Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

Harry furiously blinked as she staggered through the back door, shoulder hitting the door frame with a muted thud, fluorescent light stinging and momentarily blinding her as she sagged against the plastered wall, breath warm and moist as the door clicked closed behind her. Although, it could possibly be the blood dripping down into the crevice of her eyes that was obscuring her vision and not the lighting, but what was in the small details? She had been shot, knifed and was dangerously running low on stamina... And blood. Brilliant

Or was she?

Was this some morose dream that her mind had built? Was she really lying in bed, cozy and warm and completely alone? Had she passed out in Aberforth's pub, drunk off unworded sorrows and burning fire whiskey? She remembered flashes of the last few hours, little picture shots taken from a shaky camera, that flared to life on her closed eyelids every time she blinked. Short movies that were fringed and crackling at the edges. Old and distorted. However, she couldn't remember anything else.

Snap.

She remembered being surrounded by men in funny uniforms, blue and black with pretty, shiny gold badges she had wanted to rip off their chest and cram down their throats. Flashing cars pulsing in waves of red and blue, thumping to the tempo of her own heartbeat, making her want to dance. She remembered sending a Bombarda their way and avidly watching as the flashing cars flipped and spun, the lights of blue and red swirling together looking like wonderful little fireworks in the vast and dark night... She remembered the splatter of crimson on pavement.

Snap.

Then she was somewhere else, still high, still not quite herself. She remembered sitting in the driver's seat of a car, expensive by the crisp feel of leather on fingertips, the creak when she wiggled, but the front windshield was blown out, shards of glass jutting and sprinkling into the air, raining over her like acid rain, biting, glitter she had wanted to bathe in. New gunshot wound on her top thigh, weeping blood, a hiss, a cackle. She remembered driving like a maniac to the backdrop of blaring sirens and screaming hoots of car horns, she had tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song they were creating together. Havoc untamed and beautiful. There was no road, no chase, no cat and mouse, just the pound of her heart, the thrum of her blood, the sharp rights and lefts... The laughter. By Merlin had she laughed.

Snap.

Then she remembered being in the busy nightlife of a bustling city, no longer in the backstreets of an industrial estate, still in the same car as the sound of tearing metal ripped through the air and what sounded like her laughter, but distant, dissociated joined in the symphony. She remembered the flare of agony that jostled up her leg and gripped her core as a bloody bat-shaped throwing star lodged home in her calf, the side door of the car missing, silver wire attached as she was viciously pulled by her injured leg out of the fast moving vehicle.

Snap.

She remembered the crack of concrete to her head, she remembered the dizzying world spin around her, she remembered the man she had dreamed of before, the man like a bat but not a bat, a riddle wrapped in skin, features mixing and morphing like oil dropped into water. She. Didn't. Like. Him. She remembered that absolute rage that filtered through her, setting her on fire as he went to grab her. No more restraints. No more rules. No more people caging her. No!

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

The shots of memories, reality, dreams, imagination, morbid fantasies, whatever it was came faster then, as if it was a tap that had been turned on fully, a constant stream of stills that was projected into her mind like a faulty silent movie. Grotesque. Vandalised. Abused. She was there, sending her fists flying, spells on the tip of her tongue, tasting like sweet poison, baiting her to say them... Scream them. She didn't know if she had or not and most worryingly, that didn't matter to her. Not anymore.

She was there biting and clawing as the man that was a bat lifted her up by her neck, trying fruitlessly to restrain her. She was there as she slid one of his knives off his belt and slid it home in a soft spot in his armor, a joint, just where shinguard met thigh guard, slicing through the knee. She was there as he fell, feeling the knife cut through tendon and muscle like butter, him grunting in pain as she grabbed his head and kept thrusting her knee up as she brought it down.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She remembered him digging a finger into her injured thigh, her howling in pain as she too fell, her leg giving out as the fire inside her stoked higher as the pain climbed. She was there as they struggled on the damp and cold ground, she was there as he got the upper hand before she whipped her wand out, then blank.

Nothing. Silence. Emptiness.

