A bolt of green lightning crashes against the blinding bolt of white, meeting in the middle between two of the most prolific wizards in all of the wizarding world. Harry drops to a knee as Voldemort cackles out in laughter, as a bead of sweat drips from his forehead, down his face. The students and dark wizards alike stand in a circle around the two, eyes furtively skipping from Voldemort to Harry, who will gain the upper hand?
Somewhere in the distance, Neville was fighting a snake, Ron and Hermione running for their lives. Somewhere all around him, his bestfriend’s brother had just lost his life, never to laugh again. Harry narrowed his eyes, squinting painfully as the sweat and blood from the battle fought to blind him.
The point where the two bolts meet intensifies, the heat radiating from the clashing of magical energy pricking at the skin of anyone nearby. People turn their face away as it gets too hot to bare, Harry feels his arms light up in pain, as he drops to both knees now. Voldemort, visibly weakened by the battle of Will, drops to a knee aswell. His trusty Bellatrix runs to his side to support him, but is quickly slapped away by his free hand, this was a battle between men. There would be time for women later.
The magical energy becomes too much for the fabric of reality to handle, with a loud explosion, both men are thrown backwards onto their backs. Sliding against the cold mud, the two magic seems to have ricocheted off both men. The last thing Harry heard was a joyous whoop, was Voldemort dead?
His hands come up to scrub away the exhaustion from his eyes, as he pries them open. A calm light meets his gaze, followed by the face of a… Werewolf? No.
It was just a man.
A man with a rugged face and a long beard.
“Hagrid, is that you?”
“My, my, it’s happened again, hasn’t it?”
”Hagrid, what’s going on?”
”Oh Harry… Oh my dear Harry.”
”Who’s Harry? What the fuck is going on?”
“We were making such good progress too… You were doing so well.”
”Why… Why is your face all painted? Where am I?
Danny sighs dramatically.
“Okay, here’s the deal, Harry. My name, is Mr. Imperial. And you’re in my office.”
“Hagrid, what are you talking ab-… You’re not Hagrid! You’re too small to be Hagrid! VOLDEMORT!”
Danny shakes his head, pushing his circular, silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s dressed in a perfectly pressed black suit, with a white shirt underneath, no tie. In one hand, he has a clipboard and in the other a beautiful fountain pen.
“This is the fourth time this has happened to you since you came into my care, Harry. But the first in over three months. Alas, I’ll simply have to review my notes.” “LET GO OF ME DEATHEATER!”
Harry struggles whilst screaming, until he realizes he’s bound to what he thought was a psychiatrist’s sunbed. Thick leather bindings held his hands at feet in place, another wrapping around his forehead to keep his head firmly down.
“Ah yes, you always had an issue with being bound. Something about Petrificus… Who knows. One of your magical spells you have. Nope, just regular leather bindings here, nothing fetishy about it at all.”
“UNHAND ME, YOU CAN’T DO THIS, SUCK MY DICK!”
At the sound of the familiar catchphrase, Danny’s ears perk up, and he tilts his head to get a closer look of Harry.
”Looks like Peter’s arrived.”
“Fucking fuck fuck fuck, who do you fuck think you fucking are, fuck fuck suck my fuck”
[shadow=red]”Oh dear, and he seems more agitated than usual.”
Harry(?) thrashes against his bindings, the leather cutting into his flesh slowly.
“Might need to sedate you soon, this is not good… Peter. Not good at all.”
Danny takes his fountain pen, raises it in the air once and plunges it into the forearm of the thrashing patient. Blood spurts out… Almost beautifully, and the thrashing stops immediately.
“Look what you’ve gone and done Peter, you’ve made me dirty my carpets.”
Harry/Peter turns to look at Danny, a whimper escaping from his lips as his eyes just look straight at the pen sticking out of his hand.
“Listen here, Peter, Harry, whoever the fuck is running you right now. I’m going to make this clear, right from the start of this regression. I’m in charge here, you’re my patient. You’re out of your fucking mind and I’m the one that’s been paid to fix you… Okay, maybe not paid, but that’s arbitrary! I’m here to fix you and you’ll listen to me when I speak, you’ll hold your tongue when you’re about to say something stupid and you damn well will not thrash about like a five-year-old.”
Danny catches his breath, looking at Harry/Peter pointedly. The man just whimpers, eyes still glued to the… Weapon jutting out of his flesh.
“I’ll take that silence as compliance. Good boy.
Now let’s get to the bottom of the issue here. Your delusions have steadily gotten worse over the past few months. You seem to be gripping on to some past glory, your… Peak, let’s say?
Yes, your peak.
And the downhill from said peak, because all peaks must, by their nature, have a downhill portion… Has broken you.
Now what this glory is, I’m not quite certain. When we have our sessions, I’m never quite certain what is part of your history and what is part of one of your made-up fantasies. Be it far-fetched tales of you battling a dark wizard and saving the universe, or slightly more realistic ones of you once being a top-notch wrestling champion.
Anywhoo, this downward spiral you’ve faced since this peak, was too much for your below-average brain to handle. It’s create split-personalities within you, which I’m somewhat of an expert in, that seem to take over you whenever they so please.
One second you’re an arrogant, prideful… Prick. The other, you’re humble and driven, determined yet accepting of defeat. You see, these emotions are within all of us. Normal humans are just able to process them all, before speaking out how we truly feel… Our personality.
You however, seem to let these emotions and thoughts flow out as you feel them. Anger when you see a spark of annoyance, pride when you perceive a chance of victory, idiocy when you feel a twinge of inadequacy… You catch my drift.
And to deal with this… I have a plan.
A plan to jerk you back to reality.
You won’t like it during it’s implementation phase, but you’ll be so very grateful afterwards.
Now don't freak out.
I call it, Project: Voldemort.”
Danny pats the top of the man’s head, pulling out his fountain pen at the same time. The motion causes a fresh spurt of blood to spray across the white carpet below. With a grin on his face, Danny walks out of the room.
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