You think you know someone

 Everyone’s watching you now.

 Harry Potter had always been burdened by people’s expectations of him simply for being the Boy Who Lived. As if whatever happened to him as a baby automatically made him so great. He knew he was not great. He was far from it, just ask the people that raised him. They’d tell anyone who would listen just how ‘great’ Harry was at being an ungrateful prat. He was their burden.

 Fulfilling his role as the banisher of the Dark Lord hadn’t been the best experience of Harry’s life with said lord attacking him every other year at Hogwarts. Except for his third, which one would think that meant it had been Harry’s most peaceful year yet, but the hundreds of dementors attacking him by the end of that year would say otherwise.

 Being really good at quidditch had helped satisfy people’s impossible expectations though. And Harry enjoyed being on a broom anyway, so he could easily pretend that being famous had mostly to do with his talent for flying. It was almost possible not to associate the attention he got at Hogwarts to his ‘role’ as the Boy Who Lived.

 Those expectations that came with that title, he realized then, they didn’t matter. He would ignore them if he could, and it would be okay to do so. 

 That was not the case anymore.

 Being the Chosen One had granted him more unwanted spotlight than he had become accustomed to. And unlike the Boy Who Lived, the burden of the Chosen One’s expectations was much more massive to bear.

 Everyone now thought they were entitled to their impossible standards of him. As if the prophecy had granted them permission to openly encourage others to believe that Harry was their savior. Period. 

 Harry never asked for any of this. He never wanted any of this.

 He spent most of his summer at the Dursleys mourning for the godfather that he hadn’t known all that well. And that made him even more upset at how unfair it all was. It should have been Sirius’ home he was spending the summer at, not the Dursleys again. He and Sirius had just gotten reunited after more than a decade, and really, it was all the stupid ministry’s fault that Sirius had been in Azkaban in the first place! Just as it had been their fault he had died. If they had only listened to the truth instead of creating a false reality where everything was fine, and Harry was just a nutcase and a liar, Sirius would still be here. Actually, Harry might have never even met the Dursleys because he would’ve grown up with Sirius. Oh, and what’s with the cruel irony of having his name cleared right after his death? It felt like an additional screw you to Harry’s face.

 He must be a bad person, he figured, because why was the world desperately punishing him more and more at every given opportunity? Was Aunt Petunia right all along? Was he, Harry, really a rotten, bad fruit that stank up everything that was near to the point of driving everyone away? He must be, because everywhere he went, nothing good ever follows. And anyone who was capable of loving him unconditionally was now gone. That didn’t stop him from forming new sorts of attachment.

 Harry had made a friend during his summer with the Dursleys. Well, it was more of a pet, really. But it talks. One of the garden snakes came back and Harry had been able to feed it this time, and it continued to invade Aunt Petunia’s greens repeatedly until Harry decided to keep him. It was a male Grass Snake and had no name, so Harry gave him one. Monty, short for Fleamont.

 Monty and Hedwig did not get along well. Mostly because the owl had tried to eat the snake repeatedly. But Harry had always been able to hear Monty cry out for help whenever that happened. 

 “If you’re hungry, I can just get you more food.” Harry had chided gently, but Hedwig didn’t intend to stop picking on the snake for the sake of finding food but for the sake of the hunt itself. But Harry always made sure she had her daily fly before returning through the window. She usually did her hunts then. Harry reckoned that she just hated him having another pet in addition to herself.

 He tried getting rid of Monty after that, for both the snake’s and the owl’s sakes, but the black serpentine had gotten attached, so Harry resolved to keep his two pets as far from each other as possible. 

 Hedwig had not been happy with the arrangement, but by the night that Dumbledore came to Private Drive, she had already gotten used to having Monty as Harry’s second pet. 

 After Professor Dumbledore got Harry to meet Slughorn, he dropped him off at the Weasleys saying, “There will be several surprises awaiting at Hogwarts.” The cryptic wizard winked at him and disappeared from the Burrow before Harry could even utter a question.

 “That doesn’t sound reassuring, Speaker.” Monty had said from where he warped himself around Harry’s forearm, hiding underneath the sleeve that was too large on Harry that it had to be folded over three times.

