Mistaken Identity

Harry abruptly awoke from his slumber drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He was confused and disorientated, and it took him a moment to recognize the awful ringing in his ears as being the remnants of his own cries. It was not uncommon for a Monday morning to wake amidst nightmares worse than usual. Sunday night Occlumency lessons had a tendency to tire his mind and leave it vulnerable to the Dark Lord's own twisted psyche. On such nights he would typically find himself tormented by floating images of Sirius desperately struggling against unseen forces. He would frantically reach out to grab hold of his godfather's outstretched hands only to find them snatched from reach. Left with nothing but the feelings of guilt and failure he would simply cry out the man's name again and again. No one would wake him though, for not even these desperate pitiful pleas could breach the silencing charms cast upon his bed. Instead he would remain trapped in his nightmares, sometimes for hours at a time until mercifully waking on his own.

He retrieved his glasses from the nightstand mechanically, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. The room was still quite dark, but he nonetheless roused himself rather than risk further dreams. Hoping a morning shower would alleviate some of the discomfort, he collected his towel and toiletries and trudged out of the dorm towards the communal bathroom.

The familiar self-deprecating thoughts then began as they usually did of a morning. Derogatory and abusive the voices in his head assailed him from within, armed with all of his secrets and insecurities. They accused him of hurting others, of bearing responsibility for Sirius's death, of being a pathetic and perverted freak. The silence of the halls prevented him from voicing such thoughts out loud, but this did not lessen their impact. By the time he reached the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror he felt nothing but disgust and loathing for the miserable creature staring back.

"I hate you," he whispered.

Wearing nothing but a towel around his slender waist he approached the showers and for the first time noticed billows of steam rising. Alerted to the presence of someone else his eyes scanned the room and moments later fell upon a familiar mop of red hair. Harry immediately felt uncomfortable and turned to leave - Ron did not like sharing the bathroom with him anymore. But the cold sweat upon his skin was sickly and uncomfortable and the relief offered by the hot water seemed so tempting.

Were things not back to normal with Ron now anyway?

He gave into temptation and approached the shower furthest away from the other boy, all the while taking care to avert his eyes. Before he could discard his towel though, he felt Ron's gaze upon him and immediately froze, fingers a few inches short of the damp silver faucet.

"I'll be finished in a minute," Ron said in a cold uncompromising voice, its subtext obviously a command.

Harry guessed it was reasonable for Ron not to trust him in such circumstances, though it still hurt. He went over to one of the sinks on the other side of the partition and cleaned his teeth as he waited. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes but forcibly clamped down before they could escape. He did not have such control of his thoughts though, and they renewed their assault, fresh with new material.

No wonder he doesn't trust you, you're a pervert after all.

"I hate you," he whispered to his reflection in the fogged mirror.

Some minutes later Ron emerged from the showers fully clothed and left without even saying hello. Clearly things weren't back to normal, at least not as far as showers were concerned. Later at breakfast though, the incident appeared forgotten. Ron had spent most of his time with Hermione as usual, but had favoured Harry with a short conversation about Quidditch, in between mouthfuls of toast. It was probably more than he deserved anyway.

He left breakfast with Hermione who was to spend most of the morning keeping him company in their double transfigurations class with McGonagall.

"Harry about Saturday night ..." she said as they wandered towards class.

"Yeah?" he replied fearing that she had finally noticed his deteriorating state.

"You really shouldn't encourage Ron to do such things. Underage drinking could loose him his prefect badge," she admonished.

"Oh," he replied flatly.

"I know you did well in the game and I know we all had cause for celebration, but really Harry, you should know better."

The guilt that was never far aware these days came to the forefront of his mind in earnest. Yet another example of the bad influence he was on his friends. Why did they put up with him? Why didn't they all just tell him to go away? Probably because they were kind and decent people, unlike himself. If he had a shred of decency in him he would set them all free.

"I hate you," he said softly to his reflection in a nearby windowpane.

Hermione did not notice though as she began spouting forth transfiguration questions that might be on the morning's quiz. They hadn't spoken much after that, she being too intent on paying attention and he being too lost in his own damning thoughts.

Lunchtime was to prove even more uncomfortable though, as Ginny, who did not have classes Monday morning and so typically skipped breakfast, now arrived with that sickly beaming smile upon her face. She made her way over to him leaning in to claim a quick kiss before she sat down. He obliged her, though it only made him feel worse. His headache and fatigue now caused a haze to settle across his vision. It isolated him from the conversations of the outside world and enhanced the accusing voices in his head.

