Arkham
Maybe taking the first job out of wizarding Britain wasn’t Harry’s most well-thought-out plan, Not that he had many,(well-thought-out plans that is). He probably should have waited for more options and thoroughly considered them, but he had thought it best to get out of Britain as soon as an opportunity presented itself. That opportunity just happened to be a small branch of MACUSA that studies metahumans and their ties to magic. They had decided that he was the perfect fit to study the metahumans that contribute to making Gotham the city with the highest crime rates.
He would be sent to Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, so he may observe and investigate them relatively safely. They had already forged muggle documents, so he was on paper at least, qualified for the position. It seemed that the asylum chose to hire him, with no meeting, interview, or even any communication. It seemed strange and maybe not even ethical (it was a medical institution after all), He supposed it didn’t really matter, it benefited him after all.
That’s how he got here, standing at the drawbridge leading to Arkham Island. It was dreary, to say the least. It was what he imagined Azkaban to be like, a hell on earth. A chill made its way down his back as he stared, The island itself had an ominous, foreboding, like something terribly wrong happened here. The actual asylum was somehow even worse. He couldn’t possibly describe it, he was never one for words, but he knew this was likely a bad idea.
The security guard shined his flashlight in his face, prompting him to show his ‘credentials’ “Hello, I’m the new psychiatrist for the asylum.” The guard glanced at his ID and back at him with a pitting look, “The administration building straight ahead.” He called for the drawbridge to lower. Harry sighed to himself before straightening his back, “Well, there's no going back now.” he thought “maybe this wouldn’t be as terrible as he was imagining.”
Sadly, the interior of the building wasn’t much better. The first thing to catch his eyes is a brass plaque ‘Arkham Asylum here since 1874’. Well, guess they only redecorate every centennial. Dingy, yellowed, linoleum flooring, he could only presume they used to be white. The walls no better, stained with nicotine. The secretary sitting behind bullet-proof glass at her desk, smoke slipping through the ventilation holes.
She drew another drag as he approached her desk. “Hello, I’m the new psych-” he was cut off, she pressed a button and a speaker crackled to life “Dr.Strange your new psychiatrist is here.” her voice unpleasantly rough. “He’ll be right with you.” ‘Great.’ his mind sarcastically muttered “Ah, tha-” she swiveled her chair turning her back to him, he took the hint. The ticking of a wall clock that was off by two hours was the only thing filling the awkward silence.
The humming of the elevator was welcome, he hoped that Dr.Strange was more personable than his secretary.