Okay, just a note here... Shards is a one-shot and it will not be continued
(where have we heard THAT before? Cough Wingbroken cough). It was a one shot because it was based on a single idea and on another person's fic. If you want to see how Shards finished up, read Molly Morrison's 'Lies' (to whom, by the
way, I am eternally grateful).
It was a woman who started the screaming, as they always do in films and books. Then panic ensued.
The woman who had screamed, Harry saw, was taken down by a stunner. Then the firer threw their hood back, and Harry saw the mask of a Death Eater.
Suddenly, the pure white ground turned crimson.
A reductor curse, fired by a Death Eater, had punched a hole right though a fourteen-year-old girl. She fell to the ground without a sound.
That was when it became surreal for Harry.
The pain in his forehead became dulled. His senses were muffled as he stared down at this girl whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Harry saw curses being fired left and right, and heard shouts of wonderful laughter. The kind of laughter you'd normally associate with a fairground, but this was far from a carnival.
Harry saw chaos. He saw people hitting the ground. Some crawled away and some lay still. The shop fronts reflected the images of people running. Running for their lives.
Harry saw no flashes of green, for which he was detachedly thankful. He was watching the whole proceeding with something akin to carelessness. I't didn't seem... real.
He heard voices through the screams and the laughter, and he recognised them. Including the evilly high-pitched one.
No... this was not happening...
In the wide circle that was the centre of Hogsmeade, perhaps twenty or twenty-five black-robed minions were shooting spells. Harry searched for the tallest but could not see it.
The trees that quarterly circled the circle of stone that was the centre were being blasted down like a building being demolished. The once-yellow slush that had been the snow where people walked through it now had a light tint of pink. People were screaming, men, women and children all running as though the devil were on their tails. The iron-grey sky was unoppressive and good, but Harry noticed none of this. He couldn't stop staring at this young girl.
He memorised every line on her face, every little detail like the way her empty, vacant eyes caught the gleam of fire from some distance away, the way her mouth hung open slightly, the way a trickle of blood traced its way down her jaw... Harry knew he would see her later, at about 2 a.m, but he couldn't tear himself away.
His mind began to spin a tale... she was studying at Hogwarts. She had a boyfriend. Her friends, her family...
Something knocked into him and sent him sprawling face-first into he snow. Harry was roughly picked up and semi-dragged along the ground. Harry struggled to his feet to find several things: that he was further way from the group of Death Eaters that were currently killing, looting and... and raping their surroundings. Secondly, that the snow had stuck his fringe to his forehead. A man in soaked clothes was trying desperately to pull him away from the group. The man gave him one last crazed tug and ran for his own life.
Harry stood and threw a glance back a the Death Eaters. He knew that because his hair was plastered to his forehead, he wasn't gong to be recognised in a hurry. He'd changed over the past year since Voldemort had last seen him; his eyes were sharper but more vacant, his face was leaner and he had a more determined, yet decidedly cynical, air. He was a very different person, and it showed upon his face.
Maybe it was enough to protect him, for now.
He turned and started to run, but a bodybind curse smacked into the small of his back. He fell to the frozen ground, stiff as a board. He heard footsteps crunch toward him, and fell unseen eyes scan his back.
"This one's got a crutch."
It sounded like McNair. A foot connected sharply, briefly and painfully with his ribs. His solid body rocked a little.
"Leave him. We've got more important things."
Bellatrix Lestrange. It was strange not to hear her voice without mocking tones infused.
He heard Voldemort's chilling voice, but it was a way off.
"Leave him. People to do, things to see..."
There was some nervous laughter, and Harry caught the tail-end of Voldemort's speech as they left him behind and as a warm, leaden-like feeling in his stomach and brain of pure relief swept through him.
"Always leave one alive to tell the story... always leave one to tell Harry Potter that this is all his fault. Undo the spell."
All of Harry's unneeded brain functions shut down.
His fault?
His fault?
HIS FUCKING FAULT.
Harry felt the spell melt away around him as anger filled him up like a bodyful of lightning. He raised himself up, made sure he was sat on the ground by his crutch with his empty hands in plain view, and muttered:
"You bastards."
It was quiet but it was carrying in the deathly silence of the street. The rational part of his mind (which sounded horribly like Percy Weasley) screamed that this was totally crackers. He'd been lucky to get away without death, torture or both. Why the fuck was he calling them back!
Because I need to, he understood. He didn't think it, he understood it. This is not the final confrontation, this is a meeting in the middle. I need to make him understand that I am no longer a child. They need to know that I am something... something to be feared.
Let them know I am a worthy adversary.
