Story suggestion: Changing of the Guard – A very interesting story mostly revolving around Harry and Draco. (I hope that everyone's enjoying the story suggestions here.)

Let the story continue.

I apologize for the terribly long hiatus. Here is proof that I am not abandoning this story.

On the Wrong Side of Sanity

Chapter 18: It's My Mind

To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one's family, to bring peace to all,

one must first control one's own mind. If a man can control his mind he can find the way to Enlightenment,

and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him.

Buddha

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Sound came first. There were voices; nonsensical noises.

I silently yelled, screamed, cried.

Was it silent?

My throat hurt. Head, too.

I escaped in darkness.

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Again, voices, making not one bit of sense.

My thoughts were still sluggish and painful.

I saw this time. I was under the grass. Under dead grass, buried and left to rot. I was being poked and prodded by everything else living under the grass.

Down, down, under, underneath it all with creepy crawly things. I'd be one, soon.

I didn't like it.

I couldn't move. No energy to, either.

I gave up without really trying.

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I looked around my ranks with dark satisfaction; the ministry would be mine soon due to its own failure as an administration, and few had the power to change anything.

Dumbledore could try.

One wizard stepped forward from the masses and around the altar sitting in the middle.

"Should we continue the search, My Lord?"

"Don't bother," I responded with a sneer.

I already knew what had happened, and my quarry had never truly been a threat anyway. No matter what the Old Man had tried to make of him. He was gone and powerless to fight against my accomplishments.

The candles situated around the altar danced with the wind, and made me grin. The time would soon come.

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I woke again, but this time there were no voices. I stared up from where I laid, seeing browned grass blocking my view. It was an odd choice of ceiling, but I let it go.

I felt as if I had been in a fog forever, but now my head felt fairly clear. It was refreshing.

Whatever room I was in was mostly earthy in color. The grass ceiling, if that's what it was, had a greenish tint in the overall brown color.

For all the primitive feel of the place, the bed that I was laying on was incredibly comfortable. A breeze drifted in from darkened window that had no glass or any other cover, and the scent that it brought with it was nothing less than delightful. It smelled like it would rain soon, which for some reason felt like a good thing to happen.

The sound of someone approaching in an unhurried manner reached my ears, and I turned my attention to the open doorway. It seemed as if they stopped for a while, and I had almost forgotten about it when the sound finally came closer. A man, who looked as if he could be just as old as Dumbledore, strode through the doorway. I felt an uncomfortable thread of anger and resentment that cleared away surprisingly quickly.

"What happened? Where am I? Am I me?" I asked in quick succession. Something felt different, but it didn't feel like I was in danger. Which, actually, should probably still worry me.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter, to the Costa Rican Wizarding Village." I didn't let him get any further before pelting him with a few more questions that were flopping around my skull.

"How did I get here? And how do you know who I am?" I wasn't even in Britain anymore. Just how many people knew of me? It was a disturbing thought that I might never find a place where I could remain anonymous.

"Why wouldn't we? Your story was the magical mystery of the decade, maybe even the century. A child surviving the Killing Curse? There was most certainly scholarly interest in the occurrence, although it died down a bit when no amount of research provided any answers. I'm curious that no one ever tried to do a study on you. You British treat it like, well, like non-magicals treat the idea of magic. With a shrug and 'well, it's Magic'." He shook his head in bemusement, which made me giggle.

I giggled, and I just didn't care. A look of concern, and then sadness or regret passed through his eyes, but I didn't let it bother me. Why would I? It was funny.

"What about the big bad guy?" He didn't look like he understood, so I clarified. "Voldemort."

"Ah, him. He was never much of a concern with as focused as he was on Europe. I'm not sure if his reach ever really crossed the borders of Britain, not like Grindelwald."

"You sound like you approve of Dark Lords." I commented, probably more relaxed right now than I should be with an epiphany like that.

"No no, not Dark Lords. They tend to go overboard in their individual quests. Mass genocide doesn't exactly have a history of working in their favor. However, there are certainly times that I wouldn't mind a change in order. I've heard some horror stories about your British Ministry."

I had nothing to say against that. "How did I get here?" I asked again. Was it again? I couldn't quite remember.

"You arrived with a Traslador, the British call it, what was that? A Portkey, I believe."

I looked at the man uncomprehendingly for a moment before memory returned. I had been running. Running and running. And then suddenly I wasn't. Someone had found out about me, and I had needed to keep from being found before my Portkey activated. I certainly proved how good I was at that…

"You arrived in quite a state. We had difficulty getting you stabilized." A thought occurred to me, one that was slightly worrisome.

"How long have I been here?" I remember going in and out for what seemed like forever. How much could I have missed? Especially when the problem had been caused by Dementeds…Dementors…Demented Dementors. Hehe.

I should almost surely be a husk of a human shell by now; a meat puppet. Unable to do anything but sit and stare and drool.

