The Last House

August 2nd

It was cold.

That was the first thing that Harry thought - it was really bloody cold.

When Harry stirred, when he tried to rub his hands on his arms and bring some warmth back to himself, something held his wrist in place and clanked.

"What…?" Harry felt groggy, like his brain was stuffed with cotton as he lifted his head and looked over. Harry's wrist was there, handcuffed to a bedrail with a metal cuff. Harry pulled on it again and a groan slipped out from between his teeth when it only made his wrist ache.

His wand. Harry needed his wand.

Harry turned his head and looked around at the room he was kept in. Everything was white - the walls, the floor, the curtains that completely covered the window. It made Harry think of a muggle hospital, but it was smaller than that, less sterile.

How did he get there…? Where was ‘there'? And where was his wand?

"Hello?" Harry had to try a few times to make his voice work, his throat and mouth were so dry. It felt like he'd been drugged, drugged by something aside from his usual potions. "Hello?" Harry called out again, yelling that time. "Help! Hello? Can someone help me?!"

Harry pulled on his wrist over and over, yanking with all of his strength and the metal wouldn't give. It was completely stuck and Harry was stuck with it.

There was a cold feeling that filled Harry's stomach and started to creep through his bloodstream, freezing him over and making him even more cold. Harry was trapped, with no wand, no memory of how he got there.

It could have been rogue death eaters, anyone who secretly supported Voldemort. It could even be one of the nutters who tried to get Harry to let them study him, study the effects of the killing curse on a person still living. The problem was that there were plenty of people who would kidnap Harry and wipe his memory.

Where were Ron and Hermione? Were they taken too?

Harry tried to think of the last thing he remembered, the last clear memory in his mind. Was it the night of his birthday? Just before Harry started clearing his own store of Dreamless Sleep into his body?

Footsteps began to echo down what had to be a corridor behind the white door in Harry's room and he strained to sit up as they slowed. It was going to be a death eater, Harry was sure of it. They had him trapped and helpless and they were coming to gloat about their achievement.

Harry's muscles tensed as he prepared to fight, to kick and scratch and even bite if he had to. The door started to open and an insult was on the tip of Harry's tongue when the kidnapper stepped through… not exactly who Harry expected.

It was a bloke that walked in, a young one. They were maybe the same age, Harry and the other bloke. The bloke's eyes wouldn't meet Harry's on his walk directly to Harry's bed, but it didn't stop Harry from asking questions.

"Who are you?" Harry started. "Where are we? Where's my stuff? My friends? Hello?" Harry sighed when the bloke didn't speak, he only looked at Harry's chaffed wrist silently with a few tendrils of black curls hanging in his face.

"Are you deaf?" Harry asked, rude and uncaring. "Hey! Can you fucking hear me?"

The bloke looked over at Harry then and his eyes were green, dark green while Harry's used to be brighter. There was something off about him, something aside from his silence and the way they slightly resembled each other.

"I'm going to undo your cuff, please do not hit me," the bloke said in a quiet and soft voice. "I'm your buddy, everything will be explained soon."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked immediately, pointlessly yanking away when the bloke reached for his wrist. "Will you at least tell me your name?" he demanded when the bloke said nothing.

"Trent," the bloke said. "Please be quiet and do not hit me. Hold still… there."

With one twist of a silver key, the cuff fell off Harry's wrist and he was able to start rubbing it gently, massaging warmth back in the chaffed and cold skin.

"Thanks," Harry said begrudgingly. Trent nodded to him and in another second he had the bedrail dropped, leaving the side of the bed open for Harry to climb out of. Harry's legs shook and the light colored sweatpants made him think of something… something tickling the back of his memory…

Kingsley.

Harry had been in St. Mungo's and Kingsley showed up, he gave Harry clean clothes and they talked about… something.

Trent started walking away from Harry without even saying anything so Harry had to hurry up and follow him.

"Hey! Where are we?" Harry asked him, walking out of the room he was in and turning down an equally white corridor. "I don't - is this a hospital or something?"

"Or something," Trent said, pausing long enough to open a door for Harry. It was a set of stairs that led upward and Harry tentatively took them, feeling anxious the whole time.

It wasn't a hospital, Harry didn't think Trent was a wizard, he had no wand… but surely if Harry could sort of remember Kingsley being involved then it couldn't be anything horrible?

The closer that Harry got to the top of the stairs, the louder that other voices became. It should have been setting off alarms, except Harry was just relieved that there were other people around. Maybe it would be Kingsley or Ron or Hermione… someone who could answer his questions on where he was and how he got there.

As soon as Harry stepped on the top stair, the door for the landing slid open and the voices washed out clearly. It sound like an argument, like a room full of people yelling and asking fifty different questions. Not a single one of them sounded like anyone Harry knew though.

There were three blokes in there, two of them were the ones loudly arguing while the third sat in a wooden desk chair and stared off in silence. The two of them that were yelling stopped when they saw Harry and Trent.

