AN:
- Thank you so much to superagentv for your immense help with this fic, as well as many people at Hogwarts for giving me concept ideas.
- This is a Muggle!AU as well as an Asylum!AU, so please take that into consideration before reading.
Chapter One
1993
"Come on, Ezra!" the oldest of the three cousins called back to the youngest and only boy.
"Yeah, hurry up. That stupid camera is holding you back."
"Why don't you just ditch it?"
"Shut up!" Ezra Potter snapped, red-faced, as he heaved his way up the stairs to the decrepit old building. "You told me we were coming here to take pictures, Dahlia. You promised."
Dahlia Rose Weasley was stood at the top of the stone stairs, her hands on her hips. Her dark red hair was hanging loose and flowing in the gentle breeze, and she had a determined, mischievous look in her brown eyes. "You can take pictures," she replied. "Just as long as you promise not to be a stupid baby." She reached out as Ezra reached the top of the steps and seized the camera that was around his neck, yanking hard until the strap snapped.
"Hey!" he yelled, trying to snatch it back. She held it above his head, where he couldn't reach. "Lucinda, tell her."
Lucinda Potter was the same age as Dahlia, give or take a couple of months, and the two were the best of friends. However, Lucinda always did have a soft spot for Ezra, and it was hard for her to choose between the pair of them when they were bickering. "Stop being a baby, Ezra," she muttered, folding her arms. "She's not going to break it."
"It's a Kodak SLR!" he cried, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. "A nineteen-ninety original. My dad bought me it for my birthday! Dahlia, please!"
"Uncle Albus isn't going to miss this poxy camera. Not when Grandad Harry left him so much money." Dahlia was sniggering, dancing on the balls of her feet as she waved the camera precariously.
"Oh, Dahlia," Lucinda suddenly snapped, growing fed up of the arguing. "Give it back to him and lets get this over with." She hugged herself tightly as she looked up at the engraved letters above the large, oak doors. "Aspiring Asphodel Sanitorium," she read out loud, shivering. "Creepy."
"There is nothing creepy about this place. This is where everything started." Dahlia threw the camera at Ezra, and he caught it expertly, clutching it possessively to his chest. "You two are such a pair of babies."
Lucinda raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean; this is where everything started?"
"Don't you listen to anything that our grandparents have told us?" Dahlia replied snippily, stretching her arms above her head. "My mum was conceived inside this very hospital."
"Aunt Rose didn't tell you that!" Lucinda interjected.
"Well, no," Dahlia grinned. "But it's probably true. And your dad probably was, too."
"Rubbish," muttered Lucinda. "You're just trying to creep us out."
Dahlia shrugged. "Maybe." She paused before putting her hand on the rusty old door knob. "But Grandma Hermione has a picture of Nana Ginny looking rather pregnant long before Harry came out of here." She winked dramatically, and Lucinda rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's go in."
Ezra's eyes almost popped out of his head. "We can't go inside," he hissed. "There's a sign!" he pointed up at a large, metal sign that was nailed firmly to the door. Urban Explorers Keep Out—Dangerous Territory.
"Ooh, a sign," Dahlia chirped in a sing-song voice. "You can wait out here then, while me and Lucinda go in."
Lucinda looked alarmed. "Erm, yeah. You can wait out here."
1928
"LOCAL ADOLESCENT TURNED MURDERER!" screamed the headline of the latest edition of The Skeeter, the most prominent newspaper of the decade. "Harry James Potter, son of wealthy property owners James and Lily Potter, has been discovered at the scene of a violent crime—the murder of his very own parents. In the early hours of this morning, neighbours discovered the two adult Potters lying dead in a puddle of their own blood, whilst fifteen-year-old Potter lay sleeping not too far from their bodies. The Skeeter has much more to report on this disturbing case, but for now, we have been told that Mr. Harry Potter has pleaded not guilty in front of the court of law. The good judge has deemed Mr. Potter unfit to stand trial, and therefore he will remain in secure imprisonment at the Aspiring Asphodel Sanitarium.
"The Aspiring Asphodel Sanitarium no longer treats those afflicted with Tuberculosis, but is now a maximum security Asylum for the clinically insane. Mr. Potter will remain there until a doctor can ascertain whether or not he is truly in control of his faculties, or whether he will be fit to face the Death Penalty."
oOo
Harry James Potter tugged at the bonds that restrained his torso, the strait jacket too tight to breathe in. He wasn't dangerous, but this made for a better show; flashes from the cameras a clear indicator that the media was eating it up, shackles wrapped his wrists and ankles tightly, as two police officers hauled him up the stairs to the Asylum. "Listen to me!" he cried, though he was wasting his energy. Hundreds of citizens crowded around the entryway to the Asylum, many whom were holding the large, flashing cameras. "Why is no-one listening to me? I didn't kill them! I didn't do it!"