"It has been about a week since we brought you in. You arrived on the side of a road slightly out of town, but the wards warned us of an incoming illegal international Portkey, not something you paid highly for, I hope. You weren't left lying there for long." The man talked about it all so calmly that it was slightly surreal. They had probably come across a raving madman, and he spoke of it all like a normal occurrence. I studied the old man's face again, but found nothing but his dark eyes studying me back.

His calm manner reminded me so much of Dumbledore, that I could almost find resentment for this man, as well. Still, he held a different presence than the Headmaster. Dumbledore hid it well a lot of the time, but he exuded power everywhere he went. His eyes also sparkled with amusement and sometimes mysterious knowledge that could piss someone off to no end. This man, however, had a kinder gaze rather than a mysterious one. For this reason, he didn't seem omniscient. That alone calmed me a bit, for it had always been one of Dumbledore's more annoying traits.

The man's short, white hair was one thing that greatly set him apart from the Headmaster. He was just as tall and thin, but the short hair, along with a grayish goatee, was neatly trimmed close to his skin. Another difference was his plain clothing; far different from the eccentric robes that Dumbledore favored.

After a short survey of the man standing before me, I began to notice something

"I feel…different."

"Well, you would. You've endured a traumatic experience that very well could have left your mind broken."

"There's something else, too, though. Like I feel more like myself, yet less in other ways. I'm not explaining it well," I huffed, so I tried again, "I'm not missing anymore."

"Oh, yes. There were…we'll say bandages on your mind."

"What?!" The statement made no sense whatsoever.

"It is likely standard procedure in order to help you deal with excessively painful experiences. Think of it as a way to dull memories; to muffle them in order to allow more immediate and necessary healing. It would have made things seem more distant, like a dream. It would have worn off on its own, eventually, unless reapplied."

"What about the one that was used on me?"

"Well, it was stronger than most, but we've removed it."

"So you're not using it on me now?" I just barely stopped myself from baring my teeth in a snarl at the possibility.

"Heavens no. I'm simply sharing myself with you to the same effect; sharing my own stability while you deal with the rest on your own. You'll certainly notice a difference when I pull my mind away, but you'll remember it all."

"Who put it on me? Did it do anything?" I asked more forcefully than intended, I didn't understand the second part of what he said, but I already had a worry to focus on. Anything messing with my mind, especially without my knowledge, was going to get me riled up. It made me think of the disastrous attempts Snape had made to teach me the Mind Arts.

The older man's brow furrowed for a moment, before he took a breath. "Calm yourself." It was more of a command, though said softly. Still, I felt my shoulders relax almost against my will. "The bandages helped, I'm sure. They allowed you to heal, and likely almost forget what happened."

"Who put them on me?" I asked again, with a suspicion in mind.

"There is no way to tell, anyone accomplished in the mind arts could have, so stop your obsessing."

I cut him off before he could continue again. "But what else could it do to me? Why don't you use them if they are so helpful?"

"I am not here to teach you the mind magics!" the man said with more force, though his eyes softened after a second. He pulled up a wooden chair and took a seat. "If it will ease your mind, Mr. Potter, I will explain. But this will be the end of it. We have more important issues at hand." With that, the man sat back in his chair, looking like he was taking a moment to consider things.

"The bandages on your mind were not a spell so much as a process where some memories are wrapped up and kept distant from the conscious mind. They were still there, and could be remembered, but likely felt sometimes like a dream. Fixes such as this are not absolute. Occasionally, with strong emotions, they can falter, but generally last a set time as wished by the caster. If reapplied repeatedly and not allowed to fade as they should, they can affect the decisions and even attitude of the person it is cast on. We do not use this method in our village because we have developed a different method for aiding recovery in extreme situations. We do not put much faith in hiding from the experiences, even for healing purposes. Thus we use a method of self-sharing. It is almost mind-sharing, and very personal. Both participants lose some privacy, so there can be some side-effects." The man sat forward once again, his eyes intense. "I offered to do this for you because I am one of the few living here that is completely fluent in English, and have the power to protect you if necessary. We needed to speed your recovery as much as possible; you are important to everyone in the coming war."

"You are in my mind." It was more of a statement than a question, but again I felt as if I was gearing up for a fight.

"I am not inside your mind; I am beside your mind. Supporting, if you will."

I had nothing to say for the moment, busy as I was trying to understand everything. The man whose name I still didn't know didn't give me much time to think it all over.

"What do you last clearly remember?"

"I was running from Dementors. They'd found me, and I don't even know how." A shiver ran through me at the memory. It was even worse than my experience with them in my fourth year, which was sad because I really should have been able to repel them with a Patronus.

"The how is not important now. It is done. And so the Ministry is against you. Why do you think this is?" he asked. I'd really need to ask his name soon.

"I don't know…They seem to be using me as a goat." I frowned. "No, not goat….scapegoat" I replied, not really putting much effort into it after having trouble finding the right words. It was the Ministry. When had they ever done things right? "How do you know all this, anyway?" I asked.

