Note: Umm.. I don't know why this idea came to my head. I wrote this when I was like.. 12 :o
Summary: Harry is locked up in a mental hospital for wizards and witches. Only the while walls are there to comfort, and Adri there to guide. Is this all in his head?
The walls were white, of course. No black. There was one window. Outside snow was falling in white tuffs and onto the soft ground. Though, he'd soon come to realize that the walls were not just there. They were here. And that they were white for a reason.
His friends had abandoned him, it seemed. Dropped him like a stone after Voldemort was defeated, as they would a useless tool. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was trapped here- a place for the insane. And he didn't know how to get out.
Sure, he could've used magic. But magic didn't work. The white walls rebelled his magic, and made him feel helpless and defenseless. White was, in all essence, pure. As he was not. Harry dirtied the place with his very being, only there touching one wall, using it to shield away from the black door and lesser white walls. The one wall he touched was purer than the rest- whiter, and as the darkness consumed, brighter.
The black door was repellent to Harry. It was black and therefore dangerous. Dangerous to touch, to look at, to think of. The people-in-white came in through the black door, sometimes with needles and other times with the tainted food he knew had potions in. They spoke, too. If he was a good boy, they said, he would be able to interact with the other patients.
Right. He huddled closer to his wall. His wall. He leaned his back against it, finding it soothing. It welcomed him, embraced him.
"What makes it so soothing, Little One? Do I not qualify for your needs?" Adri's voice suddenly boomed in his mind.
"Yes! Yes, you do! The wall, it is just so... so..." Harry trailed off.
"So what?" Adri sneered.
"So pure."
"Am I not pure?"
There was a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. "Yes?"
"A question more than a confirmation. You doubt me, Harry?"
Looking aghast, although Adri could not see him at the moment, Harry shook his head, "I dare not!"
"I must admit, I am very disappointed, my Little One. Master must see to this."
"No- no! Please! I'm good," he pleaded. Was it forever going to be like this? Was he trapped in his own head, as well?
"I'm only doing this because I care for you. You know this? Our Master cares for you. Little one, do you not see your flaws? They taint you!" Adri spat. "Don't you understand?"
"I know. But it hurts. Hurts so much."
"Naivety. You will come to see that pain is what makes you stronger- better. We want to help you. You'll receive The Judgement, you know."
"It's not the first time."
"Very well," Adri said sharply. Harry felt the presence leave his mind, and tried to relax. He was aware that he was about to enter a world of pain and hurting, which made it all the more unbearable.
The staff of St. Mungo's watched sadly as Harry Potter, defeater of You-Know-Who, thrashed around, yelling obscene things. Harry awoke, his ankles and wrist bound with ice creeping into his veins. He felt the icy twist of choking on his own blood. His hands were coated in the crimson substance, along with his entire nude body. He traced the tiny rivers that flowed down his body and tasted the spicy sweat rolling in tears.
Then it stopped. The gore was suddenly gone and he didn't know whether or not it was blood or salt seeping out of his eyes. The lingering taste of the sweat vanished from his tongue long ago, replacing it was a dry feeling- or was he not feeling?
Crunch. Crack.
A bone split in half.
Snap.
A wrist broken.
The fire that heated his insides and burnt his outsides was just that- fire. It hurt. He tried to scream, tried to let out the pain and let them know that it hurt, he was feeling, he wanted it to stop! But he couldn't scream. His breath had been taken away by Adri. Harry wanted it back.
"Want, want, want," taunts Adri. "It's always want, isn't it, Harry?"
Harry attempted to scream and found he couldn't. Couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, wanted- no, needed oxygen to function. To be alive. Yet, he was about to be delivered to Death on a silver platter, like numerous times before, when he had been on the receiving end of The Judgement. When would he learn?