Why are you leading her on, they asked. She's not done anything to deserve being stuck with a freak like you. Why don't you just tear out her heart and make her miserable like you do everyone else around you?

"Sorry I couldn't spend time with you last night Harry," Ginny said leaning over him to take a sandwich. "Louise was in such a state after she found out that bastard was two-timing her. I had to spend all evening being supportive."

She gave him another sweet peck on the cheek.

"Really makes me thankful to be with someone like you."

"Yeah," he said, as the guilt and torment squeezed his insides even tighter. For a moment he thought he wasn't going to be able to breath, as everything started to overwhelm him again, just like Saturday night. Everything everyone was saying just seemed to compounded the awful feelings inside, feeding those terrible thoughts in his head.

"I can't take this anymore."

He wasn't even sure if he said it out loud. Ginny hadn't noticed, she was still chatting away idly. But he could not even hear what she was saying over the voices screaming insults in his ears. He was desperate to silence them, desperate to rid himself of these feelings.

Abruptly he stood and after making some excuse about forgetting a textbook, he turned and left the hall.

If he had not been so caught up in his own thoughts, he might have noticed a most unlikely Slytherin watching his every move.

***

Draco found himself heading towards the now familiar place by the lake amongst the tall reeds. He had not really stopped to think what he was doing until he caught sight of Harry there, slumped amongst the leaves. For a moment he hesitated, again questioning himself as to what he was doing and why. But before he could dwell upon those thoughts he heard a faint sob carried on the breeze and approached instinctively.

"Hello," he interrupted softly.

The Gryffindor looked up startled. He brushed at the tears streaked across his face and for a moment seemed to panic. He made a motion as if to stand but then appeared to change his mind mid way.

"How was your sister's birthday Seamus?" he asked, clearly trying to sound nonchalant and lighthearted. The effect was ruined by the sniveling sounds he was making, not to mention his puffy face.

"You know I don't know the answer to that," Draco-Seamus replied. He wasn't even sure if Finnigan had a sister.

The Gryffindor appeared to relax a bit.

"Not Neville today?"

"I ran out of that particular sample."

"I see."

Draco approached slowly, checking to see how upset Harry was. He had noticed how miserable the Gryffindor had been at breakfast and had seen the exchange over lunch with the Weasley girl. He had guessed this was where he would be.

"You're not doing so well again huh?" he fumbled uncomfortably, still unsure as to what he was doing.

Harry frowned, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"You could say that," he whispered miserably. " I'm not having a good day."

Before Draco even knew what he was doing he had bridged the gap between them and placed a comforting hand upon the other boy's shoulder.

"Same things as last time?" he asked gently.

There was a nod.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Why do you care?" Harry snapped in response.

Draco started and quickly withdrew his hand as if noticing the gesture for the first time. Why did he care? He wasn't really sure. He had spent the last five years fighting with Harry, competing against him and hating him. But did he still hate him? He just didn't know.

"I'm not sure," he replied, deciding to be honest.

The other boy seemed to calm down a bit, his breathing becoming more regular. He turned to face him with a curious expression.

"Why are you here then?" he asked.

"Because you looked like you could do with company," Draco found himself answering automatically, the meaning suddenly striking him. "I guess I do care ... a bit," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Why else was he doing all of this? He was free from his father's influence now, he no longer needed to openly champion the dark lord. His struggle with Harry had been the very embodiment of his struggle to prove his loyalty to his family. It was no longer necessary, he could simply ignore Harry now, have nothing to do with him at all. Yet he found himself here and now wanting to comfort his ex-rival.

"Why?" Harry asked voicing the Slytherin's own thoughts. The question was genuine, not an accusation.

"I'm not sure," Draco responded again, because he wasn't. "You see, lately I've been through quite a bit myself and ... I'm not really sure who I am anymore."

The Gryffindor chuckled, although it sounded a little off.

"Can't help you there, I don't know who you are either."

Draco-Seamus found himself smiling at the little quip, but then a thought occurred.

"You knew I wasn't Longbottom yesterday didn't you?"

The other boy faced away from him, but nodded.

"Why did you talk to me then?"

Harry picked up a leaf an started toying with it idly.

"I'm not sure," he responded.

Draco frowned at this unsatisfactory response, but before he could say anything the boy continued.

"I guess I needed to talk, and well, you already knew what was bugging me."

"But you were trusting someone you knew was being deceitful."

"I don't trust you," Harry said glancing at him warily.

"Then why not talk to Hermione? Or one of your other Gryffindor friends?"

The other boy raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"So your not a Gryffindor?"

Draco-Seamus gagged.

"Don't worry I already knew that. Everyone in Gryffindor knows Neville doesn't do charms."

