Picking Up the Pieces

After fighting the urge to flip the bed and tear the room to shreds, I eventually calmed myself down and let my brain process what Davis had told me. Draco Malfoy was going to be joining our "circle." Draco Malfoy, the person I used to consider the very bane of my existence, would now have to take group showers, use safety scissors and talk about his feelings right along side me. It was bitter-sweet really.

On one hand, I loathed the fact that I would be forced to be in such close proximity to someone that I despised. And on top of that, I hated that he would get the satisfaction of seeing me like this. Like he really needed anymore ammo for his arsenal.

But on the other hand, a small part of me breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't the only that couldn't handle life on my own. Someone else was just as fucked-up as me. And that someone was the seemingly infallible Draco Malfoy.

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I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, unwillingly inhaling the scent of sweat and fetid meat. The noxious but familiar smell served as an indicator that dinner would be ready soon. And despite the putrid odor, my stomach rumbled hungrily, responding in the way Pavlov's dogs responded to tinkling bells. But dinner would have to wait.

I inhaled again, through my mouth this time, and then slowly pushed the air back out of my lungs. Everything was going to be fine. I had plenty of time to mentally prepare myself for this. That, and Davis gave me enough drugs to quash any manic thoughts or ideas I might have or might even think about having.

This elaborate song and dance was not typically necessary for a simple session of group therapy, but today was different. Today was Draco's first session of group and it would be my first time seeing him since my initial freakout.

I told myself and the doctors that there was nothing to worry about now that I was actually aware of Draco's presence. I mean, didn't they know you shouldn't surprise a crazy person? Now that I had the time to mentally prepare for this, and the drugs as a safety net, I was sure that I would be able to behave myself. But I knew everyone was on standby, just in case.

I stood up from my bed and did the best I could to straighten my rumpled clothes and hair. When I realized it was doing little good, I gave up, slipped on my blue hospital-issued slippers and made my way out the door.

The hall was empty. Everyone was probably already there, just itching to spill their guts. I took my time. I was never in a hurry to get to group and especially not today.

But unfortunately, in what felt like record time, I was outside of room 213, willing myself to cross it's threshold.

"Harry, come on in!" a boy named Emerson called. He was a nice enough kid, about two or three years younger than me. His dark, unkempt hair and round boyish face reminded me a little of Neville Longbottom. The main difference being that when Emerson set fire to or destroyed things, it was generally on purpose.

"You can sit next to me," he said smiling. Yes, even in the mad house, people still wanted a piece of Harry Potter.

I lifted my eyes and let them scan the room. There was nothing out of the ordinary; the same sterile white walls, same circle of desks. The only difference was the blonde sitting next to Healer Wadsworth. I quickly averted my eyes.

"Come on Harry!" I finally acknowledged Emerson with a smile and made my way over to him.

The empty desk to his left was the only one in the whole room with a green seat. It was my favorite desk and I knew that I would need it today. And I knew that it would be empty, because even if they didn't know the reason why, everyone knew that it was my favorite desk, and they always left it open for me--another perk of being the great Harry Potter.

I quietly took my seat and non-chalantly began searching under the desk with my hand. After feeling around a moment, I found what I was looking for.

On the underside of the desk there was a spot where two metal bars intersected and were welded together. The welding, however, was done very crudely and it left a serrated protuberance sticking out underneath the desk. I gently ran my finger over it; it was still sharp.

"Okay, now that everyone is here," Wadsworth started. "I would like to begin by formally introducing our new group member. Everyone," he said gesturing to the blonde boy to his right. "This is Draco Malfoy."

"Hi Draco," the sheep bleated in unison.

I lifted my head and allowed myself to get a full look at the former Slytherin.

He physically looked pretty much the same as he always had. The same thin, but slightly muscled build, the same white-blonde hair, the same silver-grey eyes. But outside of his physical attributes, he looked nothing like the Draco I remembered from school. The Draco I remembered had a contemptuous air about him. Every fiber of his being reeked of pride and superiority. From the way he walked to the way he treated others, he screamed arrogance and aplomb.

But this Draco was different. He was hunched over in his desk, his eyes glued to the floor like he wanted nothing more than to peel up the linoleum and hide underneath it. Had I not known the previous Draco I might have almost felt sorry for this one.

"Draco, could you tell us a little about yourself?" Wadsworth asked. But the blonde just sat there, unmoving, nothing about him even acknowledging that someone had spoken to him.

"Draco?" the doctor tried again. Still nothing.

"Well guys, since he's not up to sharing today, why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves to him. Starting with you, Jacob."

"Well, I'm Jacob McDugan," the Irish boy began. I quickly tuned out my surroundings and turned my attention back to Draco. I wondered what could have possibly happened to make him like this. It was like something had masticated and swallowed him down, digesting everything about him that was Malfoy, and then regurgitated this dead, lifeless lump.

