Author Notes: So after reading a few stories about Mini-me going to Hogwarts, I decided to write my own. A few things though, this is an AU fic, so I'll be twisting the canon to my every whim and odds are it will NOT follow the original books very well. A few quick things; Firstly, I do not own anything. Secondly, the clone started at age ten in this story because I felt that made him more likely to accept Original Jack as a father-figure. And because I wanted to.
Cloned Jack is called Jack by the narrative and his friends, and Jacky to the SGC.
Original Jack is called O'Neill or the General by the narrative, and Jack by the SGC.
Teal'c calls Jacky 'young O'Neill' while Jack is simply 'O'Neill'.
I'm trying to keep my spelling deliberately inconsistent, eg. Americans say mom, while Brits say mum. Although I may accidentally slip a British word/phrase/spelling into an American's words because I'm Australian and was brought up with UK spellings.
A Sanguine Antiquis
Chapter One:
Jack O'Neil sighed, thinking of his adopted 'son' who was, in truth, his ten year old clone. It was approaching the first anniversary of his creation, and Jack had no clue what to do about it. He couldn't ignore the day, but wouldn't celebrating it just hurt the boy further?
He groaned, he didn't need to be thinking these things when he had an important meeting with the President to attend in just under an hour. But as he left for the White House his son, his Mini-me, was still on his mind.
"Focus, young O'Neill."
"I am focussing!" Jack O'Neill Junior snapped as he was sent flying for the fifth time in a row.
Giving the boy a knowing look, Teal'c gave him a nod. "That will be all for this session, young O'Neill."
"Yeah, yeah." The ten year old muttered, glaring after the disappearing form of the Jaffa. Groaning, he laid back down on the foam practice mat. Why do I have to have these memories. He asked himself. It's hard enough remembering Daniel and Teal'c as my friends, but Carter...damn Asgards and their damn cloning technology. He sighed, getting to his feet. Kicking the mat as he left didn't relieve any tension and didn't serve any purpose except to make him stumble slightly. Damn mats. He added mentally.
Brigadier General Jack O'Neill stared incredulously at the bearded men before them. One had a long white beard, half-moon spectacles – he couldn't call them glasses – and robes. The other was wearing a neat suit, had a pair of simple tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, and a well kept brown beard.
Apparently, they were wizards.
End Note: Jack doesn't blame or hate O'Neill for being the original. He just hates having his memories as his own, and wants to be an individual. Also, I have no clue on how to divide this into chapters, so I'm imagining where an ad break would be placed =/