A/N: This is a Harry Potter/Oz crossover, if you haven't realized that yet. Oz is a prison show, so there will be some very adult content, I'm sorry. This is the most messed up crossover idea I've ever had. Hopefully this will turn out well. Please review and tell me if I should continue it, because maybe it's just too weird, you know? Also, I don't know how Harry would act if he was crazy, just bear with me...
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It's all JK Rowling and Tom Fontana.

Crimes

Chapter 1: Future and Past

Prisoner number 99P334, Harry James Potter. Convicted March 1st, 1999. Three counts of murder in the first degree. Sentence: life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

Welcome to Oz. Welcome to Em City. Welcome to hell.

"Where you from?" Keller asks as he leads Potter to their pod.

"Britain," Potter replies. The kid looks dazed, but then again, who wouldn't in the situation? Keller turns into their pod and Potter shuffles in behind him, placing his pile of bedding on the lower bunk.

"Why're you here?" Keller leans against the bunk bed looking interested as Potter begins putting the sheets on. He stops, though, at that question, and straightens up.

"Why am I here?" He laughs bitterly, and then adds, "Why am I here? I suppose I've murdered people, haven't I?" Potter goes back to putting on the sheets, scowling all the while. "I don't really remember the other stuff."

"I meant why are you serving time in the U.S. instead of the U.K.?" Keller asks.

"Politics. They didn't want me around, their great disappointment…" he pauses. "Got my wish now, didn't I? To not be adored," he mutters mostly to himself, and suddenly it seems so funny to him.

"Okay then," Keller exclaims as he moves to the door. "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine," he says over his shoulder. Potter just blinks at him. Keller just grabs his hand to lead him out of the room, and grudgingly Potter obeys.

The kid's only about nineteen, and his scruffy black hair, lanky body, and round glasses make him look younger.

"Weird scar," Keller observes as they walk down to the common area.

Reflexively Potter's hand goes up to the lightning bolt shaped scar. "Had it since I was a baby," is all he says.

"Hey, Beech!" Keller calls to Beecher, who is sitting, whispering with Andy Schillenger. I want Beecher, I want Beecher, I want Beecher…

"What is it, Keller?" Beecher asks, looking annoyed to be interrupted.

Keller clapped a hand on Potter's shoulder. "I got Andy here a new brother to play with," he smiled and looked from Potter to Beecher. "He's nuts and he wears glasses, so I assumed he was your offspring."

"Ha ha," Beecher replies dryly.

"I've already got a brother," Andy chimes in, "and having Hank's bad enough."

"Well, won't this be a happy family? Me an' Beecher, plus our boys…" Keller's really having too much fun with this, and the pissed look on Beecher's face only seems to make it better. I want Beecher, I want Beecher, I want Beecher…It occurs to Keller that teasing isn't really going to help the "Win Toby Back" plan.

"I never had a brother, but er—I have a cousin I grew up with that was horrible…" All three men look at him. "Well, had a cousin." At this he smiles without knowing why.

"Don't smile," Beecher barks, "and lose the glasses—fast." He sends a withering look to Keller. "You're such a fucking bitch, you know that?"

"So I hear."

"Why does he get to smile?" Potter asks morosely.

"Because Keller is scary while you are fresh prag meat. Got it?" Beecher swings his cane from the tabletop to the floor, and heaves himself up. "Come on, Andy." To Keller, soft enough so only he can hear, "Deal with your own shit, Keller, don't bring it to me. And the you and me thing? Get over it." Beecher limps away, the dark glowering look on his face giving him a wide berth.

Andy leans towards Potter, eyes icing him over as he gives a small 'humpf'. "Nice meeting you," he says derisively before following Beecher.

"What was that all about?" Potter asks in a relatively normal voice. "What happened to that bloke with the cane?"

"I broke his arms and legs," Keller replies blithely, and as Potter goes pale, he adds, "Well, only the arms, someone else broke his legs." Keller starts walking. "You coming to lunch?"

"Sure." He looks over in Beecher's direction. "I can take care of myself, you know." He stuffs his hands in his pockets starts walking. "Sometimes only too well."

"Hello Neville," Harry says, clinging the phone to his ear and turning his back on the glass wall—privacy's hard to get in Oz, but he reflexively tries to get some.

"No—no they haven't" Harry says with resignation and pain. "Did you really expect them to?"

Harry listens plaintively to the explanation. "I know, I understand," he nearly whispers, and his whole body seems to be shaking. "But Neville, can you please ask them again to come visit me—or even just write me?" He pauses to hear more of Neville's sad, near stuttering words. "He did? Maybe then Ron could just come then, I'd understand if Hermione didn't want to come here. I don't want to be here," adds, almost to himself.

Harry nods wearily. "Alright then, we'll see. How are you doing?" He gives a weary smile of remembrance at what he hears. "Well, that's Luna isn't it? You sound happy—I'm glad for you."

Neville talks more, and it wipes the rare grin from Harry's face. "Neville, it's not your fault. What else could we do?" He sighs and then adds sincerely, "What you did that night—was truly great. A Gryffindor-worthy moment if there ever was one. I feel bad that I now have to bother you at all."

They say good-bye and Harry hangs up the phone.