Disassociation
Fifteen years after the fall of Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter is trapped in a Muggle insane asylum, powerless and unable to even lie in order to escape. Unbeknownst to him, his death has been faked so thoroughly that not even his own wife is looking for him a full year after his life was stolen from him
Disclaimer: Don't own. Not rich.
A/N I'm not sure what pairing I want for this or even if I'm making one at all. Just bear with me ppl. .
"Please."
The word was so soft that Dr. Holcomb barely heard it. But he looked up from his notes to peer over his glasses at the forlorn figure sitting across of him. The man's head was bowed low almost reaching the simple steel table in front of them, but they both knew he wouldn't be able to. The chains only allowed for minimal movement, after all.
The psychologist forced a smile on his face. He always felt uncomfortable around this one. There was just something about those eyes. "What was that?" he asked as congenial as possible, proud of himself when he didn't hear his voice wavering. He resisted the urge to once again look around the white-walled room and back to the reinforced Plexiglas door where he would most certainly see his burly "bodyguards.
"I want to go home."
The doctor, unaffected by the plea he had heard many times before, said, a little coldly, "You know you can't, Ethan. I'm afraid this is your home now."
"Not me," was the whispered reply from behind that veil of hair.
Dr. Martin Holcomb made a notation on the page in front of him to speak to someone about cutting that dark mop off. Normally, that would have been taken care of by now but with so many patients in residence a few things were bound to slip through the cracks.
"Sorry?" he said again still scribbling. "You'll have to be clearer than that, Mr. Dursley."
"That's not my bloody name!" The chains rattled violently as the man attempeted to lunge for him but Martin was already on the other side of the room. Green eyes pierced into him and he felt all the breath leave his lungs as he pressed his back to the wall.
"My name is Harry!" the patient roared. "I'm Harry fucking Potter! Let me go you fucking mug-!"He was interrupted by a buzzer sounding behind him
Dr. Holcomb was pleased to note that the patient was quickly subdued, and then quite literally dragged kicking and screaming through the halls and back to his room where he would be slipped into a drug-induced sleep, most likely until breakfast the next morning.
Making a shakey recovery, Martin straightened his tie then noticed the time on his Rolex. "Oh my, almost time for evening tea with Mum," he mumbled before collecting his papers and quickly leaving in The Norman Grey Institute for the Criminally Insane. If he was lucky he might just catch the tail end of Emma on the BBC.