One of the large oak doors opened slightly, not quite enough for the public to see inside, and the officers pulled Harry through. The door shut sharply behind them, and Harry was met with the gloomy, dark corridor that lay ahead of him.
The corridor was large and empty, with two staircases leading to opposite directions ahead of him. There were various archways on the ground floor that led to equally dismal looking corridors, and a large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling; but there were no lights shining from it. The only light that shone into the corridor was from the narrow skylights way up ahead.
"Welcome, Mr. Potter." The feminine voice was crisp. Harry's gaze landed on a pale woman standing beside a metal gurney. She had jet-black hair which was pulled neatly into a tight bun, adorned by a nurse's cap, and she was dressed in a pressed candy striper uniform with a bright white apron at her front. "My name is Bellatrix Lestrange, but you will call me Matron. Onto the table, there's a good boy." A wide, toothy grin spread across her features, and Harry shuddered.
"I can walk," he murmured. "I don't need to get on the gurney."
Bellatrix reached into the pocket of her apron and removed a large, ominous looking needle and a syringe filled with a brownish liquid. "Are we going to have a problem, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shook his head as he felt the sharp sting of the metal slip into his skin, the cool substance coating his veins.
Pushing him forward, the policemen didn't unlock Harry's shackles until he was next to the gurney; where they proceeded to push him down, banging his head against the metal, holding him while Bellatrix fastened several large leather straps across his body. When she was satisfied that he was secure, she turned her attention to the officers. "I can take it from here, boys." She positioned herself behind the gurney and began pushing it through the corridor.
As she manoeuvred him through the dismal corridors, Harry cringed as he heard screams and wails coming from every direction. People in white gowns were standing, faces deadpan, in the corridors; some not saying a word and some crying out desperately. "What is happening here?" he demanded to know. "I thought this was a hospital?" When Bellatrix didn't reply immediately, he tried to crane his head back to look at her. "Nurse?"
The gurney stopped suddenly, tilting upright as he felt her nails dig into his arm. "Matron," she stated, waiting. When he said nothing, her nails dug in further and he gasped. "What do you call me?"
"Matron."
"There's a good little murderer," she cooed, stroking his face and turning his chin to make him observe his surroundings. He felt the pain of her sharp nails raking across his face as the words slowly registered through the drug-induced fog, her lips next to his ears; hissing like a snake coiling around its prey. "This is a hospital for the deranged and demented, Mr. Potter," she explained. "Those that come in, never go out." She released a short, shrill cackle, and Harry shuddered.
"But," he whimpered. "You're supposed to cure people."
"The only cure for the likes of you is death, Mr. Potter," she spat, smiling. "Do we understand one another?"
Through the drugs and the terror, he understood. He understood perfectly.
"Here we are," she said, after what seemed like hours of being pushed through the Asylum. She pushed him through a narrow doorway and into a room that had no window, and closed the metal door behind them.
After Harry was unstrapped from the gurney, he got a good look around his 'room'. It was little more than a prison cell—in fact, Harry was quite sure that the prisons of today were in much better conditions than this horrendous place. It was about a metre and a half in diameter, and there was nothing but a pile of straw on the floor and some shackles attached to the wall.
Before Harry even had a chance to stretch his limbs, Bellatrix shoved him against the wall, locking his wrists into the shackles tightly and leaving him stood crucifix-style. "How long will it be until the doctor sees me?" he asked. "How long will I stand like this?"
Instead of a reply, he was given a sharp slap across the face, making him jump—again. Bellatrix glared at him, a cruel smirk on her lips. "Naughty," she hissed, her nails resting dangerously over his pulse."'Excuse me, Matron.'" She dug her nails into his neck, tilting her head to the side. "Understood, Potter?" She backhanded his other cheek, not giving him the chance to reply.
Harry nodded glumly.
"You're lucky to stand here at all," she sneered. "The Doctor wanted to have you iced right away, but I said you needed some time to," she enunciated her next words, "think about what you've done." She turned on her heel to leave the room, plunging Harry into total darkness.
1993
Lucinda and Dahlia stood in the main hallway of the old Asylum, looking around the debris. Light streamed through the shattered skylights above, illuminating the remains of the architecture.
"It's beautiful," Lucinda murmured, her eyes gazing around at the grand pillars, the intricately carved window frames, and the ivory statues in various states of disrepair.
"And such horrible things happened in such a beautiful place," Dahlia answered gleefully. "Are you ready to explore?"
Lucinda glanced back at the main entrance, where the door was propped open. Ezra was sitting on the main steps, clutching his camera. "I suppose. Let's go."
W.C: 1,821