The next thing she could recall was stumbling towards a towering white building that had ambulances out front, unaware muggles coming and going in a flurry of migration. Avoiding the main entrance, she had limped over to an emergency exit door on the side of the building, open a slither and staggered through, falling against the wall, breathing raspily, trying with all her might to gain her bearings. Nothing made sense, not in the hospital, not outside, not in her mind. Up was down, in was out, good was bad, it was like sanity was an ebbing wave, coming one moment to splash at her feverish skin and offering rest bit, only to leave her burning and boiling seconds later.

She couldn't remember if she killed the man that was a bat, nor how she got here, nor if she killed anyone else. She only remembered in flashes of spells and pain, the pain she had taken or pain she had given. It painted everything in vivid hues, so bright and colorful it hurt to remember. It hurt to try.

Harry clenched her eyes closed so tightly her nose scrunched up too, biting the inside of her cheek until copper hit her taste buds, forehead banging against the wall until she heard a crack, either her skull or wall splintering at the action, as everything, her mind, herself, her memories tortured her. Only then, huddled in that dim hallway, bruised, bleeding and alone did the snapping stop. Whether that snapping was chips of her psyche falling away or the knuckles she was hitting against the wall subconsciously was anyone's guess. Warm blood ran over her hands, dripping to the floor and it settled the beast inside her.

Was it real, was it not? Is this her or him? A dream? A fantasy? She didn't know anything anymore and she felt the last bastions of her sanity begin to flicker, one by one going out like candles left in the blizzardous winter, the light being eaten by the gaping jaws of hungry wolves. All she could do was brokenly laugh. Did it matter anymore? No... No. Harry pulled away from huddling against the wall, pushing her hair back, smearing more blood across her forehead. Another trail. Another taint.

Who was she lying to? She had pretended to be sane from the very beginning. She was the great pretender. Pretending to be a savior, pretending to care, pretending to be like all the other sheep and cattle that roamed the world. Oh, there was no other greater pretender than she, not even good ol' Riddle. For he had shown his colors in the end, lifted his prey mask to show the world the real viper he was.

But for a time, he had pretended too. He had played the game, played his part so artificially, only now, Harry in the position he was in all those decades ago, did she wonder if it was all an act at all like Dumbledor had led her to believe, or had Riddle been truly trying to assimilate into a world that would never accept him... Just like she had tried and was failing at.

He had tried to force himself into normal life like she had spent her whole life trying to accomplish. He had worked, as a shopkeeper of all things, he had colleagues, he had been head boy. She wondered if he had felt as she felt now, in the throws of vertigo and disintegration, when he first took the muzzle off and came out of the shadows. She wondered whether he had been as confused as she was, lost somewhere in the vastness that was reality and your own mind's conjurings.

Harry huffled a chuckle, shoulder, and wounds searing as her body shook. Riddle would have been around the same age she was now when he had snapped and began the greatest war her world had ever seen. Heads and tails. Was this even her own life or just a two-bit copy of a distorted Tom Riddle? The only difference was even in the throws of his own insanity, Riddle had a plan, Harry... Harry had nothing but the want and need for more. More of what, she couldn't tell you, but it bubbled in her blood and sang a haunting tune in the base of her skull.

"Excuse me miss you shouldn't be down here... Jesus Christ... Miss, are you okay? What happened?"

Harry's eyes shot open as her head lolled onto the wall, her gaze landing straight on the person who stood a few feet from her, glassy eyes wide and filled with worry, hands coming to reach for her. Harry jerked backward, only barely managing to keep the snarl and growl from her voice box and face. She was a young thing, barely out of med-school, all strawberry blonde hair and nurses uniform. Innocent, pure, hopeful... Easy to manipulate. Stomp on the snow. Dirty the white.

Prey.

Harry blinked rapidly, forcing tears to her eyes as she sniffled and hugged herself closer, hunching her shoulders down and curling in on herself. People were just like animals really, you acted like an injured deer, they would help. They never thought they were actually dealing with a shark salivating at their presence. Make yourself small, cry and look as week as possible and people just leapt at the chance to play good samaritan. Easy. Too easy. Not enough!

