was just about to tell her where to go when another thought occurred to him.

"Do we still have any of our potions project left?"

"The polyjuice potion?" the girl smiled slyly. "Yes, but we have to leave some for Professor Snape to mark. Why? Want to try again? I promise to get the right piece of hair this time."

A plan began to form in the Slytherin's head.

"I think I'll manage better on my own this time."

With that said, he discarded the unread paper and quickly left the hall.

***

He found Harry by the lake later that day, in the same place he had been the previous night. The boy was idly skimming rocks across the water, the gentle breeze teasing his messy fringe. He was dressed in his trademark oversized Muggle clothes and for a moment Draco found himself content to watch. The boy appeared more at ease now than the night before and it struck Draco that he had never really seen him in any context outside of their usual fights and rivalry. Did he usually do such things? Was Harry a loner at heart? Perhaps he shouldn't be pursuing this matter? Perhaps it was better to just leave him be, let him sort it out on his own? However, as he watched, the Gryffindor turned towards him briefly bending over to retrieve another stone. In that brief instant Draco caught sight of those vacant dull eyes and found his resolve renewed. He didn't have to do much after all, just encourage the boy to discuss things with the Granger girl. She would be able to help him even if the weasel wouldn't.

He approached nervously, and coughed slightly to catch the other boy's attention. Harry looked up somewhat surprised.

"Neville?"

"Hi," Draco faltered momentarily caught off guard by the expression on the boy's face. Harry appeared to be appraising him in a strange manner. In a way it was guarded and suspicious, but he was also smiling in a peculiar fashion.

"I wondered when you would show up," he said before skimming the rock he had just picked up.

Draco marveled at the boy's manner. He never realised how gentle and enigmatic Harry could be, when he wasn't bristling with anger. Draco had always thought him scruffy and ungainly but here in his element the boy seemed different. He was quite graceful really, and somehow his messy hair and strange clothes seemed to suit him. Draco clamped down on these thoughts and reminded himself he was here for a purpose.

"I wanted to talk to you about last night."

"Oh you do, do you?" the Gryffindor replied with that strange look again.

"Err ... yeah ..."

"How did your charms essay go?"

Draco-Neville furrowed his brow in confusion, again caught off guard by the Gryffindor's questions.

"Fine," he responded at last.

Harry smiled strangely again but said nothing.

"Harry, I was thinking about what you said last night and I think you should be talking about it with someone else ..."

"Oh?"

The Gryffindor clearly wasn't open to the idea of talking. He seemed bent on trying to change the subject or avoid the issue.

"Yeah, why don't you talk to Hermione? She's good at this sort of thing maybe she could help?"

"I was pretty drunk and messed up last night you know? I wasn't really making much sense, just talking shit. It's nothing really."

Draco did know and it was not 'nothing'. Harry had been more than just upset and rambling. Draco was not one to be moved by others easily. The Gryffindor's sorrow had been genuine. Nothing short of that could have brought a tear to the Slytherin's eye.

"I think it was more than nothing."

"Yeah well ... can't do anything about it anyway."

Draco found himself frustrated with the other boy's flippant attitude. Why was he being so standoffish? Did he have to be drunk to open up?

"You have to do something Harry it's ... it's not doing you any good to just ignore things."

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know," he admitted, because he really didn't. He didn't understand enough about the boy and his problems to help. It wasn't his business anyway. "I think you should talk to Hermione."

There he had said it. This was enough, Granger would do a better job of helping him. This was stupid he was already in too deep. He should leave now and let Harry's friends sort this out.

"Why not to you?"

"Huh?"

"Why can't I talk to you?"

This was not going well, Draco mused.

"I'm not really good at this sort of thing."

"Nonsense, you were the one who helped me over summer with Sirus."

"Err ... well yes," Draco's mind raced. "But Hermione ..."

"Is too busy," the Gryffindor interrupted. "She's trying to do a ridiculous workload again. Wants to get all her NEWTs."

Draco briefly wondered how it was possible to do the entire NEWT course when many of them would overlap and clash.

"Besides, I think I'd rather talk with you."

Draco gulped nervously. This was not going to plan.

"So, what do you think is the problem?" Harry asked with a look of suspicious inquiry.

The Slytherin thought for a moment. He could think of many things, but should he say anything? Should he try and help? This wasn't the plan! The plan was to get Harry talking to someone else, someone who could help him. But he did have some expertise in at least one area of the other boy's dilemma. It couldn't hurt to voice his opinions on that surely?

"I think you are trying to live up to the expectation of others."

Harry lowered the next stone he was about to throw and stared curiously. Draco quickly lowered his gaze unable to meet the other boy's scrutiny.

