Shatter

for the mad

you will be alone at last

in the sanity of your friends.

brilliance will fade away from you

and you will settle in dimmed light.

you will not remember how to mourn

your dying difference.

you will not be better but

they will say you are well.

--Lucille Clifton

***

It was midnight. A figure stood in the darkness. Another approached it and knelt.

"You asked for me, my Lord?"

"Rise, Lucius."

The second did as he was ordered.

"You know what I will attempt to do tomorrow night?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then you know that I will need a vessel. A young, strong, powerful vessel."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Can you provide me with what I require, Lucius?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Ever the faithful servant, Lucius. See that all is taken care of."

"Yes, my Lord. You will have everything that you need."

***

The battle lines had been drawn. Half of the student body of Hogwarts was gone; some removed because of their parents' safety concerns, the rest gone to fight in this war on the other side. Voldemort's forces were massed on the edge of the Forbidden Forest; they would march on the castle tonight.

Those who remained in Hogwarts were spending the last few hours before sunset in varying ways. Some slept; others prayed; a few were in an abandoned fourth floor classroom with several bottles of Muggle and wizard liquor. Harry Potter, the seventeen year old wizard that everyone expected to defeat the Dark Lord simply by glaring at him, was in the library with his face pressed against a window. He had curled up in the window seat to think, but had been certain he spotted movement near the forest. The sun was going down, staining the sky a blood red color he found particularly ominous. He suspected Professor Trelawney would find it a portent of his imminent death or something equally terrible.

There it was again: the flicker of black cloaks against a green wood. Harry found his jaw clenching. They were moving, plotting, gloating. They thought they would take him tonight; a boy who would play at being a man, surrounded by a makeshift army of children and madmen and fools. They thought it would end tonight. They were correct in that much. It would end. But only the gods knew the ending, and they were not talking.

"Harry."

He turned, one hand still lingering on the glass. Hermione smiled, a sad smile gilded in other emotions Harry couldn't sort out. "It's time to go, Harry. We have to get to the Hall."

He nodded, climbing slowly off the window seat. "Do you think we can really do this, 'Mione?" he whispered.

A bit of the sadness fled her features at the nickname. "Yes, I believe it with all my heart or I wouldn't be here." Moving quickly, she flung her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. "We can do this, Harry. We're going to do this. Come on. Everyone's waiting."

***

The last of the shields shuddered and gave, causing everyone to flee for their predetermined stations. Some hid behind statues in the halls, others beneath tapestries, others still in empty classrooms or in stairwells. They were to be a guerrilla force, striking quickly at the darkness invading their sanctuary. All of them had their hiding places, except for one. Harry Potter did not hide.

Dumbledore clasped Harry's shoulder as he left, guiding the students out of the Great Hall. "You are sure this is what you want." It was not a question.

Harry nodded. "Voldemort and I have to face each other eventually. I'd rather do it on my own terms."

"Merlin keep you, Harry," the Headmaster murmured before he slipped out into the halls, leaving Harry alone to wait.

***

Sometime later, a shadow walked into the Great Hall, dragging another, smaller behind it. Voldemort threw back his hood and smiled. "At last, Harry Potter, we meet to settle all accounts."

Harry looked at the person Voldemort had brought with him. "Can't do this by yourself?" Harry taunted, burying fear with arrogance and disdain. "Had to bring one of your little Death Eaters to help you? I thought this was between you and me."

"It is, Harry. It always has been. This person is just a tool, a means to an end." Voldemort turned to his companion. "Now, boy, give me your arm." The figure held out his left arm and pushed up his sleeve, revealing a Dark Mark that burned black. Voldemort pulled a short, silver dagger from the folds of his robe and drew a line just below the Mark, near the elbow. He tucked the dagger away and dipped his finger in the blood that had welled to the surface. "Tilt your head back, boy." The boy complied and his own hood fell back, revealing his face.

Voldemort painted a symbol on Draco Malfoy's forehead with the blood on his hand. "Face the enemy." Draco turned, gaze fixed on Harry.

Harry's mouth was dry. "Draco?" he whispered. He had known this would happen, had seen this coming. Draco had been one of the first Slytherin students removed when the war seemed imminent. Harry had known that Draco was in the force of Death Eaters assembled to take Hogwarts. He had known...but he had not even dreamed of this.

There was something wrong with Draco's eyes. The pupils were too wide; they were too bright. Imperius, Harry thought. He's under the Imperius Curse. But why does Voldemort need him? What is he trying to do?

Voldemort laid a hand on Draco's shoulder and began to speak in a language Harry didn't know. Power crackled in the air. Gusts of mage-wind tugged at Harry's robes. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his wand. Voldemort's face glowed with triumph. Draco remained impassive.