Avoiding eye contact, Harry leaned heavier on the wall, stuttering through her words and adding a cough at the end for good measure. She may have no plan, no goal, but if anything could be said for Harry Potter was she was brilliant at thinking on her feet.

"Please... Please, you have to help. Men... There were men, they... An alley... My bag... I couldn't fight... I-... I-..."

The little sparrow of a nurse jumped onto her web and guzzled on the fake seeds Harry had offered her with an open palm, too naive to see the smirk crawling at the edges of her lips. Jogging over, her heels obnoxiously clacking on the tacky linoleum, Harry regretfully let the cretin touch her, fingers too hot as they flittering across the skin of her face. She had never been so good with touch, it always felt so invasive, too personal, too close. Touch lead to hurt, anger and death. Vernon had touched her when he had beaten her, Voldemort had touched her on the numerous times he tried to kill her, Snatchers had touched her when they tried to drag her to her supposed death. Sirius's fingertips had ghosted across hers before he had died.

But Harry was no healer and with no clue where she was, what she had done, she didn't know who was enemy or friend. Harry repressed the chuckle from the thought. The time she had a friend would be the day. The truth was Harry needed help, she doubted this little snow white would offer that if she told her she had just gone on a black out rampage. That is, if she had indeed done what she thought she had and this was all real.

"Oh, you poor thing! Here, come to the front desk with me, I'll get you to a room with a doctor in no time."

Harry stilled for a split second before scuttling back, violently shaking her head, her mop of bloodstained curls falling and curtain off her face, hiding her too aware eyes from view. It was all too easy. Too easy to lure the nurse, too easy to act the victim, too easy to play on her weakness's, because Harry knew them from the get go. She was good at reading people and this little lamb wore her heart on her sleeve. Single child Harry would guess, working class family, big heart, a child who grew up wanting to help the people around her, to make the world better, new to the job by the pristine uniform and none fading of it's bright white, not a hair out of place, first shift. And she had the misfortune to run into Harry, if she was capable anymore, Harry would feel sorry for the woman. But she didn't, she just wanted to get this over with and her patience was wearing thin.

"No!... No, please. The men, they said they would find me... I can't... My mother and father, they'll get hurt... Please, can't you help me? There must be somewhere safe we can go? Somewhere they won't find me... You'll help me won't you?"

Somewhere they won't find the woman's body if things went downhill. In this world Harry found herself adrift in, a world true or of her own making, Harry was no longer who she had been. She was new, broken, lonely... Free. Chains unlinked. She was over being the one manipulated, now she was the puppet master. A dreamer all alone.

Poor woman, she never stood a chance, not as Harry watched, as she expected, the woman's eyes lit up and a smile edged its bettings on her face. She had become a nurse to help, a little bit of a hero complex Harry could fester into and use against her. Infectious, Harry was a disease they had no antibiotics for, no knowledge of. After today, if the woman lived, then she would never be the same again, stained and jaded, that was what Harry did. What she was good at. Tainting.

Snap.

"Okay... Okay, right, yes. Of course, I'll help you... There's a little examination room that no one uses anymore just down here, follow me."

Bingo. The little rabbit had hopped straight into the snare. The woman turned around and began to usher Harry to follow, turning her back on the witch. She never saw Harry brush her hair out of her face, never saw Harry's shoulders straighten, never saw the limp lesson nor the knife like glint in Harry's eyes as she prowled behind her. If this was real or not, Harry could never go back.

Not only would the ministry skin her alive, making a show of her, something they had always been itching to do, she had no one back home to go home to, no family, no friends, nothing. However, most importantly, Harry didn't want to go back. She wouldn't go back. And no longer... No fucking longer would she be doing things she didn't want to do. No longer would she wear the sheep's skin. She was done pretending. Make believe time was over. It was time to look into the mirror and see her as she truly was, stage make-up, broken hero costume and wig gone.

They, the Weasley's, Hermione, the whole wizarding world wanted old Harry, the mask she wore, the pseudonym, they kept trying to shove her into a skin that didn't fit. Harry had morphed, had changed and really, they only had themselves to blame. They were, after all, the ones to force her to become this... Whatever this was, to save them and their own pitiful world.