The group of Death Eaters had stopped in their tracks. Nothing moved for a few long, long seconds, and Harry wanted them to hurry up. His brain was lucid, suicidally calm and all he could think was my trousers are getting wet.
Voldemort didn't even turn. Harry knew he didn't need to.
"Mr Potter," he said calmly. "So nice of you to join us while we work."
Now they did turn, all of them, all of them armed, wands pointing at him.
"Killing, work? I can see the slogan now: "WE DEAL IN WHOLESALE SLAUGHTER'."
Nobody laughed. Harry didn't expect them to. The joke had become twisted in his mouth, but maybe it had never been intended as a joke in the first place.
Harry eyed the widening circle of Death Eaters. There was a spreading uncertainty among them, Harry could feel it. Why wasn't this boy scared? He had plenty to be afraid of...
Harry wasn't scared, mostly because he didn't feel the need. Fear would not help here...
He was now totally enclosed in a circle of Death Eaters... there were maybe forty, forty-five altogether. Harry pointed to one at random.
"Come here."
His mouth spoke the words, and his ears cried out in astonishment. He was ordering Death Eaters about?
The Death Eater looked at Voldemort, who gave the most imperceptible of nods.
Voldmort's robes were the usual dusty black, the black of shrouds and coffin lining. His eyes were alight with malicious interest, and a slim, tapering white forefinger was touching the bottom of his ghostly, lipless smile. Those snakelike eyes, so ironically the colour of the wine in the Catholic chalice, glinted slightly.
The Death Eater stepped forward, wand raised and at the ready. Harry beckoned him closer and the Death Eater stepped very reluctantly to his side.
"Hand."
The Death Eater once again sought permission from his leader. Gaining it, he very cautiously held out a gloved palm.
Harry grasped it firmly, pulling himself up and dragging his crutch with him. This appeared to startle the Death Eater, who had evidently been suspecting some kind of attack. Harry stumbled for a second, straightened, brushed himself down a bit and nodded at the Death Eater. Through the slits in the hood, Harry made out a pair of scared blue eyes. From the Death Eater's stance and build he judged that this was a man.
"Thanks," said Harry, and as the man turned a retreating back to rejoin his place in the ranks, Harry added "Good boy." He managed to sound both contemptuous and condescending at the same time.
He visibly saw every Death Eater stiffen in anger. He had just treated one of them as an underling, which was having the desired effect. They were becoming tetchy, uncertain... and they would make mistakes.
True, it was like sticking a sharp stick into a wasps' nest and swirling it around a few times... but it was always nice to have the opposition on their toes. Even if it meant losing his.
"Master!" shrieked a shrill voice from somewhere in the circle. "Master, he speaks to one of us as a dog, he defiles one of our members! He should pay!"
"Yes," said Voldemort thoughtfully. The elegant white finger still had not moved from his slightly-smiling mouth. His blood-red eyes betrayed hints of cruelty and poisonous thoughts, of evil so natural it was like deadly nightshade and belladona.
"Oh please, please Master, let me be the one to make him pay!"
The shrill voice belonged to the Death Eater who promptly threw themselves on the ground before Voldemort. Harry couldn't resist a smirk. They were all over the place.
"Bellatrix, my dear..." The hand slipped down as Bellatrix raised herself up, and slowly traced a line down her jaw in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. For a moment, Harry gained a strange bit of insight into the Death Eaters' community: he makes them do his bidding, but he does care for them. He cares for them and they know it. Maybe it's why most of them, despite the fear of death, never leave him. It's protection, in a way. Their leader. Their tormentor. Their father.
"The last time I charged you with this task you failed," said Voldemort in his softly taunting voice. His thin face was tipped slightly to the side in an expression of mild disgust. "I have not yet forgotten that. Crucio."
Aha. He cares for them, but he also... prunes them. He makes sure that they grow into the efficient machines he wants them to be. Disciplining is in order, but perhaps it was necessary, if you ruled this surly lot. Lucious Malfoy would as soon overthrow you as look at you. If you have the love of your minions and a strong disciplinary hand... the world is your oyster.
Mainly because you eat it alive.
True, it would be hard to find a slice of lemon seven hundred miles long, but the metaphor suffices. For now.
Since when have I become such an expert at psychoanalysing the Death Eaters? Harry wondered. Surely it wasn't a habit.
Bellatrix had stopped writhing on the ground and was lying panting before the feet of her master.
"But..." continued Voldemort as if the conversation had had no interruptions, "I daresay you will receive your turn."
"Yes, Master... thank you, Master..." She kissed the hem of his robe and crawled back to her place in the circle.
At the mention of turns, everyone in the circle appeared to brighten slightly as Harry's heart sunk. They were going to torture him by rota. How... efficient. Harry spoke aloud this last sentance.
