A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
Warning: mentions of murder, Asylum AU
Word Count: 1028
Barty wasn't insane. He was quite proud of this fact. They said he was, that he'd lost his mind, that he was mad. He wasn't mad. He was angry. He was angry at the fact his father, the person he'd trusted the most had locked him away in this asylum with the mad people.
The people here were mad in all sorts of ways. There was one man who thought he was Napoleon. That didn't seem to bad until you met the one who was convinced the walls were talking. Barty didn't think he was insane, the walls were talking, whispering. They whispered about revenge, about getting revenge on his father for locking him away.
The people who worked here, they claimed to be medial professionals. Barty disagreed. They were quacks, little ducks always bobbing up and down for bits of bread, bits of breakthroughs they could claim credit for, anything to make themselves stand out from the pack. The rooms were dark, too dark for Barty. The halls were dark, illuminated with lights that hummed, that buzzed like insects. He hated them. He hated being in here. He hated everything about this place, well, almost everything.
There was one light in his dark world. A doctor who seemed to always be smiling at him, who seemed to actually listen when he spoke. She was the light in the darkness, the everything he lived for. He'd caught a whiff of her strawberry perfume one day and had not allowed the scent from his mind.
He thought about it when they served mystery meat, these brown slabs of something covered in a thin gravy, for lunch. They always served them with rotten mashed potatoes that Barty ate to keep the pain from hunger from robbing his senses. She wasn't his doctor, no that would be too easy, that would be too good for him. He was a criminal according to his father, a madman who would murder you just as soon as shake your hand. Barty hated that thought, it was much more difficult to murder someone than shake their hand. Murder was special, it was art, a masterpiece. Shaking someone's hand was nothing but a show of dominance.
He learned her name one Tuesday afternoon. He knew it was Tuesday because he's been forced into group therapy where everyone sat in these hard, blue, plastic chairs and shared their feelings. Barty lied, made up things, no one here deserved to know the truth. She was leading the group that day. Their usual leader was out sick, or at least that's what they'd told the patients. Barty knew the truth. The man had dared mock him the week before. Barty had made sure that wouldn't happen again. It was hard to mock someone if you were missing a tongue.
He nearly fell out of his chair when she walked into the room, her head held high as her white lab coat billowed around her narrow frame. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail held by a blue hair tie. Barty studied her, watched how she moved. She had to be his, she was the most perfect person in the world. His eyes fell further down her figure, noting the cursive writing on her coat. Dr. L. Lovegood. He nearly smiled. He knew her last name, her first initial and soon, he would know her whole name. Once he knew that, once he knew what to call her, she would notice him, really notice him, like no one ever had before.
He could picture running his fingers through her hair, picture sliding off her lab coat, pulling down that purple skirt that moved as she walked, revealing her legs. He could see her stockings and longed to rip them from her. She would be his greatest love. She spoke softly but with confidence. Everyone listened to her. Barty watched them, noticing the expressions of lust on some of his follow patients. He couldn't have that! He made a mental note of who needed to be removed from the equation, of who was his competition for Dr. Lovegood.
That evening the whole world turned upside down for Barty. His doctor, his one on one was sick, Dr. Lovegood was filling in. Alone in the room with her, the whole room smelled of strawberries, of her. Barty smiled, his jagged teeth revealed. She listened as he told her about his life. He told her about the abuse, the fact his father never loved him, about how he'd only done what he'd done to protect his poor ailing mother.
He could see the sympathy in Dr. Lovegood's eyes, could see that she believed every word he spoke. He wasn't a bad man, just a man who had been abandoned, who had been abused and forced into taking drastic actions to save someone he loved. She lapped up his words as he continued talking until time ran out.
That night Barty slept perfectly. He'd gotten Dr. Lovegood to himself, he'd learned her name, seeing it on top of a piece of paper. Luna. She wasn't his sun, no, she was his moon, reflecting his own brilliance back at him.
She believed everything he's said and the next day, Barty found himself transferred to her care. She thought she could save him, that he was redeemable. Barty allowed her to believe it, allowed her to touch his hand, to comfort him as he sobbed about his past.
Soon, soon, he could tell she'd done the unthinkable, she'd fallen in love with him, with the man he pretended to be. When she showed up at his cell of a room, keys in hand, he went with her, whispering his gratitude in her ear, noting the dangling radish shaped earrings she wore.
Once they'd slipped outside, he kissed her, biting her lips, roving his hand down her body. She'd freed him, and now, now she would be his. He smiled, his lips closed, his eyes gleaming at the thought of having a person so dedicated to him, someone he could control and someone who would love him despite the monster he truly was.