Disclaimer: I, of course, do not own the characters you may recognize, only their twisted fates for the time being. Also, I've rated this T but it is a strong T. There is some adult themes and strong language so reader beware. Thank you for reading.

Dr. Cornwell

"Why doesn't anyone believe me?!" The petite woman screamed as she threw a chair against the wall. It shattered to pieces with a loud crash as though it was made of toothpicks. Immediately, two large male staff members restrained her tightly as she panted and struggled in rage. Strangely, the men appeared to have difficulty controlling the irate patient despite her unassuming size. "I don't belong here...I'm not crazy. I want to go home. Let me go!"

"You must calm yourself, Ms. Brown," one of the men instructed through gritted teeth, but the woman continued to fight him.

"Would you like some Haldol?" A nurse asked from across the room.

The other man shook his head, "Drugs won't be necessary, will they, Ms Brown?" He relaxed his grip on the patient slightly, but his eyes never left her face.

The woman shook her head, her wild hair flailing about her face as she glanced around the room. "No Sir, I am alright." She panted heavily.

"Good. Now, no more talk of magic schools and dark lords, alright? It's upsetting the other patients."

She nodded slowly and began to cry as her body relaxed. Her arms were released, and she was guided to a nearby chair. She placed her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook as she continued her silent sobs.

I watched the entire exchange from the doorway to the common room. Lavender Brown was my newest patient at St. Dymphna's Hospital, an inpatient psychiatric ward outside of Manchester, England. I knew very little about this unfortunate young woman; only that her parents could no longer handle her violent outbursts, deep depressive episodes, and delusions of special abilities. Therefore, they felt the need to commit her to our care.

According to her file, which was quite extensive, she had returned home to live with her parents after being assaulted in her final year at some exclusive Scottish boarding school. Since that time about eight years ago, she had become increasingly violent and unpredictable and most recently expressed seeing "premonitions" of bad things happening to those around her.

I moved to sit beside the woman. "Ms. Brown?" She stared blankly at me, eyes bloodshot and swollen from her tears. "I am Dr. Gina Cornwell." She nodded but said nothing. "I am a psychiatrist. I will be taking care of you while you are here."

She laughed then, a low odd sound. "Muggle medicine cannot help me, Doctor." Her tone was full of disdain and contempt. She shook her head as a finger reached to stroke her collarbone. Beneath her fingertips I saw that her skin was raised in unsightly scars which she traced absently. "Nothing can help me."

I paused as my mind replayed her words as I observed her silently. Muggle medicine? Interesting. I had heard that phrase before from an equally perplexing patient whom resided on the floor above. How unusual. It was not uncommon for psychotic delusions to present with similar themes such as ideas of grandeur and power, paranoia, or beliefs of persecution, but to share similar made-up terms was rare. I was immediately fascinated. There must be a connection.

"Why can't I help you, Lavender?" I pressed gently for more information.

"Because I am not crazy! You all are just ignorant to our World," she hissed as she crossed her arms across her frame and leaned over as if she were going to be ill. Her body trembled as she rocked slightly back and forth. She was a tragic sight.

"Then tell me, Lavender. Please help me to understand," I continued to coax my new patient even though she was telling me through her body language that she did not intend to open up to me today. I hoped to establish some connection with her anyway. These early meetings were the most critical. If I could not convince a patient to trust me early on, I would rarely ever win them over later.

"I can't," she whispered. "I just can't. Not anymore." Her eyes glared piercingly at another patient across the room. Her target whimpered and left the room quickly. I wondered what has transpired between the two before my arrival. Then I returned my attention back to troubled woman in front of me.

I could sense that Ms. Brown was going to be a difficult case. Her emotions were completely erratic, and her psychosis was long-standing. "You can't or you won't, Ms. Brown? I promise anything you tell me is confidential. You needn't fear me," I smiled hoping it was a comforting gesture.

"I am not crazy!" Her eyes were shadowed with emotions I could not quite describe, but I could tell she kept something dark tucked away deep inside. It was my job to find out what that was and to free her from it.

"That does not mean I can't help you." I paused. "I can help you make sense of things if you will allow me. All you have to do is trust me." I paused again as she appeared to be considering my words. "You don't have to decide now. I am available to you whenever you are ready, okay?"

She nodded but said nothing. At least it was not a refusal.

"Thank you for allowing me to talk with you, Lavender." I stood and headed towards the doorway. I could feel Ms. Brown's eyes upon me as I left. I only hoped I could reach her before it was too late.

