Chapter 20: Shatter

MARCH 1987, FRESHMAN YEAR AT UNIVERSITY

Edward John Dwyer—better known to his peers as Teddy—was the same age as both Andrea and Meli, and by Muggle standards, he was every bit as odd. While not a wizard himself, he appeared to have a semi-conscious awareness of the existence of a realm beyond the obvious, and it occurred to Meli more than once that, had she told him she was a witch, his only reaction would be to nod and make an off-handed comment about the weather. His interests were more science-fiction than fantasy-oriented, and it was he who introduced both witches to both Star Trek and its new incarnation, Star Trek: The Next Generation. He was also more tolerant than others of Andrea's glam-rock obsession, which made him all right in her eyes.

Most of Teddy's acquaintances didn't consider him terribly socially adept, but that was largely owing to his propensity for thinking on two levels at once—an accomplishment which many of his peers would never master, and certainly not at that age. Given that Meli and Andrea functioned on his alternate level as a matter of course, they all got along swimmingly. Of the three, Teddy was perhaps the least athletic, preferring to exercise his mind in the wholesome environment of a deep book, but what he might lack in musculature, he more than made up in chivalry.

Both Andrea and Meli were accustomed to coming and going at all hours, paying little attention to the time of night, even though the university was located in a less-than-ideal neighborhood. So it was that Meli went out by herself fairly late one night near the middle of her second semester in America, to all appearances without a care in the world. She was returning to the dormitory just after midnight when Teddy, who had stayed at the library until it closed, saw her from half a block away while he was crossing the street.

He wasn't the only one to notice her, however, and before he had finished crossing, Meli was standing stiffly with a knife to her back and the other interested party speaking to her in threatening tones. While Teddy didn't hear distinct words, it required little for him to conclude that the other gentleman's intentions were less than kind. Thinking quickly (never a challenge for him), he started jogging toward Meli.

"Hey, honey!" he called, hoping that he sounded appropriately like a concerned boyfriend. "Are you all right?"

He was within conversational earshot by that time, so Meli didn't have to raise her voice at all. "Teddy, do me a favor," she said, her tone unbelievably calm under the circumstances.

"What's that?" he asked, fully expecting her to request a call to 911 or something similar.

Rather than answering immediately, however, Meli suddenly whipped her hands into motion, and within the space of a heartbeat, it seemed, she had soundly punched her would-be assailant and flipped him over her hip for a bone-crunching landing on the sidewalk. A well-placed kick knocked him out, and when she had made that finishing touch, she looked up at Teddy (who was staring at her in understandable shock) with a slightly exasperated look on her face.

"Don't call me 'honey'," she advised sardonically.

Teddy looked from her to her handiwork, then back again, at a total loss for words. After a long silence, he cleared his throat. "Jackie Chan, then?" he suggested lamely. "Or do you prefer Bruce Lee?"

Meli smirked. "Meli will do," she assured him, then walked with him until their paths necessarily diverged.

After that day, Teddy never saw the need to question Meli Ebony's ability to take care of herself…and neither, for that matter, did Meli.

PRESENT: LATE NOVEMBER

While, strictly speaking, there was no such thing as a routine extraction, Meli had developed an expected progression in her mind that more or less always played out when she went in ahead of the Death Eaters to disappear someone. She either knocked at the door or rang the bell, and within five minutes' time she had announced both herself and her purpose in coming, and she and her charge or charges were on their way out.

There were exceptions to every script, of course, and something usually happened that Meli hadn't anticipated, but the deviations were generally minor and caused minimal problems. The most bizarre exception, and the greatest delay by far, had come in the form of Aldarion Everett, and it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that that particular situation would not be repeated anytime soon.

She had known, intellectually anyway, that it was only a matter of time before she had to pull someone out half a step ahead of the Death Eaters, but she had hoped to have some warning of the fact before she went in, at least the first time it happened. Unfortunately, Death Eaters didn't publish their plans for the Order to see, and it seemed that Snape and Zarekael were being left out of the loop more and more, so on this particular occasion, Meli found her familiar script rapidly disintegrating before the curtain even rose on Act I.

She was habitually paranoid, so it was her practice to set up warning and security wards on her way into any dwelling from which she planned an extraction. Her first proximity alarm of three went off as she was knocking at the door, and just like that, her time-frame shrank from ten minutes to five—and even the figure of five minutes was a hedged one, since she'd never seen her security wards actually tested by a raiding party.

