J.K. owns it ALL!
Please prepare yourself for the most unique and awesome Harry Potter fanfic EVER!
My father had this idea; credit goes to him!
The balding man wearily rubbed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. He was in his office, and it was almost the end of yet another long day. There was just one more thing he had to do.
He quickly perused a file that he had grabbed from one of his desk drawers.
The man then proceeded to pick up a small tape recorder that was sitting on his cluttered desk, and pressed the red record button.
"My name is Dr. Tom Riddle. I am a pyschiatrist at Hogwarts Institute for the Criminally Insane. I am updating the file on patient number seven three one, otherwise known as Harry James Potter. Number seven three one came to us six years ago, when he was only eleven years old, severely burned from a fire that he himself had started, and that killed ten teachers and twenty five students.
The patient has created an alternate universe within the dark depths of his tortured mind in which he is a wizard, and goes to a school to learn magic. I have often conversed with him about this fairy tale he has created. In it, he is the hero whom everybody looks to, as opposed to real life, where he is a psychopathic criminal. Seven three one has incorporated me into his universe, insisting that I am an evil Dark Lord who he must destroy in order to save the whole Wizarding race. He has, on occasion, joined us in the real world, and is able to converse with myself and the nurses as any normal person would, but for most of the time, Harry James Potter's mind is stuck in his Wizarding universe, in which he is affectionately referred to as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'.
There was a number of circumstances that led to Harry Potter's incarceration at the Institute. The following information is compiled from conversations that I have had with both the patient and his aunt. We will begin with one of his earliest recollections of parental abuse, when his father James called him one day from his spot on the couch.
"Boy, get me another beer!" James called from the couch, throwing his empty can on the floor where it joined the others. The man was a filthy, jobless drunk. With the money James received from Harry's caring aunt that was given to him to help support Harry, he bought beers and drugs.
Lily entered the room, puffing on a joint, and joined her husband. She wore dirty, baggy sweats and her greasy hair fell limp around her face. She was almost as bad as her husband; she always made Harry do the chores.
Harry was cowering in a corner of the room. He was always supposed to stay in the same room as his parents, just in case they needed him to get anything for them. He stood up, and walked into the small kitchen to fetch the beer. The only things in the refrigerator were a six pack of his father's favorite brand of beer, and some rotten fruit and moldy bread.
"Hurry up!" James shouted from the living room.
When Harry handed his father the beer, James slugged him across the face, and he toppled to the floor.
Lily laughed hysterically, and James said,"Go back to your corner."
Harry crawled back to his spot, holding back the tears as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He always got a worse beating if he cried.
This horrific abuse continued until the age of eight, when Harry's aunt started working to get Harry away from his parents.
Harry was sitting in his corner as usual, when his Aunt Petunia visited. She always brought him food and clean clothes, which his parents disposed of after she left.
Petunia was talking angrily to his mother in the kitchen.
"I don't understand, it, Lily. If you don't want to take care of the boy, I told you I would take him. Anything would be better for him then this... and would you put out that damn cigarette and listen to me for once?"
Harry heard his mother sigh.
"It really is none of your concern, Petunia, what happens to the boy, as he's my son."
Harry heard his aunt slide her chair back from the table.
"I am tired of arguing about this, Lily. I am going to get the police involved."
Harry suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. His aunt was looking down at him. She bent down and collected his skinny form into a tight embrace.
"Don't worry Harry," she whispered in his ear. "I'm going to get you out of here and then you can come live with me and your uncle and cousin."
She kissed his forehead lightly, and left.
Lily came into the living room, looking furious, and holding a beer bottle in her hand.
"You see what you did? Now we're gonna have the pigs come sniffing around here!"
She threw the bottle at the wall above Harry's head, and shards of glass rained down upon him. Lily picked him up by the scruff of the neck and slapped him across the face. Harry curled into a ball on the floor as James entered the room.
"My sister said she's gonna bring the pigs, here, James, because the boy isn't being treated right."
James raised his eyebrows, then looked at his son on the floor.
He kicked the boy in the stomach, and yelled, "Is this true? We're not treating you properly?"
He continued to kick the boy. "ANSWER ME!"
Lily giggled gleefully in the background.
Harry shook his head as he clutched his stinging ribs.
"Now go get me a beer!" James said, stomping on the boy's leg.
Harry gasped in pain as he felt his bone crack.
Petunia had kept her promise about going to the police, who came to the house to question Lily and James about Harry.
