Harry and Ginny were walking back through the platform of 9 & ¾ with their young daughter Lily. They had just seen their two elder children off to Hogwarts. Harry was the happiest he had ever been. He was no longer the small, unwanted boy in the cupboard, he was Harry Potter, savior of the wizard and muggle worlds, he was Harry, loving husband and devoted father, and a successful auror. All really was well. But as Harry was walking through King's Cross station, his elation was quickly deflated as a sharp pain in his head flared up. It started in his scar and soon his whole body was immersed in pain. It felt as if he was being torn apart. Images around him began to blur, crumble as if they were ceasing to exist. Ginny's screams were becoming further and further away. He had the sensation of falling, he figured he was falling to his death.
He finally regained consciousness, perhaps only seconds had passed, or maybe it had been days. He slowly opened his eyes, and when they finally focused, he was in a room he did not recognize surrounded by strangers. But they weren't strangers. He recognized their faces from somewhere. Their faces seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall their names. He couldn't even recall his own name. Who was he? Where was he? He had been so sure moments ago, he slowly began to remember bits and pieces. A train station. He had been in a train station. Was he boarding a train? Was he some sort of traveler? No, he was dropping someone off, saying goodbye. And he was with someone. A woman and a young girl. His family? Did he have a family? He could almost see her face, hear her voice. Screams. Had she been screaming or were they his own screams? His head began to pound. One of the strangers cleared his throat.
"Harry, everything is going to be fine." Said a young man with horn rimmed glasses, bright red hair, and a white lab coat. Harry? Who was Harry? "I'm Doctor Weasley. I've been taking care of you." He looked a bit young to be a doctor, he must be right out of med school, he thought to himself. He looked around his room more carefully, white walls, tiled floor, one window, paneled ceiling, machines beeping by his bed, tubes running from his arm. A hospital. He was in the hospital. The young doctor continued, "You've been here for a while, Harry, this may be a lot to take in at first, but I'm sure you will adjust."
"A while?" Harry tried to ask, his voice was rough and his words seemed to catch in his throat. The young doctor looked shocked, he jumped and excitedly turned to his colleagues, 'Talking! He is already trying to talk! I am confident that this is just the beginning of his rehabilitation." Some of the doctors and nurses nodding in agreement, while others remained skeptical. An older gentleman with a long white beard seemed unfazed by the news.
"What are your recommendations then Percy?" Asked the old man.
"Oh Doctor Dumbledore, I still stand firm on him being a full time patient at the institution." Dumbledore, thought Harry, what a strange name. But something about hearing that name triggered something in Harry's memories.
"Hogwarts." He choked out.
"Yes," said Doctor Weasley, a little shaken. "Hogwarts, Harry, is where we will be taking you to. The Hogwarts Asylum for the Clinically Insane. It is a strictly in-patient program. You will be in the most able bodied hands." Insane? He was insane? His shock must have transpired upon his face for the doctor continued, "Harry, there is a lot we need to tell you about."