Fortunately, Robert and Kristine Coleman were practical individuals who were not inclined to stand around debating the necessity of a rapid departure. Unfortunately, however, the reason Robert was so valuable was that he had in his possession certain critical documents, which he kept safely locked away at home—and which had to be recovered before he and his wife abandoned the house to the Death Eaters. Kristine, at Meli's direction, ran to the window furthest away from where the proximity alarm had sounded and waited while Robert and Meli collected the papers. They were saved from worrying about the invaders apparating in, thanks to Meli's precautions, which included setting up anti-apparation wards around the house before she ever announced herself. That meant, of course, that the escapees couldn't get away by disapparating, which in turn led to a stronger reliance on portkeys and physical running than Meli would have liked, but the gamble had never worked out of her favor.

Until, possibly, now.

The Death Eaters came more quickly than she had hedged, overrunning her delay wards and entering the house while she and Robert were making a mad dash from his study to the guest room where Kristine waited. Adrenaline flew through Meli's veins, and the sound of sudden pursuing footsteps did nothing to dissipate it in the least. She and Robert pounded into the guest room, and Meli pulled from her pocket a travel packet of tissues, which she tossed to Kristine with the terse explanation "Portkey!" Kristine caught it left-handed, then reached out for her husband and Meli.

The footsteps chose that second to catch up to them, though, and Meli turned away from her charges to face the Death Eater as he came in. Seeing from the corner of her eye that Robert also had a hand on the portkey, she shouted "Sugar almond cookie!" and had the satisfaction of knowing that they were safely away.

Before she could activate her portkey ring, though, the Death Eater reached her, and she found herself suddenly in a physical struggle to apprehend his wand before he could bring it to bear. Her own wand, sheathed up her sleeve, was as good as a mile away, so she didn't even bother to try for it.

A well-aimed blow caught the side of his mask and sent it flying away, exposing a squarish face creased by a cold smile that made it quite clear to Meli that her opponent was enjoying himself immensely. She, for her part, bared her teeth and planted a knee in his thigh, drawing a yelp from him as she split his quads.

They were locked, each with the right hand grasping the other's left wrist, but in that crucial second of pain, the Death Eater loosened his hold, and Meli wrenched her left hand free to land a blow squarely on his throat.

It collapsed beneath her fist more easily than it ought to have done, and that, coupled with a strange-sounding expulsion of air—not sudden, but steady, and lasting far too long for it to be voluntary—told her that something was terribly wrong. Meli pulled backward, encountering no resistance from the Death Eater, and stared at her adversary in horrified shock.

Gone were the enjoyment and self-satisfaction, replaced instead by the bug-eyed countenance of a dying fish. He clawed desperately at his throat, and every muscle in his neck had come painfully to prominence, giving it the appearance of either a mass of ropes or a reddening tree trunk. He was fighting for his life, struggling vainly for air even as it hissed constantly out of his lungs and away from him.

I collapsed his trachea, she realized in benumbed horror. There was nothing to be done for him, not without a mediwitch who specialized in such things, but her first thought, though he was her enemy, was to flail about in her mind for something she could do to save him.

They stared at each other for a long, dreadful moment—he dying, she unable to tear her eyes away—before she returned to the awful reality that she had to escape, or she would meet a fate worse than his.

Meli swallowed, feeling something pricking at her eyes, then spoke the word to activate her ring and take her away from there.

ooo

The Colemans were expectedly shaken after their recent adventure, so they did not question their rescuer's unusual pallor, nor did they particularly notice that she kept staring at her left hand with a stricken look in her eyes. They sat, completely oblivious, in the Bat Cave receiving parlor, sipping at tea while Alfred readied a guest room, and then they took Meli's hollow advice and retired to try and rest.

Alfred himself, being neither shaken nor a stranger, noticed what the guests had not.

"Can I interest you in some anise tea, Rasa?" he asked politely, popping up in the middle of her path as she paced the parlor after the Colemans had gone.

She gave him a curious look. "Anise tea?" she echoed. "I don't recall ever saying I'm fond of anise."

The house elf smiled. "You haven't," he affirmed. "However, I have observed that you prefer the stronger-flavored teas to the sweet ones."

