the one | h. potter

37. differences

Sometime at the beginning of December, I had decided that we were going to fix and renovate Grimmauld Place. Harry had moped, said he liked the house how it was, but I put my foot down. Half the rooms were still infested with magical pasts (despite Molly's best efforts) and many of the bedrooms were still decorated by the choice of their long-dead former inhabitants. I understand why Harry kept Sirius's room the way it was since he'd died,  but almost three years after his death, I think it's time to let go.

We had two weeks off over the holidays, and I intended to use them. My inner neat freak was about to show.

The first day we had off from training, we cleaned and organized the kitchen. When we started, there were still cardboard boxes in the corners, filled with plates, cups, and silverware. I was able to spell the countertop into a beautiful marble and the cupboards into pearly white, giving the kitchen a modern and clean look. We put everything in the cupboards and Harry showed me catalogs for the refrigerator, oven, stove, and microwave he was planning on getting (most wizarding kitchens didn't have these, but Harry said food made from them tasted loads better).

We did the dining room and living room the day after. Harry decided to splurge and get new couches, mostly because the old ones were moth-eaten and dusty. We cleaned throughout the morning and spent the afternoon at a muggle furniture store, deciding on fabrics and sitting on hundreds of couches. In the end, Harry chose a soft cotton loveseat (which fit the two of us perfectly), two reclining armchairs, and a humongous, soft, grey couch that can be rearranged in different shapes. By the end of the day, we've found places for all the new furniture, including a coffee table that Harry got as a last-minute purchase. We organize the furniture in a circle around the room, with the table in the center, and I spell the walls gray. We leave the walls bare, cook pasta in the improved kitchen, and spend the rest of the night snuggling and kissing on the new couch. The next morning, I wake up warm and comfortable in his arms.

At the end of the first week, we finish the first floor and move on to the second. There are four bedrooms on this floor, not counting the room Harry had set up for Teddy. Our bedroom took up over half of the third floor. I had never really noticed how big Grimmauld Place was because we never used these  rooms, since they were either empty and dirty or cramped with boxes. These neglected rooms were almost always filled with household creatures and pests.

Today, we started in a large room at the end of the hall on the second floor. This morning, we cleared and emptied all the boxes, which were filled with moth-ridden clothes, old photographs, and strange momentos that had once meant something to someone. Harry had gone to make us lunch, so I was left to sort everything we'd found.

I hum to myself quietly as I sort through all the piles on the floor. We had donated all the furniture we replaced or didn't want a couple of days prior, but the donate pile was getting big enough that we'd have to go again soon.

There's a wardrobe in the center of the room that keeps shaking, so I avoid it until I finish with the piles. When I finally finish, I turn towards the wardrobe and sigh. I summon a large canister of pest repellent and open the window so the creature can fly away after I spray it.

I ready the repellent and flick my wrist, which opens the cabinet. It's not a doxy like I was expecting, or a gnome that had somehow ended up inside. The cabinet is dark, seemingly empty. I survey it again, confused. There's a black form in the middle of the cabinet, but I can't tell what it is before the doors slam shut.

I have about five seconds to prepare myself before it opens again and someone steps out.

My skin goes cold.

I feel goosebumps break out all over my skin, hear the canister I was holding drop to the floor.

Because what's in that cupboard is worse, much worse, than a pest.

It's me.

But that doesn't make any sense, does it? I'm myself, so how does that... thing have my face? The creature doesn't wear my clothes, though. My sweats and t-shirt have been traded in for black robes and a long black hood. This version of me is wearing death eater garb.

My breath hitches in my throat. My mind tries to think of an explanation, to think of a reason how this could be happening, but comes up blank. There's no creature that I know of that can copy someone's face, look at their memories. So what is this?

I notice my, or rather my other self's, arms. The robes are pushed up past my wrists to show off a black dark mark, shown clear as day on my pale skin. I swallow hard, eyes wide, and my other self speaks.

"Look at you," she scoffs. "All scot-free."

"What?" I whisper.

She snorts. "You know what I'm talking about," she purrs. "You shouldn't be here. You should have gone to Azkaban, stayed on the right side."

She steps closer and I suck in a breath. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Why?" I manage to ask.

"Stuck up here, with Harry Potter? The chosen one?" she mocks. "It's barbaric. Do us all a favor and kill him."

I feel frozen. I can't think, can't move. Death eater me smiles wickedly. "Give in. Give in to yourself. Father would want you to."

"Be who you were meant to be. Be who you are expected to be. Not whatever that it." She looks me up and down in disgust. "You know you want to give in. Become me! That's what you need."

"Why do you fear it?" she patronizes. Warning bells ring at the back of my mind, but I can't seem to figure out why.

"You don't deserve this," the other me says. "This happiness you only think you earned. You let your family down. Dad, who rots in a cage. Mum, who I just know is shaking her head at you from above. And don't even get me started about Draco! Ha! He still loves you! And you left him? For the enemy?"

"No! You're wrong."

"Am I wrong? Or are you afraid of me being right?"