***

It was deathly silent in the Hall, for the mage-wind made no sound. It was deafening in Draco's head. He heard at least five voices, two of which weren't his. His nerves were on fire and he had the strangest feeling that his eyes were glowing. Light burned out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks like tears. Or maybe those really were tears? He looked across the room at Harry. The Boy Who Lived was frozen in shock, unsure of what to do or perhaps unable to do what needed to be done. One of the voices in his head was screaming.

No, wait. That was him. He was screaming.

Someone behind him was laughing. It grated against his ears and he wanted to turn around and make them stop, but he couldn't move. He hurled himself at the power that bound him, hitting an invisible wall and falling away. He tore at it with mental hands that felt like they were bleeding. He slammed against the barrier again and again. He ached and the power was devouring him, burning him up until he was certain there would be nothing left but ashes. He wrapped his hands around the power flowing through him and bent it to his will. He wrought it into a sword and began hacking a hole in the barrier.

The voice that had been laughing was now shouting in rage. The hole he made in the barrier was filling in, closing off his only escape route. He gritted his teeth and swung the sword again, opening the hole wider than ever before. He threw the sword down and leapt through the opening, its jagged edges slicing through his skin. Blood flowed over him but he was free.

He hit the cold stone floor and lay there, unmoving and eyes wide open. Someone cried out, then there were strange words, a flash of green light and a rush of air. He heard and felt the thud of a body falling behind him. Someone wrapped their arms around him and helped him sit up.

"Draco? Draco, are you okay? Talk to me."

Concern shone brightly in green eyes. Hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. Who was this person? He searched through his memories for a name. "Harry..." he said softly.

"I'm here, Draco. What is it?"

"Harry," he repeated.

"I'm right here, Draco. Are you all right?"

He smiled. He'd gotten it right. This person was Harry. And he was Draco. Two names; a big accomplishment. His smile widened. He was smart; his mother had always said so. Maybe if he could think of something else smart, they'd give him present as a reward.

He looked around the room. It was big and empty and made of stone. He tilted his head back to see the ceiling. It looked like the sky; he almost said so, but decided that anyone could have told Harry that. He needed something bigger, something more special than that. His eyes fell on the crumpled figure nearby. He crawled away from Harry's supporting arms and examined the man, poking him cautiously with one finger. When the man didn't move, Draco rolled him over. The man's face was twisted into a mix of outrage and disbelief. Draco shrugged and turned back to Harry.

"He's dead," he offered.

Harry's mouth hung open and his eyes were wide.

Draco cocked his head to the side. Was he wrong? He looked back at the man, then stood up. Draco nudged him with the toe of his shoe, then kicked him a little harder. When the man didn't respond, he walked over to Harry. "I was right, he's dead."

"Oh, God, Draco." Harry's eyes were full of tears.

Draco cocked his head to the side. "What?"

Harry lunged forward and closed the distance between him with an embrace. Draco felt tears soaking his shoulder. He reached a hand up and smoothed the unruly black hair. "Don't worry, Harry. It's all for the best. He didn't look like a very nice person anyway."

Harry let out a sob and clung tighter to Draco.

***

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry looked back at Draco, crouched on the floor and doing a sketch on the flagstones in blood. "I'm not sure," he admitted to Dumbledore. "I think Voldemort was trying to use Draco in some sort of a spell, but then it went wrong and I...I killed him."

"Blood magic," Dumbledore murmured. "How is Draco?"

"It's hard for me to tell," Harry said. "He doesn't seem to be physically hurt, except for the cut on his arm. But mentally...it's like he's not all there. It took him a while to remember who I was and it doesn't look like he has any idea who Voldemort was."

"You did very well, Harry," Dumbledore said, patting his shoulder. "For now, I'm going to see how Mr. Malfoy is doing." The Headmaster walked over to the young Death Eater and looked over his shoulder. "That's a very nice drawing, Draco."

Draco smiled up at the older man. "Thank you. Who are you?"

"I think you know," Dumbledore prompted. "Try to remember."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Um...professor...Dumbledore."

"Very good, Draco," the Headmaster said. "Would you like a lemon drop?" He produced a small bag of sweets from somewhere in the folds of his robe. Draco accepted the candy and popped it into his mouth.

"Sour," the Slytherin mumbled before returning to his sketch. "Am I going to see my mother and father soon?"

"I'm sorry, Draco, but your father is dead."

Draco's head jerked up. "When did he die?"

"Tonight."

