Now we get to the roughest part.
!WARNING! This chapter contains extreme medical malpractice that can be considered a war crime. This specific chapter is the biggest reason for a "horror" tag being on this fic in the first place. If you have issues with mental torment, forced surgery, electric shock torture, or any other horrific 70's psych ward practices, skip this chapter.
Without further ado, let's continue.
—0—
Pain.
Ever since they had been dropped off, the world had been filled with pain.
Stabbing, cutting, thrashing… it itched and crawled through the child's skin as they were subjected to brutal torture.
"There we are… done with your bones." The man grinned, sewing up an incision in the child's chest with bloody gloves. "The little nudges I gave them should keep you from growing beyond a petit height…"
The child blinked through the haze of pain as they heard the voice.
"Still awake hm? Good, I want to know if your bones hold up to some good use."
Pain erupted through them once again. The child screamed as they felt themselves being torn apart, fingers scraping at their insides, scratching against their skin, and bruising the skin of their back.
When it was all done, the child slumped. The man sat down for a breather as he wrote some notes down.
"Child's body responds well to stress… that should be sufficient. Now… I still have a whole week to burn with you, pretty little Ella."
'Stop…'
"I wonder if they'll give me a good tip this time…"
'Stop…'
"Well, I can always take any liberties I want with you, Ella."
'That's not… my name…'
The child felt their body being lifted up by the vile torturer. Something was fit over their face and the world faded away.
—0—
Screaming
Burning
Bone chilling laughter
Death
Harry stood in a field of dead bodies, some adults, but mostly children. Flashes of color lit up the sky as people in cloaks waved long sticks at each other
Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to meet the face of a skeleton clad in tattered black robes, a knobby stick in one hand.
"Wake up Harry Potter…"
—0—
The child's eyes flew open. The room around them was dark, the only light coming from a thick window on a bolted shut door.
The child could feel the aches of their shoulders, the incisions that had been made to damage their bones, the burning on the bottoms of their feet, and the ache of their lower body.
The child was too exhausted to move, and too afraid to look at themselves. They knew that they had no clothes on. It was much too easy to feel the thin blanket that had been thrown over them.
The child sighed. What was that dream?
Flashes of light and people in funny clothes, so many dead. So many…
The child squeezed their eyes shut as tears came to their eyes. They were crying, why were they crying?
The child painfully curled into a ball and rocked back and forth, sobbing for a reason that they couldn't place.
It wasn't because of the pain… the child was so used to pain that it was barely a thought in the back of their mind. Certainly, when it caught them unawares, they would scream. But they pushed through it well enough. No, it wasn't the physical pain.
It couldn't be the dream. The child had nightmares before, but they never impacted them like this, and they didn't even know the people in the dream.
The child continued to weep uncontrollably, their tears falling down and spattering against the thin blanket.
"Now I've made a mess…" the child sniffed in a quiet, cracked voice. rubbing an arm across their face, they peeled the thin covering away from themselves. "Maybe there's another blanket that I can- oomph!"
The child stood up and immediately tripped, falling on their face. "Can't see… wish there was more light…"
The child squinted as a flash of white blinded them. Slowly opening their eyes, the child was greeted by the sight of a ball made of woven strands of light. It bobbed in the air gently, just above their small hand, illuminating the rest of the room.
The child blinked at the light, confused about its origin. "Did I… make this?"
The light bobbed a bit, as if nodding in confirmation. It astounded the child who, although uneducated, was quite smart, having picked up some skills by watching Dudley do homework or listening to Petunia read Dudley books.
But that wonder was quickly overtaken by a realization. This light was something out of the ordinary. It's existence was freakish, it was made through freakishness. This light was proof that the child was different.
They despised it. They despised themselves for it. The child clawed at their pain ridden body in rage, drawing blood as they muttered on mad ramblings.
"FreakfreakfreakFREAK! I hate it… why am I a freak? Freakfreakfreak…"
After an hour of tearing themselves apart, the child lay panting, their palms slick with blood, red stains visible in the dull glow of their freakish light. The child panted as tears rolled down their cheeks, and they fell once again into the arms of sleep.
It felt as though only a moment had passed, as if the child had simply blinked. They opened their eyes to the harsh knocking on the door to their room.
The creepy man walked in, pulling on a pair of gloves before grabbing the child from the floor. There was a slight jab as the child was injected with a syringe.
"Just to keep away the infections. Let's see how you're healing up…"
The child winced as they felt the doctor's hand invade their extremities. It was a pain mixed with humiliation, which burned and bit harder than anything the child had felt as fingers scooped away at them.
"You heal very quickly… I could have the stitches removed tomorrow! How unusual."
'It's freakish… I'm freakish…'
The man withdrew his hand and took off his gloves, before walking out of the room and returning with an apple.
"Breakfast. I assume it will be enough for your tiny body. Eat and rest, I have more modifications to do later today."