Meli smiled in spite of herself. "And Snape house elves, in addition to being discreet, are also highly observant," she rejoined, then abruptly sobered. "Perhaps when I return, Alfred," she told him. "The fact is, I have to report to Dumbledore before I do anything else. I've only been trying to forget that fact for a moment or so."

Alfred's smile turned a touch calculating. "Then perhaps I should instead have offered a bottle of Sambuca," he said dryly. "The flavor is not much different, but it would certainly contribute more in the way of forgetfulness."

Meli felt her own smile break. "I think I'd rather not get drunk just now," she told him quietly. "If I start on that path in my present mood, I don't think I should ever crawl out of the bottle." She shook her head, then stepped toward the fireplace. "No. I have to go, and I have to go now. Please see to our guests in my absence."

The house elf bowed. "Of course," he assured her. "But if there is anything I can do for you," he added, "please, don't hesitate to ask."

She offered him a grateful glance, then drew a handful of floo powder from its jar. "Thank you, Alfred," she said, her eyes pricking once more.

ooo

The fire spat her out in Dumbledore's office, but the few seconds' transit time had been more than enough for most of the rest of her control to collapse. By the time the headmaster of Hogwarts saw her, the pricking in her eyes had drawn tears, which had filled her eyes nearly to the brim and were threatening to fall free; her complexion had gone from pale to ashen, and her jaw would have trembled slightly if she hadn't clenched it nearly to the point of breaking.

Fortunately, Dumbledore was alone, for she didn't think she could handle crying in front of an assembled audience on top of everything else—and her crying was not at all in doubt; it was simply a question of when she would break.

"Meli?"

Whether it was the concern in his voice or his use of her proper name, Dumbledore speaking was all the further trigger she needed. Meli didn't burst into tears, precisely, but her breath came only in violent, wracking sobs, and her eyes poured forth streams down her cheeks that flowed rapidly, soaking her face, her neck, and the bodice of her robe.

She didn't understand what followed, but when she had at last cried herself dry and the sobs subsided into a nasty fit of hiccups, she found herself sitting across from Dumbledore in a wing-backed chair near the fireplace. To her knowledge, anyway, he hadn't interrupted her or so much as attempted to talk, wisely choosing instead to let her weep in peace, but he was also waiting expectantly for her to explain herself.

How can I explain myself? she wondered miserably. I've just killed a man—a living, breathing man—someone's son, brother, husband, perhaps, and for what? He was my enemy, but I could have escaped without murdering him!

It might have been easier had she actually seen him dead, but having left before then, her memory would always be of him dying—perpetually dying and never finding relief in death. There might have been another way, there must have been…but she would never actually know what might have come of it. In a split-second, without meaning to or even thinking much about it, she had taken the easiest way, and that was the way that she now had to live with.

You've killed before, you know, an irritating voice whispered at the back of her mind.

That was different! she retorted. That was—

Your friend?

She gritted her teeth. Shut up.

Sharpie?

Shut up!

Oh, come now, the voice went on mercilessly. Who cares about a filthy Death Eater you've never met and will never hear of again? Time was when Dirk Pierce was one of your best friends—or had you forgotten?

Shut the fuck up!

She didn't realize until she opened them that she had screwed her eyes tightly shut. Her head ached with the pressure applied to both her eyes and her jaw, and Dumbledore still sat calmly across from her, waiting in spite of his worry for her to speak first.

He seemed, however, to realize that she either could not or would not speak, so after a seeming eternity, he cleared his throat. "I hesitate to ask," he said softly, "but how are the Colemans?"

"Never better," Meli replied bitterly. "At least in physical terms. They're a tad shaken."

He paused, then took a deep breath. "Do you feel up to giving a report, or would you rather talk now and report later?"

She let out a short, abrupt bark of laughter. "I'm only going to talk once," she told him raggedly, "so if you want it logged, you'll want me to report now."

Dumbledore looked measuringly at her, but after a moment he nodded, then stood and crossed to his desk. Meli forced herself to stand up and follow, and by the time she stood before him, he had her log and Dicto-Quill set up and ready.

Just stick to the facts, she admonished herself silently, but even that offered no relief, for the other voice returned.