 “At least he’s not ignoring me anymore.” Harry had replied quietly so no one at the Burrow could’ve heard him. The last thing he needed was to make others more uncomfortable with his presence than they surly already were. “And you need to quit calling me Speaker. I told you I’m Harry.”

 As he spent the remainder of his summer with the Weasleys discussing Fleur and Bill’s engagement, there had been a strange, and most ridiculous rumor spreading around at the time. Word had reached the Weasley twins’ ears at their new shop in Diagon Alley, and they recounted what they’d heard to everyone at the Burrow, which no one took seriously because, well, it was Fred and George. But the rumors had been solid enough that everyone ay Diagon Alley thought might be true.

 It was about the veil incident during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. People were claiming that the veil might have been a portal that lead to different realities. And in one of those realities, a version of Harry Potter came out of the veil after Sirius fell through. Harry didn’t believe that one bit. But as the end of August neared, by some twisted form of miracle, this out fetched rumor had drifted everyone’s focuses from the whole ‘Chosen One’ nonsense the prophecy had brought. However, that did not necessarily mean that people stopped talking about Harry altogether, for that rumor still involved him somehow, of course. Because why would Harry be left alone?

 When Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys went shopping before school, half of the customers around them were anxiously talking about the imminent war, while the other half were entertaining the possibility of being blessed with having two Chosen Ones to help rid them of the terrors Voldemort’s reign would inevitably bring.

 People were tipping over themselves to gain Harry’s attention, asking questions about his supposed counterpart. But he had no answer to give them.

 The rumors weren’t true, were they? Or did everyone think it amusing to mess with him? Was there really a phony pretending to be the Chosen One as some kind of publicity stunt? If so, then by all means, let them take all the responsibility the prophesy laid on Harry. He was more than happy to give it all away to whomever was willing.

 On a deeper level, Harry sensed what he had been hearing wasn’t really news at all. The inane story felt similar to a dream come true. Not the kind Harry would fantasize about, but rather something buried at the back of his mind.

 No matter how much he tried to recall what exactly happened after Sirius fell into the veil, there had been nothing but pain of Voldemort trying to possess him until he succeeded. But once Harry learned of the rumors, he started recalling vague images of what he’d seen at the Department of Mysteries. There was a chance that someone truly had emerged from that veil. Harry had been thinking of that tiny thread of memory incessantly. Marveling at how he could have forgotten such a vitally important detail! Which raised an important question, if it was possible for someone to go through the veil the other way around, did that mean that the veil wasn’t actually a passage for the land of the dead? Was Sirius still—no, he is dead, dead dead dead. . . the word repeated itself in his head like a broken mantra.

 Harry did not dare believe the possibility. He would not rely on some false hope that Sirius was not truly dead but only lost somewhere between alternate realities. After his chat with Nearly Headless Nick, he knew better than to hold into a delusion out of desperation. He knew it was bound not to be effective, so why torture himself more? He already mourned his godfather twice more than he did anyone else. He was not looking forward to doing it a third time. So, Harry denied the possibly altogether. As much as it pained him, unless he saw actual evidence of his godfather coming back, Sirius was dead to him.

 The absurd theory of the veil went flying out the window once Harry got to Madam Malkin’s. He saw Draco Malfoy there with his mother, Sirius’ cousin. Harry couldn’t resist the scowl once he saw her. He was still bitter about Kreacher’s betrayal. If the elf hadn’t gone to Narcissa, maybe Sirius would still be here. So many what-ifs? There were far too many factors that played crucial parts that resulted in his death, and yet, Harry still played the most significant role in the scheme of things.

 When Voldemort ceased his influences on his mind, Harry had been free to drown himself in sorrow, guilt and worry. He couldn’t move on from Cedric and Sirius’ deaths because his own mind wouldn’t let him. Gone was Voldemort’s thoughts distracting Harry from his own. It felt almost wrong, not having the sound of another voice in his head, which he should’ve found comforting but instead felt like he was being driven mad by the grief. Then again, Harry had always been unwell in that aspect, he presumed.

 Was that why he chose to keep Monty? Was his head really that messed up that he sought out another kind of voice that no one could hear but him? He buried that unsettling thought deep within his mind along with the sea of his other unwanted thoughts. He did not want to dwell on his own wellbeing. Not when there was so much more going on around him.