The day burned her, turned her to ash, the light too harsh and cold, maybe it was time to try living in the night, the comforting black, where she belonged. Aberforth had told her it was only a matter of time anyway, what was the point in keeping up the good fight when losing was in the cards, stars, destiny anyway? At that moment, anticipation bubbling in her gut as she stalked the woman to the door down the hallway, Harry had never thought loosing felt so incredibly good. The winner didn't take it all, the winner had to live up to expectations, rules and laws not their own. The looser, now there was the real winner in life.

The door opened with a squeak and by the time the nurse glanced over her shoulder to smile reassuringly at Harry, Harry was back to the helpless victim who couldn't stand straight, tear tracks on her face, cold and void of any real emotion. The woman edged into the abyss, seconds later a fluorescent bar light flickering to life, painting the clinical lines and tools in bleached white.

The room was medium, two beds cut off from each other by a sheer curtain, a tray of wrapped tools on a chrome wheeler, cupboards and draws on one end, a sink too and oddly enough, a T.V perched on the wall, old, square and bloody white like everything else. Harry loathed white. She wanted to burn the room down, just to see the white crackle, bubble and charcoal to black, the pureness and cleanness forever gone. Just like what the wizarding world and it's fucking wars had done to her.

"Please don't be shy, I won't hurt you. Come in, sit down here and I'll patch you up in no time."

Harry gave a jerky nod, taking small steps into the room and sinking onto the linen covered bed that was closest to the door, looking up through her lashes at the woman standing before her, eye's mimicking the woman's, wide and innocent, like a mirror reflecting back what the woman wanted to see, not what was really in front of her. A killer with a hinged mind, a killer flickering between reality and dreamscape, a killer with no plan... The most dangerous.

Harry kept up the charade as the nurse went about her injuries, first the two in her legs, then the cut on her head, then finally the gunshot through her shoulder. Harry made sure to whimper when necessary, sprinkled with sniffles and ouches, even going as far as bashfully asking the woman's name, a boring, plain and mundane Mary as it turned out... It suited her. Everything was going peachy, the woman looking for all intents and purposes like she would be walking out this room by the end and not bleeding out on the floor. Until the idiot got the idea of putting the damned T.V on.

"Here, let me turn the T.V on, distract you from the pain as I sew up the wound, it's pretty deep. You've done ever so well. It can't be easy without any anaesthetic"

The woman backed up and turned towards the T.V, strolling towards it, angering Harry when her words fell on deaf ears. Her fist's clenched and wound into the linen beneath her, a snarl twisting on her lips as she glared at the woman's back. She was done being not listened to. Mary was pushing her luck, and let's face it, she didn't have much luck by running into Harry in the first place.

"No, it's fine. Honestly,-"

Snap.

"Don't be silly. It's no problem."

The T.V crackled in static before it fixed itself, showing a news reporter as the nurse turned the volume up before coming back over, opening a new needle and thread before setting back to work. Harry sat stonily still, eye's focused on the T.V as it showed a replay of an aerial recording of a car chase through the city, the scene cutting back to the news reporter, a bubbly blonde with too much mascara.

Harry's eyes slowly slid shut as her high pitched voice filtered into the room, filling the silence. The insipid nurse didn't even recognize when the needle slid through peach skin that there were no dramatic flinches, no ooh's or ow's. No, the rabbit ignored the wolf that had stopped playing sheep. How very, very foolish.

"Yet again the streets of Gotham are in turmoil as a city wide manhunt took place earlier this night. Reports state it all started when the Johnson's petroleum factory was set ablaze, likely from a bomb due to the devastation of the area. Gotham PD was fast on the scene, only to run into another problem. According to the few statement's we have gathered, a woman in her late teens or early twenties was the perpetrator. When the police arrived on the scene, a shootout took place that sadly led to the death of five officers."

The screen cut off to a slow tune, forcing Harry's eyes to open, the black and white photo's of smiling officers fading in and out on screen, there names scrolling across the screen at the bottom. Harry looked every single photo in the eye, soaking in the smiling faces, the twinkling eyes, imprinting their names into her memory and waited for that crunch of her gut to taunt her... It never came.

