DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, etc. J.K.R. does. But I do have some of my own original characters in here. Please don't take these! However, if you do, I can't see what I can do about it. Just refrain, please?
Harry Potter and the Mistaken Identity
Chapter 1
Minerva McGonagall was talking seriously with Pomona Sprout. It was a few weeks after term had ended so disastrously with Dumbledore's death. They were not at Hogwarts; no indeed, for it was a holiday, after all. McGonagall and Sprout had met by chance in the Kew Gardens of Muggle London. Minerva looked slightly odd in her neat Muggle dress, and Pomona looked even odder in her Scottish kilt with fish-net stockings, high stiletto heels, and a grey cotton sweater that read 'Minnesota, Land of a Thousand Lakes.' Oblivious to the stares of several passers-by,they walked and talked with two ice-cream bars out of the gardens.
"I don't know how the Muggles manage these things without bowls or cups to catch the drips." murmured Minerva, shaking the drips from her ice cream onto the pavement. Pomona didn't answer, but was licking a drip before it reached her fingers. After a while, Minerva gave up on hers and presented it to a small boy sitting on the side of the street, who was dumbfounded that someone should just happen to give him a nearly-intact ice cream bar. He ran off happily with it.
For a while, the pair talked of trivial things; of the weather, of their health, of what was happening in the Muggle world. Soon, though, Minerva abruptly brought about the subject of Hogwarts, and of the flight of Professor Snape.
"I should never have thought that Severus…Severus…of all people. I knew he was an unhappy man who found chief interest and enjoyment in taking out his feelings on others, but I always thought he was…well…trustworthy. I never, ever, would have considered for a moment that he would be truly on He-who-must-not-be-named's side. And I never thought that Albus would ever make such a foolish mistake as to trust someone who was not trustworthy."
"I feel very badly about it, especially since I taught Snape." replied Pomona.
"I understand. I taught him too." Minerva sighed. "Just as teachers can be pleased when their students go on to greater and better things, they can be disappointed when they run amuck." she noted philosophically. "I suppose there was nothing in reality to do with him. He had a great deal of potential; he just used it in the wrong way. But how terrible it is that we should have lost such a supple mind to such an unworthy cause."
"Most definitely unworthy," echoed Pomona.
She continued, "You will be Headmistress now, if I am correct?"
McGonagall nodded. "It was determined long ago that I should be the next head of Hogwarts if and when anything ever happened to Albus. That is, if the school reopens."
"Don't tell me you're seriously considering not reopening it this year?" cried Pomona. McGonagall nodded.
"As much as I want it to remain open, there remains the doubt that students will come." Pomona shook her head.
"We already discussed this Minerva, even if only one single student wants to come to Hogwarts, we are going to remain open even for that one single student." Minerva bit her lip, then nodded. She knew all too well that arguing with Pomona over this point would be fruitless. However, it was not by her wish that Hogwarts might close--it would be necessity only. Sadly, Minerva took her leave of Pomona, and hurried about on her business.
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Draco Malfoy carried wood, without magic, to a small cooking fire in the middle of the Amazon forest. Narcissa Malfoy, his mother, stirred tediously a cauldron of something that didn't smell very nice over the fire pit. Draco approached, wrinkling his nose.
"What's that supposed to be?" he queried haughtily, peering into the pot.
"Supper." declared his mother weakly, and she sighed as she doled out a large portion that looked like something that might have come off of Hagrid's stove using a ladle made of a tin can attached to a stick with wire. She handed Draco a steaming bowl and then served one for herself. "You might want to wait a moment before you drink it; it's boiling hot." Draco sat down on a log and reluctantly placed the bowl next to him. His gaze left it for but a few seconds, but when he looked back at the murky brown substance in the bottom of the bowl, it had attracted at least seven bugs. One or two beetles had fallen in and were drowning. The others crawled unappetizingly around the rim.
"Eww!" he exclaimed, picking them off. Narcissa watched the proceedings with distaste, and was careful not to set her stew down.
The Malfoys had come here, to the remotest of places, by Snape's suggestion, after the disaster at Hogwarts. He confiscated their wands and forbid them to use magic for anything, to prevent them from being tracked by the Ministry. Or Voldemort, for that matter. Snape came to check on them once a month with supplies. He flew in on a broom, so he couldn't bring enough food for an entire month. So, they had had to live off the land for the entire summer, with no magic, like Muggles. And there was no telling when he would deem it safe for them to sneak back to England.