 Like for instance, he noticed Malfoy acting quite odd at the shop, jerking his arm away when Madam Malkin tried measuring him—she barely even touched him, let alone go near his arm.

 The left arm.

 Harry craved a distraction, and what better way to do that than by being nosy? He convinced Hermione and Ron to sneak with him to Knockdown Alley using the cloak of invisibility, where the three of them followed Malfoy into Borgin and Burkes. Through the window outside, the trio witnessed the Slytherin bullying Borgin into fixing. . . something.

Harry might not know all the details, but he knew one thing for sure, Malfoy was up to something.

“I reckon he’s a Death Eater now.” Harry declared the moment he, Ron, and Hermione got inside the prefect’s compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He carefully met Hermione and Ron’s worried eyes. They were one of the earliest people on the express, so no other prefects had joined them yet to kick Harry out.

 Harry needed a distraction from the gloomy state of his mind, which was what blossomed the start of his obsession in proving that Voldemort had recruited Draco Malfoy. Harry’s own motive aside, he truly believes that Malfoy’s up to no good. A belief Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to share with him. Neither one of them had found Malfoy’s behavior at the shop as suspicious as he had, not even after he had gone on talking about nothing else for days.

They looked at him as thought he was going mad before Ron guffawed.

 “Malfoy, Harry? really?” Ron questioned incredulously. “You can’t really think that You-Know-Who would let someone like Malfoy join? He’s not even of age!”

 Even Hermione thought it was unlikely.

 Harry then exasperatedly explained what he witnessed at Madam Malkin’s and what it could only mean. Ron and Hermione looked even more unconvinced by the time he finished sharing his theory.

 “It seemed to me like he wanted to leave the store, rather.” Hermione said.

 “I’m telling you he’s got the Mark! He’s one of them now, and I’ll prove it!” Before either of them could stop him, he stormed out of the prefect compartment.

 “Wait! What do you think you’re doing?” Hermione got up and followed after him.

 “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m not supposed to be in there.” He gestured at the compartment’s door. “I’ll find somewhere else to sit.”

 Hermione narrowed her eyes skeptically. “You better not try something stupid, Harry. I mean it.”

 “I won’t.”

 He did the exact opposite of course. After all students were onboard and the train left, Harry spent most of the journey sharing a compartment with Luna and Neville before finding the appropriate moment to sneak into Malfoy’s compartment.

 “I do not like where this is going.” The snake hissed from underneath Harry’s sleeve.

 “Shut it, Monty.”

Things did not go exactly as planned, which was why Harry ended up being late to the feast—but it had been worth it! Now he knew for sure that Malfoy was up to something!

 Snape had been the one to escort Harry to the Great Hall after Tonks found him lying frozen inside the train, unfortunately. The sorting ceremony had already finished by the time they got there, so Harry had understandably been worried about attracting unnecessary attention, which Snape seemed delighted by.

 Snape opened the large door with a loud bang to make sure everyone would be made aware of Harry’s tardiness. It did not achieve the wanted affect, much to Snape’s dismay, for everyone in the Great Hall had been more interested in whatever was going on at the Slytherin table to spare much attention to the two of them.

 Harry honestly hadn’t given it much thought. He went straight to where his friends were seated on the Gryffindor bench. Hermione anxiously eyed his blooded nose as she asked of his previous whereabouts. Harry answered, telling her and Ron about what he’d heard in the Slytherin’s compartment. That’s when Professor Dumbledore decided now to be the time to make several announcements. Starting with the impending war before moving on to the topic of the newest staff member. A topic that was brought up at every start of term’s feast. As Ron liked to say: it’s basically tradition.

 Strangely, Slughorn turned out not to be the new Defense teacher, but a Potion’s master. Naively, Harry elated for a bit, thinking that Snape had finally gotten fired, but then remembered that he was still here at Hogwarts. Harry suspiciously cast a glance at the staff table where Snape sat. Why is he still here then?

 The answer came immediately, and it had not been a pleasant one. Harry gaped at the Headmaster like a man was dying. How come the worst professor was now teaching Harry’s favorite subject? Well, the job’s cursed anyway. He thought savagely that maybe the curse would take its toll and have Snape dead by the end of the year.

