A/N: When I saw the review count...my eyes just about popped out of my head. Seriously. They were getting to that point, anyway. I appreciate it a lot. Even a negative response is better than none at all. And as far as I can see, the response I got was all positive. Thanks a lot, guys!
Warnings: None in this chapter. But I would like to remind you all once more, in case you didn't catch the at the previous warning, there may be slash in the future chapters.
Disclaimer: Everything you see here belongs to J.K Rowling. Hogwarts, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, everything. I am in no way making any profit from this story. I'm only doing it for my enjoyment and the momentary entertainment of others.
Declan was by no stretch of the imagination a coward. But faced with Lord Voldemort, a perfectly intimidating stranger, he felt his heart rate pick up. Voldemort was hissing what sounded distinctly like death threats, meanwhile glaring at him through brown eyes which seemed to glow with an inner light. The light was not comforting, however; it promised nothing but excruciating pain and perhaps a slow death.
His mind screamed at him to run, but the thought must have gotten lost somewhere in his mind, because the order never reached his legs. Declan remained stationary, gaping at the man rather stupidly.
Slowly, as though unsheathing a sword, Voldemort pulled a stick from his robe pocket. He raised it and aimed it directly into Declan's face.
Declan couldn't help it. A short bark of nervous laughter escaped his throat. He had expected a gun, or some kind of blade. There was no way he could have ever figured a stick would be brandished so threateningly at him. "What - what are you going to do with that, then? Bash me over the head with it till I lose consciousness?" He choked out. He laughed again.
Voldemort's dark eyes glittered murderously at his words, shutting him up effectively.
"You haven't changed at all, Harry. You're still so sure of yourself. But, you must learn...certainty does not always mean strength." He paused here, smiling almost fondly at Declan. "Imperio." He said just a moment later, flicking the stick casually.
All the worries that had plagued Declan since coming to this place were suddenly swept away. His legs shook, but not alarmingly. He felt like soaring, disappearing through the ceiling overhead, up, up... A voice called to him before he could and he reluctantly refrained from attempting to take flight.
Sing, the voice commanded him.
Sing what? You've got to be a bit more specific...what do you want me to do, pull an original song out of my -- ? He began to counter the voice, but was cut off before he could finish.
Silence, Potter. I won't take any cheek from you. Just sing. Anything you want.
Declan didn't even bother to correct the voice; he felt too at ease with the world to do so. If the voice wanted him to be Harry Potter, then fine. He would be Harry Potter. Anything I want? He wondered.
Yes. Anything. The voice confirmed.
And so Declan sang the first song that came to his mind,
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me haaappy when skies are grey. You never noticed how much I loved you -" He sang cheerily. He failed to see the incredulous stare he was receiving from Lord Voldemort. He was too wrapped up in the song, the one his mother - well, he thought it was his mother, he wasn't sure, he had been so little at the time - used to sing to him.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Potter." Voldemort growled. The mental connection was shattered the moment he spoke.
Declan gasped. He felt an odd sense of loss...he was no longer floating contentedly. It took him several seconds to gather himself. "My name - isn't - Potter," He said through clenched teeth. He shot a glare at Voldemort. "What was that, anyway?"
"Magic, Potter." Voldemort said. Declan twitched. He was really beginning to hate that name.
"Magic...you mean like, 'Abra Cadabra, Hocus Pocus, give a dog a bloody bone' - that kind of magic?"
"No. That...was nonsense you just spouted out. Now, pay attention. This is magic. Crucio." Voldemort said with a sneer.
His knees gave away beneath him and the floor rushed up to meet him. He had never before experienced such intense pain. It was everywhere. Burning his eyes, in his mouth, outside his flesh, beneath it - everywhere! Writhing around on the office floor, howling in agony, Declan wished for death. The monster that observed him from above was not so benevolent. His wish went unnoticed.
And then, quite as abruptly as the pain began, it ended.
Declan was laying on the floor, gasping for breath. It barely registered with him that Voldemort was within hitting range. He could only focus on how every part of him ached so terribly even though it had ended.
"You have changed, haven't you? You hardly fought the Imperius...you crumbled beneath the Cruciatus curse...what is wrong with you?" Voldemort asked quietly. Judging by his tone, he was disappointed.
Declan pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto the edge of the desk for support. "What...?" He began weakly.
"Magic." Voldemort repeated absently. "As for you, I believe you have either repressed your own memories...it is uncommon among our kind, but it happens...you're suffering from amnesia for some reason another...or someone has placed a memory charm on you." He paused, then smiled nastily. "It hardly matters. I can force the memories out of you with a single spell. Though, it might have unfortunate after-affects..." He chuckled.
"No way!" Declan protested hoarsely. "Don't -" As he spoke, he glanced around desperately, searching for a way out. The doorway! He whirled around and lurched toward it, but he didn't get very far before something suddenly grabbed his ankle and wrenched him upwards so that he was suspended upside down.
Voldemort moved forward until he stood directly infront of him. He paused only briefly to stare into Declan's eyes, then waved his wand. "Superficis Memoria." He said.
