Folie à deux | tom riddle

PART I

The Azkaban Secure Facility for the Criminally Insane was a foreboding place, to say the least. It stood as a tall, dark and imposing structure in the middle of nowhere, a blight on the British countryside, seemingly infecting the very ground it stood on with its insidious nature. The walls were high, with very few windows, and the ones that were there were small and plastered over with thick iron bars. It was a tower of the highest security, housing the most dangerous and volatile prisoners in England, with a few other criminals from around Europe, coming from countries that simply didn't have the ability to take on such aggressive and challenging prisoners. All of the inmates were both dangerous, and lacking in sanity – completely unable to distinguish between fiction and reality.

The drive up to Azkaban is long, winding, and takes you along a number of tiny backroads that are exceptionally difficult to navigate. The idyllic countryside slowly becomes more sinister the nearer you get to it, changing seamlessly from beautiful trees and fauna to dead, rotting trees with gnarled branches, twisting desperately towards the sky like they were trying fruitlessly to escape from the grounds themselves, and reach towards heaven, to God's salvation.

The driveway is just as long and winding as the rest of the journey. In the very distance, you can see the dark, towering structure casting a shadow over the grounds. Barbed iron gates with 'Azkaban' on them in swirly silvery lettering bar you from driving up. The gates are pasted with warnings, of the dangerous criminals, of CCTV, and of armed guards. The precautions they take to keep guests and faculty safe seemed adequate when you applied for the job, but now, nothing seemed quite enough. Not when you can feel the darkness radiating off it.

To the left of your car stands a few armed guards, hardened and haughty, surveying you with suspicion as you roll down your window, flashing them a smile before quickly realising that they weren't the type to smile back.

"Name and identification." One barks at you, clutching his weapon tightly, lifting the barrel of the gun up, slightly towards you in a manner that is clearly a veiled threat. You swallow, making a choked, panicked sound at the back of your throat. That kind of threat isn't to be taken lightly. Especially not here. None of the guards would have any qualms with putting a piece of lead through your skull for stepping a toe out of line.

You lean over to the passenger seat, rooting around in your handbag before emerging with your driver's license, handing it carefully over to him.

He scrutinises it, his narrowed eyes darting between you and the license. "And what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

You don't even find the remark offensive. Azkaban isn't really the type of place one would typically see a young woman strutting into. Not unless she was insane and a dangerous criminal, of course. But then she probably wouldn't be strutting – she would be being dragged through the halls, her hands cuffed and probably laughing manically because of how out of her mind she is.

"I'm Doctor L/N." You clarify. "I'm here to assist Doctor McGonagall's psychiatric team."

He nods, handing you back your license. "Be careful, ma'am. Stay close to the guards. I wouldn't want to see you leave here in a body bag."

You merely nod, inhaling a shaky breath as you return your license to your handbag, and drive up through the now open gates. They close swiftly behind you, shutting with a thunderous bang.

The first person to greet you as you step out of your car, hoisting your handbag up to your shoulder, is of course, Doctor McGonagall.

She looks severe. You instantly get the impression she's authoritative, stern and unyielding. There are deep, tired, aging lines around the corners of her eyes and her lips are pursed into a thin line – she's clearly displeased about something, but you can't quite discern what. You haven't known her nearly long enough to risk hazarding a guess. You've arrived promptly, so you know it can't be that, at the very least. Her greying hair is pulled back into a tight bun, small wisps escaping from it, blown about in the harsh wind.

"Doctor McGonagall." You greet her professionally. You push back a flinch at her weary gaze. It simply won't do for you to be offending or displeasing your new boss on the very first day. Especially not if you're looking to get a glowing recommendation from her.

"It's good to have the opportunity to see you, Doctor L/N." She says, welcoming you with a friendly, but firm handshake. "I would like to congratulate you on your doctorate. Though, I must say I was surprised when I discovered anyone would decide they wanted to work with prisoners here. It came as a great shock." Her accent is thick, and deeply Scottish, initially seemingly genial, and then twisting into something bitter as she finished her sentence.

You smile. "I'd always wanted to help people, and well..."

"The patients here need it the most." McGonagall finishes for you. "Very admirable. Though, I simply must warn you that the tasks that lie ahead of you are not for the faint of heart. The patients here are extremely disturbed, and will require the utmost care and attention. I would not judge you for a second if you choose to drop out."

"Of course, Doctor McGonagall. I understand completely."

"Good, good." She says, resting the palm of her hand on your shoulder as she begins to guide you towards the facility. "I think it's time you meet your fellow staff, and I give you the tour. Azkaban's environment takes some getting used to before one can truly treat their patients."