Mend My Shattered Soul

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, I own a few things…a few things I don't own. I'll let you figure out which belongs to me and which I only wish belonged to me.

Summary: "He enjoyed the kill. Out of everything associated with the job he enjoyed the kill the most." A companion piece to Shadows, if you haven't read that this probably won't make sense.

A/N- I wasn't going to continue with this story. But Mark has been plaguing me lately because he has been kind of in the wings of the story. He does have a role and some twists later in the story, but for now I'm developing him through this story. This is two years after the first chapter, no mention of Melissa in this one.

Chapter Two

He enjoyed the kill. Out of everything associated with the job he enjoyed the kill the most. If not for the pleasure derived out of his blood thirst the job would have done him in long ago.

Two years. Two bloody years on this espionage kick and it hadn't gotten any better. He was allowed to kill, encouraged to do so even…that made it all better. Of the few people he had ever met that had the same job description as his he found they found their desire for their job rested in the knowledge of truly helping humanity. That was bullshit and he wasn't afraid to call them on it. Anyone who kept with this job for more than three months had an unquenchable subconscious desire to destroy, to kill. He had the balls to admit, this was the separation between them and him.

He was encouraged, required, to receive professional psychological help. He didn't need it. He already knew he was insane, he didn't need a shrink to tell him that. And yet, he was here. Here at some "crisis center" to receive attention to his needs. He sneered at the prospect, loathing Dumbledore for forcing him into it.

A middle-aged brunette walked out into the waiting room with a confident ease in her step. "Mark," she greeted intimately without permission. "Please, come in."

He read the pin on her robe in annoyance. "Sheila," he said shortly, "could we keep this relatively quick?

"Healer Smith," she corrected automatically, "and no, Mark, we cannot keep this 'relatively quick' for your convenience."

"You know," he said with a mocking, lazy smile, "it's hardly fair to order me to refer to you as Healer Smith and then have you call me by my first name. If you ask me, that shows some sort of 'subconscious' desire and want for power and authority. Perhaps you should seek psychological help on that."

Her lips pursed together into a tight line. "I do not think we will be needing your wit and sarcasm today, Mark, please step into my office."

He shrugged and followed her in. "You're not a real Healer you know, you don't actually heal anything. You listen to complaints and feed people pretty lies that make excuses for their insanity."

"Have a seat, Mark," she said impatiently as she took her own in her superior chair overlooking the couch he was meant to lay on.

He rolled his eyes and sat on the couch, he would be damned if he were going to actually lie on the thing. Probably dirty anyway, so many people come into these offices and just lie all over the furniture never thinking about who was on it before them. He glanced suspiciously at the offending couch; he hoped no one diseased had been in before him.

"I understand," Healer Smith began graciously, "that the things that you confide and reveal to me are of the most serious nature. Anything you tell me will remain completely confidential, Albus has instructed me of the severity of your job."

"How nice of Albus. I'm a spy, Shelia, I pretend to be people and things that I'm not so that I can trick them into giving me information. And when they are no longer of use to me I dispose of them. And by disposing, I mean kill. That's where the real perks of the job come in. I get to do it any way that I want, and I will never get in trouble for it…hell, they give me houses and medals for every kill I complete." He sat bemused at her shocked expression.

"So," he continued pleasantly, "what do you say, am I insane? I do hope so, otherwise I would have to reanalyze myself…and that just takes time that I do not have."

She shook herself suddenly, she could handle this arrogant, pompous "spy," she had seen worse. "I do not believe that anyone is insane, least of all you. Some are merely ill in the mind; it is a sickness that needs to be treated as any sickness. You, Mark, are very ill. It's obvious that you have some sort of subconscious-"

He cut her off, enjoying thoroughly watching her squirm, "what is it with you psychologists and your precious subconscious? Personally, I think it's something you all made up to explain all the shit that you have no explanation to. If there is no logical explanation for something, it must be a subconscious desire. Don't tell me this psychobabble about how I was most likely mentally abused as a child and this led up to my current 'illness,' I don't want, nor do I need, to hear it."

Her calm finally broken, her voice began to rise in irritation. "Whether or not you believe that you need it, you will receive it because you have been ordered to have it! Albus and I agree that you are a sick young man, now if you will calm down and allow me to help you we can move along."