Draco noticed the other boy seemed to be smiling a little. Perhaps just chatting like this was helping? It certainly didn't seem to be doing any harm. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was rather enjoying talking too. There was a certain magic in the moment, a spell cast through the combination of conversation and serene setting. It felt good to speak like this. He had never really spoken openly to anyone before, certainly it was not the kind of behaviour his father would encouraged.

"You didn't answer my question before. Why not talk to Hermione?"

"Why don't you talk to me?" Harry asked in response. "I mean properly, not pretending to be someone else. I don't even know your name."

The spell was broken. The sudden reminder as to the true state of affairs between them catapulted Draco back to reality.

"You don't want to know who I am," he said darkly.

Who was he kidding? This was ridiculous. He was here to get the other boy talking to someone else and that was all. Harry was not his friend. He wouldn't even be talking to him if it weren't for the illusion of the potion.

"I really think you need to talk to Hermione or someone about what's upsetting you."

The other boy appeared to notice the change in him.

"Why can't I talk to you?" he asked gently.

"You can't," Draco snapped in response, but then immediately wished he hadn't. The small smile that was tugging at the corner of the other boy's mouth disappeared instantly as the gloom resettled.

"I mean you don't want to," he supplied quickly. "I mean ... look, why don't you just talk to your friends?" he finished exasperatedly.

"I can't," Harry responded stubbornly. "They wouldn't understand. I'm ..." he paused, lowering his eyes to the ground. "I'm different from them."

Draco found the resignation and depression in the boy's tone strangely distressing. Why was he getting so involved in all of this?

"Just because you might be different doesn't mean they won't understand," he offered, unsure if he believed his own words. Truth was he knew what it felt like to be different from those around you, and in his case there had been no offers of understanding either.

The Gryffindor didn't seem to take much comfort in his words. Perhaps he could hear the uncertainty in his voice? Draco tried to think of something else to say. Something based upon his own experiences.

"Besides, if you are ... different, then you can't change things by pretending to be like everyone else, believe me."

Harry eyed him cautiously. He didn't seem particularly convinced but he was at least thinking things through.

"I think you should at least give it a go, talk to Hermione or someone. Not Weasley obviously he's ..." he trailed off remembering how defensive the Gryffindor was over his friends. "I mean surely there is someone else who knows you better and who you can talk to about things?"

"There was someone," Harry said, pausing for moment. "But he's dead now."

Draco found himself lost for words, feeling terribly guilty for the renewed sorrow now apparent in the Gryffindor. He didn't know what to say this time, what he could possibly say to make the other boy feel better. He had never been close to anyone who had died before. He wasn't really that close to anyone now. What could he possibly ...

"How did you know to come here?" Harry asked, suddenly changing the topic.

"Huh?" the Slytherin responded confused. "Here? Well it's where you were last time..."

"Not here," Harry interrupted. "I mean as in now, how did you know I was here now and was ... you know ... upset?"

"Oh, well, you seemed so miserable at breakfast and lunch and when I saw you leave I kind of assumed you'd come here."

"You noticed?"

"Err ... I wasn't spying or anything," the Slytherin responded feeling a little defensive.

"I didn't say you were, it's just ..."

There was another pause as Draco waited for the Gryffindor to continue, but he didn't. The Slytherin started to worry that he would be nearing the end of his potion soon. He had to get this over with now.

"Harry why don't you talk to someone else?"

"I told you, I can't. Why don't you want to talk to me?"

"I told you, you don't want me to."

"Maybe I do."

"Why?" Draco demanded exasperatedly.

"For a start?" Harry asked rhetorically, turning to meet the other boy's eyes. "You're the only one who's noticed something was wrong."

For the second time in as many minutes Draco found himself speechless. He also felt something else, a strange kind of warmth from within. There had been a flicker of brightness in those deep green eyes, the kind of spark he had witnessed before but only on those few occasions he had successfully gotten to the Gryffindor during their fights. That he had inspired such a spark felt good. Not because he was triumphing over Harry, not because he was asserting superiority. No, it felt good this time for some other reason.

"Thanks," Harry said after a while, leaning the side of head onto his knees.

Draco started to feel uncomfortable now. He was not used to receiving gratitude, not for this sort of thing. In fact, now that he noticed it, the other boy was staring at him too intensely as well. It was time to leave, the potion would be running out soon anyway.

"We better get to class," he said, rising to his feet. "Don't want to be late huh?"

He turned to leave but the other boy stopped him.

"Will I speak with you again?" he asked softly.

