Differentiating Thresholds

Chapter 5 - Spitting Image

A musty odor permeated Draco's nostrils as he leaned over Potter's Hogwarts trunk. His quidditch uniform lay on top, scattered beneath that were wizard cards, dozens of them. Potter must have been an avid collector. He picked one up and was surprised to find it was of Harry. It read:

Harry Potter, also known as The-Boy-Who-Lived, is the only person to ever survive the Avada Kedavra curse. He defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) twice, once as an infant, which earned him the infamous lightning bolt scar on his forehead and again in The War of Prophecy in 1998.

Draco turned the card back over and looked at the picture of Harry. It must have been taken soon after the war; he looked just as he had during their schooldays. Same unruly black hair, same round glasses. But the eyes had that haunted look they held now. The body of a boy, the eyes of a man, Draco thought. It was a sad look, one that held many secrets and told tales of death. Draco shuddered and set the card aside, not wanting that image ingrained in his mind.

Beneath those were some old school books: a potions notebook, a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and an old transfiguration notebook. Blank pages of parchment and a few broken quills were buried at the bottom along with a small, brown, leather bound book that instantly drew his attention.

He pulled it out and began to flip through the pages. It was Potter's journal from his Hogwarts days. There were his muggle musings on the wizarding world, various passages about that git Weasley, Granger, and to his surprise, one about him. He wasn't at all shocked to note that the entry was filled with various four-letter words.

He flipped ahead toward the end of the book and was startled when a piece of paper fluttered onto his lap. Upon closer inspection, he found that it wasn't a piece of paper at all.

A photo of Potter and Granger grinned up at him, Harry casually slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders and then winking salaciously at the camera. It was a side he had never seen before, a side of the boy he was sure few had ever seen and it felt strangely intimate. Next to him, Hermione kept turning her head to look off to her left where the picture had been torn. That was then Draco noticed another arm around her waist and a quick flash of red hair as the unseen occupant shifted. Weasley. The image of him with the knife flashed into his mind and he found he had to take a calming breath. The bastard was dead and that was all that mattered, though he wasn't quite sure why he even cared. After one last wink from Harry, he slipped the photo back into the journal and turned to the last page. It was blank. Doubling back, he finally found the last entry and froze.

There, taped to the top of the page, was a picture of himself sitting under a tree. It must have been taken in the beginning of their seventh year before he left. His hair was already shoulder length. He had refused to cut it at all the previous year and during that last summer despite his father's wishes. It had made him feel alive, his last bit of freedom before he took the mark. He read the words beneath it and his heart stopped.

He's gone. Draco's dead.

The script was wobbly and curved off at the end in a jagged line, as if Potter couldn't hold the quill straight. He thought back to the scene in the pensieve, Hermione holding Harry as he cried and he wondered if the other man still felt the same way about him. He should have felt disgust, anger, something other than the mild curiosity that was urging him to read on. There was nothing else on the page besides those four words, so he flipped to the one before it. The entry was dated two months prior to the last one.

He's quieter, more withdrawn. I don't know what to make of it honestly. He's still beautiful of course. How could he not be? But sometimes I find myself hating him. Hating the fact that he's too blind to see that following in his father's footsteps is the biggest mistake he'll ever make. I swear I'll kill Lucius one day for everything he's done to me, to all of us.

When did it start? He needed to know. Draco flipped back until he found the entry he was looking for. He knew Potter would have written an entry his first night back at Hogwarts during their seventh year and he was right.

Being back at Hogwarts this year is...strange. Quite a few of the students are missing. Neville and Seamus aren't here or Luna. Dean said Seamus' mum forbade him from coming back and Neville's been taken to a safe house. No one except Dumbledore knows where. Bellatrix Lestrange has been after him for months. I'm going to kill that woman before the end. I can promise you that.

Half the Slytherins are missing. No surprise there. Malfoy came back though. I honestly didn't expect him to return this year. I'm surprised he hasn't taken the mark yet and run off to join Voldemort just like his pathetic father. There's something different about him as well. He walked right past me on the platform when we arrived without spitting one word toward me, Ron or Hermione. I think that's the first time in seven years I haven't been harassed by him. Something's definitely going on.

Each entry after that mentioned him in some way. Potter had been watching him on his "map," whatever that was. Potter, under his invisibility cloak, had followed Draco to the quidditch pitch those nights he needed to get away. Potter had watched him across the Great Hall as he ate his supper. The Gryffindor had been stalking him and Draco hadn't even noticed.

He abruptly shut the journal, mind reeling. How could he have not noticed? And why didn't he feel disgusted? He should have been revolted. It was Potter, for fuck's sake! And yet...didn't you do the same? Didn't you purposely follow him, seek him out just to see the expression on his face, to make him react? His inner voice responded. He had; he knew he had. The hate and loathing and jealousy he felt for The Boy Who Lived was wrapped up in unending fascination that kept him doing those things. But he had never felt anything more than that. He had hated Potter. To know that Potter had thought of him that way though...