This wasn't even humorous for him anymore, he had lost his desire to provoke her, he just wanted to leave. He stood up decisively, "well maybe I don't work for Dumbledore anymore, so therefore I do not have to stay here." Satisfied that he wouldn't have to stay and hear her analysis of him he stalked out of the room and apparated straight to just outside the Hogwarts grounds.

He had always despised the wards that surrounded Hogwarts; it made it so inconvenient to get there. To apparate one must do so a good mile away, and walk the rest of the way. The walk did give him time to think though, time to decide what he was doing.

He was sick of being the goody-goody spy for Albus. He enjoyed certain aspects of his job, but didn't actually enjoy the job itself. He didn't enjoy the people he was helping, in fact, he could barely stand them. The Light activists, the really extreme ones…they were hypocrites in his eyes. Most people who fancy themselves to be good and pure are so far from that. They grow up in this box, surrounded by people like them who teach them to be "good" and tell them that anyone not like them is evil.

Without evil there is no good. They never take the time to look at things from a different prospective, to view it from the other side. He grew up in a Dark home…if they knew that they would all but ostracize him for it.

He had left his family when he was sixteen, stayed under the protection of Dumbledore and Hogwarts. At times he wished he wouldn't have left, he knew that parts of him were dark…he couldn't change that fact. He couldn't change who he was, he was brought up to know and embrace evil as a confidant, changing values and morals isn't easy. He respected Dumbledore, he saw his mentor's power as a wizard, and was able to appreciate his steadfast views on the world. He was consistent and he would help you if you so desired him to do so.

But he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't pretend to be something that he just wasn't. His family had been Dark for so many generations; it was in his blood as well as his mind to do as his ancestors had done.

The rumors of Voldemort's return were true. He knew it deep within himself. The power of his family's master called to him, beckoned him to come. He despised weakness, hated that he felt drawn to the Dark…drawn to Voldemort. He wouldn't join Voldemort, he just wasn't sure if he could continue to work for the Light. He was more neutral than anything else at the moment. He cared for his own survival.

Finally with Hogwarts close in view his train of thoughts disappeared. He made his way to the front entrance of the school and found that Dumbledore's office came too quickly. No turning back, he would do what he needed to do. What was best for him…what was best for everyone.

His eyes darted around to make sure no one was within hearing distance as he said the password to the office only loud enough to ensure entrance. Rainbow colored gumdrops…Albus always had been able to come up with the most interesting passwords. Mark always felt rather silly even saying them. And he despised feeling silly.

"Mark," he heard a heartfelt greeting that made him wince, "is your session done already?"

"I left." he said simply. "Albus," he began, quick to get to the point, "I think that I quit."

"You quit," Dumbledore repeated slowly, "are you quite sure about that decision, Mark?"

Mark nodded with apprehension. This had been his life…and now it would be gone. It was time to move on though; he couldn't fight for a cause that he didn't believe in. "I'm sure, it's just not for me anymore."

"Well," Dumbledore said as he stood up from his chair, "we will miss your contributions, but will miss you as a person even more."


Mark almost smiled, no one besides Albus would miss him at all. He wasn't exactly a favorite among those who knew that he even existed; they saw him as a potential threat…as a potential compromised spy.

"It's time to move on," Mark said as he moved towards the door, "but I do appreciate all that you've done for me. I respect you, Albus, but please don't look for me after this. I don't think that I want to be found."

Dumbledore nodded shortly, Mark deserved a break. In his heart and mind though, he thought Mark would come back. He was a true master at this game, and he seemed to love it…even if now he said he didn't. It had been a difficult two years for him, he had made it this far, he would be a fool to leave it all now.

Mark left the office guessing Dumbledore's thoughts. He would not be back though. He wasn't leaving the game as he said he was because he hadn't grown weary of it, only the side that he was fighting on. He would continue, but for himself alone.

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A/N- lol, I had to put in a part with a psychologist because I was forced to watch Dr. Phil against my will and I've been itching to make fun of one for days now. I think she might be making an appearance in Shadows by the way…Ron and therapy, sounds like a good combination to me, lol. If anyone read this and has also read Shadows you should hopefully have a new view on Mark…that's all I'm going to say on that. Reviews are always nice!

Thanks to Penny Wishes and EnchantedSpirit for reviewing the first chapter!