Mistaken Identities One

Dumbledore's office had barely changed since the last time the silver haired wizard had been there. But it felt different, it was darker somehow, the air was charged and heavy. The shadows loomed menacingly from the indistinguishable corners, like faceless beasts of the night, slowly stalking the room. The thin rays of light fell in sharp stripes to the floor, they were violently white against the grey stone floor.

"Harry?"

Hermione's fingers grazed the grey wall as she hesitated in the doorway, chills were coursing down her spine in unpredictable waves.

"Harry" she repeated stumbling over his name as she looked into the foreboding room. "Why don't you…join us for dinner?"

She twisted her hands together at the silence engulfed her, "It, it would do the kids some good if they could see you." Hermione paused for a heart beat before continuing "and it would do you some good to get out of this room."

Harry stood up silently, rising into view out the shadows as if he was emerging from a pool of tar, his blank face watching her emotionlessly. "I'm working, Hermione"

She coiled away from him unconsciously, her hands coming to rest protectively on the slight swell of her stomach. "I know," she raised her chin up as Harry advanced on her, forcing herself to stare straight at her best friend. She wasn't a coward. "It isn't healthy, Harry. You lock yourself up in this tower for days on end, you don't eat, you don't sleep. You're obsessed with you-know-who…"

"Say his name" Harry cut into her rant suddenly.

Hermione flushed in confusion, "What?" she said dumbly, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

Harry was leaning right over her, his face only inches away from her own, his eyes were cold and brilliantly green in the dim room. They burnt into hers with a fire she hadn't seen for years.

"Say. His. Name"

Hermione bowed her head, flinching away from his stiff demur, "Voldermort." she whispered hoarsely.

"Fear of name only increases fear of self."

Hermione felt as if she'd been hit as he recited her own words back to her, she looked angrily at Harry, not words coming to her. Finally she turned away from the ghost of her best friend, unable to bear to look at him. This wasn't Harry, this was someone else.

"Jamie's asking for you" she murmured.

He didn't look up, until the door softly clicked shut behind her.

Of all places he had stayed in over the last year, this had to be one of the worse. The single light bulb swung erratically, spraying its weak, yellow glow randomly into rotting corners of the room. It was enough to make you wish it was completely dark.

The windows were all barred tiny sheets of glass, thin and slowly freezing in the cold winter night, he had been fascinated as a child by the formation of the icy patterns that slowly crept like insects along the edges of the windows. Now it was just another problem.

There was a single bed, with stained sheets, they looked like someone had bleached them, unsuccessfully. He didn't want to think about who or what had made those stains.

He didn't mind, much, it was bad, but at least he was alone.

Narcisse straightened suddenly, his wet hair slapping his back. A long mane of dyed black waves plastered itself to his bare skin unpleasantly.

Water dripped onto the floor, sounding like thunder in the grime bathroom.

"Hello?" he called, his hand groping blindly for his wand, the wood was cold against his sweaty palm.

Something moved, flickering and slithering like a snake in the far left of his vision.

The youth stared uneasily at now motionless spot, his throat dry as he snapped "I know you're there." Silently he put a shield around himself, a simple spell that even the dumbest child knew, but it was the only one he could think of.

The only problem with the glass bubble of protection that he had created for himself was that it left him deaf and near sightless, he struggled to see through the misty coils and tendrils that swirled like grey ribbons in front of him face.

Suddenly it disappeared, leaving him stuck in a moment of sickly fear, but someone spoke.

"Really, I thought at your age, you could have used a more advanced spell than that."

Narcisse relaxed slightly, but at the same time he felt familiar hate rising inside him. He knew that voice, the velvet smoothness of it was forever seared into his memories. A voice that changed lies into poetry and truth into insults until you were running in circles and dribbling insanely from the mouth.

He was also very familiar with the person that produced it.

"What? Aren't you glad to see me, son."

Narcisse schooled his face to passive, feeling the silver eyes on him.

"Last time I saw you, you were running as fast as you could in the opposite direction"

"What can I say" the man gave a lazy shrug, "you always did talk too much."

Without thinking Narcisse pointed his wand at the pale faced man who was sneering at him contemptuously.

"You wouldn't dare. You're too weak to kill me" he taunted Narcisse, his hands rising in mocking surrender.

The tip of his wand pressed sharply into the hollow of his father's throat.

"Try me" he breathed darkly, his face ugly with loathing and bloody fantasies.

The older man lifted a hand up to his chin, mimicking deep thought, "well you are my son, I suppose…"

"I'm nothing like you!" snarled Narcisse pulling away in disgust.

Draco Malfoy stepped into view without a sound, casually looking at his finger nails.

"I don't know about that" he trailed off, as if uninterested, the slump of his thin shoulders emitting boredom.

Narcisse closed his eyes, silently struggling with his inner demons, most of who were commanding him to commit bloody murder. He let his eyes flutter open, it was a game. Everything was a game to Draco. He knew that his father was going to taunt and humiliate him if he played along. He should just press his wand a little further, maybe it would draw blood, his skin looked paper thin.

Despite his dark fantasies he found his lips shaping the words uncommented, such was the obedience that had been drilled into him a child that it still existed even now.

"Why, father?"

Draco spun around sharply, like a child he beamed wickedly innocent, his lips curling up, thinning into sharp lines. "Where is my daughter, Narcisse? I left her in your care" his voice slowed patronizingly "You're her big brother, remember?"

"That's not fair!"

He was 12 years old again, shaking in fear as he was towered over by Draco's lean figure, silent tears pouring down his face, leaving his skin flushed with anger and unspoken injustice.

Silver eyes flashed like liquid mercury, "In case you have failed to notice, in this world not much is!"

"I was just a child" the youth argued, unable to voice the emotion tearing him up inside, he hated, he loathed, he utterly abhorred this man in front of him. He wanted nothing more that to rip his insides out and wear them as a hat, and yet he was barely able to mumble to him without crying.

Draco shrugged, his face dark with half forgotten memories, "It will be ok," he said, then sneering turned upon his son, "after all she can only hate you as much as you hate me, right?"

There we go, Ok backstory.

I was reading Harry Potter fics as you do and the only future children thing that I could find were either sickly sweet or really really annoying- (you know the ones where the girl (always a girl) is very beautifuland everyone loves her and she has some sort of really good power- usually more that one just to be on the safe side- and ...arrh). moving on...

So desolate at the lack of good writing, original characters and words with more than than three syllables on this idea, I decided to go and do it myself.

So there you go, I don't do it for the reviews, I'm not like that, not bitter at all...

Curse You All to Hell If You Don't Review Me!

yep, not bitter at all...