"Not every Magical Community is so short-sighted as to disregard the happenings in other countries, Mr. Potter." He responded with a raised brow. With that light admonishment, he went on. "As for your assessment of being used as a scapegoat, that is not necessarily true. Yes, we have seen how the Minister seems to be caving to public terror, but do you feel that your Minister is as weak-willed as the previous?"

I stared for a moment before answering. "No, I guess not. He used to be head of the Aurors. He's still too worried about what people think of him." I trailed off in irritation.

The man looked back at me, but his only response was a soft 'Hmm'. I decided to finally sate my curiosity.

"What is your name?"

"Hm? Ah, I am called Ezequiel." The small smile that he offered made his entire demeanor change, though the intense look didn't retreat for long. "Mr. Potter, you have an important role in the coming war, we have been able to find that much. What is your role?"

I had no idea how to answer that, or even if I should. I hoped the bare minimum would be enough. "Well, there's a prophecy." Prophe-see. Not much seeing involved, really.

"So we had thought." Ezequiel stated. "We will help you here, to the best of our ability. There is still more healing to do." He must have seen my confusion because he elaborated. "Mr. Potter, such traumatic experiences don't only affect the body and mind. Your magic may well have taken a hit. Any issues that come up must be dealt with before your return to the fight, as the Dark Lord Voldemort is still gaining power."

I sat up a bit as only one part of what he said truly caught my attention at the moment, perhaps out of a need to always know what was going on. "What is he doing?"

Ezequiel pondered the question for long enough that I began to doubt whether or not he would ever answer. My entire body felt as if I was slowly tensing muscle by muscle, irritation bubbling up at the assumption that this man could be more like Dumbledore than I had first thought.

"I believe that is a conversation for another time." He responded, hesitating.

"Hahahahahahaha. Time? Not something that I generally have." Two years was a time. Time that was stolen from me.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty, now lay back. And stop that, you've had enough time in there."

I pulled back suddenly, quite stunned that the man had even noticed my subtle prodding of his mind.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You're hardly as quiet as you seem to think. And besides, doing that will only aggravate your condition."

"What condition?"

The wizard took a deep breath before answering. "As I mentioned earlier, we are currently using the mind magics in order to help you heal. Your mind has been under a disturbing amount of stress from your ordeals, and if we had let you wake without the steps we have taken to encourage stability, well, I very much doubt you'd be able to converse yet. You've spent a great deal of time already simply raving." There was pity in his eyes.

I looked around the room some while trying to come up with questions to clear up my confusion.

"You said you weren't in my mind" I said accusingly.

"Since you keep coming back to the same concern, let me relieve you of your fears. I am not inside your mind; I am closer to being beside it. I cannot read your thoughts, if that is your concern. But I feel an amount of your emotions, your reactions to various stimuli. The 'sharing' affects you as well as me, although I have numerous years of experience controlling the sharing to be able to dampen what you could feel from me. Meditation helps." His lips were thin as he answered, as if he was holding back his own irritation.

"What did you do to me?" My inability to let it go seemed to have got to him, because he let out a long sigh.

"You were suffering from the trauma of having been halfway Kissed before you used your transport. I must say that I'm almost certain that your mind either snapped or came extremely close to it. Something else happened with your magic; it attacked your body and itself. That is the closest I can come to describing it. You were in there, fighting against yourself, fighting against your very mind, if that makes any sense. I shielded you as best I could with my own mind once we found you here. If you've studied the Mind Arts, you'll know that means that I had to shelter you within my mind, within yours. It was a long process that included potions to temporarily drain your magic until you settled down enough to not wage magical warfare against your own body."

"I attacked myself?" My mouth may very well have fallen open a bit.

"Well, most likely an image within your mind, therefore doing damage to the mind itself. It's not too surprising, given that your magical channels had been altered by your stay in that awful British prison. Most can walk away from that and regain relatively normal use of their magic, if allowed. You, however, hadn't enough time to heal from that first ordeal before facing another trauma, one of the worst a wizard can face. I doubt that you had much control of your magic at that point."

"What about my magic now?" I asked, approaching a panic.

"I would…restrict its use. You're going to face a time of getting it back under control."

"What about any other side effects?" Seriously, what else could go wrong that hasn't already?

"You just don't worry about that yet," was the only response I got.

It was all so confusing, which was irritating.

"Why don't you rest some more. You need calm while we check on your status. Lunch will be soon, and it will be brought in to you." The older wizard said as he stood up with a small stretch.

As the man strolled out of the room, my eyes followed him until he was out of sight. I continued my scrutiny of the place until a yawn crept up on me.

What had I gotten myself into this time?

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It's been a long, long, long time, hasn't it? I apologize for the wait, but real life can never quite take the backseat. No estimates for when the next chapter will be up; some of my progress disappeared over the unfortunate hiatus.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the update, no matter how late it was. Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!