Flustered, he quickly placed everything back in the trunk, dragging it into the corner where the dent marks in the rug showed it had been sitting. Carefully, he draped the invisibility cloak over it and stood to make sure it all looked as it had before.

"What are you doing?" The voice was tight and barely above a whisper.

He turned to find Potter glaring at him from the doorway, fists clenched at his side. Draco took a deep breath and forced his body and voice into a mask of nonchalance.

"I was just looking at the photos. Did you know that Sirius Black was my cousin?"

The lie came easily to his lips. He saw the suspicion on Harry's face but kept an air of innocence. There was a rush of relief when Potter took the bait. Though his fists still remained clenched at his side, the tightness in his arms and shoulders released some.

"I've known since fifth year," Harry said brusquely. "There was a tapestry in the Black house with the family tree on it." Draco nodded.

"My mother told me about it. How did you know?"

"Sirius," he said by way of explanation. "It was headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix during the war and I lived there for awhile after it ended. Look, Malfoy," he said suddenly. "I don't mind you staying here, I really don't. But I don't want you in my room when I'm not around. Understood?"

"Sure, Potter," he said casually, a bit annoyed at being reprimanded, as he brushed past him and out of the room. He heard Potter's footsteps behind him as he made his way down the hall and into the living room.

The last rays of sunlight streamed in from the glass doors leading out to the balcony from the adjoined dining room. Draco sat himself down on the cream colored couch, watching the play of light on the wooden coffee table before him and waited for Potter to do the same. Instead, he headed out onto the balcony, slipping a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. Slightly aggravated, Draco lifted himself off the couch with a loud sigh and followed him through the open door. The balcony was barely room enough for three or four people and a white iron railing ran around the edges of it. He rested his arms on it and leaned forward, watching the slow crawl of traffic on the street below.

"I need to go to the Ministry," he said matter-of-factly.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Draco turned angry eyes on Potter but the man stood staring calmly out at the horizon.

"What do you mean you don't think it's a good idea?"

Draco's voice shook with anger which he didn't even try to mask. He tried to find the expression in Potter's eyes but the sooty lashes covered it as he glanced down at the street below. He took a long drag from his cigarette then flicked it over the railing.

"Malfoy, for the past nine years the whole of the wizarding world believed you were dead." He turned his head to look at him then and Draco was sure he saw something like sadness in the other man's eyes. "There was a fire at Malfoy Manor. Your mother died. Your father killed himself from the despair of knowing his family was dead-"

"I know this Potter," Draco ground out between gritted teeth. He resisted the urge to punch the other man in the face.

"All I'm saying is the circumstances are quite suspicious. No one knows where you were, what you did. You still haven't told me where you were." Harry lifted one heavy dark eyebrow and straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know what it looks like, don't you?"

"What does it look like, Potter? Enlighten me if you will." He was beyond aggravated now.

"It looks like you were the one who started the fire. Did you kill your mother, Malfoy? Did you fake your own death to-"

But he didn't even give Potter a chance to finish. Before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed the other man and slammed him into the glass door behind them. He could see cracks beginning to form and spread behind the other man, but he didn't care.

"How dare you," Draco spat into Potter's face. "I loved her. I loved my mother, Potter and I would never ever do anything to harm her. I. Loved. Her." Each word was punctuated with a hard shove. He looked into those unnaturally green eyes and saw the flash of surprise in them. They stared at each other for a few moments, Draco's eyes like daggers; Harry only staring back blankly. Then he gave Potter one last shove and released him, going back to his spot at the railing.

His whole body was shaking with rage. How could Potter insinuate that he could, would do such a thing? Did it really look like that? Is that what everyone would think?

"Then what really happened?" He didn't take his eyes off the street below, but he could sense Potter beside him.

For a moment he thought of not answering the other man, remaining stubbornly silent, maybe even walking away and locking himself in his room until he calmed down. But then Potter's hand was on his shoulder and Draco turned venomous gray eyes on him. Harry's eyes were soft, understanding and Draco reluctantly felt his anger and resolve melting away. Not sure what to do, he turned back to the street and released an exasperated breath. Did it really matter if he told Potter or not?

"Malfoy..."

"It was all Snape's idea..."

Potions class had just ended and Draco walked to Professor Snape's desk, handing him the small vial filled with the electric blue potion.

"I'd like to see you in my office after supper, Mr. Malfoy." Draco stared at him wondering what he could have done to require such a meeting. "You may go," Snape said dismissively. He looked at his head of house in confusion for a second before composing himself and striding past the smirking faces of Finnegan and Weasley.

