Harry Potter. How to describe him? The Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of the Wizarding World, and soon to be inmate at a mental asylum.
Harry was sat in the same court room as his hearing back when he was fifteen; a whole two years ago.
The room itself hadn’t changed much, but things were going a lot differently than before. Last time, it had mostly just been a desperate attempt from Fudge and Umbridge to get him out of their lives, but luckily for him most of the Wizengamot had been able to see through what the pair had been doing. In his last hearing he also had Albus Dumbledore to defend him. Now however, Dumbledore was dead, and there was nobody left to fight for him. It appeared that even the people he thought were his friends had gone against him, claiming they just wanted to help Harry and this was the only way they knew how. It was one of these people Harry now had to listen to, unable to defend himself from the words in anyway.
“To be honest” Hermione Granger stated, “Harry has always had a few, um, issues, to put it nicely. Mostly with anger management and he’s always been very negative. I guess that was a sign that he was suffering with depression, but it never occurred to me. I wonder if I had would things be different now?” she sighed, drawing sympathetic looks from the jury. “I know he’s been having dangerous outbreaks of magic, but I don’t think they are deliberate. If he wanted to hurt anyone he could have just left it to You-Know-Who.”
At least she was defending Harry on that point. Harry had been having small outbreaks of magic. Nothing serious, but when it injured a pregnant Ginny and killed her unborn child, a lot of people had been very quick to haul him into court.
“I think he may be suffering ‘Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome’” Hermione continued, causing a few wizards to nod their heads in agreement. “This coupled with depression and anger, well of course his magic will be playing up, and Azkaban won’t help with any of this. What Harry needs is psychological help and he needs to be somewhere where this can be possible. I hope you can put these points into consideration” she finished, bowing her head slightly and jumping down from the box, allowing one Ronald Weasley to take his turn to testify; the one Harry was most worried about. Most of the trial depended on what Ron and Hermione said. Ginny claimed she was too upset to leave her home, let alone testify, and Ron and Hermione were the people who knew him the best.
“Well, after what happened to my sister” Ron began, glancing at Harry briefly, “I was furious. Well, I still am. He killed a member of my family. At first I thought he was jealous; jealous that Ginny was starting a family with Dean Thomas. I know they’re young but they’re in love, so we all accepted it. Harry always was the jealous type though so I thought that had maybe pushed him over the edge.”
That was rich coming from Ron; the boy who often argued with people due to jealousy.
“But what Hermione said, that could be true. He never was happy, even when there was nothing to be worried about and he always had nightmares. I think they’ve had some sort of effect on his brain or something, you know? Either way, I think he shouldn’t be part of our community. He’s either a criminal or messed up in the head, but I want him out of our lives. My little sister is now too heartbroken to go outside and face the world, all because of him. He needs locking up and if he can get help, then great, but I speak for everyone when I say he isn’t a safe member of society anymore. Thank you” Ron finished and the looks on the faces of the people in the Wizengamot told Harry this was not going to end well for him.
The jury all turned to each other, discussing things frantically, pointing to notes that had been made, and occasionally looking over at him. It wasn’t long before they stopped, and one witch stood up and cleared her throat, reminding Harry horribly of Umbridge.
“The Wizengamot council have discussed what we have heard here today, and looked over the evidence that we have. We have concluded that no boy of seventeen could be having outbreaks of wandless magic without there being other issues. We believe there is a high chance Mr. Potter is suffering from psychological problems, and moving him to Azkaban at such a young age would only exaggerate these and make him even more socially unstable. We have agreed that the best course of action would be to move him to a secure mental hospital, where he will be able to get help for these problems in a suitable environment.”
Harry buried his head in his hands, not being able to comprehend the words that were being said. He was an apparent lunatic, unsafe to society. He’d have rather taken Azkaban.
“St Mungos, however, we felt was not a suitable place for Mr. Potter. The psychiatric ward is very heavily magical based, and getting away from magic could do Mr. Potter some good. Likewise, staying in Great Britain we feel is also unsuitable because it could make it a lot more appealing for Mr. Potter to try and escape, and if he is suffering from trauma caused by the war, staying in the same area could prevent him from getting better. Thus we have decided the best course of action is to send Mr. Potter overseas. There is a hospital that caters to Post-Trauma sufferers in New York city, and we will be sending Mr. Potter there in order to better his health. Lastly, Mr. Potter is of course, no longer able permitted to use magic until he is deemed mentally sound. Case dismissed.”
Harry could feel tears prickling in his eyes. He didn’t dare look up, not until he heard a snap. He slowly uncovered one eye, to see his wand in two pieces. That was it; that had taken his last piece of hope. He had never been happy other than in the Wizarding World, and now that was gone. He wouldn’t cry though, that wouldn’t help the image he had been given. He pressed his palms against his shut eyes, trying to shut everything out. He felt himself being hauled to his feet and a hand grasp his arm, and the jolting of side-along apparition. He kept his palms against his eyes still, trying to ignore the sterile smell, the sounds of the Auror discussing Harry with anther person, and then the grip on his arm going. That was when he knew that that was it. He was officially a mental patient.
“Hello…Harry?” a soft voice asked. He uncovered one eye to see a woman standing before him. She had a gentle look to her, but at the same time didn’t look one to be messed around.
“I’m not crazy” Harry said finally, voice hoarse from not having spoken for days.
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy. But I don’t think you’re well. We want to help you get better.”
“I don’t need to get better” Harry said through gritted teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with me. They just wanted to get rid of me.”
“Who wanted to get rid of you Harry?” the nurse asked, not taking her gaze of the one eye she could see.
“My friends. My world” he replied simply, realising afterwards it didn’t exactly help the ‘not crazy’ persona he was trying to put across.
“Hmm…well Harry, we will have a few chats with you and see where you’re at. You never know, you could be out of here in no time” she smiled, trying to reassure the teen. Harry knew she was lying.
Harry had been in the hospital a little less than a week when the first outburst happened. When he had been in the shower, the pipes exploded and flooded the bathrooms. Luckily for him they put the blame on faulty plumbing, and he had managed to avoid awkward questioning.
The second outburst happened just a few days later. This time he managed to start a fire in his cell, and they found him sat staring at it for comfort. They were quick to call him a pyromaniac, and demanded to know where he got the materials to start the fire from. He couldn’t give them a straight answer and said he just did it himself. Now he was known as a traumatised pyromaniac who suffered delusions.
The third outburst was another fire, this time in the dining hall. Six people were killed. The person who had been sitting next to him insisted the fire had come from his hands. To the staff and the police this was nonsense, but they did claim it meant he had done it on purpose. There were discussions whether he was a pyromaniac who had let it get out of control, or if he was just an arsonist. There were even questions to whether he had wanted to hurt people believing them to be a danger. No matter what theory they ever decided on, he was now branded criminally insane.
This meant he soon found himself wrapped up in a straight jacket and bundled inside of a van. He willed himself to do some more wandless magic, but was unable to get anything more than a little spark. His journey ended too soon and he got dragged out by a police man and pulled up towards the building which would become his new home. It was tall, dark and miserable, and Harry thought at least it was more fitting than the previous place. Before he got pulled inside he looked at the sign on the building. They were long slanted letters and they spelt out ‘Arkham Asylum’.