Mittens: Shut up!
Shampoo147: What did you say to me? –Turns the native glare upon Mittens, who cowers in fear-
Mittens: Just that it's one of the best pieces I have ever read!
Shampoo147: I thought so.
Ayame: Well, we own nothing, but she has a dog biscuit!
Mittens: For me? –Gives innocent eyes-
Shampoo147: no, for John!
John: Alright, I get food! –Barks triumphantly to Mittens as I give him the treat-
Chapter 1
"I can't"
"Why not?"
"Because you already have a belief that I'm crazy, you already believe that you know me. There's nothing for me to say. If I submit to it all, you'll take it as a guilty confession, and if I defend myself and tell you the truth, you'll dismiss it as lies or delusion."
"How can you be sure what you know?"
"How can you be sure Voldemort's evil and Dumbledore's good?"
"We are here too discuss you, Mr.Potter."
"See? You're already trying to brush me off, and I haven't gotten my answer."
"I know You-know-Who's evil because he does evil deeds and unforgivable actions."
"What makes them evil?"
"Killing and torturing people is unnatural."
"See? Our differences are already showing."
"Will you care to elaborate, Mr.Potter?"
"You see death as unnatural, I see it completely natural, a part of life."
"The innocent falling dead to a mad man is not natural, Mr.Potter."
"Oh, but the innocent are always the ones to suffer. One way or another, it's the innocent that are crooks, in the end. And being mad or crazy is in the mind; he merely has a difference in opinion. And besides, killing is in human nature. It's the first thing in our instinct."
"Will you explain your theory that the innocent are to suffer, Mr.Potter?""Certainly, those who seem innocent are usually the ones with less than pure thoughts. Take my "Brother" as you insist on calling him, he was raised in innocence, yet when you looked, you saw porn under his mattress, and self-mutilation on his body. A cry for attention, perhaps? Or, a crime in pleasure? You think you know the answer, yet, his eyes will always contradict, if you would bother to look."
"Thomas Potter is a decent young man."
"See, you're dismissing it already. Like Aunt Petunia, always ignoring her child having the BMI of a killer whale and beating anyone up for fun. She thought he was a perfect angle, because she was blind, blind by the veil of delusion. She couldn't admit that her son was any less than myself."
"So, you're saying that you are better than Mr.Dudley Dursley?"
"No, I'm saying that she was finding any excuse that Dudley was better than me."
"And, when, would you have met them long enough to know this?""When they were raising me, when else?"
"But, the Dursleys have never raised you, your parents had raised you."
"I'm from an alternate universe, I've told you that, all of you."
"Mr.Potter, would like to get off this subject?"
"You're the one leading the talk."
"You claim that you never been a Death Eater, yet admit to using an unforgivable, care to explain?"
"I'm not a Death Eater. I have no burn in my forearm if you need proof. And the unforgivable? It's not what people do to make the difference, it's why."
"Would you explain further?"
"If someone's in a world of torture and pain, do you make it longer, make them suffer longer for selfish reasons?"
"Well, happiness is not selfish, Mr.Potter."
"Putting a loved one, an innocent, you said, through hell just because you want to be happy, how is that not selfish?"
"Mr.Potter, I do not see what this has to do with the unforgivable curses."
"Of course not, you're so narrow minded. When that person is in pain, a simple Avadra Kedevra will put them out of their misery, and as Dumbledore himself said, death is merely another adventure. So why torture them when they can be on their next great adventure?"
"I see."
"Do you? I don't believe you do."
"Then make me see."
"I can't. You have to accept things on your own."
"What of the Crutatous Curse?"
"Did you know, that when a person is in extreme mental pain, a simple Crucio is what is needed to help the pain go away?"
"No, I did not know that."
"Of course not."
At that moment, James Potter stopped the muggle tape recorder. Bags developing around his eyes, he was the perfect picture of tire. Every line on his middle-aged face was standing out more clearly than they have ever before. His eyes showed fatigue and struggle. A struggle trying to comprehend his oldest son. The Death Eater who couldn't remember being a Death Eater.
James bent over and rubbed his forehead and sighed. He was so fucking tired. He'd been listening to those tapes of his son's sessions every day for the past four days. Nothing made any sense. His son was so insightful and James found he couldn't believe that this boy would ever do anything without good reason. He seemed as if he would feel no guilt if he had killed someone, but he also seemed as if he wouldn't enjoy it.
Papers and parchment were strewn about on the desk, quills and pens scattered. In the dim candlelight he could barely make out his own handwriting on his notes of what he had gotten from his son's sessions. Not a fucking thing. Then again, he was never any good at the whole psychology shit.
"James, are you still up, honey?" his beautiful wife, Lily, said in a sleepy voice as she came down the stairs.
"Yeah, I was just about to go up." James replied in a tired voice.
"Honey, you should sleep." Lily said.
"Yeah . . ." was James' reply as he blew out the candle and went upstairs with his wife.
Harry said nothing as he looked at the plain white walls. They had given him books, an entire bookcase on the wall, but not the ones he liked. These were all children's books like Peter pan, not even more than fifty pages. He had his own bathroom, and a small wardrobe, which held white patient robes. The robes for crazy people. He had a steel bed and a soft mattress, and a window with a screen, an unbreakable screen. Like he was going to jump out. He was five floors off this bloody place! He wasn't suicidal. But, they had allowed him chess set. Since the pieces were alive, he got to play against himself, or them, either way. There were candles in his room, but only one white one was alight now. He had wanted to blow it out, but he was afraid of the dark.
He wanted a lot of things, but he doubted they would allow them. He wasn't crazy, or sane for that matter.
He was realistic. He was honest.
More than he could say about them.
But they were sane, more than he could say for himself. He wasn't sane, or completely crazy.
Or were they? Was he the sane one, or they? Or was it all merely differences in opinion?
Harry turned once again. He couldn't sleep. Rolling back onto his back, he stared into the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he stood and sat criss-crossed on his bed. Tuning into the tendrils of his awareness, he felt his senses heighten. Then the candle blew out.
Eyes snapping open, darkness took over his room on the moonless night. Even the golden stars couldn't illuminate the room. Throwing back his head, he let out a fearful scream.
He immediately heard footsteps run to his door and the door flew open. In the doorway was his "therapist". She looked at him before saying, "What's wrong, Harry?"
Calming now that the open door was allowing in a soft glow, Harry replied, "The candle went out."
She frowned before saying, "What is the problem with that?" then, before he could answer, her eyes widened and she stated, "You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"
Stiffly, he nodded and pointed to the candle, giving off powerful puppy dog eyes. She then turned to the candle and trained her wand onto it. A blue flame soon took over the white candle.
"Better?" she asked, in her motherly voice, a voice he knew she used only with him. Eyes wide, he nodded. She smiled and said a quiet "Goodnight" before leaving, closing the door behind her.
Even with the candle back on, he couldn't catch a winks sleep.
shampoo147: You like?
Ayame: Yeah, please review!
Shampoo147: Hey that's my line! glares at Ayame And for you all who are waiting for "The fights of reality", it is still under construction!