 “There will be several surprises awaiting at Hogwarts.” That’s what Dumbledore had said to Harry a couple months ago.

 If those were supposed to be said surprises, then Harry did not find them amusing for one bit. What was the Headmaster thinking? Keeping him in the dark as he used him, Harry, to recruit Slughorn. Would it have killed him to mention it was a Potions master they’ve visited back then?

 When it looked like Dumbledore neared the end of his speech, Harry felt Monty gliding down his forearm to his wrist as though reminding Harry that he still needed to be fed. Harry had asked Monty to refrain from speaking to him when they were surrounded by many people. Lest others start using that as another excuse to label him unstable.

 The Grass Snake curled itself tightly around Harry’s wrist, impatient. Harry wasn’t sure if giving Monty cooked food was considered okay since predatory animals usually preferred raw meat. He mostly gave Monty a raw egg whenever the snake wasn’t hunting for his own food. This time, he offered Monty nibs of roasted chicken, hopefully it wouldn’t make him sick.

 Professor Dumbledore did not appear to be done with his speech, though. Harry saw the wizard’s eyes dart to the Slytherin table. Right, everyone had been looking over their table since before Harry got here. What’s that about? He hoped it was because they suspected Malfoy to be a Death Eater like he did.

 He smugly waited for Dumbledore to expose Malfoy for what he was.

Everything after the feast had been a haze. Harry remembered clutching his wand while darkly watching the person wearing his face sitting at the Slytherin table. His fingers closed around the wood, feeling his Holly warm up dangerously to his desire, ready to strike if needed. He distractedly pondered, having a brother wand to Voldemort’s didn’t make him like him, right? Surely it had been only a coincidence that it shared the same core, right?

 By that logic, is it a coincidence that you’re a Parselmouth too?

 Harry liked having Monty, it made him feel less alone. Unlike Hedwig, he could have him near at all the times, including during classes, it had nothing to do with Voldemort.

 But it does.

 “Blimy, I thought people were making that up as a joke.” Ron said, barely above a whisper, while also eying the Slytherin table that night. “Bloody hell, mate, he looks just like you.”

 “The resemblance is uncanny.” Hermione had agreed solemnly. “Harry, are you alright?”

 “My nose already stopped bleeding, Hermione.” Harry knew what she meant. He just didn’t wish to talk about it, especially since he’d been reeling from what he’d seen himself. So this was supposed to be one of the surprises Dumbledore said was anticipating him at Hogwarts? Was the Headmaster trying to be funny? Why hadn’t he told Harry about that from the start.

 I didn’t dream it then. It struck him. Someone did walk out of the veil. Dumbledore knew that and chose to hide it from Harry the whole time. Until now. But why? Harry had a lot of unanswered questions to the Headmaster.

 He lost whatever appetite he developed immediately after the final announcement. How could he have gotten himself so consumed by Malfoy’s suspicious behavior that he had utterly and completely forgotten his bigger problem? All the way to Slytherin table, it was like looking at what could only be the opposite of the Mirror of Erised. Himself being more like Voldemort. More like Tom.

 Please let that be the only difference.

 He would be lying if he said he hadn’t often wondered what could have been different had he let the hat sort him into Slytherin. Would he have developed a liking to the Dark Arts? Would Ron still want to be friends with him? Harry shook off the silly thought. Of course Ron wouldn’t abandon him if he was sorted somewhere else. They were best mates for a reason! A part of him still questioned if he would still have Ron’s loyalty even as a Slytherin.

 New unsettling thoughts occurred to him throughout the night and continued to flood his mind in the morning. As Professor McGonagall gathered all sixth year Gryffindors after breakfast to check if their selected subjects aligned with their career paths, Harry found himself less and less engaged in what was going on around him. He barely noticed Hermione making a beeline out of the Grate Hall for Runes. He didn’t even show any particular enthusiasm when McGonagall told him he still had a chance of becoming an Auror, signing him up to Slughorn’s course.

 “Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?” The professor asked him when she picked up on his preoccupied mood. “Do you not wish to become an Auror anymore?”

 “What—no, I do. I still do.”