She felt nothing. No guilt. No shame. No remorse. She felt... Hollow yet filled with bubbling energy. Anticipation. She wanted more and more and more. She only felt upset when the pictures ended, when no more dead were shown. Just five. Five bright lights extinguished. Gone forever... It wasn't enough.

All of a sudden, she remembered that nursery rhyme that helped little snot nosed brats learn to count. One, two, three, four five... Once I caught a fish alive... Harry gave a raspy chuckle that thankfully hid as a wheeze. She was no fish, she was the great white. No one had stood a chance.

"Such a shame isn't it. The madness that goes-"

"Shut up."

The nurse pulled the last stitch closed, blinking owlishly as Harry snapped at her, Harry's eyes never leaving the T.V, causing the bewildered woman to turn and watch the news show too. All too soon the news reporter came back, grim-faced and pale. A flash of the blonde woman jumped into her mind's eye, pale, drained, sallow... Throat slit. It felt like Harry was having dreams in her dream, a painting of a painting, on and on and on.

"This is where witness accounts become odd. What we do know is the perpetrator then took off in a car, leading to more confrontation between the pursuing police and even the intervention of the masked Vigilante known as Batman. As you will see in the following footage, the woman was armed with an unknown weapon, a weapon that seemed to cause bright lights and multiple tasks. Viewer discretion is advised."

The screen cut off again, showing a grainy, silent CCTV footage of her and the man... Batman fighting, her wand going off, her knifing him. Then the wand, her wand as she whipped it towards him, red light blazing and flaring hitting the vigilante in the chest, him crumbling to the floor with a muted unheard scream. She saw herself keep the spell up, even as she limped over to bare down on the writhing body. She knew then what spell she had used, knew only one red shade like that, knew only one that would crumble a fully grown man. Crucio.

Snap.

Harry's head cocked to the side as she stared at the T.V, no disgust or sorrow showing, just a sense of satisfaction at the way the man on the t.v rolled and squirmed and silently cried, jerking in odd angles. She was sick. So very, very sick. No hospital was going to cure her... In that moment, faced with what she had done, feeling the way she was, exhilarated and so alive, Harry didn't want to get better. Diseased and rotting... She was too far gone. Then the screen cut back to the blonde woman and Harry almost wanted to scream for it to go back to the CCTV footage.

"From there the woman disappeared, but as you can see she is armed and highly dangerous. Police have warranted a red alert. If you encounter her, do not approach, leave and please ring the GPD as soon as possible. From the few eye witness's that were close enough and the lucky few who survived this terrible incident, a sketch artist has drawn up a likeness. And on the recent investigation by our journalist, have garnered what they believe the woman's name is, though it may be just an alias."

The screen split in half, one-half still showing the news reporter who was nattering away and the other half filled with a drawn mugshot, a boldly printed name blocked at the bottom. To be fair, they had gotten extremely close to what she looked like, lightening bolt scar and all, especially seen as Mary, Mary quite contrary staggered a gasp as it was Harry's colored and drawn face that filled the screen. Then Harry read the name and her temper shattered, it seemed the mascarade show of a victim of a mugging was over, especially as Mary swirled to face her, hands clutched to her chest, shakily backing up and away, foolishly blocking herself into a corner and not running for the door, not even bothering to pick up a weapon from the foray on the metal table by her side. Although, that wouldn't have gotten her very far either. The news reporters words still filled the room as Harry avidly watched.

"There has been speculation she is in league with some of our better-known criminals, Penguin or The Joker, none have yet been confirmed by the police. However, there has been speculation that this was a hit against well-known mob boss, Falcone and will incure a turf war and retribution. So please be careful in the streets over the following weeks. If you see anything suspicious, please do not hesitate to inform the GPD. We can only hope this woman is caught soon before she can strike again. Stay safe citizens of Gotham."

Harry accio'd a scalpel from the little tray and lobbed it at the T.V, watching as the glass broke and rained down, the scalpel stuck true in the mess, her voice taking on a gruff edge, no longer stuttering, nervous or weak. Mary flinched and began to shake, unfortunately bringing Harry's gaze to her instead of on the T.V.