Narcissa had never had to cook in her life for an abundance of house-elves, so even her wand would not have improved her cooking. But then, she had never had to do any sort of housekeeping besides managing the elves, which she realized was nothing compared to doing it all herself. Also, without magic for little things, like pouring out soup, she had to use her imagination and create a solution. Really, the amount of brainpower and ingenuity she had used to create their little camp in the middle of the forest was enough to make Einstein jealous. The ladle, for instance, was constructed by her. The shelter made of palm leaves and branches she had designed and built performed better than the canvass Snape had brought to make a tent. Narcissa had even come up with extraordinary ways to do her hair with only what came off the trees. And scavenging for food was always an adventure.
Standard meal times had been completely abandoned. When they were hungry, they ate. If they were hungry and had no food, they went out in search of it. It wasn't as though they were on a barren island, so it was fairly easy to catch birds, fish, frogs, snakes, lizards, and boar for meat, and find exotic fruits and roots. They had even found how to make a sort of hot chocolate drink from the cocoa tree. Well, whatever was edible, Narcissa threw together into a meal.
Snape had intimated that many things in the forest were edible, but that a great many others were not. So before they ever tried anything new, they tried to feed it to a sort of vulture-like bird they had caught. If it did not eat what was presented to it, they didn't eat it. If the bird ate it and produced no ill side effects, then they ate it. This method had prevented them numerous times from eating poisonous frogs, snakes, and fruit they had gathered. But although there was plenty of food around them, they looked forward to every month when Snape came with his broom-load of provisions.
"When'll Snape be back with fresh supplies?" Draco asked.
"Sometime in the next week," replied his mother consolingly.
"That's what you said last week!"
"I know, Draco, I know."
"Why hasn't he sent an owl or something? Why haven't you written to him?"
"I've tried sending one of these toucans, and received no answer."
"Do you think something happened to him?"
"It's possible."
"Perhaps the Dark Lord is punishing him because he found out I…" here Draco trailed off, and buried his head in his hands exasperatedly.
"I doubt it."
Suddenly, Draco jumped up as scared as though he had noticed his hair was on fire and feverishly ripped off his shirt. He began to jump up and down like a rabbit.
"Mum, there's a spider on my back! Swat it or something!"
In reply, Narcissa yanked off her high-heeled shoe and began to seemingly beat Draco, in reality trying to kill the spider. Finally she succeeded in smashing it, but not after marring her son's back with some perfectly frightful bruises.
"Mum, I think it bit me."
"Serves you right for jumping about like that."
"What if it was a yellow banana spider?" wailed Draco. "I'll die!"
"Don't be silly, boy, if it was a yellow banana spider, you'd be dead already."
Draco looked like he was about to give a saucy reply, but suddenly, his face grew contorted and purple, and he fell forward onto the ground, still.
"Draco!" screamed Narcissa. Was her son, in efforts to protect him from the fury of the world's most powerful evil-minded wizard, only to die of a spider bite in the Amazon? Narcissa knelt down and turned him over. It was not a difficult task, for the months of living out there on his mother's cooking and his continual worrying had lessened Draco's physique to the slightest in the extreme.
When she turned him over, though, there was a silly, mischievous grin on his face. He sat up of his own accord.
"You naughty, naughty boy!" cried Narcissa, angry, but relieved.
"I'm no boy anymore; I'm completely of age now."
"Well, still, it was not fair on your poor mother to play such a mean trick!"
"Sorry mum; I couldn't resist the temptation. It's been deadly dull."
"That's easy for you to say. Now drink your soup."
"All of it?" whined Draco.
"All of it," declared Narcissa, "or I'll force-feed it to you. You're skinny as a rail and that isn't healthy."
Draco stirred the soup with his forefinger. "What's in this?"
"I won't tell you because you were so nasty. Now drink it!"
Draco picked more beetles out of his soup and obediently drained the bowl in two immense gulps. He briefly turned a sickly pale green, but made no other complaint.
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Far away from where Draco and Narcissa feasted on their delicious repast, Harry lay unanimated on his bed, staring at the digital alarm clock beside his desk lamp. He was counting down the minutes from 11:55 to 12:00 aloud, but his lips were barely moving as he whispered.
"Five more minutes to go…four and fifty-five, four and fifty four, four and fifty-three, four and fifty two…"
Finally, but tediously, the clock reached 12:00 pm, and the beeping alarm went off. With a whoop, Harry jumped off the bed, grabbed up his already-packed travelling trunk, and ran down the stairs two at a time. For, you see, now he was of age. Now he no longer needed to follow Dumbledore's last instructions to him, which had been to live with the Dursley's until he came of age. Being with the Dursley's would not keep him safe anymore, though, so Harry was leaving.