Dinner was quite an unnerving affair and he found himself pushing his food around his plate rather than eating it. As soon as students started piling out of the Great Hall, he made his way down to the dungeons to Snape's office. He knocked on the heavy wooden door.

"You may come in, Mr. Malfoy," he heard the older man say from the other side.

Draco walked slowly into the office, eyes taking a minute to adjust to the low lighting. A fire burned in the grate off to the far right, the only source of light in the room, and it was there that he found Professor Snape seated. He gestured to the large armchair opposite his.

"Sit."

Draco did as he was told, hands folded neatly in his lap, spine unnaturally straight. He had to admit he was nervous. He looked over at the dark-haired man and was surprised to see the weariness on his face. It was then Snape turned black eyes on him.

"It is time, Draco. The portkey will be ready in a few moments and then you will be transported to the manor. Your mother wishes to spend some time with you before you go."

"And when is it supposed to happen?"

"Sunday night."

"Oh."

There was a tightening in Draco's chest. So it was time. He would take the mark whether he wanted to or not. Snape must have seen the distress on his face for he reached out then and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"There is another way," the man said, softly.

"Sir?"

"I can offer you a way out, Draco." The young man's eyes went wide. "It will not be easy and it will hurt those you love...temporarily."

"What must I do?" The desperation was obvious in his voice, but he didn't care.

Snape crossed to his desk and popped open a small hidden drawer on the underside of it. He pulled a vial out, a gray misty substance swirling inside the glass. He came back to Draco and handed it to him. The blond took the vial warily.

"What is it, sir?"

"It's called a Spitting Image potion. It's banned by the Ministry of course. Very few people even know of its existence."

"What does it do?" He peered at the potion, the gray mist reminding him of rain clouds.

"As the name suggests, it creates a spitting image of the drinker, a very corporeal version of you. A twin, if you will. The duplicate cannot speak or even think for itself. It is a blank copy, a clean slate."

"But I don't understand. How will that help?"

Snape sat back down in the armchair, face purposely avoiding Draco. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. He knew whatever Snape was going to say next wouldn't be easy.

"Tomorrow, after your mother has retired for the night, I want you to take the potion. There will be a tingling sensation throughout your whole body. When you feel that, then and only then you will step forward three steps. Count to five, then turn and your "spitting image" shall be there waiting for you. This is where the hard part comes in." Snape sighed and turned to Draco. "You will have to kill yourself." At the younger man's horrified look, he clarified. "You will have to kill your duplicate. After, you will place him on the bed and leave this-" He pulled another vial out of his robe pocket. "-in his hands. Then you are to leave. Take nothing, Draco, not even your wand."

"But how am I--"

"You will survive." The curtness in Snape's voice silenced the protest on the tip of his tongue.

"And my mother? She'll think I'm--"

"Dead," Snape finished for him. "Yes, she will and so will The Dark Lord. It will look as if you took your own life. With Lucius in Azkaban and you "dead," Narcissa will not be of any use to the dark lord. You'll both be free."

Draco knew what Snape said was true. His mother would be free; Voldemort wouldn't want anything to do with her now that her husband and her son had failed him.

"And where do I go?" He asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer.

"Into the muggle world." Draco nodded. It had been exactly what he had expected him to say.

"Will I ever be able to come back?" To think he may never see his parents again was terrifying.

"When the war is ended and I feel it is safe, I will contact you. I cannot tell you how at the moment, but I will find you, Draco. I promise you that. But if I don't..."

"...then it means you didn't survive," he finished for him. Snape nodded. The words 'and you'll be stuck in the muggle world' hovered unspoken in the air between them.

"It is up to you, of course. This is your decision."

Draco knew the words were true. Snape would never pressure him one way or the other. But there were so many things that could go wrong. Would he even be able to survive in the muggle world, alone, with no wand? But if he stayed...he'd either end up in Azkaban or dead, neither of which he found appealing.

"I'll do it." He was surprised at the strength in his voice. Snape clasped both of his shoulders in his hands and looked Draco square in the eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

And then Snape did something Draco wasn't prepared for. He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and in that moment Draco thought he didn't look as intimidating without the scowl on his face.

"Good. I hoped you might say that." Suddenly, Snape's face sobered. "Are you ready?" Draco nodded and he pointed to a small empty glass jar on his desk. "The portkey."

Slipping the vials into the inner pockets of his robes, Draco walked over to the desk and reached out to grab the jar. He stopped just short of it and turned to look back at his head of house. Snape watched him closely, arms crossed over this chest. Draco took in the greasy black hair and hooked nose and smiled.

"Thank you, Professor Snape, for everything."

And with those words, Draco closed his hand against the cool glass and felt the familiar pull behind his navel.