78Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
Harry awkwardly made his way around the happy people, but he couldn't help but smile as well. Voldemort was gone for good. Dead. And there was no more responsibility on Harry's shoulder. No more stupid prophecies.
Okay, so Harry didn't just smile; he beamed. He absolutely beamed.
"Cheers, Harry!" The occasional person would call out, lifting their glass. Harry would beam back, lifting his glass in return.
Some people would make conversation with him and he'd politely respond, though his eye continued to scan the room for that one perfect person. That one beautiful, perfect, red-headed—
"Ginny!" Harry said, his eyes finally landing on her. She was stunning, wearing a simple light blue dress with long sleeves and a dark blue flower in her hair. "I found you."
"Well this is my home," Ginny said, gesturing to the lavishly embellished home that Molly had spent quite some time making it look perfect. It worked.
"Right," Harry said, casually rocking back and forth on his heel. "You look beautiful," he added when he had nothing else to say. Despite her having been his girlfriend for a while now, Harry still couldn't stop the spread of the blush blooming on his face.
Ginny grimaced. "Ugh. I hate it. My mom picked it out for me."
"Oh," Harry said.
Why is this so awkward? He thought to himself.
"Um, this is really awkward," Ginny stated.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Harry replied.
"Huh," Ginny said. The conversation remained dead.
"So," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want to go outside?"
"Right! Outside! Good idea." Ginny led the way.
They both walked into open-air, squeezing by the elated survivors. On their way out, Seamus Finnigan spotted Harry and Ginny. He elbowed Harry and winked, as he walked in the other direction. Harry glared.
Luckily, Ginny did not see the action and continued ahead of Harry.
"Wow. It's really beautiful out here." Ginny said in awe, gazing at the star-filled sky.
Not as beautiful as you, Harry thought, he felt that if he actually said that out loud, Ginny might murder him. Harry snorted.
"What?" Ginny asked.
"Nothing. It's just that I finally feel at peace."
"Yeah- so what do you plan on—"
"Ginny, I'm so sorry." Harry blurted out. He decided at the last moment that if he really wanted this day to be perfect, it had to be with Ginny.
"What are you talking about?"
"For leaving you and for not asking you out until sixth year and for being an absolute jerk. I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll do whatever you want! I'll even get a tattoo of the Hungarian Horntail!"
Ginny laughed.
Noticing Harry's confusion Ginny continued, "If I still hated you, I wouldn't be talking to you. Harry, I know you left me to protect me and save the world." Ginny put her hand on Harry's cheek. "Believe me, I understand."
The chocolate brown eyes met the toad green eyes.
"Really?"
"Sure, I hated you for a while." Ginny said, putting her hand down. "I mean, I'm not a saint." She grinned at Harry, "But I'm also not a whiny, needy brat. I can handle myself, Potter."
"I know that."
"Sure, that explains the terrified look in your eyes."
"I just needed to make sure."
"Whatever you say, Chosen One."
"Whatever?"
"Well, probably not everything. For example, I refuse to be your maid and be one of those doting girlfriends that cleans up after you and wipes up anything you spill."
"Not even my pumpkin juice?" Harry asked, a twinkle in his eye as he took a sip of his drink.
"Especially your pumpkin juice." Ginny used her napkin to dab at the side of Harry's mouth, wiping away any non-existent leftover drink.
"You break my heart, Miss Weasley."
"That's what I do." Ginny smirked, teasingly. "Now," she continued, gently pulling Harry's chin down to her eye level, "about that Hungarian Horntail tatt—"
And Harry kissed her.
Then, he woke up.
White. That's what Harry saw. Blinding white.
"Harry, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked.
Harry didn't answer. He closed his eyes trying to block out the glaring, bleached out walls. His hands moved around the surface underneath him, feeling the rigid surface. It was a bed. But it wasn't his bed.
Confusion settled upon Harry thicker than the pumpkin juice Ginny refused to clean up.
He opened his eyes only to be increasingly shocked by what he saw.
"Am I dead?" Harry asked. Again?
The man chuckled. "No, Mr. Potter. You are very much alive."
"But you're dead," Harry stated, blandly. His mind began to work in overdrive, his defense side kicking up. Harry started to think up an escape plan.
"I know the surgery was hard, Harry, but we can get through this. I just need you to be honest with me."
"Why don't you be honest with me first? What surgery? How are you here and where the bloody hell is here?" Harry yelled, his temper rapidly rising.
The man smiled sadly, "You know who I am, Harry. I'm your doctor."
"No, you're not. You are-you were my professor. But you..." Harry felt his throat clog up. "You died."
"Mr. Potter, I have never looked into the business of teaching nor have I ever died." The man reached out to hold Harry's hand, but Harry quickly snatched it out of his reach. "You seem to be suffering from mild amnesia."
"Amnesia? No, I remember everything!"
"What can you recall, Harry?" the man asked patiently.
"I just defeated Voldemort." Harry looked at the aging man to find any sign of recognition to the wretched name. He only received a sympathetic nod. Harry fidgeted on the bed, his clothes stiff with sweat. "I, um, well, I talked to some people and then I went to the burrow."
Harry stopped talking, his breath caught in his throat.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" the doctor encouraged him to go on.
"I went outside to talk with Ginny and that's all I remember." Harry concentrated, trying to remember the pieces of the past, but he kept coming up blank.
The doctor nodded. "It seems the surgery has not benefited your illness."
"Professor, what illness? Where am I?"
"Where you've been for the last seven years, Harry. The Hogwarts Mental Institution."
