21Explanation! Please read! : I will refer to a) Harry, b) Tom and c) Voldemort in this fic, but actually mean only two persons, yet three personas. Harry should be quite clear. Tom means the soulpart of Voldemort that is inside of Harry and Voldemort is Tom Riddle's embodied soulpart. I'm doing this to make the mess of two bodies having three conscious inhabitants easier to grasp. I mean Voldemort and Tom are actually the same person just rip apart and stuck in two different bodies. Strange, eh? Imagine you could go say hi to yourself... lol =)
HOUSE OF MADNESS
04. JACKSON HUGHES
The aurors had not allowed Dumbledore to stay with Harry, ordered by the Minister they said. Harry did not pay them much attention at first, too caught up in his own mind. But soon he began to desire some distraction.
They guided him into a small room close to the atrium, one that Harry had never noticed before. He assumed that it was a room where suspects and criminals were kept before or after trials. The walls were naked and dismal, the only furniture was a long, hard bench lining one side of the square room.
The four aurors who watched over him – Harry hated to think in that terms – were unknown to him. One was very lean and had mousy hair, all he did not look like an auror, rather like an office worker. The second and third looked quite similar, the both had army cut hair and were broad shoulder, perfect opposites of the first one. Their sceptic faces radiated vigilance and determination. The second one frowned darkly when he caught Harry watching him and Harry quickly lowered his gaze.
Normally he was not intimidated by such an action but in the situation he was currently in he felt hyper sensitive to the attention of others. Shame krept up his cheeks in a red, hot blush. The feeling of being dirty was so strong that Harry had a hard time keeping his breathing calm. He craved physical purification, a bath, a shower – anything. Hell, even a bucket of water would have been enough.
But he knew that that would not be enough, it would not suffice. Voldemort was inside him, in his mind, in his body, maybe even in his soul. Harry wanted him out, he wanted to be alone again, to rip Voldemort's presence out of him, to regurgitate it like something bad he had eaten. Harry felt desperate, it was impossible to escape Voldemort, he was sullied forever and worse than the condemnation others showed him was the condemnation he felt for his very own person, the disgust and shame. He knew it was undeserved, he had never done anything to deserve this.
It tore at his heart to consider how his friends would react to this or would Dumbledore not even tell them? Harry half hoped, half feared that. He would break, his heart would shatter should they turn away from him (and how could they not?), yet he would not be able to stand through this without their presence and solace.
He tried to imagine what they would do, what they would say should they find out. Ron pained Harry the most, he could not imagine that Ron would be anything but shocked and frightened. It was almost ironic that Ron who had often envied Harry would probably never be any happier that their places were not swept. At another time Harry might have seen the irony but now infinite sadness was everything he could feel concerning Ron.
Hermione would probably admonish him to learn Occlumency and try to find a solution for his problem in a book. But Harry doubted that there was one, rather he knew that there was none, after all who had ever survived the killing curse besides him?
No his state was irreversible. The only chance he had was learning Occlumency. His only hope was have another teacher than Snape this time.
What troubled Harry though was the fact that Voldemort had not used the time he had had in Harry's body to bring Harry to him and kill him. In itself it did not trouble Harry but he thought it rather unexpected of Voldemort. Instead his enemy had performed a complicated ritual that was thought to be extinct. That, in Harry's eyes, left two options: either Voldemort thought he had plenty of time because he could easily posses Harry again or he intended something else. This conclusion had dawned on Harry recently and it filled him with dread.
Normally it was not his way to panic or to be frightened, but his momentary constitution was something that was completely new to him. Of course, he had been threatened by Voldemort before but the heat of the moment had actually never left any time for fear. Now Harry could only wait, while he was endangered by something that was incorporeal and that he obviously had no influence on. He desperately wanted to do something but he could not, because he did not know what to do.
Furthermore, he had killed someone. Although it was not really like Harry had killed anyone, it was still one more person dead because of him. His parents, Sirius, Cedric and now some muggle from Little Whining. In the end it was Voldemort who killed them, Harry knew that, but he could not get rid of the feeling that they would still be alive if it were not for him.
The mixture of angst for his friends' reactions, fear of Voldemort and irrational guilt rendered Harry in a state of agonized pre-panic in which he in which he would have loved nothing more than to weep. But he could not. He just could not break down like this. Harry now wished for company and he regretted not having listened more closely to Dumbledore's words of solace before. But just then he had been unable to take in anything.
During the trial Dumbledore had seemed so hopeless. Even in his third year, when Harry had first doubted Dumbledore's ability to set things right, he had not nearly been as lost as he was today.
Dumbledore was broken, Harry knew that and he was not a fool who would delude himself in believing otherwise, something had happened that had shaken Dumbledore's confidence to the core.