Harry slid down the banisters, his excitement was so great. As he approached the front door to leave, though, he caught sight of the super-extremely accurate cable clock on top of the TV. It still read 11:57. Crestfallen, Harry sank down on the sofa. He had no right to leave until midnight, when he turned 17. After spending thirty seconds staring at the clock, Harry decided to write a short note of explanation to post on the TV. There they would surely notice it, because the first thing half-asleep Uncle Vernon did when he woke up in the morning was come downstairs and flick it on to watch the morning news. So Harry stealthily crept into the kitchen, pulled a pen from the holder by the phone and a sticky, bright-orange Post-It note from the drawer, and began to write.
Dear Dursley's:
Guess what? Today's my birthday; now I'm of age, 17. And good news for both me and you--I'm gone. I don't think I'll ever be coming back, either. Hope you enjoy your 'normal' lives without me. So thanks for everything, and GOOD RIDDANCE!
Harry Potter
He had to laugh as he placed it in the smack middle of the TV screen. He wouldn't be surprised if, when they discovered the note, they had a private party to celebrate his departure. Now the clock read 12:02. Disgusted that he had spent two extra minutes in that house just writing a letter, Harry dashed out the door, almost forgetting to come back for his trunk.
Harry walked leisurely down Privet Drive, his trunk trailing behind him. Pretty soon, the Knight Bus would come rolling around, and he would board and go to Daigon Alley. From there, he could go to Fred and George's joke shop, and eventually from there to the Burrow. This was the plan he had set up with the Weasleys before leaving for the summer holidays. However, had Harry wanted to, he could have gone anywhere he desired, and no one could, by law, rightfully reprimand him for it. He was of age. With a content sigh, he decided that it was a good thing, even if he was more vulnerable than ever to Voldemort.
Without further ado, Harry made it to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was still dark out, but he knew that Fred and George lived on the premises. Besides, they were expecting him. Harry lugged his trunk up to the front door and pulled the bell. After waiting some minutes, a light shone through the window, and George's eye looked through the peephole.
"Who's there?" came a muffled voice from within.
"Duh, it's Harry!" replied another voice. But although the voices were muffled through the door, Harry could tell neither came from Fred or George, but that both were good imitations. Behind his back, he slipped his wand into his right sleeve. Nothing, however, seemed to be happening.
"Well, let him in!" demanded the first voice. Harry was now completely on his guard.
"First give me the arranged password." Harry knew that if these people were not Fred and George, they would know there was no password. But in case one of these people was Snape, who was, of course, a superb Occulmens, he could delve into Harry's brain and find out this. So Harry thought of the most absurd thing he could think of--radish bones. If Snape was behind the door, he would soon say…
"Radish Bones." stated the voice clearly and concisely. Harry nodded, his worst fears confirmed. Two death-eaters were behind this door, masquerading as Fred and George, to get him. Inwardly, he braced himself for an unexpected move from the enemy.
"Now you ask me." Harry was completely on his guard.
"Ok…what's your cousin's name?"
"That's not the arranged question" lied Harry.
"Well…I've forgotten the old one." parried the voice.
"Oh well, that's fine. He's Dudley." answered Harry, gripping his wand.
"Wonderful. Open the door, George!" And at that, the door began to swing open. Harry was ready before they were.
"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!"
Two wands flew into the air; one of black ebony, the other of maple. Harry caught them as they passed him. Now triply armed, he pointed his wand at the Death Eaters. The one like Fred was quivering and trembling slightly, the one like George was calm and austere. Harry glared at the latter.
"Give it up, Snape. Who's the other?"
The silky, familiar voice of Severus Snape answered him from George's body. This was extremely weird.
"Good work, Potter. I can't tell how you managed to overtake us, but you seem to have succeeded in doing so." 'George' smiled ruthlessly, showing that he was speaking in sarcasm.
Harry's hatred rose up.
"So you still like to criticize me even when I'm about to kill you? You're pathetic."
Snape-George looked sagely into Harry's eye, never flailing.
"But are you about to kill me, Potter?" By his look, Snape was also conveying to Harry, "By God, YOU'RE pathetic!"
"Yes, after you have answered a few questions." Harry tried to keep his calm. Snape looked amused.
"Why don't you kill me now?"
"Because…hey wait a moment." Harry had realized that this conversation was taking a rather familiar turn.
"You're using the same tactics Dumbledore used on Draco up in the tower that night."
"A wise man, Dumbledore," nodded the other Death Eater, quivering. Snape looked confused.