Voldemort steepled his fingers and began to walk toward him with a slow, leisurely pace. Harry's scar started to burn, and he began to believe that if Voldemort did come any closer his head would explode...
The tall, white being was stood before him, scanning his face as though looking for something. Perspiration beaded on Harry's forehead as the pain began to reach a pitch only previously found when the menace standing in front of him had tried to batter into his mind.
A long, white forefinger touched his scar with the most gentle of caresses and Harry jerked back, disliking the touch and fearing the white explosion of pain that had flared behind his eyes.
"So you see, Harry Potter," said Voldemort quietly and cruelly, "You cannot even stand near me without feeling pain. How do you expect to defeat me?"
Voldemort stood only a pace away from Harry was ghastly enough but he knew that the effect of Voldmort's words were more for the benefit of his followers. Harry could feel confident stares watching them from all around.
I WILL get out of his alive.
"Oh, I don't know," he said brightly, standing up straight, willing his legs to do the work of the crutch. "Remember our little... chat, a few days ago?"
He felt Voldemort stiffen, and saw discontented murmurs sweep around the circle. Voldemort appeared to be thinking about his reply very carefully, and Harry saw with a deep sense of mingled terror and satisfaction that Voldemort was unnerved.
"Of course. Seeing such cynicism from the mouth of ten-year-old is not something one easily forgets."
The fear in Harry's brain was screaming something at him, but Harry wasn't listening to it. He had important things to worry about.
"Yeah? Well, I meant what I said."
Voldemort's eyes were unreadable. "I daresay you did. My offer still stands, Harry Potter," added Voldemort unexpectedly. "You meant what you said, and so did I. You saw them, you touched them. They could be real again."
For one sickening moment, Harry was horribly, horribly tempted. Voldemort appeared to sense this as he raised his snakelike head a little and focused on Harry with those red eyes.
"Well?" he prompted leisurely, almost mockingly. "I meant what I said. Do you?"
Fear surged again, but Harry caught the tail end of it as he chased it back to the hindquarters of his brain.
Snape is a Death Eater. Where is he?
Nine syllables usually don't have such a shock on the mind, but there you go. Harry forced himself not to look at the Death Eaters. Snape had to be here somewhere.
Harry brought his brain back to the task in front of him.
"Still do. And guess what, munchkin? I'm not playing by the rules anymore."
He picked up his crutch, threw it very hard at the nearest Death Eater and just had time to see the man/woman collapse unconscious as the world dissolved into a universe of flying light.
There was pain.
There was pain.
Cracked and bleeding lips soundlesly repeated the mantra I must not scream. I must not scream.
And somewhere in the middle of it, just before he blacked out for the third time, Harry saw. And he laughed, and laughed, until his tired lungs ran out of energy, and he slipped into the mists of unconsciousness again. Soon he would wake and he would know nothing but a lingering memory, locked away, but he would remember it and he would laugh again. His torturers would not understand his mirth. When Harry would awake in peace, he would remember the irony but not the cause.
fhippogriff: Hmm, first review I've ever had which appears to be aimed more at the fictional characters than me. ; ) And as to making it safely through this invasion... not quite, as you can see.
leggylover03: Angst is fun.
childofdarkness1988: I am somewhat flattered and marginally impressed it kept you up. Keep reading!
Chassa: Yay! International relations! Thanks for reading!
starinthedark11: Harry doesn't get saved by Snape just yet.
E.A.V.: Shakespeare invented the words 'assassination' and 'bump'. Pretty nifty,
eh?
I was pretty proud of that whole 'marmalade joints' thing... I thought it flowed
pretty well. It had a cool rhythm to it, if I do say so myself. ; )
That's the thing about refined sugar... it's so addictive, and yet is a chemical
poison to the body.
Keep reviewing!
TeahLeafs: This is NOT, I repeat, NOT a slash story. To be honest, even if I
wanted to write a slash (which I don't) I wouldn't know how to go about it.
Wingbroken is safe from suchlike. I am not against slash (nor am I homophobic or anything) because people should be allowed to write what they want, but I find
the idea of a slash relationship between Harry and Snape frankly disturbing. I mean, some people even write stories about Snape and Neville.
Why?
And I will NEVER stop rocking. ; )
PadfootsNoxed: Good good. Keep reviewing!
Midgette: What could be better than a well-travelled attention-span? It'll get bored and come home. Aww, let it come to England... it can visit me!
Strega: Cliffies do give me a nasty case of megalomania, but what can you do.
