Chapter 4: So You're Having a Psychotic Break

Draco freezes. The thing he fears more than anything, Voldemort, is standing in the same room as him, alive. Far too alive. Time slows around him, the world swirling into a formless mass of colour, sounds echo like he is underwater. Only one thing is clear in his mind. Voldemort is alive.

Watching, horrified, Voldemort disguised as Riddle pulls out his yew wand. Draco does not think as Voldemort opens his mouth. He simply grabs his own wand and screams; "Expelliarmus!" The spell hits Voldemort, sending his wand flying and Voldemort stumbling backwards. With deft Seeker reflexes, Draco catches the wand with ease. "You monster!" he cries, all the terrible things he saw Voldemort and his followers do rushing back to him. Charity Burbage murdered in front of him. Hermione Granger tortured. Countless others mutilated and killed because of him. "Your- your tricks won't work! You're dead! You're DEAD!" He must be.

Voldemort holds up a hand, as if to calm. Draco will not be so easily manipulated by a false face and false charm. He knows what lies beneath it. The cruelty and evil. "Draco," Voldemort begins warily.

"Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus!" The spells fire in rapid succession, striking Voldemort in the chest. "You fucking bastard!" Draco yells as Voldemort is flung back, arms and legs snapping together. Though not usually one for such Muggle-like profanities, vile words suit the vile creature. Then cowardice kicks in. He wants to kill Voldemort, make him suffer, but he cannot. Instead he flees the scene and his greatest fear.

Panting, Draco runs like Fiendfyre is on his heels. Skittering around corner after corner, down and up staircases, through corridors Draco has no real idea where he is going except away from Voldemort and where everything is wrong. He needs to get back to Malfoy Manor, back to being nineteen, back to where Voldemort is dead. He halts abruptly when he reaches a dead end and swallows a sob. Looking at his hands there is two wands: his ten inch long hawthorn wand with unicorn hair core and Voldemort's. Voldemort's wand, he has to get rid of it. With all his strength, Draco brings it down onto his knee and breaks it in two. He drops the pieces of the Dark Lord's wand and stomps on them. Voldemort will not use it as an instrument to hurt, torture and murder again.

Finally Draco sprints onto the seventh floor of Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement. That is where he should go. He finds the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, walks past the area of the door and thinks of what he needs. A place to be safe. The door appears and Draco almost cries with relief. Safety at last.

He is about to open the door when someone shouts; "Found him!" and the world goes black.

When Draco wakes it is to the ancient face of Albus Dumbledore, sitting next to his bed in the Hospital Wing. "I'm glad to see you awake, Draco," Dumbledore smiles and Draco believes he might be sick. "Professor Babbling worried she had accidentally injured you. Her Sleep Charm was rather powerful."

Draco's thoughts are muddled with the recent spell, fear and confusion. He attributes his outburst to his current state. "You're dead," Draco tells Dumbledore. "Professor Snape killed you. He's dead. Voldemort killed him. Voldemort's dead. Potter killed him. Why is Voldemort teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts? He is the Dark Arts! Why are you all alive? You're supposed to be dead. Voldemort's supposed to be dead. He's going to kill me. Merlin, he's going to kill me and destroy everything!" At this point, Draco is hyperventilating. It does not help that the person he spent most of his sixth year trying to assassinate is staring serenely back. All the panic and suffocating terror Draco felt during his mission that year floods him. He never saw Snape die and the Malfoys huddled in the back of the Great Hall did not get a good look at Voldemort's dead body but Dumbledore, he was murdered by Snape right in front of Draco after his own failure to kill the old man. Without a shadow of doubt in Draco's mind is Dumbledore dead. Yet an entire person of doubt is there before him.

"Draco, calm yourself," Dumbledore says kindly. Draco blinks away tears. "You attacked a teacher-"

"I attacked Voldemort! He's going to kill me!" Draco interrupts, embarrassed by the shrillness of his voice.

"Professor Riddle is not this Voldemort character and he will not kill you," Dumbledore continues undeterred. "It is a very serious transgression, to attack a teacher. Especially unprovoked. You are very lucky that Professor Riddle was unhurt and chose to excuse you from your actions."

"No! You don't understand!" Voldemort will burst in any minute and obliterate Draco, he is sure of it. "I'm not crazy! He's evil. He forced me when I was sixteen to kill you because my father failed him. He murdered Professor Burbage right in front of me. He. Is. A. Mass. Murderer. He preached pureblood supremacy and planned to take over the Wizarding World and rule over all Muggles and Muggle-borns! He's insane. Absolutely insane, cruel and vicious. He's dead! Why is he here? He'll kill me and my family. He'll finally kill Potter. You have to get him out or evacuate the school or something! PLEASE!" Draco begs with the great wizard he always thought senile. Dumbledore does nothing.