"You were…you weren't…up there the whole time?"
"Yes, I was. I saw the whole thing." Harry was trembling with rage.
"Under your damned invisibility cloak."
"Yes."
"Right." Snape seemed to be less amused and more disturbed.
"So, why didn't you do anything?"
"You mean," Harry asked, "When you killed Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of our time, a worthy man and friend, the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever had? Can you possibly stand there and look at me and think that if I were able to do anything, I wouldn't? He froze me, when Draco burst up into the tower, in order to protect me, and I could…not…do…anything..." Here Harry's voice began to grow tight with suppressed agony. Instead of saying anything else, he just glared at the pair. Soon, though, he recovered himself, and swallowed.
Snape did not seem to notice, however. Instead, he was busy mumbling to himself under his breath, "Why in the world did he not tell…"
"Where are the real Fred and George?" Harry demanded loudly, interrupting Snape's train of thought. "What have you done with them?"
Snape looked at the ceiling. At that moment, a fierce pounding noise broke out above them.
"Did you tie them up well, Dobbins?" he asked, addressing the other Death Eater.
"As well as I possibly could, sir," replied the still shivering Dobbins. The pounding ceased, and Harry turned his attention back to the Death Eaters.
"You aren't going to get away with this, Snape," he pronounced, trying to sound cooler and more collected than he felt.
"I don't doubt it," mused the tall Death Eater sarcastically in reply. Harry was irked by the fact that Snape was still not treating the situation as serious as it was. It was almost as though Snape knew that he held the trump card; that he would find some way to escape Harry's wrath.
Angered at this implied opinion of lack of competence, Harry spat out, for little reason more than to annoy, "You cowardly fiend!"
Snape sneered back at him. This was more like the old Snape Harry remembered. Or, rather, like the Snape from the last day of school.
"Don't" he hissed, "call ME a COWARD!"
"Sheesh, keep your hair on! Or rather," Harry added disgustedly, "George's hair on." He looked at Snape and repeated, "Coward." His enemy looked as though it was taking great restraining skills to hold himself from going at Harry's throat. Savouring the moment, Harry began to slowly circle Snape, slowly and never letting his glance avert. With each step, he murmured again and again, "Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward." The look on Snape's face was delicious to Harry's angry eyes. Suddenly, though, something seemed to alarm the other, and Snape began to stare at something, either imaginary or real, behind Harry.
"I'm not going to fall for so old a trick as that, my friend," Harry cooed. He looked and felt like an evil villain such as Professor Moriaty, or Colonel Moran, from Sherlock Holmes, a book he had found in Dudley's second bedroom and read earlier that summer. But Snape continued to stare, perhaps in one feeble hope that Harry would, overcome with curiosity, look.
"Harry! Are you all right?" Harry, startled, spun around, only to see that Snape hadn't been purporting a ruse the entire time. In the doorjamb stood the Weasley twins, cut free from their ropes, and armed with wands. (George still trailed a length of rope still tied to his foot, but uncut from any anchor.) However, the brief second that Harry took to observe them and reply, "Yes," was too much. With a deft sweep of his foot, Snape knocked Dobbins off his feet as a diversion and raced out the door with a great leap and a bound.
"Blimey, what 'ed have for breakfast?" asked George wonderingly. Without a word, Harry tossed Dobbins' and Snape's wands to him and took off out the door after Snape.
"Hey wait a minute, I'm coming too!" called Fred, and added to George, "Don't let HIM get away," referring to the quivering Dobbins. Then he raced out after Harry.
Despite the fact that Snape had scarcely any head start, Harry and Fred had a hard time catching up to him. Whenever they thought they had a glimpse of him, it was either a shadow or a trick of the eye. Though they were exhausted from running and chasing, it seemed as though their quarry was not. This was odd in itself, since Snape was on the younger side of middle-aged, and his build, though light, was not in very good physical training. The boys, young and athletic, should have been able to keep up with him, but he had seemed to disappear into thin air, impossible without aid of a wand. They searched the desolate streets, finding no more of him than a ring of keys that belonged to George. And, at any rate, the only signs of life in Daigon Alley that Harry and Fred found was a barefoot drunk vagabond snoring loudly in a cardboard box and a few mice. Crestfallen and angry that the nefarious criminal had gotten away, Harry and Fred went back to the store, where they SECURELY bound and gagged the Death-Eater Dobbins and dragged him off to the ministry offices. They returned just as dawn was breaking, and, somewhat tired, they disapparated to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley greeted them warmly with a pot of tea and warm muffins for an early breakfast, then sent the lot of them to go take a nap.