Morning in Bethlem began just like hundreds of others: with the monotonous chime of a bell echoing through the corridors, the smell of yesterday's hospital food, and the muffled sounds of awakening madness. Victor, having long finished his morning push-ups, felt the surge of energy that his workout usually provided. His muscles pleasantly ached; his body was light and pliable. He felt the energy, that inexplicable force which, as he now understood, was magic, flowing through his veins, ready for new challenges.
He was just about to change to head to the library—his sanctuary from the mundane routine—when the door to his ward slightly opened. The head of Nurse Eldridge appeared in the doorway. Her usually tired face was unusually bright today, almost glowing with excitement.
"Victor, you have a visitor!" she exclaimed, her voice uncharacteristically cheerful.
Victor raised an eyebrow slightly but maintained a calm expression. "I'll be right out," he replied curtly.
"Pffft, wow!" came the mocking voice of Victor Number 2, who materialized, sitting on the edge of the bed and swinging his legs. "No one has visited you in five years! No postmen, no police. And suddenly, someone shows up, and they're not even surprised!"
Victor slowly pulled on his pants. "What did you expect?" he scoffed. "They've been hiding for centuries; they're very good at controlling ordinary people with magic. It's no wonder the hospital staff isn't asking too many questions. For them, it's just another 'patient' being 'taken home'."
He quickly dressed in his usual, albeit slightly worn, hospital clothes. Every seam, every patch was familiar. He felt a strange anticipation, something that rarely visited him within these walls. It was the feeling of something new, inevitable, and perhaps grand, beginning.
When Victor stepped into the corridor, Nurse Eldridge was already waiting for him, nodding towards the exit of the general ward. They passed through several corridors; the smell of medicine and disinfectant became less intrusive as they approached the reception area. There, in the shadows by the window, he noticed a familiar figure he hadn't forgotten since he saw her on screen. It was Minerva McGonagall. Her strict bun, thin lips, and perceptive eyes were exactly as he remembered them.
Victor Number 2, who now walked beside him like an invisible companion, suddenly became serious. "Watch what you say. No one must know you're reborn here. We were just sent to a mental hospital because we 'lost touch with reality.' And imagine what awaits us in a world where magic is the norm? I dread to think what experiments you'd have to undergo if they found out you're not just a wizard, but a traveler from another world where theirs is just a story. They even conduct 'unspeakable' experiments on their own kind. We don't need that."
Victor snorted, but caught himself thinking that his alter ego was surprisingly serious. "Don't teach a scholar, I understand that without you."
Calming his thoughts, Victor confidently approached McGonagall. His face was serene, almost indifferent, but an extraordinary sharpness gleamed in his blue eyes. He stopped a few steps away from her.
"Hello," he said, his voice quiet but clear and devoid of any nervousness. "So, you're the representative of the so-called magic school?" A slight, almost imperceptible irony slipped into his words, which could have been taken as a challenge.
McGonagall, a professor of many years' standing, found herself in a situation where she didn't know what to say for the first time in a long while. Her instructions were vague. This child... Dumbledore was very concerned about his condition. She could tell him the whole truth about the magical world and risk traumatizing him even more if he had been "cured" of hallucinations, or he still believed what he saw, which could make the task easier. She cleared her throat, trying to compose herself.
"Mr. Moss," she began, her tone cautious but professional. "May I ask what your mental state is? Are you... are you aware of where you are and why you are here?"
"Pfffft!" Victor Number 2, hovering over Victor's shoulder, began to laugh silently, covering his mouth with his hand. "She saw you for the first time, but already thinks you're crazy! How about that!"
Victor's eye began to twitch. Sometimes restraining Victor Number 2 was harder than masking himself from the doctors. "You mean what I saw as a child?" Victor replied calmly, ignoring his double's taunts. "I think it all seemed to me. Severe stress, you know. But... if, say, you demonstrate something from the realm of magic... something that would go beyond an ordinary trick... we can talk more. Perhaps I need my 'memory refreshed'." He uttered the last words with a slight, almost imperceptible smirk that told McGonagall he knew far more than he was letting on.
McGonagall, internally struck by his composure and sharp wit, pondered. Was he playing with her? Or genuinely doubting? She thought he had probably decided she was sent specifically to check if he was cured or still believed in his "hallucinations." She understood that a demonstration of magic was a risk, but she saw no other way.
She quickly glanced around, making sure no staff members were watching them from around the corner. Nothing unusual, just dim light and distant voices. Carefully, almost imperceptibly, she drew her wand from her sleeve. Then, aiming at a small, tattered paper bag lying on the lawn outside the window, she uttered a quiet but clear incantation. With a soft pop, the bag shriveled, changed shape, and transformed into a tiny, white mouse that immediately scurried fearfully under a bush.
