A Case Of Mistaken Identity

[manwithstyle]

Though Albus was hardly fond of the kitchen, he could concede that it was preferable to any alternatives that would require him to attend to the preparation of his own food. He sat alone at the table, a half-eaten piece of toast before him, sipping unobtrusively at his tea. Save the occasional resident in search of a beverage, it was a remarkably quiet afternoon and he found himself enjoying the rare solitude, fully aware that it could not possibly last.

It never did, after all.

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[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

Atia was in search of some sort of beverage. Chilled perhaps, it was a hot day, and muggy. In some ways it would have reminded her of a day in Rome, though she tried to not not make those connections anymore. They were too disturbing.

Her argument with her daughter was still fresh in her mind. Ever before they had come to an understanding, assisted by living under the same roof she was sure. For them to be at heads, and for Octavia to be so disrespectful here, it pained her greatly.

As such, she did not notice her son sitting in the kitchen immediately, especially dressed as oddly as she was. When she did the glass slipped from her hand, crashing to ground in a mess of glass and liquid. "Octavian!" She flung herself to her knees at his feet, her head in his laip and her arms wrapped about his waist, all of his frustrating behaviour from before forgotten. "Oh, my dear, sweet boy. You have come to fetch me."

[manwithstyle]

Albus looked down at the woman currently in his lap with an expression of unadulterated incredulity, his cup of tea suspended half-way to his mouth. As she had addressed him as both 'Octavian' and 'sweet boy', he was not without some degree context for her behaviour, but the suddenness of it all did catch him by surprise.

"I've done no such thing, I fear," said Albus, setting his tea down on the table. "And I would kindly request that you release me."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

A huff of breath escaped her as she tilted her head to look at him, wondering whyever he would have grown his hair so strangely. "I am your mother. If I choose to embrace you, I shall."

She would brook no argument over this, though she stood, her hand cupping his cheek, "I have missed you terribly. Tell me, did you bring Antony? When are we to leave?"

[manwithstyle]

That she did not in any form resemble his own mother was of mild interest though not enough so to distract him from the situation at hand. Albus did not appreciate being manhandled, even less so by a Muggle and he instinctively pulled away from her hand.

"As you are not my mother," he informed her, "you will do no such thing. As well, I know not of Antony nor of any date of departure. You are stuck here the same as I and all others who come here."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"Octavian," She said his name more sharply than she had intended. His sister... This was her fault, Atia was sure of it. "This is Octavia's doing, isn't it? She's been at you."

[manwithstyle]

"Hardly," Albus replied, looking deeply unimpressed. "I share a face with your son, nothing more."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"Don't speak such nonsense," Atia was rapidly losing her patience. "Come. Let us get you some proper clothes, and you can tell me of the happening in rome."

[manwithstyle]

"Nonsense?" Albus echoed with a disbelieving laugh. "I assure you, Madame, that it is not I who looks the fool in this matter. My name is Albus Dumbledore, not Octavian, and I pray that you take the moment to realise as such before you question me of happenings of which I am forced to claim ignorance."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"How..." She stared at him disbelieving. "Stop this foolishness now. I would know my son anywhere."

[manwithstyle]

"And yet, in this circumstance, you find yourself most grievously mistaken," replied Albus frankly, offering the crazed Muggle a polite, if undeniably sarcastic, smile. "Imagine that."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"What sort of trick is this?" Atia took a step back from him, her words hissed and low. "How do you wear my son's face? What god has sent you to torment me?"

[manwithstyle]

"Whoever said I was sent to torment you?" replied Albus, taking the opportunity to return to his tea. "You're unfortunately presumptuous."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"I've no idea what sort of chicanery this is you insolent wretch, but it is my son's face you wear, and you should not." Her thoughts were a turmoil. A trick of the gods, a trick of her mind, perhaps she had finally been sent mad? "Get out."

[manwithstyle]

Albus peered at her over his tea, swallowed, and replaced it on the table.

"I beg your pardon?"

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"Whatever you are, out." She said each word clearly, her anger plain. She would appeal to the gods, if they could hear her here, forcing him away. She would not stand for this.

[manwithstyle]

There were many things wrong with the woman's request, though Albus. First of which included her usage of 'what' as he would insist quite adamantly that he was a 'whom'. The second, however, was plainer in its offense: he had been there first and therefore had much more of a claim upon the kitchen than her.

"No," he replied calmly, "I think not."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

She had promised herself she would not lose her anger so easily again. This place was different, and her position here was tenuous. Yet she was off-kilter, this insolent, disconcerting young man so like her son, the thief of his face. Atia struck him, a solid blow across his cheek with the flat of her hand.

[manwithstyle]

Albus's head snapped backwards, his cheek already turning scarlet from the force of the hit. He stared at her, bewildered for all of moment before his expression darkened. He stood in one smooth and deliberate motion, the chair overturning noisily to the floor, and repaid the blow with equal force.

"Do not touch me, you Muggle cow."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

The slap was an utter surprise, her cheek burning from it. Her hand touched the skin, flaming red she was sure, even as she looked back at him. "You dare to strike me?"

[manwithstyle]

He would not show weakness in front of this woman and so he made no move to address the pain in his face. "Need I remind you that you struck first?" said Albus, sarcasm all too evident. "Surely your memory is not so short-lived! Though, I do beg your forgiveness if that is, in fact, the case."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

She ignored his argument, it was her way when things did not fit in how she chose to see them. "You will be best to stay out of my way."

[manwithstyle]

Albus mentally rolled his eyes. "Oh, am I meant to fear you?" he asked, feigning sincerity.

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

She knew when she was being mocked, and she did not care. "You underestimate the ways of women, of those you think not as important or as great as you. I know your type."

Not her son, no matter what face he wore. Not her son, not her son, not her son. She told herself this over and over. "You will regret it one day."

[manwithstyle]

"Your gender is of little importance to me," said Albus and, for much as this was true, he said so dismissively, "and you've found yourself mistaken once again. I find your presumptuousness offensive."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

"You seem the type to find your own breath offensive, though you are arelittle better than the pig-whore that birthed you," She spat the insult at him, cold and calculated.

[manwithstyle]

Albus had no particular attachment to his mother beyond the fact that he'd wished she hadn't died and so her words had very little impact.

"...hmm? Oh, yes, the 'pig-whore'. A very colourful phrase, I must say. Well done!" He clapped politely though, given its context, it was anything but. "Now, I am perfectly capable of trading dazzlingly witty repartee for several more hours but, frankly, I can think of a whole host of things I would rather be doing."

[bitchofthejulii.livejournal.com]

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging hard into her palms. "You will see," she promised, whirling to stride out of the kitchen, her head high and shoulders back. She would not let him get the best of her.

[manwithstyle]

Albus made a rather disinterested sound as she left. He stepped around the mess of the broken glass to pick up his overturned chair before he once again sat down and returned to his tea.

It was cold.

Sighing, he put the cup back on the table. This, he thought, even as he massaged his cheek, was the most distressing event of the afternoon.