The office faded into black nothingness. For a moment, Declan wondered if he had been knocked unconscious by the spell...but then he realized that was an idiotic notion. If he was unconscious, surely he wouldn't be able to think as he could now! What is it, then? Has there been a black out? No...he had candles lit in his office, didn't he? So that can't be...wait! What if I'm blind! He began writhing the second that frightening thought occurred to him, though it did little good.
Abruptly, Declan's vision returned, as did the office and Voldemort.
"So? Have you remembered?" Voldemort asked.
"Of course! I - I remember it all now, so clearly. I'm..." He paused.
Voldemort stared at him expectantly.
"...Declan O'Grady!" Declan growled defiantly.
He immediately regretted his words. Voldemort looked more than ready to hit him for his insolence. Instead, he waved his wand. Declan rose higher into the air, so that his feet were nearly touching the ceiling. Voldemort smiled from below. Then he flicked his wand and the spell was released. The ground came rushing up to meet Declan.
"Goddamnit!" Declan hissed. He had landed unceremoniously on his face and now felt certain his nose was broken. He sat up, wincing and rubbing his nose. It was bleeding.
Voldemort sneered and glanced away. Just then, a knock at the door broke the silence. "Come in." Voldemort ordered.
The door swung open, revealing the blond from earlier. Malfoy. "You summoned me, my Lord?" He inquired.
"Yes. Take Potter. I have no use for him at the moment. Do what you wish with him. But do not kill him. I'm not through with him yet." Voldemort said.
Malfoy looked mildly surprised. He nodded curtly. "Yes, Sir." He agreed.
Declan was on his feet again, and still rubbing his nose woundedly. "Come on, Potter..." Malfoy muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door.
Declan followed without complaining. He didn't really care about what waited for him outside the office. It had to be better than Voldemort.
Declan was taken to a large room that contained many empty chairs. It was a bit eerie, really. It occurred to him that a place with so many chairs should be populated, full of the sound of talking and laughter. However, it was silent and deserted...aside from the fact that he and Malfoy now occupied it.
"This is the Slytherin common room." Malfoy informed him in a bored tone. "But you should know that already."
"Well, I didn't." Declan grumbled. He started toward one of the chairs near the fire.
"If you go near any of the chairs, I'll hex you." Malfoy said sharply. "There's no sense in you getting comfortable."
Declan stopped and faced Malfoy. He summoned the best glare he could...but it was weak. He was tired. "Fine." He said, trying to sound nonchalant. He lowered himself to the cold floor and sat there instead.
Malfoy smiled triumphantly. "I never thought I would see the day. Harry Potter, listening to me." He snickered. "Not that you have much of a choice...being a prisoner and all."
"So, magic is real." Declan said, trying to whipe that pleased - and vaguely creepy - smirk off Malfoy's face.
"Of course magic is real. You must have hit your head pretty hard if you don't remember. You're a wizard. And this place? This was where you attended school. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But you only came here before the Dark Lord took over. A lot has changed since your time." Malfoy explained.
Declan listened keenly, forgetting once more to remind him that he wasn't a wizard, and he certainly wasn't Harry Potter. "What was it like, then? Hogwarts." He asked.
"It was like - " Malfoy paused briefly. "a normal wizarding school."
"And it's not now?"
Again, Malfoy faltered. "Aren't you full of questions, Potter?" He demanded snidely.
Declan bristled. "Declan." He corrected Malfoy. "So...your Lord thinks I'm this Potter guy, then. What has he got against him, anyway, that he'd hurt someone who just happens to look kind of like him?"
"You don't look 'kind of' like him. You are him. I know. I went to school with you...unfortunately." Malfoy said darkly.
So two people thought he looked like Potter, one of which had gone to school with him. Strange.
"Answer my question. What has he got against Potter?" Declan persisted.
"He - you - were an arrogant prat with an overly inflated ego. Aside from that, though...you ruined the Dark Lord's plans several times over the years. You thought you were being noble, I guess. You liked the idea of being a hero." Malfoy said darkly. "Well, heros don't usually get those around them killed off regularly - do they?"
Declan shook his head 'no'. Malfoy stared at him strangely.
"Who did Potter get killed?" Declan asked curiously.
"Your parents, for one. Then your Godfather...then the Headmaster. Yeah, you really had a knack for it." Malfoy snorted. "You also got my father thrown in prison..."
"Potter doesn't sound like a good person." Declan commented.
"He wasn't. Now will you stop referring to him as someone else? He's you! You're Harry Potter whether you like it or not." Malfoy snarled.
"I'm Declan O'Grady." He snapped back coldly, his eyes flashing.
"Right. Go on believing that."
"I will." Declan said firmly.
A thought struck him just then. "If Potter came back, and it became obvious that I'm not him, would Voldemort let me go?" He asked.
He winced. "That's the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who to you, Potter." He said sharply, then went on to answer. "...No. If it turns out you really are a muggle, he'll mostlikely kill you." Malfoy told him.
The color drained rapidly from his face. "And what would happen if I...said I was Potter?" He asked.
"He would kill you anyway. The Dark Lord really hates Harry Potter."