 “I thought you’d be more pleased with the news. Exceed Expectations on your Potions is excellent considering your history with the subject.” The Transfiguration Professor searched his face, the ghost of a frown plastered on hers. “Is something bothering you, Potter?”

 “No. no, there’s nothing—” He realized there’s no need to deny his clear discomfort. And there shouldn’t be a reason his Head of House couldn’t help. “Actually, yes, there is. Why didn’t Dumbledore tell me about. . . about. . .”

 “Ah,” Thankfully, McGonagall caught up on what he was trying to ask about. “Well, Potter. I believe that is a question you ought to be asking the Headmaster himself.” She answered indifferently, intending to move on to Dean’s grade assessment. She paused to look over at Harry one last time. “I cannot answer for Albus, but the reasons of keeping previous spring’s events quiet until now had mostly had to do with the safety of our newest student.”

 With that, she gave her full attention to Dean Thomas, not allowing Harry an opportunity to ask anything more. Dean, however, looked like he had the same questions Harry did, but McGonagall was quick to shut them down before Dean had the chance to so much as let out a word, making her intention clear.

 Well, Harry would just have to wait until he saw Dumbledore then.

 He and Ron decided to spend their free period waiting for Hermione in the common room before heading to Defense together, where Gryffindor would be collaborating with Hufflepuff. But as the time for the next period neared, there was still no Hermione in sight.

 Ron sighed. “Reckon she’s already gone without us.”

 They didn’t find Hermione in Defense when they got there, though. Harry got a tiny bit worried. It wasn’t like Hermione not to be punctual, especially since she usually arrives earlier than they did. His slight worry ceased once he saw Hermione quickly slide through the door.

“You won’t believe who I’m taking Runes with.” She said breathlessly, after having run many flights of stairs no doubt.

 No sooner had she let out the words that sparked his and Ron’s curiosities than Snape came through the door mere seconds after she did, looking quite aggravated (though that might just be his usual face, one could never tell with him.)

 Snape’s presence alone somehow managed to deform the Defense class’s atmosphere into a dark cloud of dismal. It made Harry believe momentarily that they were in the dungeon. First, he ordered them to put their books away to begin the classic Snape-speech before class. Emphasizing how much they lacked knowledge and how likely they were not to keep up with the NEWTs level and to not expect excelling in this class. Lovely.

 Given Snape’s shabby teaching style in Potions, Harry didn’t expect anything less. What came as a real nasty shock was how open Snape was to talk about the Dark Arts without ever mentioning the word 'defense’. Harry did his best to hide his grimace at the fascinated gleam that didn’t leave Snape’s eyes the entire time he talked about the Dark Arts. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what Dumbledore was thinking giving the job to Severus Snape.

 They finally moved on from the atrocious introduction to today’s topic, which happened to be practicing nonverbal spells. When the time came for practicing them, Harry had managed to land himself a detention on his very first class this term.

 Great.

“Harry! I’ve a message for you.”

 Harry saw one of his old quidditch teammates approaching him with a rolled-up piece of parchment during break. He recognized him as one of the Beaters who replaced the twins from last year after Umbridge had them and Harry eliminated from playing.

 “Here.” The Gryffindor handed the parchment to him and proceeded to ask Harry—who became Captain just recently—about his plans for holding quidditch tryouts, which Harry hadn’t given much thought on the matter but promised he’d put up a sign in the common room to inform Gryffindors later.

 Harry opened the letter and almost mechanically showed it to Ron and Hermione.

 Dear Harry,

 I can only assume you have many questions regarding yesterday’s events. I will be happy to answer them tonight at your earliest convenience.

 If I could have an hour of your time each week or so, that would be excellent. For I trust no other for the task I’ll have for you. We shall start our private lesson on Saturday. In the meantime, I would like to remind you to kindly refrain from attempting to antagonize Slytherin’s newcomer. I’ll see you both after supper tonight to answer your questions.

 Yours sincerely,

 A. P. W. B. Dumbledore

 P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

 “‘Both’? As in you and him?” Ron asked slowly. “And what kind of lessons is he talking about?”

 “No idea.” Harry said without diverting his eyes away from Dumbledore’s handwriting.

 “At least you’ve got a chance to speak face to face with the glasses-free version of you.”