That night Harry was given a particularly brutal beating by James, because the police had been to their house that day. His father left him lying, bleeding on the floor, and went up to his room to bed. Lily was still out at the bar.
As Harry lay in agony in a puddle of his blood, something snapped inside him. He had had enough. After waiting another hour to be sure his father would be asleep, Harry grabbed onto a chair and hauled himself to his feet. He limped toward the kitchen, and pulled a huge gleaming butcher's knife out of one of the draws.
James was lying on top of the covers in his bed, a half empty beer can in his hand and the t.v. remote in the other. He was snoring lightly.
Harry crept up to the bed, staring at his father, the source of so many terrible beatings. He quickly slid the knife across James' exposed throat, savoring the feeling of the sharp blade running through the flesh and veins like butter. Harry felt a feeling of freedom course his body as he watched the bloodstain spread across the covers. He felt satisfied as he watched his father's body twitch and convulse, then become limp.
Harry heard the front door open downstairs. Lily was Harry got downstairs, his mother was lying on the couch, too drunk to tackle the stairs to get to her room. Harry knew she wouldn't be able to fight him right now, as she she was so bloody drunk. She threw up on the floor and then passed out, unconscious. Harry glared at her with loathing. Disgusting creature.
He slit her throat also, and then a fury came upon him that he had never known before, and he began stabbing every inch of the vile woman that he reach. When he was finished, he stood panting next to the lump of mutilated flesh that used to be his mother.
Harry suddenly felt very, very tired as he dropped his murder weapon and stared at what he had done. The feeling he had gotten earlier of being on the breaking point had disappeared, and left the young boy feeling confused and afraid.
What had he done?
Afterwards, Harry called the police. He was questioned, both by the detectives and psychiatrists, and his aunt verified the physical and emotional abuse that the boy had to endure.
Finally, Harry was released into his aunt's custody.
Petunia couldn't really blame the boy for the act he had committed, after all the torture he had gone through at the hands of his horrible parents, but wished that she would've been able to take him before the event had occurred.
The boy hadn't really shown remorse for the act he had committed, {again, Petunia couldn't blame him} mostly just fear at the thought of being imprisoned for murder. He slowly had gotten over his fear, as every day Petunia would try to comfort the child and assure him that he would not be going to jail.
Harry was a very quiet boy, and liked to sit alone by himself, usually outside in the fresh air and warm sun, reading stories about witches and wizards. Petunia was worried about how he would get along in public school, which he would be attending next month, in September.
He had only attended first and second grade before his parents had pulled him out, convincing the school they were planning on home schooling their son so he would not be influenced by trouble maker children. Their real motive was that they didn't want people questioning all the injuries that Harry showed up to school with.
Petunia was watching him through the kitchen window as she washed the breakfast dishes. He was sitting under his favorite tree, the elm, reading a thick novel. Dudley came over, holding a ball, and asked him something. Harry shook his head 'no' as a reply to his cousin, then pushed his glasses up on his nose before continuing with his book.
Harry was nine when school started.
Harry didn't want to go, he wanted to stay home with nice Aunt Petunia and read his books. But Aunt Petunia wanted him to go to school.
Petunia walked with Harry to his classroom on his first day and gave him a reassuring hug before ushering the boy into the classroom and closing the door behind him.
The teacher was sitting at her desk, and gave him a smile when she saw him.
"Class, this is Harry Potter. He's a new student." The woman turned to Harry. "I'm Mrs. Viletta. You can take a seat anywhere you like."
Harry chose a seat near the back of the room, looking down at his feet to avoid all the staring eyes.
Harry actually had a very good time that day, learning about history, and mathematics, and science. It was all very interesting and he was looking forward to the next day of learning.
When school ended, Harry went outside, pulled out a book and began reading, waiting for Aunt Petunia to pick him up.
He looked up when dark shadows blocked the sun. There were three boys standing there.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" the tallest boy said, smirking.
"Hey, Anthony," the blond boy said the third boy. "I wonder if the new kid would loan you his book?"
Anthony snatched it out of Harry's hand.
"Why don't you talk?" the tall boy, Charlie, asked.
Harry just stared at him.
"Well, we can make you talk."
The boys encircled him, and Harry dropped to the ground, cowering.
"What are you boys doing?" a man's voice yelled.
The bullies scattered, and a man in a suit came over to Harry to make sure he was okay.
"You look like you could use something to cheer you up," the man said. "Come with me to my car, I have some candy."