It's a trade. I'll try to fit BBQ Snape in someplace, and you can use my chocolate rabbit simile. Deal?
sakura saisaka: Computers... can't live with 'em, can't jump up and down on 'em and curse 'em to hell without getting sued for destruction of library property.
I like writing the twists... they're fun.
crazNM: I tend to blur insanity and paranoia... again, because I tend to romanticise it. Still, what can I do.
The Death Eaters' strike was bound to happen, I suppose, what with Voldemort's interaction getting steadily more and more involved in the story. I just hope it works out okay for the readers. Keep me posted on what you think!
Kip: Yes, Harry does get the brunt of things, doesn't he? I liked your idea of
his chemical imbalance as a result of temporary maniac inhabitation... made me giggle. Forget Prozac, Harry Potter needs morphine.
Dear Lord, what a wonderful mental image of Voldemort singing "Fat Guy in a
Little Coat." That reminds me... check out It's a nice little mickeytake of Harry Potter and confirms my theory that no spell will stop a lead slug moving at 600m/s.
Dragonero: I wouldn't want you to go to St. Mungo's. I'll keep updating as fast as I can. ; )
Asiea: I always stop at good bits to keep you lot reading... I'm paranoid I'm losing readers, like most writers. Bear with me. : )
Pleione: Probably because he feels inadequate next to Dumbledore... I think, in many respects, angsty Harry Potter is a very selfish person. I haven't read a fic yet where he isn't.
Molly Morrison: Hey, Molly nice to hear from you. : )
I totally understand about the priorities thing... you can update anytime, but your PhD isn't exactly going to come again without a LOT of work. I can't imagine how much work you put into that because I'm still at the lowly GCSE level. I hope any family problems resolve themselves.
Harry has his wand but he knows he doesn't have a chance, so declaring his unarmed-ness leaves him open to a subliminal kind of mercy... for a while, at least. Besides, if he had been sat there with a wand in his hand he'd be dead without another moment's thought. As for the whole falling-asleep-in-the-cafe-thing... ah, stuff happens. Chalk it up to randomosity.
fhippogriff: He may or may not get out of this... I'll leave you hanging on that.
SheWolfe7: The way Voldemort 'pops' in is going to get very annoying very quickly for Harry... especially nearer the end of the story.
Breanna Senese: Death Eaters are, I feel, the magical world's equivalent of a nasty rash.
Kalorna Enera:
1) Thanks. You may use the Fred and George quote. ; )
And I totally understand about the technical difficulties - I have been suffering from the same problem ever since I started updating this in, I think it was last June.
2) I could think of some really cool stuff for Fred and George to invent, but I figured it was sidetracking from the story. Mmm, solid sugar mini pony...
3) Yesyesyesyesyesyes, insanity. Sorry about that. I thought it would be interesting. I was thinking, what would happen if Harry went through depression and out the other side? I didn't want to delve into stereotypical depression too much because it might turn into another predictable angst fic, and I couldn't be having with that.
I like making character's thought interesting to read, especially the subconscious ones. When I was comparing rage to twilight black/blue, I was thinking of that colour you fin at the very bottom of the ocean with no lights on... very heavy, very silent... just 'very'. Reds and oranges seemed too light and frivolous, if you know what I mean.
4) Yes, the plot will soon be like a small kangaroo if it keeps jumping, and indeed it will do. 'Insanity magic'... I like it. It's got a nice ring to it (not to mention a matching necklace and bracelet). I may steal that for later chapters. Oh yeah, and it's 'thorough' - it's basically 'through' with an extra 'o' after the 'th'.
5) Feel sorry for Snape? I must be better than I think. ; )
6) It was less of a dream, and more like being trapped inside your own psyche.
Yes, the jam-filled pool wasn't too bad. I just thought 'random', and then 'jam'.
7) There will be I think one more dream to come and it will be unreal but not very funny. Hmm, hot dogs... you're giving me ideas. ; J
8) I have found my story tends to move on without me, and I am usually left making excuses for it. Anyway, I think there were six or seven healers because: more people were taken to Hogwarts' hospital because it was closer; Harry was famous so lots wanted to help out; the teachers were paranoid about Harry.
That's all I can think of at the moment.
Well, you do certainly like to review... keep it up for me!
HPbabe143 : Review whenever you want... I know about stuff getting in the way. : P
justmehere: Yeah, I know, it's gotten a little OOC... but all fanfictions are based on the reader's/viewer's perception of character. Provided it's realistic, otherwise it's just silly.
Shada Bay: Yes, things do change quite drastically from here. Everyone goes a little OOC, but what can you do.
I went back to putting the little sub-thought brackety-style-doo-dah-things in because a) I missed them and b) they were fun fun fun.