 “What?” Harry teared his gaze off the piece of parchment he’d been cataloging.

 “I don’t know if you noticed, but at the feast yesterday, other you didn’t have glasses on. . . he’s probably been suffering this whole time. Poor bloke.” Ron said with no real remorse.

 “What do you mean he didn’t wear glasses?” Harry’s voice came out sounding more affronted than he intended it.

 “Or, maybe.” Hermione chimed, “he uses lenses instead?”

 “What’s that?” Ron asked immediately, and as Hermione went on explaining the purpose of eye lenses, Ron looked absolutely mortified. “First, cutting patient’s plain flesh in hospitals and now this? Why do muggles like to torture themselves?”

 Hermione and Harry, being raised muggle, rolled their eyes.

 “Speaking of your, er, counterpart, I didn’t get the chance to tell you before, but I’ve had Runes with him this morning.”

 “You did?” Harry said the exact moment Ron exclaimed. “Is he like our Harry?”

 “I haven’t spoken to him until after class, and even that had been too short.” Hermione shrugged. “I don’t think he’s a threat in any way. If anything, he seemed alright to me. A little skittish, like he’s trying not to draw any attention to himself by acting like a pariah. He and you are similar in that manner.” She looked at Harry as she said the last part.

 “I don’t act like a pariah.”

 And even if he did, it wasn’t his fault if people liked treating him like one.

 Hermione shared a look with Ron but neither argued with him.

 “And anyway, there’s always the chance that he’s a Death Eater using Polyjuice Potion!”

 Hermione looked thoughtful. “If you told me that yesterday, I’d probably have believed you, but now that I’ve met him, I honestly doubt that.” She then added. “There’re vivid differences. I think you’d notice once you see him from up close. He actually has double Potions with us in. . .” Hermione checked the time. “fifteen minutes. You can meet with him then.”

 “Ooh, this should be interesting.” Ron mused.

 Harry felt uncomfortable at the thought of confronting the other Harry Potter (that was if he were to rule out the possibility of him being a Death Eater in disguise). What was he even supposed to say to the space traveler? Sorry our lives revolve around danger so much that you found yourself in quite the conundrum, but hey, if it makes you feel better, my situation’s not that great either? Actually, how similar was the two of them to begin with?

 When the three of them reached the classroom in the dungeon, Harry made sure to scan the students that were already there, but there was no messy black hair in the midst. Unlike Defense, Potions had all four houses collaborating. Harry saw Ernie, the only Hufflepuff, wave for him to join his table.

 Shortly after, Professor Slughorn came out of the storage room carrying glass capsules, greeting the classroom in what could only be described as the very opposite of Snape’s style. The old man actually looked like he wanted to be here. And he didn’t shy from complementing students without showing House discrimination. The discrimination seemed to be based on who the student was related to, or how good they were on something. Still an improvement from Snape. After Slughorn spent a good couple of minutes praising him and Zabini, his eyes had brightened up as it swiped at the very end of Slytherin’s table, nearest to the wall.

 “Ah! What an unexpected surprise!” Clapping, Slughorn beamed at whomever was sitting at the end of that table. “We have a dimension traveler in our midst! Wonderful, wonderful.”

 Harry snapped his head toward the Slytherin table. But no matter how hard he craned his neck, he couldn’t see more than the black and green robes of a fifth Slytherin. He was aware that the rest of the class was eyeing him and other him, but he didn’t care.

 Eventually, he gave up his futile tries to spot his counterpart. Harry was going to end up meeting him later tonight eventually at Dumbledore’s.

 He and Ron didn’t have a copy of Advanced Potion-Making, so they asked Slughorn for the spare ones. The elegantly styled mustached man ushered them both to the cupboard inside the storage room.

 “Only one?” Slughorn frowned slightly. “I’m sorry boys, but I’m afraid you’ll have to share this one.”

 The book that was handed to them looked very, very worn out. Even the front cover was ripped, and the spine looked impossibly creaked. Harry was surprised the textbook was still able to hold itself together. Ron groaned when he saw the book, his disgruntled face mirroring Harry’s own.

