Deconstruction
Chapter One: In the Mad House
Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of incessant noise filled his ears. Clamping his hands against his ears, he started to bang his head against one of the walls. Lucky for him, it was soft and insulated with rubber. His bare foot kicked against it as he tried to make the noise stop. It almost sounded like drops of water falling in a metal sink.
In his more lucid moments, he could process what was happening to him. This was the only time when he didn't feel like he was crawling out of his skin and the noise was at a bearable level. The lights would dim and he was able to see better, even if it was still a bit blurry. It was his own personal hell, not knowing where he was and why he was there. Sadly, it was of his making.
It was them. They were saying that he was crazy. He spoke of things that they claimed was impossible. He told them about how a world, no a society, separate from theirs. A world where magic existed outside of fairy tales, but in many ways wasn't too different from theirs. Men were wizards and women were witches. Pictures moved rather than capture a singular moment in time. Electricity was unusable, leaving all the modern marvels of their world lost to that society. It was the makings of a fantasy novel.
"Make it stop," he muttered to himself. "Make it stop." His voice was hoarse, if he wasn't talking in whispers he was yelling at the top of his lungs. It was then that he heard the sound of footsteps. They were deliberate without pausing. It came in fours. First for the toes, then the heels. Repeated again for the other foot. A woman was coming. He could tell from the sound the shoes made. He stopped muttering to himself when he heard the sound of the little window on his door slid open. "What do you want?" he demanded in a loud voice. "What do you want from me!"
A soft gentle voice responded, "My name is Dr. Guinevere White." Her voice was distinctly American. "I just started here today. I'm doing my residency in clinical psychology. I'm a student at Oxford. Do you mind if I spoke with you?"
"Mind? Do I mind being branded as a bloody experiment for the likes of you?" he scoffed. "I don't need you to tell me what I have and what I don't have. What I believe and what I shouldn't believe in."
"What if I told you that I could help you get out of here?" offered Dr. White.
He withdrew his hands from his ears. It was the first time that Dr. White noticed how young he was. He had soft features that surrounded his harsh, sad blue eyes. His red hair was cropped short by the staff. His body was almost gaunt from eating very little, yet he retained some muscle definition. He was clad in a light white t-shirt with a pair of khaki pants. His feet were bare and somewhat callused along the edge of his heels. Despite all this, Dr. White could tell how beautiful he was. Her heart skipped a beat as he turned to face her. He had fine stubble on his chin and upper lip.
"You can't get me out of here," he whispered harshly. "Only I can get me out of here."
"You aren't in the position to do that," countered Dr. White cautiously. "Do you know why you're even here?"
"They say I'm mad. I see illusions," he spat. He saw the folder she had in her hands. "What do you have on me?"
"Nothing much. Not even your name," admitted the young psychologist. "There doesn't seem to be any public record of you."
He laughed. At first he sounded like he was choking. "Of course there isn't any public record of me. Not in this world anyway."
"What world are you talking about?"
"Can't you read that in your little file? Or did you ask one of the other white coats walking around this hellhole?"
"I'd like to hear from you directly. If you agree to it, we can talk all about it."
"What is it that you're hoping to find out?"
"I don't know."
He walked to his little cot and plopped down on it. "I refuse to be your little experiment. Come again when you've got a better reason for talking to me. I may have nothing but time. I'll still decide who I'll spend it with." He turned his body away from her and that was it. She sighed and slid the window closed. She stared at the door for a good minute before deciding to take her leave.
Dr. White walked back to her office. It was the neatest office in the whole hospital, if one was so inclined to call it that, but normally people called it a mental institution. She sank into her chair gazing at all the unopened boxes with all of her books and other important papers inside. A tall dark haired man tapped at her doorway because she had left the door opened. She looked up at him. "McCoy, what are you doing here?" she asked.
"I heard you went to talk to the Wizard," he replied. "Did you get anything out of him?"
"No, I didn't. What did you people do to him before?" asked Dr. White as she glanced up at Dr. McCoy.
"We didn't mistreat him if that's what you're talking about. We tried to medicate him before, but he refused. He kept saying that he wasn't going to take any of our bloody potions," answered Dr. McCoy as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Why are you so interested in him? I thought you studied depression."
"I don't think his schizophrenic," stated Dr. White as she got to her feet. She was referring to the file on her desk. "I was looking at his file. He doesn't have any of the biological data to support that. I don't blame him, if he doesn't want to take the drugs. And he doesn't appear to be a danger to anyone."
"He's a danger to himself," argued the other psychologist. "No one can crack him. He keeps going on about wizards and magic like they're real."