"Look! Magic! It was a bag, and now it's a mouse!" exclaimed Victor Number 2, his delight genuine; he even did a somersault in the air. "This is just... incredible!"
Victor looked at McGonagall, and his face lit up with that rare and genuine smile that transformed him from a cold and detached boy into an almost radiant child. In his blue eyes burned the fire of understanding and confirmation. "Yes. I believe. I remember everything. And I believe." Then he clapped his hands together. "So, how are we going to get me out of here?" His tone was full of anticipation.
Half an hour later, they both sat in the Chief Physician's office, Mr. Williams. The Head, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a kindly but tired face, looked uncharacteristically cheerful. He sat behind his massive desk, and opposite him were Victor and McGonagall, whose strict robes and confident demeanor utterly clashed with the hospital setting.
"Oh, Victor!" exclaimed Mr. Williams, his voice full of feigned joy. "I'm so glad you've finally 'recovered' and are leaving us! Your 'relatives' have come for you, just as you requested. We are very proud of your 'progress'!" He spoke as if Victor were an ordinary patient who had miraculously recovered from his ailment.
"And we're just as happy!" Victor Number 2 couldn't help but interject, his voice echoing in Victor's head, full of sarcasm but also unconcealed relief.
"Thank you, Mr. Williams," Victor said, his voice completely level. He understood that McGonagall was somehow "managing" the Head's perception, making him believe this convenient version of events. It was like Frank's trick, only much grander and more complex.
Mr. Williams took a thick envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to McGonagall. "Here, take this. I tried to secure for him... a small financial provision. And... a small house, as you requested. I hope this will be enough for his 'rehabilitation'."
McGonagall took the envelope with dignity. "Thank you very much, Mr. Williams. Don't worry, I will take good care of him." She smiled slightly, and in that smile was something that made Mr. Williams feel a deep sense of satisfaction. He felt as though he was doing a good deed.
After that, they both left the office and headed towards the building's exit. The sunlight, filtering through the dirty windows, seemed brighter than usual. Victor inhaled deeply the cool, fresh air, which sharply contrasted with the heavy hospital air. He looked back to take one last glance at the place where he had spent the last five years of his life. A place that was his prison and simultaneously his refuge, where his genius and "madness" grew and developed.
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice: "Victor! Where are you going?!"
Frank ran up to him, breathing heavily. His eyes were full of confusion and concern.
Victor adopted a serious face, instantly switching to "agent" mode. "That's it, Frank. I'm being transferred to another place. More... secret. Look, a special Agent Zero even came for me." He nodded towards McGonagall, who hesitated for a moment but immediately played along, nodding sternly at Frank.
"You're... leaving?" Frank looked bewildered. "What about us? What will happen to us?" Genuine worry for humanity's fate was evident in his voice.
Victor placed a hand on Frank's shoulder, his gaze full of false solemnity. "That's it. We've already decided everything here. There's no one left here." Of course, he meant the "alien invaders."
Frank's eyes widened, then filled with understanding mixed with the deepest gratitude. He began to awkwardly thank Victor on behalf of all humanity, shaking his hand and muttering words of valor and sacrifice.
Victor said goodbye, nodding to Frank one last time, and he and McGonagall walked away together. Frank remained alone, standing in the middle of the yard and watching them go. He stood there for a long time, his gaze fixed on the sky, and he seemed to see invisible ships there. "There they are," he thought. "The warriors of the invisible front, who seek no glory but protect Earth from alien invasion."
McGonagall, glancing at Frank, shook her head. Then she turned to Victor, who walked beside her, utterly unperturbed. "Who was that?" she asked, a slight bewilderment in her voice.
"That's Frank," Victor replied. "My friend. A fun guy."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Guy? He's over fifty. Didn't you think about finding friends your own age?"
"Ha! What a joker she is! I didn't expect that from her!" came the surprised voice of Victor Number 2.
Victor, however, replied with a slight but evident sneer: "Yes, I used to play with other children. But I got bored. So I decided to find an older friend. At least with him, I can talk about real problems... of galactic scale."
McGonagall, frozen for a moment, realized she had asked a foolish question. Of course, Victor was the only child in that place. Her face reddened slightly, and she apologized, embarrassed.
"It's nothing," Victor replied.
And so, they silently moved towards the exit, beyond the mental hospital grounds, leaving behind the walls steeped in madness.