"My name is fucking Harry, not bloody Dorothy!"

Huffing and rolling her eyes as Marry tried to skirt around her to the door, Harry hopped off the bed and sidestepped to the entrance, kicking it shut behind her with a backward kick, watching as tears began to well up in Mary's eyes.

"Don't bloody cry! I haven't hurt you so far have I? Grow some balls Mary."

Mary wasn't prepared when Harry slid her wand free from her arm holster and shot an immobulus to her, watching as Mary went as stiff as a board and crashed to the floor, eyes flickering around her in a panic that she suddenly found herself unmoveable. Harry strolled over, watching Mary as she scanned her up and down.

"Just a little test you see, just to make sure."

Of course, Mary didn't say anything, she couldn't. But Harry needed to see, needed to test whether it had been a fluke when she was watching the recording or cold fact now. After all, emotions were such funny things and what pictures failed to bring to life, surely the reality would. She needed to see if she really was void of regret and compassion anymore, especially seen as she felt absolutely nothing of the sort during that whole damned report. Eye's landing on the woman's legs, Harry brought her good leg up and sent it crashing down on the limb, hearing and feeling the bone shatter underneath her boot...Snap.

Nothing.

Harry boisterously laughed, nearly crying with the joke of it all. The savior of the wizarding world, the girl who had defeated Voldemort with the power of Love... Love she could no longer feel. Oh, Tom would be proud indeed. This was just another reason of why she could never go back. Another fracture in her mind, another inch to the crevice that separated her from everyone else. Gone. Harry was dead.

Harry had died the first time she had apparated into this putrid place called Gotham. Who she was, who this new person was, this beast wearing her face, well, it was anyone's guess. All she knew as she gazed down at Mary, wordlessly releasing the spell and watching and listening to the nurse cry out and scream in pain, trying to crawl away, was Harry wasn't done yet. She would never be done. The world would pay ten-fold for every bruise, scrap or knick she had ever had to endure and unfortunately for Mary, she would be the first to cash in on that debt.

"Nope. It's all gone. Well, that's sure a shame for you. Yeah, If I was in your shoes, I'd start crying too."

Harry squatted down, wrapping a hand around the woman's good ankle, tugging her back as she cried louder, flailing her arms and good leg. Harry none too gently flipped her over with a slam of her kick, jamming her wand underneath the woman's chin, forcing the blonde to look at her, nose snotty, eyes swollen, stuttering in breaths as she stared back, trying to hold as still as possible now Harry had her pinned, swinging a leg over to sit on the woman's chest, unforgivingly crushing her into the concrete ground.

"Madness, I've found, is like a bloody staircase. You know that poem don't you, about the spider and the fly. No?"

The woman shook harder with sobs as she shook her head in the negative to the best of her ability. Harry dug the tip of her wand deeper into the soft underjaw flesh, smiling when the woman flinched in pain. Harry had been pinned before, just like this by snatchers... It felt euphoric to be on the other end, to be the tormentor instead of the tormented.

"Well, it's fucking been stuck in my head for months. Will you walk into my parlor? said the Spider to the Fly, Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, and I've many curious things to show when you are there. Oh no, no, said the little Fly, to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair -can ne'er come down again. Of course, in the end, the little moronic fly goes up the stairs and doesn't ever come down again. No. Life is that God damned web, the stairs are death and madness and we, us, humans are the poor fucking flies that get pushed and teased and baited up the stairs with pretty rotting promises. Do you want to know how you don't end up like the little fly? You become the spider..."

The woman's eyes slammed shut as the sobs wracked her form. Harry, in turn, crouched up, resting on her knees, towering over the woman's quaking form, lifted her foot and kicked the woman's broken leg, watching as she howled but unable to move from the wand jarred in the bottom of her face. Harry's own injuries were pushed to the back of her mind, she was good with pain, she knew how to handle it. Uncle Vernon had taught her that lesson. Her heel dug in further, eliciting a scream from the woman trapped beneath her.