Draco looked for a moment as if he would cry, but then set his jaw and stabbed his finger into the wound on his left arm. Blood welled up and dripped onto the floor. Draco began refining his drawing. "What about my mother?"

"I'm sure she's very eager to see you. I'll let you know as soon as I hear from her."

"Thank you."

"Harry, why don't you come over here and look at Draco's picture?" Dumbledore called.

Harry obliged and was surprised to see his own face staring back at him from the floor, painted red in Draco's blood. "That's...amazing, Draco. You're...very talented."

"Thanks," Draco said, swallowing the last of the lemon drop.

"Harry!"

Three heads whipped to face the door. A young woman with bushy brown hair stood in the entry, supporting a young man with fiery red hair and a bloody gash on his left leg. "Harry!" the young woman repeated, running toward him as fast as she could while towing the red-head. "Thank God you're okay! What happened? No one would tell us anything! Oh, don't worry about Ron; he's okay, just got grazed by a falling suit of armor."

"Your concern is touching, 'Mione," Ron muttered. "How are you, Harry? And--Malfoy?!!"

"Yes?" Draco looked at the youngest Weasley son questioningly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron demanded.

"The dead man brought me here," Draco replied.

"The what?!" Ron took a hopping step towards Harry, slinging his arm around his shoulder. "Harry, what is going on?"

Free of her burden, Hermione looked around, then down at Draco's drawing. "Wow," she said softly, sitting down beside him. "I didn't know you could draw like that."

Draco smiled. "Who are you?"

Hermione blinked. "You...don't know me?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry." He frowned, blinked. "No, wait...Her...Hermione. That's a pretty name."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

Draco shrugged. "I think so, but everybody else keeps acting like I'm not."

Hermione looked back at the drawing. "Draco...is this blood?"

He nodded. "Mine."

"What the hell is going on here?!"

Draco looked over at Ron. "What's his problem?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing.

***

A few hours later, everyone had moved into the Infirmary. Those who were wounded had been set up in beds, their friends were left to stand. In the back of the Hospital Wing, Draco sat on his own bed, staring off into space and smiling. Dumbledore, Harry, Hermione and Ron waited with him; only Dumbledore was not fidgeting.

Suddenly, a young witch ran up in a flurry of black robes and skidded to a halt. "Sorry I'm late! I got here as fast as I could, but you've got to know that the whole wizarding world is in a frenzy. It took me ages to find out where you'd taken him and I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do until I found Madame Pomfrey, which took me another small eternity, then--"

She paused for a moment, then blushed furiously. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Skyler Trueflight, empathic Mediwitch." She had short black hair, cropped close to her head, and sparkling blue eyes.

"Aren't you awfully young to be a Mediwitch?" Ron wondered, only to be hit by Hermione.

"I'm twenty-five," Skyler replied, smiling benevolently. "There aren't a lot of empaths to be had, so we tend to be instated young."

"What is an empath anyway?" Harry asked.

"We can feel other people's emotions and the more powerful empaths can influence them," Skyler explained. "As a Mediwitch, I deal mostly with psychological trauma; look around in people's heads and try to patch things up."
"Not exactly a cheery job, is it," Ron muttered.

"No," Skyler murmured. "It's not." She turned suddenly to look at Draco. "And this is the patient." Skyler hopped up onto the bed, getting Draco's attention. "Hi," she chirped. "My name's Skyler."

"I'm Draco," the blond said. "Are you going to help me?"

"Do you need help?" Skyler asked.

"I don't know," Draco admitted. "Everyone else says I do."

"We'll see what we can do, okay?" Skyler took his hands in hers. She closed her eyes and dove into Draco's consciousness.

She was standing in an open plane, the ground made of shining silver. Draco stood a short distance away, holding a hand mirror. He looked up when he saw Skyler arrive, smiling a little. "You came," he said.

"What happened?" Skyler wondered, taking a step. The ground shifted beneath her foot and she looked down. It wasn't a solid sheet of silver; instead it was hundreds of thousands of tiny slivers of mirror glass.

"I've gotten some of it back together," Draco said, turning the mirror around. Skyler saw small wedges of the mirror in the frame.

"Here's a piece," she said, kneeling and reaching for a shard with a curved edge that seemed likely to fit in the frame. As soon as her fingers closed around it, the shard slid through. "No...oh, no." She reached for another piece and was unable to pick that up as well. "He's got to do this himself," she murmured. Standing up, she walked over to the young man. "Draco, what happened here?"

"I thought they told you outside," Draco said.

"They did, but I want to know what happened in here."

Draco sifted through a few pieces of mirror as he related the story of Voldemort's attempted spell. When he was done, Skyler was pale.