Gwen, which was the name she preferred to be called by, leafed through the file on the anonymous patient and saw some of his sketches from the art therapy sessions. They were pictures of a large castle and it was labeled "Hogwarts – School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He drew realism sketches of people. One was a man with a long white beard wearing glasses and a tall pointed hat, "Dumbledore, Headmaster." Another was a boy wearing glasses with a scar in the shape of a lightening bolt on his forehead. It was simply entitled, "The Boy Who Lived." There were several pictures of strange objects from a ball with wings attached, to people on broomsticks. The art therapist kept the pictures that the patient had tried to destroy. They were wrinkled and partial ripped. One of them was a skull with a snake. It was done in green pencil, distinguishing itself completely from the others. It was the last picture in the pile that called most of Gwen's attention.
The picture was of a family. It was draw by the same person. There were pyramids in the background. It was a family of nine. Or eight. It was difficult to tell because he had erased a spot of the paper so hard that there was a hole in it. The hole was on the edge of the paper. What he couldn't eraser, he tore off. That piece had gone astray since that art session. However, the rest of it the picture was intact. It was mostly males ranging in ages. There were two females in the picture a mother and a daughter. "He's a member of someone's family. They must be looking for him," she whispered.
"We all thought of that already. There were no responses. No one knows who he is. I don't think he even knows who he is. Look, I know that you're out to prove yourself, Dr. White. You wouldn't have been selected if it wasn't for your fine research on depression," said Dr. McCoy. "The point is to finish your time here with as little problems as necessary and not go for such hard luck cases such as this one. Believe me; I don't think he's going to make the best case study."
Her posture stiffened at his words. The pompous blowhard hadn't listened to a word she had said. "I refuse to believe that he's beyond help. There's something wrong with him and no one here seems to have listened to him."
"Didn't you see the scars on his arms?"
"Yes, they look like past suicide attempts. That's what I'm talking about, McCoy. So, this is my area."
"No. That's not what I meant. I mean yes, they were obviously self inflected, but..." he trailed off for a moment, "do whatever you want, Gwen. I just wanted you to make it easier on yourself. But let me warn you about something."
"Don't get my hopes up?"
Dr. McCoy shook his head. "No. Don't think too highly of yourself. Remember, we're all human here. Sometimes you just can't save them. No matter how hard you try."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," said Dr. White as she nodded at the door. Dr. McCoy sighed and retreated from her office. She sighed as she read more in the file of the man that the others have come to call the Wizard.
"It's getting more and more nippy outside," announced Tonks as she walked into Aurors Headquarters. She made a beeline for her cubicle. Kingsley was at his desk reading the morning paper. Tonks could see the headline from where she was standing, "I guess we're going to see some changes around here, aren't we?"
"I can't believe that they just arrested him like that," agreed Kingsley as he put down his paper. The walls of his cubicle were bare now. He had taken down all of the clipping, maps, and pictures of Sirius Black. The blankness did nothing to comfort Tonks who could barely bring herself to look at the walls. "I knew something was going to happen, but not like that."
"It's been months now. Three months. And things are getting quiet again," pointed out Tonks as she sipped the tea on her desk. "It's more unbelievable who made it all happen in the first place. I didn't think Percy Weasley had it in him."
"Fudge certainly didn't see it coming," said Kingsley. He would have said more, but Arthur Weasley had walked in. He looked absolutely ragged as he approached Kingsley's desk. It seemed as if Arthur had aged since Kingsley had seen him last. "Arthur, it's been a while since I've seen you. How are you doing?"
"Not too well," replied Arthur without any preamble or social nicety. "Have you heard anything about Percy since the day that Fudge was arrested?"
"No," replied Kingsley with some concern. "I don't think anyone's seen him since then. Tonks, weren't you here when Fudge was arrested?" He turned to her, surprising her. She almost choked on her tea.
She sputtered and wiped her lips. As soon as she was composed she said, "Yes, I was. It was the strangest thing I've ever seen. It was almost funny, but there was something almost sadistic about it."
"What?" asked Kingsley as Arthur mirrored the same expression.
"I suppose I should start from the beginning," said Tonks with a sigh. "I came in early that morning to check up on a couple of things after what happened during the summer." She got to her feet and walked over to Kingsley's cubicle. "He handed in his resignation as Fudge was being arrested. I'll never forget the look on Fudge's face. He was shocked and Percy just walked away from him. Fudge kept calling him, but the only time Percy turned back around was in the lift. He stared at him as he pushed the buttons to close the door."
"Did he say anything?" asked Arthur.
"Nothing really. But he did whisper something into Fudge's ear. I didn't hear it though," answered Tonks. "No one's heard from him since then. I don't think anyone's seen him either. Why are you looking for him?"
"Dumbledore wants to see him," replied Arthur.
"Oh," said Tonks. "I guess we'll have to find out where he's gone. Do you want me to go and look for him?"