Definitely not, thought Draco. This whole conversation thing was spiraling out of control. Harry would just have to work things out with someone else or maybe even on his own.

But as he turned to say this he was dumb struck by the sight of the other boy. Harry seemed so small and fragile, with his knees curled up to his chest. Those deep green eyes pleaded with him to say yes.

"Okay," Draco said at last, feeling another rush of pleasure at the reaction this earned in the Gryffindor. Harry rose to his feet also, and despite his puffy eyes and disheveled look he seemed better.

"Good."

***

Draco paid little attention in his afternoon classes, which was not unusual since he usually found arithmancy lessons quite dull. What was unusual though was the smile that kept forcing its way onto his face whenever he wasn't concentrating on acting indifferent. He could accept that he was definitely in a good mood, but was somewhat bothered by the idea that others would find out. Pansy had already noticed when he had come back from lunch grinning like a fool. Though he had managed to explain away his look then, it was still unnerving that she had noticed.

Again and again he found himself pondering over his afternoon rendezvous, and his promise to meet again. Though there were a thousand things wrong with the situation, he just couldn't help but feel pleased with himself. Okay there was the issue of him completely deceiving Harry and other practicalities such as how they would arrange to meet and what Harry was going to call him, but on the whole he felt good.

Such thoughts were completely dispelled from his mind though, when he found Professor Snape waiting for him outside of the Slytherin Dungeons, an unreadable expression upon his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, you will accompany me to my office now," the potions master stated firmly, giving no hint as to what the matter concerned.

He led the way though the winding Hogwarts hallways at rather a brisk pace. Draco followed, wondering what on earth this was all about. He found he had to half jog just to keep up with the man. As he reached the potions master's office and was swept inside he suddenly found himself wondering if Snape had discovered that he had been using the polyjuice potion outside of class.

"Tea?" Snape offered.

This must be serious, Draco thought shaking his head at the offer. The man prepared a cup for himself and eventually sat across from him seeming rather hesitant to begin.

"Mr. Malfoy," he began pausing to clear his through for a moment. "I have some rather bad news for you."

Draco gulped involuntarily.

"You're father has escaped from prison."

"Oh," Draco found himself saying. He was not pleased of course, but he new it was inevitable.

"There's more unfortunately," the Professor continued. "There is no easy way to say this, but ... we believe your identity may have been compromised."

Draco felt a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

"A ministry official who was working on your father's case has been found dead you see. He had been dead for quite some months though, which means it's quite possible that it was not this official who worked on the case but one of Voldemort's spies."

"Do they know about what I ... said ... in evidence?"

The man across from him sighed heavily, a dark expression across his features.

"We don't know. We simply don't know, but it is possible."

I'm dead, thought Draco. They are going to come for me and make me pay for betraying the Dark Lord. It's all over.

The potions master must have read his expressions for he quickly interjected.

"We don't know that they do know we just ... don't know," he finished dejectedly.

"You told me I would be safe," Draco spat, anger easier to deal with than fear.

"Mr. Malfoy ..."

"What am I going to do?!" he interrupted loudly. "I'm as good as dead if they find out."

"Please ..."

"You told me no one would find out!" he shouted standing.

"If you would just ..."

"What am I going to do?"

"SIT DOWN!"

Draco sat obediently, startled by the man's outburst.

"If you recall Mr. Malfoy I also told you that day, that you could not delay choosing sides forever."

Draco knew what he was talking about. Snape had told him months ago, at the trial that he would still have to choose between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore sooner or later. He just thought he had meant years from now. Not so soon anyway.

"Why?"

Snape relaxed back into his chair, satisfied there would be no more outbursts.

"Because, if you were to join Professor Dumbledore more could be done for your protection. The Headmaster could share more information with you and let you in on developments if he knew he could trust you."

Nobody would trust me anyway, thought Draco. Son of an arch death eater, everyone has made up their minds about me long ago.

"Mr. Malfoy I know what it is that you are going through, believe me I have gone through it myself."

Draco didn't argue just nodded silently.

"You will need to think on this of course. I will ask the Headmaster for some time, but it cannot be for much longer. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded again.

"There is one other thing. I understand many death eaters, including your father, are skilled legilimens. If one were to question you, it would not be difficult for them to learn of your ... actions."

The potions master took a sip of his tea before continuing.

"I can teach you a skill that can be used to block other peoples ability to read your thoughts."

Draco looked up hopefully.

"Occlumency? When?"

"Right after dinner if you like."

Draco felt hope surge through him. At least this was something he could work at.

"You might not always be my sole student though," the potions master said, satisfied with the boy's eagerness. "There may be one other in the class."