One of the blokes was pacing, his long curly brown hair fluttered behind him, a bit like a cape. "Who are you?" he demanded of Harry. "One of us or them?"

"Were you forced here against your will or are you one of the brainwashed ‘buddies'?" the other bloke clarified, his eyes flickering to the corner of the room with every word he said.

"One of you," Harry said confidently. The third bloke was unnerving, sitting silently with an entire arm missing off his body, so Harry avoided him and sat in the empty desk chair by the other one.

"Did you die?" The pacing bloke asked. "Were you killed by the demons of darkness and then revived and dumped in this place so the government didn't have to explain your continued life?"

Well… yeah, sort of. Or no, Harry wasn't sure.

The pacing bloke didn't seem to need an answer anyway, so Harry didn't bother trying to explain himself or the gaps in his own memory.

"What's your name?" the other one asked. "I'm Sam. That's Eddie," he pointed at the bloke pacing. "And I don't know who that is," he added, pointing to the one with only one arm.

"Harry," Harry said. "And that's…" When he went to gesture to Trent, he realized he had disappeared.

What the fuck was going on?

Since Eddie seemed like he was going to continue ranting about governments and darkness and demons, Harry tried to wrack his mind and recall exactly what happened.

It was at Grimmauld Place, Harry had been forcing himself to grin and bear a dinner with the Weasleys, the remaining members of the Order, and anyone else who pretended like they were cheery about Harry turning twenty. It had been going okay until everyone left and then Harry… Harry just wanted to sleep. Harry wanted to sleep and forget that in the next year - nobody would ever again compare him to James Potter, nobody would be reminiscing on the war and the lives that were lost.

And then Harry woke up in St Mungo's and Kingsley had been there, dressed down out of his Minister robes. They talked… Kingsley did, mostly, and Harry had… he…

"Residential," Harry recalled suddenly, his head snapping up to look around the room. That was what Kingsley called it, residential care. It was meant to be private, long-term, something to ‘help Harry learn to cope'.

"No, this is rehab," Eddie said, pausing long enough to argue with Harry. "The government dropped all of us in rehab to hide their dimensional realities. Except they don't want us to get ‘sober', they want us pumped full of big pharma so we're all compliant mindless drones."

No, that was crazy.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked Sam. Sam was pale, twitchy, he looked exhausted. He was normal enough though, compared to the guy missing an arm and the one talking about government conspiracies.

"My brother," Sam said shortly. "He thought I needed help."

Harry started to commiserate about the massive mixup that landed them both there when Sam abruptly started screaming.

"I'm not talking to you!" Sam yelled in the corner… at no one. "God, just leave me alone!"

So Harry being there was definitely a mistake.

It was still cold in the room they were in and after a few minutes of sitting, Harry got up to try and open the two doors. The one that Trent took Harry through was closed and locked when Harry pulled on it, so was the other one.

"It's no use." The one-armed bloke spoke up then, startling Harry, and gazed at him with icy blue eyes. "We're waiting here for the doctor."

"The doctor…?"

Harry's question was answered when the door he just tried was opened and Harry had to quickly jump out of the way. A man strode in, dressed nicely in an old-fashioned suit that matched his grey mustache and full head of grey hair.

"Welcome!" he said to them, smiling kindly. "Please, Harry, Eddie, have a seat and we can begin."

"I'd rather stand," Harry said stubbornly. Eddie stayed standing too and the man only shrugged before he settled behind the oversized desk at the front of the room.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit," the man said. "I'm not as young as most of you," his eyes lingered on the one-armed bloke then. "Regardless!" He clapped and smiled around the room. "Welcome! I'm afraid some of you might be suffering from memory gaps, it's entirely expected after the detoxifications you've undergone. You are now clients at the Last House, an inpatient rehabilitation center that focuses on cleansing the mind, body, and soul before allowing you back into society."

"Yeah? What if we don't want to be here?" Eddie asked. "What if we didn't ask for this secret little program and just want to go home?"

That was a good question because Harry wanted to go home too. Whatever he said to Kingsley had been a mistake, Harry could be part of society just fine. He had a job, a house… He was fine.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid that's not currently possible," the man said as he folded his hands on the desk. "Someone in your life believes that you are beyond traditional help and has admitted you here with a court order. That person may have been a loved one, an employer, or even yourself."

"The fucking government," Eddie mumbled before he threw himself in a seat. With Harry being the only one standing, he tentatively sat himself down beside the one-armed bloke and received a cheery nod from the man.

"The admitting criteria for my program is extensive and not many meet the list," he went on. "Firstly, you have all been described as oppositional, noncompliant."

Sam snorted and even Harry cracked a small grin. Yeah, Harry could see Kingsley describing him that way.

"Secondly, you have all experienced abuse, trauma, and horrors that most others have not."