And with that, the door was closed. The child was left to contemplate the apple that they now held.
After a few hours, they were dragged from their room, back to the cold cutting table. The child realized that they could no longer feel the sharp cut of the blade that the man used to tear apart their body. There was a slight tightness instead, which was then alleviated as the blade opened their skin and muscle.
The sensation of the torment was reduced to feeling as though hands were just pulling the child's skin gently, and in a way it frightened them. At the same time, they were relieved now that the physical pain was gone. The blade couldn't catch them by surprise, and there was a sort of therapeutic feeling as the pull and release of each incision progressed.
Eventually, the child's eyes drooped as their head began to feel light, and they dropped into unconsciousness from blood loss.
And so it went on for the next week. Somehow, the child's freakish healing kept them alive. The man in the lab coat was enthralled by the child's recovery, and did more than a little experimentation in their procedures.
And between each day of surgeries, the child would be thrust awake by a dream, their emotions conjuring some sort of light, song, or tremble that would make them hate themselves even more. They spent those nights tearing apart their skin with their fingernails, trying to dig the freakishness out of themselves to no avail.
Harry Potter was finally beginning to snap.
And then came the day that would be the catalyst for it all. The beginnings of brain treatments.
The child was confused that day, when a woman in a nurse's uniform walked in and dragged them from their room.
"Where's the cutting man?"
The nurse smirked, a rather ugly expression on her strange face. "Thomson's getting the room set up. I'm just here to get you strapped in."
They found that they were in a new room, being strapped to a bed that was more comfortable than the metal cutting table.
"Won't the bleeding ruin the bedding?"
The nurse chuckled, a gravelly sound that would frighten many small children, but the child themselves felt nothing but confusion.
"No cutting today. We're going on with a different procedure."
The child felt something slip over their head. Two large white diodes pressed onto their temples. "What-"
"Bite on this." The nurse interrupted, shoving something into their mouth. Before the child could respond, the world went white.
–0–
The child found themselves on a plane devoid of both light and shadow. The skeleton from their recurring dreams stood before them, a cloak made of coiling blackness upon their shoulders.
"Perfect…"
The child blinked. "Perfect?"
"Indeed. You do not remember, nor will you remember, but we have met before. Through my influence, you have been brought here."
"But… why here… am I finally dead? Finally free?"
The skeleton stooped down and set a hand atop the childs head, giving it a soft pat.
"I apologize, but no. You must go back. I am just here to start you in the proper direction."
The child looked confused, so the skeleton continued.
"What you call freakishness, it is magic. There are others in your world that hold it, and they live their lives in secret, away from people like your aunt and uncle. I am telling you this because I have watched you, Harry Potter, for longer than you believe to be possible. You should not suffer on your own any longer."
The child felt tears in the backs of their eyes, but for some reason, they didn't fall. The skeleton continued.
"Bringing you here has had an unforeseen consequence… the soul fragment in your head has gained consciousness… you will harbor another in your mind, young one. Do not let them twist you. Now… I will send you back."
The child shook their head. "Is this even real? How do I know that this isn't just… more of my mind betraying me. I'm a freak…"
"You are no freak, Harry Potter. Those who say so, who hate you for your gifts, and harm you as you are, they are worse than dirt. Escape when you can, but stay strong. This is goodbye for now."
The strange world went white as Harry Potter returned to the mortal plane.
–0–
The child on the bed shook violently as the electric current traveled through their brain. The nurse and doctor held the child down and watched as the shock affected their body. The child's hands spasmed and fingers clenched individually. Their arms and legs thrashed against the restraints as the grunted in pain.
And then it was done. The shock ended and the child lay there, unconscious. The doctor nodded and turned to the nurse. "Send them to their room. We'll perform another shock tomorrow."
The nurse nodded and undid the childs restraints, before carrying them back to their room. After closing the door and latching it, the nurse walked away, leaving the child in their bed.
If they had stayed for even a moment, they would have seen the child wake up, but something would be different. They may have thrown it off as an after effect of the shock, or even a trick of the light.
Regardless, as the nurse walked away from the room, the child's eyes opened. They were not the stunning green of the magical words killing curse, no…
The child's eyes were now blood red.
–0–
And there's the third chapter. There will be a few chapters at the mental facility, some worse than others.
I will have the horcrux be self aware, but due to the torture that both it and Harry go through, it won't be exactly… Voldemort.
The best explanation I can give is that the Horcrux will lose it's identity to the electric shocks. All of the negativity that Harry feels will be absorbed by the soul piece, twisting it into a sort of second personality and make it it's own soul.
This is also the reason why Harry hasn't really fought back against the Dursleys. The horcrux has absorbed all of his rage and anger. Whatever it can't convert into magic to sustain itself, it pushes out, influencing the Dursleys and making them hate Harry even more. I'll have an official explanation later in the story.
Anyways, soon we'll get to the magical world, but until then,
Adios.