Dumbledore, who always was so serene, so secure in his power and so determined to do the right thing. Harry knew that the old man was not free of mistakes but he had never seen him as powerless as today. And if the strongest light wizard in Britain, the defeater of Grindelwald, had run out of options, what could Harry possibly do?
His train of tormenting thoughts was ruthlessly interrupted by a folder shoved in his face. He instinctively pulled back and reluctantly took hold of the folder. While doing so he became aware of the hand holding the folder and the person which it belonged to.
He briefly glanced at the face of the unknown, bureaucratic looking man before he returned his attention to the folder.
The silence in the room indicated that some kind of reaction was expected from Harry. Shame that Harry was not interested in the Ministry at all, especially now that he had to deal with his own problems.
"Who's Jackson Hughes?," he asked, referring to the name written on the folder. Not that he was interested, but he hoped that they'd get over with this quickly.
"You are Jackson Hughes," answered the man in front of him.
Harry frowned. Sighing, he looked up, catching the man's eyes with his own. "And who are you?,"he demanded, sounding even less pleased than he had intended to.
When the aurors suddenly tensed and the man suddenly seemed greatly weary, he realized that one unfriendly word on his part would probably sent them into panic.
For a moment he considered scaring the shit out of them, but he knew that it would not bode well for his health and even worse for his situation.
"I am Pius Thicknesse," answered the bureaucrat, having regained his composure. When Harry showed no sign of recognition he added: "Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement."
Again Harry did not show any kind of reaction to the given information. His constant stare started to unnerve Thicknesse and his patience was wearing thin. The teen could have understood a little reluctance but Thicknesse was feelably nervous. Merlin, what would the man do should Voldemort really possess Harry now? Wet his pants?
He did not try to camouflage his snicker as a cough. They probably thought that he was going insane. And they were probably right. He could not even know if his feelings were his own. It would be so easy to let go...
Thicknesse was now scowling, Harry assumed the man had concluded that Harry was laughing about him. How right he was.
But before Thicknesse could voice his offense Harry waved with the folder. "What's this?," he asked.
His question remained unasnwered for a few moments, in which the head auror stared at him. Harry looked back unimpressedly. Thicknesse's behavior had replaced his former feeling of angst with that of indifference. The only people who truly mattered where his friends and the thought of them tore at his heart, leaving him barely able to concentrate.
"This is your new identity," answered the man finally, sounding a bit annoyed. Harry figured that he had expected a tad more – or better, a lot more – willingness to cooperate. Harry could not care less. He should probably be thankful that he had not been shipped off to Azkaban but too much shit had already happened in his life and this was just too much for him to stay rational.
"You will be registered at St Mungo's as Jackson Hughes."
"Yeah, we can't let the public know that Harry Potter is in a psychiatric clinic, no can we?," he muttered moodily. He was so sick of the Ministry's manipulations. Thicknesse reminded Harry a lot of Percy, he noticed, as he regarded the strict glasses.
The auror tsked disapprovingly, curling his mouth in an unpleasant manner.
"Mr. Potter, I can understand your constant lack of... enthusiasm in the current situation," he claimed, yet Harry did not believe for one moment that he understood anything. "But I shouldn't need to remind you that this is to your own good as well. What do you think would happen to your reputation if people knew you have been possessed by him-who-must-not-be-named?"
Harry knew from his own experience that Thicknesse was right. If word of what happened would get out, he would probably become the most hated person in the whole country. Still he hated the fact that this was used against him.
Thicknesse conducted from Harry's silence and darkening glare that the boy had very well comprehended.
"You see, it is in your best interest to cooperate with the Ministry. We only aim to handle this problem as smoothly as possible."
Harry nodded his head unwillingly. He did not like this very much but neither was he desperate to be exposed to the public's blame. He had already had enough of that. But this also showed him that the Ministry had not changed a iota since Scrimgeour became Minister. They were still keen on covering problems up rather than solving them.
"And what's going to happen now?," he asked, his voice controlled.
Although he had no rational object against his cover identity, he was still most upset. His willingness to talk to Thicknesse decreased every second, his thoughts returning to Ron and Hermione. Harry wondered if this angry impatience was an after effect of being possessed by Voldemort or if his enemy was manipulating him again. Or maybe he was loosing his sanity over all this mess.
Thicknesse gave a satisfied hum at Harry's acceptance and proceeded to explain.
"As I said, you will registered at St Mungo's as Jackson Hughes. I suggest you get a bit accommodated with your new identity. You find all facts in this folder." He gestured to the folder Harry was still holding. "Only the healers treating you will know the truth in order to find a … cure. We are updating qualified healers on your situation right now. As soon as everything is settled you will be moved to St Mungo's."