Vernon, Draco, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Bellatrix, it was a never ending cycle of abuse and manipulation. Another would try and come, another set of hands to sculpt her into what they wanted only to discard her once she had run her usefulness. Harry wouldn't let that happen. She would be the one twisting, fisting, bending and morphing, breaking, cracking the clay of people around her. It was the name of the game, Harry found. Do or die and Harry was bloody itching to do.

"Please... Stop... You don't have to do this!"

Harry leaned in closer, lips nearly kissing the woman's as Mary blinked open, eyes bloodshot and scared, pupils like pricks in a sea of gray. Sirius had gray eyes, but he had left. Just like everyone else. He too had left his fingerprints on her psyche, fingerprints Harry wanted to scrub out but couldn't.

"You're right, I don't have to... But I want to. I really want to."

Harry drawled as she pulled her wand back, pushing to a stand. Staring down at Mary, she sighed forlornly, as if she felt sorry for what was happening, though she didn't. Sanity, Harry thought, was like a pane of glass. People, they were the bastards that left-hand prints and marks upon it until you could no longer see through the glass, until all it felt like was a rolling wall of fog was inside your brain that you constantly had to try and out run. Harry wasn't running any longer, no, she let the fog swallow her whole and for once, she felt complete, untamed... True.

Snap.

Marry unfortunately still had that clear pane of glass she could see through. Not for long. Harry would show her, it was better in the fog. But, it had to be her choice, had to be her that stepped in and saw the muggy wonders in her distorted Oz.

"You should have listened to me and not turned the fucking T.V on. Now look, you've given me three options and none look pretty for you I'm afraid. So, what do you want to be? A spider, a fly or the staircase?"

Harry was a spider now, the thing that stood upon the webbed staircase of madness and death and lured up the pretty jewel colored flies. Mary could be a spider too, given a good imperious thrown in. Harry doubted, what with that news report she had just seen, that others wouldn't try and come for her. What had that blonde bint called it? A city wide manhunt. Mary could never be a real spider, not like Harry, not with the way she was pleading and begging for mercy, but she could be a good distraction to throw at the muggles while Harry got away if they came that close.

Harry's thumb stroked the wood of her wand, her fingers clenching around the polished wood. It wasn't really a choice she was offering poor Mary, more of an option of how she bowed and left the game. What spell would be the aimed at her in the next five minutes?

"Please, I don't want to be a spider or a fly... Don't do this-"

"Staircase it is."

Harry leaned back over the woman, settling onto her chest, getting comfy for the time this would take. Grabbing her face harshly with bruising fingers, pointing her wand at Mary's temple, locking eyes, Harry growled two words in quick succession.

"Ligilimens... Obliviate..."

After all, to be mad, you couldn't have Happy memories getting in the way. And as Harry flickered through the woman's memory like a flip book, wiping out all the cheery, yellow tinged memories, Harry chuckled. It seemed the woman wouldn't have many memories left after this.

One hour later and a babbling Mary left prone and bent ugly on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, repeating the nursery rhyme Harry had sung in her mind while destroying all she had been, all she could be and everything she was, Harry slid her jacket back on, fixed her clothes with a quick reparo and slid out the door. The keys to Mary's car swinging around her fingers as she hummed along to the same little song Mary was brokenly whispering.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockleshells, and pretty maids all in a row."

And if, if Harry had heard the faint wind of a chuckle and laugh that sounded like it belonged to Tom Riddle brush against the shell of her ear, if she thought she saw him, all human and bright red eyed in the corner of her vision, smiling and clapping, foaming for an encore, who was she to argue? Harry was, after all, whittled down to her marrow and spinal cord was Tom Riddles finest creation, his heir, his adversary, his mirror image.

What was real and imaginary didn't matter anymore. It didn't fraction into any of her choices. Reality, in short, was just how one person viewed their world. Perception. Harry saw in blood and death, had since her first memory of that flash of horrific green and her mother's dying scream. Weren't you meant to live by your reality? Not dreams conjured up by desperation? Harry's dream had been fitting in, being the good little witch everyone wanted her to be, the white knight they all had thought she was. Her reality was, however, was this, all this and so much more. Her reality was sacrifice, death, pain, loss and hatred... And apparently Dorothy now.