"Draco," Dumbledore reaches to place a frail hand on Draco's shoulder but he flinches away.

"You're dead!" Draco shrieks. "This isn't happening! It's a nightmare… a hallucination. Voldemort's dead. He's dead-dead-dead-dead. Potter did it. I saw it. This isn't real," he babbles incoherently. Madam Pomfrey bustles over, looking stern.

"Albus, stop disturbing the poor boy," Madam Pomfrey scolds, flapping her hands like a large, angry bird. "He's suffering from a psychotic break. He doesn't need any more mayhem."

Dumbledore nods his head politely. "I trust your judgement Poppy. Simply wanted to make sure Mr Malfoy was alright. Bathsheda was most frantic."

"Off with you Albus," Madam Pomfrey chides fondly. "He will be alright with proper care and rest." Dumbledore leaves and it soothes Draco slightly, to not have another dead man right there. "Now tell me Mr Malfoy, do you recognise me?"

Draco nods tersely. This batty old witch thinks he has lost it. But how could his entire life be lies from his own mind? Not only is it impossible as far as Draco is concerned that he could construct his whole life as a mere fantasy but it is also implausible. He is as sane as any that lived through the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Very good," Madam Pomfrey sighs with relief. "Mr Malfoy, I am to give you a Calming Draught and then I will ask you a few questions so I know more of your condition. Do you think you are well enough for it?"

Should he trust Madam Pomfrey? The old woman seems harmless enough but who knows? She could be in league with Riddle. On the other hand, Draco is on the end of his tether. Seeing Snape, Voldemort and Dumbledore alive all in a row is too much for him to handle. Too overwhelming. And he would really appreciate a Calming Draught right now. So… "Yes," Draco says hesitantly.

With a kind smile, Madam Pomfrey hands him the potion and Draco downs it in one gulp. Instantly it takes effect and he feels calmer than he did moments ago. The knowledge that Voldemort is in the school and of all the other events is still there but it does not feel as urgent or frightening. As if Draco is removed from his troubles. "Excellent," Madam Pomfrey declares. "Tell me if any of the question distress you. Your health is my priority. We'll start small. Please answer truthfully. To help yourself you have to help me. What is your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he deadpans.

"I know," the matron chuckles. "I told you, we're starting off easy. How old are you?"

Ah, and the questions become difficult. Draco knows the answer – nineteen – but what to tell Madam Pomfrey? Should he tell her the truth; that he is actually nineteen years old yet in his seventeen-year-old body? Or should he lie and say he is seventeen? It brings him back to his own queries. Can he trust her? It is only his age, "I'm supposed to be nineteen but when I woke up this morning I looked seventeen." That came out crazier than he thought it would. He can see the concern swimming in her eyes. Had he not been influenced by artificial calm Draco would have been pissed off.

"Okay dear," he can hear apprehension in her voice too. Apparently she is not even going to extend the courtesy of scepticism. "Where are you now? Do you know?"

"The Hospital Wing on the fourth floor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"And which House are you in?"

"Slytherin."

"Very good," she exclaims again, brightening slightly. "I am going to ask something harder, okay? Can you tell me what exactly do you think is wrong?"

Draco pauses. How much should he let slip? Back to that same question. Can he trust her?

"Take your time. I am here to help you get better," Madam Pomfrey coaxes gently. Draco resists the urge to groan. Under the Calming Draught the logical thing to do is clearer than ever. It does not mean he has to like it.

"I think I'm in an alternate reality." Madam Pomfrey radiates pure disbelief underneath her soothing smile at Draco's claim.

"Go on," she encourages.

He takes a deep breath. "Before I woke up this morning I was nineteen unquestionably and there had been a war in the Wizarding World. I lived through it. Long story short, there was an evil man named Tom Riddle who later took on the name Voldemort. He thought Muggles and Muggle-borns were inferior, wanted to dominate the Wizarding World, spread fear and grow in power with the help of his followers, Death Eaters. Like Grindelwald but worse. When he cast a Killing Curse at Harry Potter it rebounded and temporarily destroyed him in 1981. In 1995 he came back and started the Second Wizarding War, rising back to power. Many people died. Here at Hogwarts, 1998, Harry Potter defeated him and the war finished." Even with Calming Draught coursing through him Draco burns with shame. He was a Death Eater, if only for a year and a bit. He caused suffering. He was a source of fear for all those Muggle-borns worrying about a visitor in the night, with Unforgivables at wands' tip.

Madam Pomfrey nods solemnly once Draco's story finishes. "Dear, I'm afraid you've had a psychotic break," she informs him sadly. Calming Draught or no Calming Draught, Draco is pissed off.

A/N: There you go. A good old bout of Draco angst. Could have been a better chapter in my opinion. My Madam Pomfrey feels off. I'm sorry I didn't do her justice. Bye dearies. Review.