"If Jackson Hughes is at St Mungo's... where is Harry Potter?," was everything Harry answered. Did they want to send an impostor to Hogwarts? Like the fake Moody? The idea of a false self going to Hogwarts infuriated Harry.
Again Thicknesse made a face.
"What? Are my questions too uncomfortable for you, Mr. Thicknesse?," asked Harry, raising his eyebrows. He thought his voice sounded strange.
"Not at all, Mr. Potter," answered Thicknesse, his annoyance now obvious.
What a bad actor, thought Harry.
"We are contemplating this. Dumbledore suggested to claim that you have been pulled out of school for special training."
"He – what!," Harry almost shouted. He jumped from his seat, now standing roughly a centimeter away from Thicknesse. Totally surprised by this fast reaction and the sudden anger on his face, the man actually took a step back. The other aurors seized their wands. Harry gaped, even forgetting his fury for a second. Thicknesse had taken a step back? What kind of head auror was he? Damn, was there anyone competent left since Moody had retired?
"We are so going to loose this war," stated Harry incredulously. This once again caused Thicknesse to want to voice his offense but mentioning the war had snapped Harry out of his delirium.
"Dumbledore suggested – are you stupid? Why are you even considering this? You want to tell people that I am preparing to fight Voldemort when I'm less capable than ever of doing so? How do you think is this going to work out? And did it at least cross your mind that Voldemort knows exactly what happened? What are you thinking? That he will keep quite in favor of me?"
"You should leave this to the Ministry, Mr. Potter," insisted Thicknesse. "We have a great deal more control over this situation than you assume."
"To be at least a bit of control it must be a lot more than I assume," answered Harry snidely. He was almost shocked, where did this aggression come from? He himself did not have a better solution, but he did not care, did not care for their feeble arguments, for their goddamn logic, he wanted them to make it go away, for fuck's sake.
"Mr. Potter," Thicknesse was now angry, very much so. He advanced menacingly on Harry, snapping: "You's better be glad that you have not been send to Azkaban. Or killed instantly to guaranty everyone's safety. Is it that what you wanted?"
No, of course not. "I don't think you understand at all... Voldemort intended something with this... whatever you do you are probably helping him!" spat Harry, pressing his hands against the wall behind him. Was there a door? Get away, he wanted to be. Away.
"You Know Who is a madman! He does not think like we do!" shouted the head auror, forcing himself a step back, since he had backed Harry rather inappropriately against the wall.
Harry's sweaty hands smeared over the raw wall behind him, grasping, searching. He was about to retort when his mind fell prey to strong, overwhelming fatigue or what it was...
"So every time you don't understand someone you call them insane?" asked Tom. Thicknesse had obviously noticed some kind of change in the teen in front of him, maybe the more relaxed posture, the now still hands or the sudden unfazed coldness in his eyes.
Tom cocked his head to the side and smiled ever so slightly, snapping his fingers in front of the man's eyes, who stared unblinkingly, thinking, in order to provoke a response.
The head auror reacted instantly, flinching, his eyes, fearful and weary, caught in the dilemma of fight-or-flight.
"Stupor!" screamed the mousy auror, swinging his arm as if he was wielding a sledgehammer instead of a wand.
He really looks ridiculous, pathetic, thought Tom, as his – or better Harry's – head slammed into the wall behind him. And Potter has such a nice body, he thought.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry groaned. What had happened now? The last thing he remembered was... Thicknesse. The auror, they had had a disagreement. Where was he now?
He opened his eyes blinking, there was a light shining right in his face. He felt a foreboding familiarity of waking up in an unknown place … had he been possessed again?
Feeling slight panic, he sat up hurriedly, ignoring the spinning sensation in his head, trying to accommodate his eyes to the light.
"Where am I? What has happened?," he asked, his voice sounding a tad to high, betraying his fear.
He felt well known sheets against his skin, a bed, he knew it from the hospital wing.
"You're at St Mungo's. Please calm down, I assure you, all is well,"said a man, Harry now could see. The man had to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had a friendly, yet intelligent face, short blondish hair and a slightly wrinkled forehead like he spent a lot time thinking. He wore a white healer attire and had a small sign addicted to it that read: Vincent Cohan, healer.
"All is well?," laughed Harry in a incredulous, desperate fashion. The room was white, the bed was white, he was dressed in white, hell, everything was white.
His bed was the only one in the room. Besides there was not much furniture. A night stand, a few chairs, a sink and a mirror, if that qualified as furniture. He was reminded of a room in one of those psychiatry-muggle-horror-movies – just great.
Cohan smiled a little. "As well as it can be. What I meant is: there is no momentary cause for agitation. By the way, I am Healer Vincent Cohan, healer. I will be treating you."
"Yeah, so I saw," Harry nodded to the sign on his shirt as he shook the doctor's hand. "How did I get here? I don't remember."