Was he sent to Azkaban? Sure he and his family had been in Voldemort's inner-circle, but he really was only a child. Resisting Voldemort would have meant certain death for him, and most likely his family. What else could he have done?

Was he tortured by Death Eaters? They couldn't have been happy with the role Draco's mother played in ending the war. Maybe Death Eater's found the Malfoy's and exacted their revenge.

Who knew? The lack of news made it impossible for me to know what was going on outside of the hospital. We weren't allowed to read the Prophet, we weren't allowed to watch news stations. My only sources of news were the visitors I was allowed every other Saturday, but they never gave up much information either. It was like everyone was trying to protect us from the outside world.

But I, of all people, should be privied to at least some knowledge of the goings-on in the wizarding world. I am Harry fucking Potter. I saved their asses and I don't even get to see the repercussions of it or bask in the fruits of my labor! Bullshit I tell you!

"Harry," Wadsworth snapped me out of my internal tirade. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

"Does he really have to?" Emerson cooed. "I think everyone knows who Harry Potter is."

I cringed and turned my head to look at Draco. Surely the mention of my name snapped him out his daze. The Slytherin in him couldn't ignore that his favorite figurative punching bag was only ten feet away from him. But when my eyes settled on him, he sat there as still as he was before, completely unaffected by the mention of my name.

"Well, my name is Harry Potter," I began. I looked at Draco again, still no response. "I'm nineteen and I grew up in Little Whinging, but the first place I really considered home was Hogwarts." Surely he'd at least look up at that……Nope, guess not.

"Great, thank you Harry." Wadsworth smiled. "Now that we are all acquainted, I'd like to start today's session talking about a subject we have touched on many times before. I know that almost everyone here has been affected by it in one way or another, including Draco, so I thought it would be a good place to start. I am, of course, talking about the war."

Oh no.

"Who wants to start by sharing how the war affected them?" he asked.

I could feel myself tumbling towards the ground. The strong gravitational pull had me cutting through the air like a warm knife through butter. There was no resistance, nothing to stop me. Crash! I hit the ground like a ton of bricks. The noise reverberated off the stone walls around me. I carefully tested each part of my body, bending and flexing. Despite the hard fall, I was somehow left unscathed. I stood up and brushed the dirt from eyes. Streaks of green and red shot by me from all directions. I didn't know where I was or where I was going, but I ran. I ran and ran through the large corridor, bodies tripping me up every step I took. Bodies of friends, bodies of enemies, bodies of people whose alliance was unknown--bloodied, beaten, broken. They reached for me. They clawed at my legs, desperately trying to pull me down with them. But I wouldn't go! Not on their terms! I pulled a dagger from my pocket and tested the tip. It was still sharp. I pressed my finger down on the blade until I felt a drop of warm, crimson victory escape the soft pad of flesh. They’ll never have me!

My surroundings started to swirl around me. The stone surfaces gave way to smooth white floors and walls. The colorful flashes of light disappeared and were replaced by several stationary, blindingly white lights that hung from the ceiling. I was no longer running. I was sitting at a desk. But despite the change in scenery, the bodies were still there, trying to get me. They dug their fingers into floor, skin ripping from muscle as friction tried to prevent them from dragging themselves closer to me. But it didn’t stop them. They kept coming for me, leaving sanguinary trails in their wake.

But they will never succeed! I am the one in control! I carefully pushed the bandage on my right forearm up a few centimeters, so a small part of my inner wrist was exposed. Then, lightly at first, I began dragging my wrist across the sharp protrusion under the desk, increasing the pressure with each stroke. After a moment, I could feel the sharp piece of metal start to rip through my skin. I closed my eyes and focused on the pain, on how it felt as each jagged tooth bit harshly into my flesh. The sensation it created was overwhelming. The pain was so great that it took everything in my power to resist the urge to scream and pull my arm away. But I was in control! When I was in control, they could never get me!

Then, almost on cue, the bodies began falling away. They disappeared left and right, along with the blood and flesh that had previously littered the floor. Within moments, they were gone. The linoleum sparkled a crisp, clean, white. A white that had never been touched by death.

I slowly opened my eyes. I was back at group therapy, grounded, safe. I had pulled myself back from the brink of disaster, avoiding death yet again.

“Alright guys. That’s enough for today,” Wadsworth announced. “See you tomorrow!”

I quickly put my bandage back in place to cover my bloodied wrist, and got up to leave.

“Everything okay, Harry?” Emerson asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You just seemed out of it today.”

“Oh, just a little tired,” I lied.

“I hear ya. Hey, I have a quick question. I wanted to see if you were available for a game of chess tonight. I mean, if you are busy I totally understand.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s cool,” I replied.

“Really, awesome! See ya later then Harry,” he exclaimed as he skipped away.

I wondered how long I would be the shiny new toy of the loony-bin. It had been six months and my novelty hadn’t worn off yet. I shook my head and retreated to my room.