"Hogwarts isn't a mental institution!" Harry exclaimed, fear gripping his heart faster than a dementor. "It's a school of—"
"Witchcraft and wizardry," the old doctor finished. "I know, Harry. You've been telling us this for the past seven years. Harry, you've been struggling with schizophrenia ever since you were a young boy. You believe that your parents were killed by a Dark Lord and that you are the only boy who could ever save it."
"It's true, professor," Harry insisted. "But Voldemort is gone now."
"There is no one named Voldemort. Harry, your parents were killed in a car crash."
"No! That's what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said! They put you up to this didn't they? Who are you?" Harry asked, jumping to his feet. "I'm getting out of here!"
He ran to the white door and swung it open, only to be met face to face with… a giant. "Hagrid?" Harry said, surprised. Hagrid answered by pushing Harry back inside. Harry fell to the floor by the brute force of the half-giant, his glasses knocked off his face flying askew.
"Are you alright, doctor?" Hagrid asked.
"I'm fine, Rubeus. Thank you for your concern," the doctor said, warmly. Hagrid nodded and shut the door, leaving Harry inside.
Harry scrambled to his feet, reaching out to bring his glasses back to his astonished face. "That was—"
"Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts's main security guard." The old doctor paused to study Harry's face. "In your world," the man continued, "I recall he was the half-giant keeper of keys and grounds of Hogwarts?"
"Professor, I know it sounds crazy but it's real. My world is real and you're part of it. You were my Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore!"
"It's Doctor Dumbledore, my dear boy."
"This doesn't make sense."
"One of our Medical scientists, Doctor Tom Riddle created a treatment that he hoped would cure you of your illness. Before you underwent the operation you were talking to Miss. Ginevra Weasley."
Harry looked at Dumbledore with utter shock as Dumbledore continued, "I assume the treatment did not succeed and your memory resumes from the point before the operation to now."
"You let Voldemort operate on me?"
"Doctor Riddle is not a villain, Mr. Potter. In fact his main desire is to help people," Dumbledore said in a cool manner.
"That's what he wants you to believe. He really just wanted to kill all of the muggle-borns."
"And what exactly is a muggle-born?"
"A person who comes from a family of muggles but possesses magical abilities."
"Are you a muggle-born, Mr. Potter?"
"No, I'm a half-blood."
"Do you possess magical abilities?" Dumbledore politely asked, like an adult entertaining a child's fantasy.
Harry felt a twinge of annoyance. "Of course I do. This all probably just some weird dream and I'm going to wake up soon. Okay? So can I go?"
"If you can prove your magical abilities, you may leave."
"I don't have to prove anything to you. If you were really Dumbledore, you would already know about magic. You taught me! This all some bloody nightmare and I'm just going to wake up soon at the Burrow." Harry blinked really hard. Nothing happened. He tried pinching himself. That just hurt.
Dumbledore watched in amusement.
"This isn't funny." Harry glared.
"I realize your confusion, Mr. Potter—"
"No. You don't." Harry said, coldly. "I don't know why you and Hagrid are acting like brain washed monkeys and what exactly I'm doing here. If you would just let me leave, then I'll find someone who can help you. Maybe Professor McGonagall or even Mr. Weasley. I mean, they would probably be really surprised to see you here and well… alive, but I'm sure they'd love to help the both of you."
"I'm not the one who needs the help, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, you do."
"If you don't need help, why did your Aunt Petunia send you here?"
"That's exactly what I've been saying!"
"Tell me, Harry. Why do you choose to believe in your world? Your world of magic and terrifying beasts? Is it better than this world?"
Harry looked around at the padded walls and the bars on the windows. Yes. He thought, but he decided not to say that aloud in case he might actually prove Dumbledore's point.
"Does it make you feel better? Being the hero in your world?" the doctor questioned further.
"Of course not! You don't know what I've been through. So many people died and you're telling me I enjoy it."
"You told me I died, yet here I am," Dumbledore countered.
"This isn't the first time I've talked to you since you died."
"When did I die, Harry?" Dumbledore inquired.
Harry gazed at Dumbledore, bewildered. "Um, when I was sixteen."
"When you were sixteen, I left Hogwarts for about a year to deal with family issues. I don't remember dying in the process."
Harry resisted rolling his eyes, Dumbledore's constant denial was really ticking him off.
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, softly, "you assumed my leave was permanent because anyone outside of Hogwarts doesn't exist or love you."
Harry looked away, not believing a word coming from Dumbledore's mouth. "Your Aunt Petunia would like you to know that's not true. She would love to have you back, Harry."
"Don't psychoanalyze me."
"Your Aunt and Uncle love you and miss you very much—"
"They don't! Don't you dare lie to me! My home is at the Burrow and I'm going there right now," Harry seethed, standing to his feet.
"Hagrid would just bring you back in, Harry."
"So I'm a prisoner?"
"You are not a prisoner, Harry."
"Then let me leave."
"Prove to me you have magical abilities and you are free to go."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine," he muttered under his breath.
Harry focused on the door. His wandless magic had improved and he hoped that his skills wouldn't abandon him now.
He concentrated, blocking all sounds out and remained fixated on the one task at hand, opening the door. He took a deep breath in.
Alohomora.
The door remained shut.
Harry turned to face Dumbledore. "It would be easier if I had my wand."
"You mean this?" Dumbledore asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an ancient looking chain. At the center there was an emblem that looked strangely like… "My wand," Harry said softly.
"Not exactly what you expected, is it?"
Harry just held out his hand in shock and Dumbledore let the chain flow out of his hands and into Harry's. Harry felt nothing but cold dread inside him.
Alohomora.
Harry's voice cracked. He didn't know what to do. He was lost. He had no magic.
"Would you like some breakfast, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "It looks like you're going to be staying for a while at the Hogwarts Mental Institution."