Lavender Brown

I glared at the woman as she left. Who was she to think she could succeed where the best magical minds had already failed? There was nothing that could be done for me; my body was possessed by evil like she would never know. I wanted nothing more than to tear the skin from my bones or gouge out my eyes every time I caught a glimpse of my own reflection; anything to destroy the reminders of what had happened. Anything to become something else.

She could never understand that. She would never grasp the intensity of the uncontrolled emotions that overtook me at every whim and how excruciating it was to maintain just enough control to keep from shattering the skulls of anyone nearby with the magic that coursed through my veins like nitroglycerin. I was like an six year old again; my powers unmasked by my emotions. Only now my magic was much more capable of doing more than just cracking a mirror or flickering the lights. I was dangerous, but what was much worse was that I was unpredictable. At least those were the words of my parents as they left me in this horrible place.

My own parents had lost faith in me. They feared me so much that they had given up on magical cures and pushed me off into the Muggle world desperate for something more. There was nothing more, Fools.

A padded cell is probably what I required. The other options had run out. Just lock me away where I can't damage anyone or anything until my desires finally conquers my self-control, and I manage to destroy myself.

Oh! It would be messy, but it would be incredibly satisfying to finally give in to the animal instincts I had been fighting for eight impossibly long years. I licked my lips at the thought as I allowed my nails to dig into my own flesh for an instant. Sweet, delicious pain! Even this tiny taste of it was exhilarating.

When did I become so masochistic? Oh yes, it was the day that sadistic werewolf attempted to literally tear me apart. How I wished he could have just changed me instead or even killed me. I imagine that the transformation to a werewolf had to be much less difficult than what I had become. And death, how I longed for it.

What had I become? There wasn't even a word for things like me, was there? To the Muggles, I was psychotic, but at least that meant something. In my world, I was simply a monstrous enigma; something to be feared and ostracized.

I, Lavender Brown, had become something invoking fear. Eight and half years ago not a soul on the Earth, Muggle or Magical, would have believed that possible. I was just some silly, inconsequential school girl.

I missed silly and inconsequential.

Dr. Cornwell

I could hardly wait to return to my office. I quickly began flipping through the stacks of files on my cluttered desk searching for the one belonging to my other "Muggle-phobic" patient. Finally, I located it among the pile with my most frustrating cases; Unidentified Male 276.

I opened the file to reveal a photo of a gaunt, pale, dark-haired male about forty-five years old. I quickly scanned the contents.

276 came to our facility approximately eight years ago after being found wandering the gardens in one of the nearby small towns. He was dressed in tattered black robes and worn boots and armed with a wooden stake he claimed to be his "wand." The police found no identification on the man, and he refused to identify himself. He only rambled about being poisoned and claimed to be seeking ingredients for the potion that could cure him. He also claimed to be extremely powerful and dangerous. However, he was easily taken in to police custody.

After being heavily sedated at the local hospital and thoroughly examined for organic causes to his psychosis, he was brought to us for further evaluation and treatment. Since his arrival, we had made very little progress. He required heavy doses of anti-psychotics to control his delusions of being a "dark wizard and Master of Potions." Unfortunately, he also suffered many side effects from those medications.

He also was a trouble maker. Somehow he started multiple fires over the years, although we never located his flame source. He also has a knack for lock-picking, and the other patients often complain of him "invading their minds." Although he had never been overtly violent, patients and staff alike feared the man, and he seemed to prefer it that way.

I read over some of my old notes from our earliest visits and was struck by the similarities between his case and that of Ms. Brown's. It was uncanny actually. Both spoke of a 'Dark Lord' and 'Magical Wars' as well as a place known as 'Hogwarts.' Both patients had had "wands" removed from their possessions and claimed supernatural abilities.

Then there were the strange, unidentifiable injuries they both possessed. Ms. Brown's file contained medical records with photos of injuries resembling those from an animal attack that spanned from her left collarbone to left buttocks. She had also experienced injury to her spleen and a collapsed lung in the attack. The exact details of her attack were known to no one, not even her own parents.

276 possessed a mangled, unsightly scar on his lower neck that spanned from jugular to jugular. His records indicated he was fortunate to have survived such a wound, but the cause was still undetermined. 276 claimed they were the result of some murder attempt, but he never elaborated further.

I flipped through his file further. It contained scans of many of his journal entries. He wrote incessantly it seemed. I stared at the strange recipes, symbols and charts written in tiny, cramped scribbles. While I recognized the words individually, together it was as though I was reading a foreign language. And in fact, as I continued to study the cryptic notes, I noticed much of it was not English at all, but Latin and some Greek.