"I don't know," muttered Arthur as he sighed. "Yes, I think you should go and look for him. We should know where he is. I still don't understand why Percy decided to turn in Fudge the way he did."
"I'll start the search immediately," promised Tonks as she went back to her cubicle. Her hair was currently long and brown, so were her eyes. Naturally, she had her father's coloring rather than her mother's, which matched Sirius'. Of late, she preferred not to use her Metamorphmagus abilities. It had something to do with the death of Sirius Black. Life wasn't a game anymore.
She went back to her desk. "I don't know where to look first." She turned back to Arthur. "Where should I start?"
"I have no idea," admitted Arthur. "I suppose you could start at his flat, but I don't know where he moved to after he left the Burrow."
"I'll go through his personnel file then. It's a place to start." Tonks polished off the rest of her tea and rose from her desk again. "I'll be in the personnel office looking for his file. Don't worry, Arthur. I'm sure that I'll find him soon."
He could hear the sound of her approaching his cell again. He knew that she wouldn't leave well enough alone, but he was prepared to turn her down again. When she slid the window open, he didn't bother to sit up or move for that matter. Dr. White greeted him, "I'm sorry about the way our last conversation turned out. I shouldn't say I'd make you an offer without saying what it was."
"So, what can you offer me?"
"A chance at freedom from here. I don't think you're crazy."
"Maybe, you're crazy for thinking I'm not crazy."
Dr. White studied him. The records show that he was a genius. Given half a chance, he could easily manipulate any environment he was introduced to. He was also an artist, judging by the drawings from the art therapy sessions. However, Dr. White wasn't to be underestimated. She was a genius, too.
The young psychologist had graduated from high school at the age of fifteen and went on to Stanford University, her father's alma mater. Dr. White graduated in three years and decided to follow in her father's footsteps and become a clinical psychologist. It took on two years to get to get to this point in her life. All of this was a result of her not having a life at all. Her work and study had been the center of her life. There was no time for friends or relationships with other humans. She kept her distance from her father and his new family. At that very moment, the only person who mattered to her was the gaunt, young man in his cell.
His back was to her as she continued to talk. "What if I told you that I believed you?" she countered. "What if I said that I believed everything you said about the wizards and their world?"
"I'd say that I don't believe you," he muttered. He turned his body suddenly and threw his arm over his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
"Look, I know that you don't trust anyone, especially after the way they treated you. But, I need you to trust me. If you can do that, then we can work together and get you out of here." Dr. White added in a whisper, "What can I do to prove that you can trust me?"
"I don't know."
He didn't say anything as he heard the sound of metal keys. He only moved when he heard her unlock the door of his cell. She slid the bar over and slowly opened the door. She took a deep breath as she opened the door and walked inside the cell. She closed the door behind her. What she had just done violated the protocol of the hospital. Normally, patients were escorted out of their cells by orderlies. She was breathing hard from fear, almost shaking as she stepped away from the door. The keys were still in her left hand as she asked, "Proof enough for you?"
He sat up, faced her, and leaned against the wall. He pulled one of his legs up on the cot, leaving the other touching the floor. "What do you want to know?" he simply asked. "What do you want to know about me?"
"Anything, you're willing to tell me," replied the young doctor. "I'm listening." He tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling. "We can do these sessions anywhere you wish."
"Then get me the Hell out of this cell," he whispered hoarsely. She nodded as she stepped back from him and opened the door. She let herself out and slammed the door behind her. Quickly, she slid the bar across and locked the door. Alarmed at her audacity, she marched off to her office and she could still feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She felt a chill go through her because for a one fleeting moment she had actually stared straight into his cold eyes. There was untold madness in them. Or even worse, he could actually be perfectly normal. Either way, Dr. White was sick to her stomach.
In her office, Dr. White began her plan of attack. She had to make sure that she could get through the sessions without allowing him to control her. He already had some control over because she was afraid of him. There was something about him that scared her. Perhaps, it was because she couldn't completely claim to understand him. Even in the brief meetings that they had, she still couldn't claim to even begin to know what he was really thinking. There truly was a thin line between madness and brilliance.
AN: This fic is a fic to make up for the fact that I don't know how to finish Veritas because of all the new information that came out from Rowling's site. I couldn't finish Veritas because of the facts about the Weasley family that came to light. Namely, the name of Molly's family is in the site under extras.
I decided to retract a little bit and stick close to canon. I wanted to write a story that could be placed in between the Order of Phoenix and the yet to be released Half-Blood Prince. The story will only have a couple of original characters with only one of them fully developed, while others will be more developed. I'll be using characters from the canon and developing them as I see fit. There will be very few characters and it will be more character driven than plot driven.
kirikarin. livejournal. com
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This story belongs to me and cannot be posted anywhere else without my permission.