"Go on," he said softly.

Draco-Neville swallowed again nervously.

"You have to live your own life, you know?" Draco found himself saying. "If you can't be true to yourself then you won't be happy."

"Its not that easy."

"I know."

Draco did know. He had spent most of his life desperately trying to live up to the expectations of his parents. If it hadn't been for his father's imprisonment and the brief respite that had allowed him, he would probably still be trying to do so.

"I know its not, but if you just don't feel something, if you just don't believe it in your heart then you can't pretend forever. It's too great a burden. The pressure and the guilt will build until ..."

Until you choose to give evidence against your own father at his trial just to get him out of your life.

"Until?" the Gryffindor prompted.

"Until you give in anyway ... and things will be worse by then," Draco fumbled. This wasn't supposed to be about him it was suppose to be about Harry! Why was he talking about his own experiences, his own secrets?

"I see." Harry said simply. Draco could see the other boy was at least considering his words. He had stopped tossing stones and was seated amongst the leaves, legs drawn up against his chin, brow furrowed in though. Draco-Neville, who had been standing outside the little clearing, now found himself coming closer and sitting down nearby. Not too close, just near enough so that he could lower his voice.

"Just talk to Ginny."

Harry's expression darkened.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone. Not again. Not ever. I'd rather die."

Draco found himself unsettled by the conviction in the other boy's tone. He began to worry that his problems ran deeper than he had suspected. Did Harry believe he hurt people? Did Harry hurt people? Draco couldn't even be sure. He had always thought Harry was renowned for his compassion and kindness to others. Was all of this unfounded? Or was the boy merely judging himself too harshly?

The pair remained silent for the moment, as Harry seemed to be contemplating something. Draco meanwhile found contentment in merely studying the other boy curiously. The gentle breeze again teased that messy fringe occasionally lifting it enough so that he could make out the famous scar. Such a strange blemish upon the boy's otherwise perfect soft, smooth skin. Though clearly unhappy Draco found that face enchanting, it spoke volumes of emotion and sincerity. So different from the cold unfeeling masks common to the pureblooded wizards he had grown up with. He soon found himself uncomfortable though and needing to break the silence.

"I'm sure she'd understand," he said, but the words were hollow. Truth was he knew less about Ginny than he did Harry.

"I don't think they would," Harry said at last. "I think Ron's good evidence of that."

Draco-Neville couldn't help but scowl at the mention of that name. He had never had much regard for the weasel and somehow this impression had sunk even further.

"Well, if they won't accept you for who you are then maybe they aren't much in the way of friends," he found himself saying, but then immediately wishing he hadn't. Harry's thoughtful expression disappeared and was replaced with that previous stubborn and unyielding air.

"What would you know," he spat in anger.

The Slytherin recoiled slightly, surprised by the sudden change in the boy. Harry then stood up and flashed him an angry look.

"Maybe talking to you was a bad idea after all."

And with that he left, before the Slytherin could even think over what he had said wrong. For a moment he considered chasing after him, but his rational mind screamed for attention. What the hell was he doing? This wasn't the plan! He had no business talking with Harry in this way.

"Don't forget to ask Hermione to check over your charms essay," the Gryffindor shouted over his shoulder as he stormed back to the castle.

Draco-Neville remained seated uncomfortably amongst the dry leaves, his mind racing. Things had certainly turned out differently from his expectations. Worse still, he couldn't just leave the matter as it stood. He would at least have to speak to Harry one more time, just long enough to get him talking to someone else.

He made his way back to the castle searching for Pansy, for he would need her help. He just hoped there was enough of their polyjuice project left for one more go. A familiar sensation rippled across his body, as it began the transformation. By the time he reached the castle he was back to his own form. He found Pansy in the library studying. She smiled at him as he wandered over to her.

"Hello Draco Darling," she cooed.

He ignored her sweetness.

"Pansy I need your help after all," he said, wishing he didn't. "I need more of Longbottom's hair or something for the potion."

She was clearly happy to have his attention, but nonetheless put out.

"How am I going to get another bit of his hair! It was a mistake the first time."

Draco growled. He didn't have time for this.

"Your doing NEWT charms with Flitwick just pinch a bit when he's not looking."

Honestly it wasn't hard the boy was so dense he wouldn't even notice.

"Draco, Longbottom doesn't do charms."

The Slytherin suddenly felt as though the floor had given way beneath him.

"What?" he gasped barely whispering.

"He doesn't do charms! Everyone knows he barely got an OWL for it. He's such a squib, Flitwick only takes the top students for NEWT charms," she said proudly.

Draco fell heavily into the chair next to her.

"Draco? Are you alright?"