With a few keystrokes and mouse-clicks, I began translating. Immediately, a few things struck me – "to burn or to set fire," "to attack," "to protect," and finally "To repel" Muggletum (which I could guess meant Muggles). Next, I referenced the "ingredients" of the recipes. Many of the strangest brought no search results, but the others seemingly fit in to three categories; antidotes, poisons, or herbs with supposed medicinal properties.

After almost an hour of indulging my curiosity and learning little of actual clinical relevance, I put the files away. I had many more patients to see.

Lavender Brown

I hated being stared at. Ever since arriving at this Hell-Hole, everyone stared at me. I felt every eye in the room scanning my form as I stepped into the common area. I felt naked despite the hideous colorless scrubs that covered me. I glared fiercely back hoping it would be sufficient warning. It was for most.

I sat in an empty cushioned chair that was facing the window. My head ached, and I felt nauseous and a bit shaky. I knew why; I just did not want to admit to myself that perhaps I had been self medicating all those years while at home. But as the effects of withdrawal became stronger, I could lie to myself no longer. I had always convinced myself that there was nothing wrong with the small amount of whiskey or a shot or two of brandy just to take the edge off. It had taken months of trial and error to find the perfect balance, but I found it.

Eventually, I had mastered the art of being comfortably numb, compared to numb-as-fuck, or simply drunk out of my mind. I knew exactly how much was just right, where one drop more would push me over that edge into drunkenness which meant a disastrous loss of control. Now, however, I had none and my body was telling me in no uncertain terms that it was in need.

One of the nurses approached me. His eyes were kind, and he did not stare at me. Instead, he smiled and handed me a paper cup. "You look like you could use some tea."

I took the cup with a forced smile and a nod. I really did appreciate his kindness, but true smiles seemed impossible these days. Then I took a long sip. It certainly was not whiskey, but the hot tea was a welcome burn down the back of my throat. I drank it quickly, anxious to get to the bottom of the cup.

With high hopes, I swirled the last bit of liquid in the bottom of the cup three times before spilling it out onto my napkin. Then I held my breath as I glanced back in to the cup. The leaves gave news only of struggles and obstacles. I clenched my jaw as I crushed the paper cup in my palms before tossing it away toward the trash bin.

The crumpled cup was intercepted. I glanced up to see beast of a man, unshaven and dressed in the same hospital-issued attire as myself. He stared at me with a wicked grin on his face. "Hello, Witch."

Instinctively, I reached for my wand. Of course, I found it to be absent. I stood up from the chair and stepped away from it in case the situation escalated. "Can I help you?" I asked as my fists clenched with nerves.

"You don't look very powerful to me," he laughed.

I could feel everyone's eyes upon me once again as emotions swirled around my head. I tried to grab a hold of one in order to focus; to gain some control. They eluded me leaving me nothing but mindless energy bubbling within.

"Luther, leave the woman alone," the male nurse scolded from behind his desk.

"I won't hurt her, no worries," Luther responded with a chuckle that made my stomach churn. He turned his eyes back to me and tossed the cup back in my face. I caught it reflexively. "Tell me, Witch, did you see me coming in that cup? Bet you didn't."

I backed away instinctively as he slowly edged closer to me. This was going to end badly, and part of me embraced the idea. I needed a release. This man would be that release if he pushed things much further.

"Well, Witch – what did you see?" Luther asked. I sensed he was toying with me for his own simple amusement. He was toying with me just like... I shuddered as I willed myself not to think of that name. That did not stop the memories, however.

"Hello, Witch." His rough tongue slipped along my cheek with a disgusting sound. "Such a pretty young thing with those golden locks shimmering in the moonlight. Caught my eye from across the hall y'know…lucky you," the werewolf whispered coarsely against my ear with a low chuckle as I struggled uselessly in his tight embrace. "You will make a lovely wolf, My Dear." He laughed darkly.

My mind went blank as I felt my body charge. As if on autopilot I clawed, I kicked, I may have even bit. The entire occurrence was mostly a blur. The lights flickered, windows shuddered on their hinges and the once burly, dominating man fell to the ground beneath me. My attacks continued as he shielded his face. I laughed. Maybe he won't stare so hard next time.

Luther screamed "My eyes, my eyes, she has taken my eyes! Bloody Witch has made me blind!"

A sharp pain in my left buttock ended my twisted tantrum. A sudden cloud entered my thoughts and a weakness overtook my limbs. I was dragged from my helpless victim. I felt heavy with remorse. I knew I had done something terrible, I only hoped it was not permanent. Still, I laughed until I had the energy to laugh no more.

Maybe I really was crazy.

A/N: As with all my writing, I would adore some constructive criticism on this piece in order to help me improve. I really wanted to try something different here so please let me know what you think even if you hate it. Thank you.