That wiped the smile off Harry's face as quickly as it did the others.

"You all have at least one mental disorder and at least one addiction," the man said. "Though, many of you suffer from a myriad of illnesses. This is where I come in with my program."

Harry did not have any ‘illnesses'. Harry had… nothing. Harry had nothing and he was fine.

"My name is Michael Morris," the man told them. "I have been a psychiatrist for many years, I've seen cases more severe than many of yours and I was able to successfully help them. I am internationally renowned for my program and have yet to face a case I was unable to correct."

"Braggy," Eddie said. "You know who has to brag? People who can't back up their big pretty speeches."

Morris gazed at Eddie evenly, completely unfazed by his interruption. "I assure you, Mister Munson, I can back up all of my pretty speeches. In fact, I will begin now by introducing your buddies. When you are moved to the ranch—"

"Ranch?" Harry asked, looking around to see if the others knew what that meant. "What ranch?"

"The residential center is a working ranch," Morris said. "You will all be expected to help, if you want to eat and have other home comforts. Now, your buddies are near-graduates of my program, they've been with me for at least a year now. Some of them much longer. They know the rules, the schedules, and will be your first resource for questions. Buddies!" Morris called toward the door he entered from. "Come in, please."

Harry wasn't surprised when the first person in the room was Trent, still dressed in the simple black trousers and white t-shirt. The next bloke Harry didn't recognize, a tall and tanned man with cropped brown hair and neat facial hair. It was the third one who caught Harry completely off-guard and had him leaning back in his chair as he blinked quickly.

Was he high??

"Charlie?" Harry asked incredulously, sure that was who it was. Harry only met Charlie Weasley a couple of times, but the red hair, blue eyes, and tattoos were memorable even when Charlie wore the same outfit as the other blokes.

Charlie didn't say anything, he only nodded slightly. Harry was so distracted by Ron's brother being there that he nearly missed the fourth bloke, the one who - who… who was dead.

Almost as tall as his brother had been, with the same grey eyes and thick black hair, he looked so much like Sirius Black, enough that Harry knew immediately who he was.

Regulus Black.

The death eater who died trying to destroy the locket horcrux.

"Regulus?" Harry breathed, his eyes wide. Regulus glanced at Harry and their eyes were locked long enough that Harry knew he was right, he knew that it was Sirius's dead brother standing before him with his hands behind his back and his chin raised confidently.

"Ah, yes, Mister Potter would know a couple of our buddies," Morris said. "For the rest of you, I will say the name of a buddy and then inform you of who you have been assigned. Charles, you have Edward."

"It's Eddie," Eddie said quickly, glaring at Charlie and Morris both. Morris didn't even respond, he only called on the next ‘buddy'.

"Trent, you have Harry."

Trent tilted his head at Harry, though Harry was still anxiously waiting for Morris to confirm it was Regulus Black in front of him.

"Taylor, you have James."

The tall bloke looked to the one-armed one and they silently weighed each other up.

"And that leaves Samuel for Regulus."

And so Regulus Black was alive and he was locked in the same place Harry was.

Morris left uniforms for them all to change into and Harry didn't even care about undressing in front of the others, not when he had a chance to ask all of his questions.

"You're dead," Harry said to Regulus as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it away. "I don't understand. How are you here? What happened?"

"You must have me confused with someone who owes you answers," Regulus said coldly, his voice so much like Sirius's, if more polished. "Get dressed, Potter."

"Ignore him," Charlie told Harry, just as warm as he had been the other times they met. "Reggie was like that with the last group. How've you been, Harry? Not too good, I reckon, eh?" Charlie's eyes lingered on the scars on Harry's chest, his arms, and Harry hastily pulled on the white t-shirt he was given.

"Fine," Harry said shortly. "Why are you here? Did Kingsley send you here?"

"Kingsley? No." Charlie shrugged and there were red blotches climbing his neck, the same sign of embarrassment as Ron always had. "Have you met your buddy yet?" he asked, obviously deflecting Harry's question. "Trent, this is Harry Potter. You've got a famous charge," he grinned.

"You're famous?" Eddie was already changed and seemed uncomfortable in the starched clothes they were given.

"No," Harry said just as Charlie said "Yes".

"We need to leave," Taylor told them, his voice calm and authoritative. He looked around at Harry, Eddie, Sam, and James slowly. "If you try to run, you will die," he told them bluntly. "It will be slow, painful. I will not chase you, I will not mourn you. We're going to walk outside, you're going to get in the truck, and we are going to ride to the ranch. Is anything I said confusing to you?"

All of it, actually, but Charlie was there and he'd apparently been there for a while. And Regulus was there and Harry had questions for him. Harry didn't plan on running, he didn't even plan on dying.

Harry planned on playing along until he got some answers and then getting the fuck out of there as quickly as he could.

It seemed like a good plan, Harry couldn't have known then that it was his worst plan to date.