Now the healer seemed a bit embarrassed. "The, erm, aurors obviously saw the necessity to stupefy you."
What? "Why?," asked Harry, indignantly.
"They admitted in retrospect that their reaction might have been overcast. They noticed a irregularity in your behavior and one of them felt threatened by it and decided to shock you to be safe," admitted Healer Cohan, while he watched Harry interestedly, yes, almost in fascination.
Harry did not like that very much. But if this man should help he would probably have to be observant and examining.
"To be safe," he repeated sourly. Gesturing around, "seems you have only forgotten a straitjacket."
Cohan looked confused. "A what? Are you cold?"
Harry sniggered, despite the whole situation being not funny at all. "Forget it, doctor, it's a muggle invention..."
"Well, erm, yes. I would like to use the opportunity to make you acquainted with our other healer treating you."
Like she had waited for the command, a young woman who seemed to be in her early twenties entered the room. She looked nice enough, with short brown hair and big, curious eyes. She smiled wearily, extreme nervousness written across her features.
"Hi, I'm Caren, Caren Trent. I'm a psychiatrist and mind healer. I will help you to cope with your inner turmoil," she said rapidly, sounding a bit like Hermione when she quoted from a book. But Caren's shy smile seemed honest.
A psychiatrist. I'm fine, I'm not a nutter, I won't break under this, I refuse to, I don't need a psychiatrist. thought Harry, albeit knowing that he was probably in denial.
They shook hands, and Harry nodded but could not bring himself to smile.
"So you will both be treating me?," Harry asked to clarify and to break the silence.
Healer Cohan nodded. "We are consulting with a few other healers as well on this matter, but we believe that it would be best if you only came in contact with the two of us, to build a relationship that is more trustful and familiar for you."
"And to put less of you in danger," concluded Harry, not being fooled by any nice words, maybe he knew this tour too well from Dumbledore.
"I will not deny it," said Cohan openly, obviously deciding to be completely honest to him, maybe in order to calm him down. "Yet, I have to admit, I hadn't expected you to be so..."
"Realistic, doctor?," offered Harry.
"Calculating."
Caren Trent and Cohan exchanged a brief glance which held a deeper meaning.
Harry shrugged. "Although I've never been accused of being calculating-" apart from when I put on the sorting hat, that is "- there's no need to sugarcoat things for me."
"Then I want to be completely honest with you," started Cohan. "The Ministry instructed me to give you a magic suppression potion, they would have even favored something like mors interna which I would strongly disadvice-"
"Magic suppression potion?," asked Harry, baffled. He had never even heard of that. Then again, he had never really listened to Snape after their first period together.
"Yes, there are potions that suppress magic. They are mostly used with patients who have lost control over their magic due to a traumatic experience or a strong psychosis. They work similar to a drug, by blocking certain synapses in the cerebrum, it gets difficult to muster the required concentration to perform magic. Mors interna is the strongest known magic suppressor and puts the subjected into a nearly comatose state. The name of the potion means inner death." Cohan explained, watching his words sink in.
"However, we decided against such an approach. We think it wiser to watch you closely at first for certain symptoms or situations of weakness that would allow or ease... a possession. I am not and neither is anyone here really experienced with that kind of mind magic, therefor we need to examine this without any influences. Should it be necessary though we will have to inject you with the magic suppressor."
"I understand," nodded Harry. He was silent at first, but then decided to speak up too. "Doctor, you see... I understand where you are coming from, but normally I would not support your approach."
Both healers looked surprised, they had probably thought that he would be glad not to have magic suppressors injected.
"In fact I would say your approach was suicidal," he gave them a pointed look, making them shift uncomfortably as though they were about to realize that, too. "Unless, I thought that it was unlikely for something bad to happen. At least at first."
"You seem very sure of that," remarked Caren Trent carefully.
"I think that up to now this is what Voldemort had planned. It would actually surprise me if it wasn't."
They did not miss out on the obligatory flinch.
"Do you really think so?," asked the healer.
"Yes," answered Harry simply. "I figured it might help if you knew."
They nodded. "Thank you for your trust in us. We hope to find a solution as soon as we can," said Cohan. "We will leave you now for the night – oh, and we were informed that a Mr. Weasley and a Ms. Granger were to visit you tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," Harry didn't really hear himself.
"Good night, Mr. Potter."
Ron and Hermione. They would really come to see him after this. He suddenly felt tired to the death. Why, just why did his heart be so painfully fast?
I hope you enjoyed! This was more of a filler chapter really, but necessary to set the stage up. =)
Next chapter will have Ron and Hermione... and a bit more. Poor Harry.
PLEASE REVIEW if you want to support and help me. Or flame me, er...