He grabbed Harry's hand rather tightly, and pulled him to a small dark car that was parked across the street from the school.
The man kept looking around, to make sure no one was watching.
Harry saw a camera and a pair of binoculars sitting in the back seat, along with some scattered photos.
"What are you doing?" Aunt Petunia shrieked.
The man jumped, let go of Harry, and spun around. When he saw the angry woman marching toward him, he jumped into his car and sped away, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the road.
"Harry! Don't you EVER go with a stranger again!"
Harry put his hands over his head in a defensive position as his aunt yelled at him.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, seeing Harry's reaction, and reaching out to comfort him. He flinched and shied away.
"Harry, it's time to go home," she said gently, took his hand, and they walked to the car together.
During the next two years, Harry became increasingly distant and secretive. At the age of eleven, Harry began associating with older teenage boys who had a reputation for being hoodlums and drug addicts.
One morning before class, Harry sat outside the school, behind the bushes, smoking a joint. He always enjoyed the feeling it left him with.
Harry knew his aunt always searched for his stash of marijuana so that she could get rid of it, but he had hidden it somewhere she could never find it.
Harry wished he could feel like this all the time, no worries or cares or in the world.
He sighed and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, and flicked it, mesmerized by the bright golden flame.
He always wondered, what would a building look like, covered in fire?
That night, he decided to satisfy his curiosity and set fire to a convenience store.
The next morning, it was all over the headlines in the news: 'Convenience store destroyed by fire'
Ahhh, his work was famous. After Harry had started the fire, he had stood across the street, watching the flames engulf the store, and grinned crazily. It was beautiful! He would have to create more works of art...
Petunia was starting to seriously worry about Harry.
Vernon always looked uneasy while speaking to the boy, and Dudley was afraid of him, and avoided him at all costs.
She wanted to get him evaluated.
Harry's teachers all said that he never talked to anybody, always stayed by himself, and was often bullied. The art teacher commented on his dark, abstract artwork.
Petunia knew that he also smoked.
And there had been a number of small fires breaking out across town that Petunia suspected Harry of setting. Every time there was another fire, Harry came home smelling of smoke, and he was always clicking his lighter. He was obsessed with fire.
Petunia tried to talk to her nephew that morning before he left for school, but he ignored her and left the house.
Today was the big day. The greatest work of art of all was about to be created. Harry was going to set fire to the school, with all the teachers and students inside. As soon as class started, Harry carried out his plan.
When the school erupted in flames, Harry heard terrified screams coming from within the burning building. Harry laughed at the sound, and raised his arms up in the air, breathing in the heavy smell of the fire.
He was standing very close to the flames, and he could feel his eyebrows getting singed, but he didn't care.
When the firefighters arrived with their hoses, Harry screamed, "It's mine! You can't destroy it!" and tried to wrestle the hose from one of the men.
"Are you crazy, kid? There are people in there!" the firefighter said.
"They are vile creatures! THEY deserve to die! But you cannot kill MY wonderful creation!" Harry stared at his fire, its forked orange and red tongues licking angrily at the sky.
But the firefighters wouldn't stop, they continued to spray his art with their water, and it hissed in pain as it slowly died.
Well, if they were going to kill it, then, he, Harry would die with his masterpiece.
Harry ran into the fire, screaming as the flames singed his skin.
And that's how Harry Potter became a resident of this institution. He will most likely remain here for the rest of his life."
There was a light knock on Dr. Riddle's office door.
"May I come in, Dr. Riddle?" a female voice asked.
"Yes, come in," Riddle replied.
A blonde woman entered.
"Ah, Nurse Rowling, you have the papers I asked for?"
"Yes, right here, Doctor." as she walked over to the desk, she tripped, and the papers fell from her hand onto the floor.
"Don't worry, I'll get it," Riddle said, and he bent down to pick up the papers.
While Riddle was preoccupied with the mess on the floor, Nurse Joanne Rowling grabbed patient seven three one's {a.k.a. Harry Potter} file that was sitting on the doctor's desk and tucked it into her skirt. It contained Harry Potter's whole life's story, as well as details of everything he had ever told the doctor about his fictional universe, and conversations the patient's aunt had with the doctor.
The nurse smiled as she said good night to the doctor and left the room.
This file would help her to create the greatest story the world had ever read.
Very different, isn't it? Read and review!
There is also an alternative ending to this, check it out! Alternative ending to Case 731.