The fact is, simply put, that you've added another notch to your rifle, Phamelia Marvolo. You vowed never to kill, never to cross that line between you and your grandfather—

Voldemort! she snapped.

Your grandfather, the voice continued. But now you've done it twice, and you still haven't even admitted to the first one.

Shut up.

She cleared her throat and, in a shaking voice, proceeded to describe in detail the events surrounding the Colemans' rescue. Her narrative flowed steadily, if not precisely smoothly, up until the point she had activated the rescue portkey, and there she stopped abruptly.

Dumbledore waited a moment for her to continue, but when she showed no sign of doing so, he looked up and attempted to meet her eye. "Did you have to fight the Death Eater?" he asked quietly.

Meli hesitated, then nodded. "Yes," she said. "He—I couldn't get to my wand. We fought, and both my hands were caught…I got one free and…" She swallowed hard. "I hit him in the throat, sir."

She had thought that the last of her tears were spent, but she now found that that was an incorrect assumption. Streams flowed anew from her eyes, and her only comfort was that she was crying silently and that she could therefore breathe without sobbing. "I didn't mean to, Headmaster!" she whispered. "I only wanted to push him away, hurt him enough that he wouldn't come at me again, but I collapsed his windpipe." She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them quickly as the image of him dying danced in her memory. "I left before he died," she finished, "but there was nothing anyone could do to save him."

She was vaguely aware of Dumbledore speaking to the Dicto-Quill, but she had no comprehension of either how long he spoke or what he said. When he had done, he closed the logbook with a rather final-sounding thud and came around his desk to face her.

Meli stared at the floor; she couldn't bear to meet the headmaster's eyes—or anyone else's, for that matter—in light of what she had done.

"Is there anything I can get for you?"

She looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore shrugged and offered a compassionate smile. "Well, I generally like a piece of Turkish Delight when I'm feeling low," he replied. "But I know you don't much care for candy."

Meli felt a broken smile cross her face briefly. "Alfred offered me a bottle of Sambuca," she told him. "While the alcohol's not in my best interest, I suppose I could do with some black licorice all the same." She shook her head. "I killed him, Headmaster. I murdered him."

"There was no malice aforethought, Meli," he said quietly. "You hadn't any time for thought—you simply reacted."

"This time, perhaps," she allowed, "but not before."

Dumbledore gave her a puzzled look. "Before?" he echoed.

She swallowed again and hung her head. She hadn't told anyone about meeting Dirk Pierce on Diagon Alley after identifying Crim, but her words on that day were as fresh in her mind now as if she had just spoken them a moment before—and they had been ringing in her ears when she had drawn her wand on him in June.

"I…threatened him, Headmaster," she confessed softly, her words barely audible. "The day I was called to London to identify—" She broke off and clenched her jaw to keep it from trembling. "I didn't come directly back to Hogwarts. I lunched at the Leaky Cauldron with Andrea, then went to Diagon Alley to buy…a Christmas present."

It was sobering, bizarre even, to associate Dumbledore's obnoxious toe-socks with that day. She hadn't intended to buy him a gift at all until that errand provided a temporary reprieve from human company, but his near-insane joy at the sight of them had overshadowed the events surrounding their purchase.

She took a deep breath and went on. "Pierce was there. He found me, tried to convince me to tell him where Collum was…I—I taunted him and got him angry so he would let me go, but I told him that if he hurt one of my friends, I'd do to him everything he did to them." She looked up fleetingly, then returned her gaze to the stone floor. "So you see, Headmaster, the hex I used on him was deliberate and premeditated. I wasn't thinking in the moment that Tu Quoque shouldn't be able to replicate a deadly curse; I was only thinking to turn back on him what he'd done to Collum."

Now when she looked up it was to catch and hold Dumbledore's eye. "I planned exactly what I would do to him six months before I carried it out, sir. I murdered my friend, with malice aforethought."

If you can't separate Pierce from Sharpie, the horrible inward voice whispered, how can you manage to separate anyone else?

And with that thought, the rules on which she had built her perception of the world began slowly to crumble. She had, at one time, viewed Dirk Pierce as two people, just as she doggedly insisted on separating Snape and Zarekael and even Voldemort. The only person she had never been able to split was herself…and it was there that the dual constructions began to break down. She, Meli, herself, as one person, had murdered Dirk Pierce and the other Death Eater, and at no time would she ever cease to be the person who had done that. And now it had spread to include Dirk Pierce himself—she had managed to keep herself from hating that dark other, but now the dark other had disappeared, replaced by a tragically turned and twisted man who had been the boy she called her friend.

