Hello everyone! Sorry updates are still irregular - but I'm working on it!

This is a slightly long and complicated chapter which starts to explain how the imposter came to be.

In other news, does anyone have a good riddle I can use for the Ravenclaw Common Room in my story "Stereotypes" ? Thanks.

In the months following the second task, life at Hogwarts seemed to settle. Draco had managed to make a few friends inside Gryffindor Tower and even Ronald Weasley didn't give him half as many mistrustful glares as before. The only noises that disturbed the calm were the howlers sent to Hermione, but even those began to disappear as exam season loomed - perhaps Rita Skeeter was running out of gossip.

Everything seemed infinitely better than in December, when Draco had still been locked up; forgotten and friendless. Unfortunately, it was just the calm before the storm.

After a day of wrestling nifflers in an attempt to retrieve his wristwatch, Draco Malfoy collapsed into his four poster bed and dragged the hangings around him. He didn't bother to climb out of his robes and in his exhaustion, his eyelids fluttered shut as soon as his head hit the pillow. Poor Draco was too tired to notice that he no longer felt the occlumency shields from his imposter at the edge of his mind.

Malfoy smiled as he bowed before his Lord. This task upon which the Dark Lord's return depended on was all too easy for him. The tales his father had regaled him with when he was younger came to mind, tales about the noble Dark Lord who would cleanse the world of the unworthy and praise those most loyal to him. Malfoy just knew that he was going to be one of the praised when this was over.

The Dark Lord had been most pleased when Malfoy was able to give him almost four years of information on the Boy Who Lived and Malfoy felt a smug satisfaction that his knowledge would be put to a much worthier cause than the rag Skeeter wrote for. He exited the room that held his master, sneering at Wormtail as he left. Walking down the dark hallway, Malfoy passed the giant serpent, Nagini. Releasing an involuntary shudder, Malfoy reminded himself that he must prepare for the task ahead if he wanted to be rewarded. The alternative was unthinkable.

Entering a small, almost-habitable bedroom on the second floor, Malfoy sat down on the bed. Placing his head in his hands, not in despair, but in concentration, he began to focus. Progress was slow, but Malfoy worked on the surface first. He banished all of his stray thoughts - worrying about his future, how his father and Pansy were holding up without him - then dug himself deeper, gradually excavating his own mind. When all of his thoughts and emotions had been carefully sorted, Malfoy collapsed his occulemency shields and found himself in the mind of someone else...

Draco's dream began as usual. Although he hadn't seen this nightmare in years, had forgotten its terror, the scenes remained as clear and colourful as the memories they were based upon.

Ten-year-old Draco Malfoy stood before his father, head bowed and cheeks aflame with a mixture of shame and defiance. His back was as straight as ever though and his hands were clasped respectfully behind his back. He was young, but other than his cheeks which were rouged with determination, his skin was frighteningly pale, as though he didn't see the sun that often. Draco refused to meet his father's eyes and braced himself for another ban of anything involving Quidditch or the outside of Malfoy Manor.

"Look at me." Lucius Malfoy was furious, his anger rolling off him in waves, every inch a terrifying Death Eater. Draco stared resolutely at the floor, yet he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. His father's anger was something he had often been exposed to over the years, but still Draco continued to defy him. He would not be the perfect son he was expected to be.

"Look. At. ME!" Draco heard the unmistakeable sound of his father's wand being drawn and flinched back instinctively, still avoiding his gaze, knowing it would infuriate him even more. His father had never beaten him or used an unforgivable, but there were still spells within the law that he could use. A ray of light hit him in the chest and he staggered backwards, gasping. He glanced up in pain and finally met his father's eyes.

This was always the worst part of the dream. Perhaps the precise moment that his last shred of childhood was torn from him, that eternal second which left him screaming in his private St Mungo's ward late at night. At ten years old, Draco Malfoy watched his father in terror as he lay sprawled on the floor of the study. It was his eyes, so similar to young Draco's; those frightful eyes that held not a single scrap of mercy.

Usually, this was the point that Draco woke up screaming in an empty hospital ward.

Yet this time the dream continued and Draco felt bile and panic rising inside his throat, although he was still unable to wake up. He stayed still, unable to move. He remembered what had happened after and knew what was coming next.

The head of the Most Ancient House of Malfoy flicked his wand in Draco's direction and levitated him out of the door to his study. His fair haired son struggled all the while, but was unable to break free, as Lucius dragged him up a flight of stairs, towards the Malfoy Library. They finally stopped beside a shelf of tomes so dark that young Draco could feel the darkness almost seeping out of them.

"Your behaviour is entirely unacceptable for someone of the Malfoy name." Lucius paused, while Draco struggled to move, speak or even cry. "...And you have absolutely nothing to say for yourself." Draco was unable to even glare.

Draco's father looked down on his pathetic body sprawled across the library floor. "You are not my son." If Draco had not been bound by magic, he would have been paralysed with shock. The only reason Draco had been able to get away with the stunts he had pulled before was because his family needed an heir, so they were unable to disinherit him. Now, there was no such limitation to protect him. Suddenly, Draco was very, very scared.

In the meantime, Lucius Malfoy had taken one of the darkest books from the shelf (a thin, aged manual beside what looked like a black diary) and began flipping through it. He glanced at Draco in disgust.

"It appears to require your blood," he stated.

And then the screaming started.