Now, what did that news reporter say about a retaliation by Falcone? Maybe she should deal with that. However, as she strolled across the parking lot following the beep Mary's car keys created, she realized she should, perhaps, deal first with the man in the black ford mondayeo, equally shit at hiding his thoughts, that was watching her and following her. With a crack of aparation, Harry ended up in his passenger seat.

"Hello Johnny."

"Oh, fucking shit!"

A.N: It's been a long, long, long time coming and I'm so sorry for such a wait, but life, the little bitch that it is, had to pop it's head out and put it's two cents in. I hope this chapter makes up for it as it's the longest one to date! And fear not beautiful readers, Joker, Harley and Harry are reunited next chapter! I hope you're as excited as I am!

Chapter notes: The nursery rhyme Mary, Mary quite contrary, is actually an old English rhyme. Its original meaning is debated but the popular opinion is that it was about Queen bloody Mary and her torturing innocent protestants. Silver bells and cockleshells actually being torture devices. As Harry was torturing an innocent muggle, I thought it fit really well. As well as the spider and the fly poem mirroring how like the fly won't come back down the stairs, Harry can't come back from what she's done and what she's become.

QUESTIONS:

Will Harry have an Animagus?

I'm honestly not too sure yet, but I am tossing the idea around and it could play an interesting point in the plot. What do you guys think, and if she is an Animagus, what form do you think she should take?

Harry seems to be having outburst, going from 0 to 100 in a split second?

This is purpousfully done. Harry, the way I'm having her written, is slowly loosing her mind, though she won't completely lose it. With people who have a psychotic episodes, the littlest things will trigger an episode. Same with manic depression or bipolar disorder. So, while it seems weird Harry went from relatively annoyed at Hermione and other instances, and then completely snapped, calling her a mudblood, it fits in with how unhinged she is actually becoming. Just another sign her 'friends' have overlooked or written off.

Your sentances are too long with too many comma's, why?

The way I like to write chapters is to put a person in the characters shoes without having to go the whole first person route. This is how I do it. At the moment, with how fragile Harry's mind is, in documented cases I've read, people often have rambling throughts that just bleed into other things and don't stop. A endless cycle so to speak. I also have sentances that have just a single word in them. Another sign of mental instability. This is why, in this fic atleast, it seems snappy in some places, where in others it just doesn't stop. I wanted to give that vibe of insanity subtly. I hold my hands up though, I may have gone overboard, I'm a rambler myself, so I will try and keep it in check.

Is Harry loosing her mind?!

A little bit, yes. XD

I'm not going the full road and making her Bellatrix level of insanity, although, like this chapter, she will be having episodes like it, but in others she will be seemingly normal. I think this will make the story all the more interesting and give Harry a sense of danger from other characters. After all, if one person is placid in one situation and then completly insane in the next, it leaves other people off balance at their unpredictability. That's what I'm really aiming for with my Fem!Harry in this fic.

Is Harry going back to Britian?

I think this chapter answers that as a solid no XD. However... Involuntarily? Perhaps...

Are we going to get batman?

Yes. Yes. Yes. I love batman and I can't have Harley Quinn and Joker without him. That being said, Batman doesn't appear for a while yet. Their will be mentions of him, like this chapter, but he won't make a solid appearance for a few chapters yet.

Is Gotham in another dimension or just a part of America?

In this fic, Gotham is a part of America and not some alternate dimension or timeline. As Gotham is in America, so is the wizarding world. In this, they share the same universe.

Is Harry going to join the suicide squad?

No. She won't, however, she does play a big role in the twist to the film I've come up with and later, I will be going through the films plot. She won't be a part of the suicide squad though.

A HUGE, BIG, GLITTER COVOURED THANK YOU to everyone that reviewed. Honestly, you guys are the reason I'm keeping this story going. You give me encouragement, inspiration and the drive to actually break out of my shell and actually write something. I can't thank you all enough. Thank you too to those who followed and favourited, I hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am writing it!

As always, please leave a review, let me know your thoughts and if I'm hitting the mark or not XD. And until next time, Stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21