The book he and Ron would be sharing for the year had ‘this book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince’ written across the lower part of the back cover. Harry had been too busy inspecting the words there as he walked back toward his seat to notice that Hermione was speaking to someone that wasn’t Ernie.

 “. . . too thick headed to put into account!”

 Harry looked up when he heard his own voice snapping in aggravation. His heart skipped a beat when he saw his own self talking to Hermione. But it wasn’t him, of course, he knew that. He heard Hermione responding but Harry wasn’t truly listening.

 “Harry, look. It’s your doppelganger!” Harry felt Ron elbow him eagerly.

 “I can see that.” He said impassively. He noticed the little wince other him had before he fixed his posture and turned to face Harry squarely.

 This was the closest they’d stood from each other. And now that Harry had a good look at him, not only did he understand what Hermione meant, but he was also able to tell that this person was indeed the one to emerge from the veil. That faint memory came far clearer now to him. Clarity bled into the vagueness that prevented him from believing that what he’s seen had been real. And Harry had the sudden desire to scream. For what, he didn’t know. All that he had in mind that this. . . fraud. . . should not have come out through the veil. In some twisted sense, it felt like he had replaced Sirius. And the last thing this world needed was another Freak Harry.

 But he truly wasn’t the same Harry Potter. For one, he looked much. . . healthier in the areas that Harry lacked muscle in. It made Harry subconsciously fold his arms in front of him as thought it would hide the gaps his body had. Looking at his face, he could see that his colored cheeks were the right amount of fullness whereas his own were hollowed and bloodless, looking almost ashen in their gauntness. But what really captured Harry’s fullest attention was the exposed forehead. Harry would normally let his fringes fall over it to cover his scar. That version of himself must be much bolder than he was (if Harry didn’t know better, he’d think other him was more of a Gryffindor than himself) to have his scar exposed like that—

 Hold on.

 What scar?

 There’s no scar. . .

 It took a moment for that piece of information to register in his brain. When it did, something finally clicked.

 They were not the same person.

 Sure, they were both Harry Potter, but that—thatHarry had been well cared for. Almost as if he wasn’t. . . he had his. . .

 Envy’s a disgusting emotion. One Harry had always tired distancing himself from. But this moment proved that it would be very challenging to not feel the tiniest bit envious. He did another scan of the face, mentally comparing the dark smudges he knew he had under his eyes to the absence of it before him.

 The rich, green eyes similar to Harry’s stared back at him. Harry couldn’t contain his scoff at the lack of frames and glass shielding the vividness of the other’s eyes. As if having the perfect life wasn’t enough of a screw you to Harry, even his vision was better than his!

 Never in his entire life had he felt so insecure. The bastard was even taller than him! 

 If any of us is a bastard, it’s me, isn’t it?

 It was one thing to suspect living with the Dursleys left its toll on him, but it was totally another to know for sure that it did. All that lack of necessary nutrition had an effect on his growth. Something inside his chest had tightened from the thought. I am damaged. Here comes the silly urge to cry. Crying over himself, like the selfish bastard he was. Like a weak, pathetic Frea—

 “Should we do something? Or do we just let them keep staring at each other like that?” A voice muttered from somewhere. A Ravenclaw Harry wasn’t sure he knew their name.

 It took a moment or two before Harry’s sense of surrounding kicked in. He was in a classroom. In the dungeon. And the entire classroom had been looking expectantly at both of them.

 “While I’m sure that is all very intriguing in its own way, I must insist we begin our lesson!” Slughorn, thankfully, called for everyone’s attention. Everyone turned to face the professor and the cauldrons at the front of the classroom. Other Harry was about to walk back toward Slytherin’s table before Hermione and Ron forced him into a chair in their table. “Now, as you can see, I’ve prepared a few samples for you to get an idea of the kinds of potions you ought to be able to make after completing this NEWT course. . .”

 Harry couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at the Slytherin sitting close to him. He couldn’t help feeling the tiniest bit intimidated by the taller, healthier, (happier?) version of himself.

 There was a desperate need to say something, anything, to the Slytherin. But Harry thought it would be best not to pay him any mind for the rest of the class. It was a good decision on his part, he thought as he looked at the Slytherin table where Malfoy was, this strange encounter almost made him forget about the Death Eater problem.