There had been nothing she could do to prevent that twisting of Sharpie, for the simple reason that she had missed any signals of its taking place, and she was aware that once he had made his choice, there had been little, if anything, she could do to save him from it. He had crossed a line and become her enemy, and from that point on it had only been a matter of time until they met and were forced to face one another.

But he would never have the chance to rethink his decision; he had died there, and Meli had brought it about—because she had divided him and seen not Sharpie, but the mythical other whose name was simply Pierce.

"None of it's real anymore," she said aloud, her voice sounding strangled to her own ears. "Everything I relied upon…it was a myth."

Dumbledore could have no idea what she was talking about, she realized, as she saw his eyes turn wary, and she shook her head. "People, I mean," she explained. "There's only one person, even if he has two sides. You can't divide them—it's Sharpie I killed, Headmaster. It was my friend. And it was my grandfather, not just Voldemort, who cursed me…and Severus and Zarekael—" She broke off, unable to spell out everything that her two closest friends had done, all of which she had set aside in the willful belief that others had carried it out.

"It's fallen to pieces," she concluded, then fell silent.

Dumbledore's countenance was one of grieved compassion as he took her gently by the arm and led her back to her chair. She sat without protest and didn't turn to see where he went when he moved out of her field of vision for a moment. He returned shortly, though, and held out his hand to offer her the last thing she would ever have expected.

Meli stared stupidly at the elongated candy dish, then up at the headmaster.

"I believe you requested licorice once upon a time," he said, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes. "Please, take as much as you need; you seem to be the only person, apart from Severus, who cares for it."

She let out a short burst of laughter, then sniffled and took a piece from the dish. "Thank you."

Dumbledore placed the candy dish on the small table beside her chair, then took his seat in a chair opposite hers. "My dear Meli," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm very sorry for the pain you're going through. I had no idea—" He shook his head again, and she was given to understand that there were a number of things about which he'd had no idea up until then. "I can see that you have a great deal of thinking to do, and I have no wish to hinder that, but I'm unsure how best to act." He looked very seriously at her. "Would your thinking be better helped by continuing to work or by a leave of absence?"

Meli furrowed her brow and tried to remember how to think clearly. How was she to know what was wisest in this situation? She'd never been through anything remotely like it before. There was only one thought that emerged with any kind of clarity, and after several minutes of attempting to come up with anything else, she was forced to make a decision on the basis of it alone.

"Up until now, I've been trying to bury my thoughts away in my work," she said at last. "So perhaps it's best…to step aside for a time."

You're Rasa! her intellect screamed. You can't just "step aside"—there are lives depending on you!

And before I was Rasa, there were lives in the same balance, she retorted firmly. Dumbledore made provision before; I'm sure he can manage to do it again until I'm ready.

She realized then, for the first time in at least two years, how tired she actually was. I need a rest, she thought.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was nodding slowly. "Very well," he replied. "I shall make a notation in your log and notify everyone concerned."

"I won't turn away anyone who comes to the Bat Cave," Meli told him. "I'll be happy to see to them, of course. It's the extractions and other missions that I'd like a reprieve from."

The headmaster smiled sadly. "I'll make arrangements," he promised.

ooo

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hm…
Well, Omaha Werewolf, you have somewhat caught me, but not quite. I will admit that the previous chapter was primarily designed as a breath of fresh air before taking a very long plunge downward. I will also admit that there didn't seem to be a way to spread out the carol-singing escapades, so they were all lumped together here. Howsomever, it wasn't an attempt to show off, and I did have a couple of other purposes in mind. Firstly, it develops a bit more some of the earlier rapport between Snape and the Skulkers, and secondly, it reintroduces the Skulkers as they were, which leads into what's coming next—namely, a treatment on the Skulkers as they are, or rather, as they have been most recently. I suppose that's one leetle problem with posting in cereal form; you finish the Rice Crispies and don't have a box of Corn Pops to pick up right away—
(slightly abashed look as Anca ducks out of the way of several thrown objects)
Okay, bad pun, but you get the idea. As always, thank you for your review!
AE