"Thank you, Draco," Skyler said.

"Will you come back and visit me?" Draco asked.

"I promise," Skyler said. "I have to go, though."

"It's all right, you promised."

Skyler fell back into herself, her head snapping back and eyes flying open. She gasped for breath, clutching at Draco's hands.

"You're hurting me," he mumbled, jerking her back into reality.

"God, I'm so sorry," she blurted, looking down at the red half-moons left in Draco's palms.

"S'all right," he said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Skyler said, smiling a little. She climbed off of the bed. "Professor, can I speak to you privately a moment?"

Dumbledore nodded and led her into the Hospital Wing's storeroom, where he promptly closed the door and placed a Silencing Charm on it. "What is it you need to tell me, Miss Trueflight?"

"That boy--oh, God--" Skyler staggered a little, tangling the fingers of one hand in her short hair. "Do you know what happened to him, Professor?"

"I have my suspicions," Dumbledore said, "but I'd prefer to hear your professional opinion."

Skyler chuckled softly. "My professional opinion...Hard to believe that seven years ago I was just another student here, and now you want my professional opinion." She shook her head. "I'll try and explain this as best as I can. The spell that was used--do you know what the results were supposed to be?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore admitted. "All I was able to find out was that it was some sort of blood magic."

Skyler moaned. "As if things weren't bad enough already. Well, I promised you an explanation, so here it goes. As near as I can tell, Draco was somehow kept prisoner in his own mind, presumably by the Imperius Curse. Think of the mind like...a cylinder. Voldemort was using him as a channel for his power; he had it flowing through the cylinder. Had the spell been completed, my best guess is that Draco would be dead; the power going through him was of too great a magnitude for any result other than the death of the vessel."

"But Draco is not dead," Dumbledore reminded. "Do you have any idea what went wrong?"

"From what Draco told me, he somehow harnessed the power and shaped it to do what he wanted," Skyler said. "Draco used the power to cut a hole in the cylinder and break free. However, the same hole that he escaped by caused the power to become unstable. It broke free of the tube and the spell fell apart. But the cylinder was broken. Draco's mind was shattered."

"He seems somewhat stunned but that could just be aftershock," Dumbledore began, but was cut off by an increasingly frantic Skyler.

"Oh, he's very lucid now, but that's only because it hasn't connected that nothing's connecting. It won't be much longer before he starts breaking down. And trust me, sir, he's going to get a lot worse before he gets better."

"Then there is hope for recovery?"

"Yes, but it will take a very long time. I can't help him put himself back together; no empath can. Draco has to do it alone."
"What should we do? What can we do?"

"In my opinion? Contact his mother, before the Ministry can seize all the Malfoy assets. Have her get him the best room at St. Mungo's that money can buy. He's going to need it." Skyler threw her shoulders back and smoothed her hair and robe. "Now, if you'll excuse me, sir. I have to be going. This place has been tearing away at my shields since I got here and if I don't get somewhere quiet soon--"

Dumbledore smiled. "No need to explain, Skyler. I do remember when you were a student here. Take care of yourself, Miss Trueflight."

The young witch smiled. "I will, Professor." Bracing herself mentally and physically, she went back out into the Medical Wing, trying to make it out of the castle without looking like she was running.

***

When Dumbledore returned to Draco's bed, the young man had bitten his finger until it bled and was writing his name in endless rows on the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, here's the deal.

I finally got my research paper out of my life, so I had time for fanfics again. I'd been thinking about revising this chapter for a while, but then just bit the bullet and did it. There were a few little nit-picky things I wasn't happy with, so now I feel better having corrected them.

Don't worry, I'm well into chapter two, so that should be coming soon.

In chapter two:

Narcissa pays a visit, Draco gets a present, and a member of the Malfoy family blows past security. Plus, Harry gets an interesting letter and has a moment of utter paranoia.

Last but not least: My reviewers!
As always: Aara and Aurora Angel (my first two DA reviewers on GiMB), and all the other people who were nice enough to drop me a line: jasmyn, magicgerbil, HPFREAKYFAN, Bohemian Snitch (yeah, I'm looking at "Butterflies Instead," but what do you think about "Now is Mine"?), Ylva, Dala, Lucius no miko, EnchantedOnyx, Maeva.

Also, my first three Shatter reviewers: ddz008, scarletandblacklace, and Miyako (you convinced me to revise it, chica. Hope you like how it all turned out)

Can't wait to hear from you all on chapter two!

~ Kat ~

"Human blood is a commodity." - U.S. Federal Trade Commission, 1966.

(A blood themed chapter needed a blood themed quote.)