Life was good in the St. Mungo's long term care ward. Routine made life wonderful and peaceful for the patients. Mr. Docherty liked having his raw meat at high noon each day and would howl like the werewolf he believed he was if it was even a minute late. Afterwards he would curl up in the sun beam and snooze or observe. Only shifting position to keep up with the sun. Mrs. Pottea held long nonsensical chats with the fake potted plant beside her bed. Live plants having been banned years and years ago after an unfortunate incident claimed the life of one of the patients. It was really quite interesting to listen to as she could tell a yarn and keep her listeners entertained for hours. Unfortunately she could never, ever stop so she needed constant care to ensure she ate and her bodily functions could be looked after.
And so day after day, year after year the patients enjoyed their quiet life. Sheltered from the world outside they thrived. Outside communication wasn't banned but not really encouraged. Except for one patient who reveled in it. A shriveled old man in one corner of the ward had his area set up like an office. He had reams of paper that he went through daily, writing fan letters. Some to real fans but most were to fans who didn't exist anymore. His quills had been replaced long ago with a muggle children's pack of crayons and on his good days he even enjoyed coloring pictures of his adventures to send out. His bad days envolved him attacking the staff trying to vanquish them believeing they were evil vampires. Hence the lack of sharp quills. On the walls his own image shone out at him without the benefit of glass coverings. A happy dim witted face that was almost child like.
On this day, over 20 years since he was first admitted, the routine started as it usually did. Henry Chislby had his morning tantrum that he wasn't allowed to return to the ministry to deal with a pressing matter of national security. The field mice were planning to invade London and that couldn't be allowed to happen. It took the standard 20 minutes to convince him that he was here undercover to ferret out their hiding place. After which he went about his usual activity of knocking on the walls trying to 'catch those darn mice in the act'. The muffing spell was released over Mrs. Pottea's area and the world was soon filled with the gentle sound of her daily chatter to her plants. Breakfast was served to the patients who would eat it and prepared in the manner they liked. Only one patient was taken out for breakfast. Danny Danielson would only eat food heavily laced with garlic and none of the other patients could tolerate the stench.
Morning activities went as planned and the noon time meal went without incident. Mr. Docherty's raw meat having been delivered on time. Finally the daily mail call came and Mr. Lockhart sat up and hastily checked that he looked his best. Even at his age he liked to be well presented. The nurse, well familiar with his routine, made her usual respectful presentation of his mail bag. Filled to the brim with fan letters. Some real and others made up by the staff during the long night shift to help keep him happy. Thrilled at his daily pile of mail he dived in and started to sort them by fan name. He had his regulars, even though he couldn't remember why he was famous, and he liked to keep them happy with detailed reports of his daily life. One fan, a charming young woman named Olglvie Olands had written again. He carefully placed her letter to one side as he got out her folder of letters. Over the years she had written him many, many letters. Keeping him apprised of life out side of the ward. A man named Potter featured in most of them. She detailed how he had defeated some nasty wizard and then went hunting every nasty one until there were none left. Today was the day set aside to celebrate his great adventures. It irked him that there was another there who was just as famous as he was and he tended to just file her letters without reading them.
Today however, when he read her letter, something unusual happened. As he read the words, thoughts in his mind started to solidify. He began having clear memories of his life before the ward and events that most people had forgotten. Shocked he sat and surveyed his surroundings, taking in for the first time the underlying grit and mess of the ward. He shook his head and reread the letter in his hands hoping to see some sort of explanation for his surroundings.
"... Oh Gilderoy, how I hope that this time is the charm. I have been working so hard over the years in hopes of returning your memories to you. I am your biggest fan and have all of your books. I can't wait until the day we can be together and finally have that wedding I have been planning for so long. I managed to work the charm into the paper this time and coded it to work only for you so it wouldn't be confiscated by those silly healers who think only they have the ability to heal. Please write to me as soon as you can and let me know if it worked. I dream of the day we can be happy together. The cats also ..."
He remembered this woman now. She had been his stalker and had been magically restrained from ever contacting him. Evidently his admission to this horrible place had caused some sort of glitch and that would explain why she could get a hold of him.
Oh the horror he felt. Sitting in this little room with all of these crazy people who did not adore him. It didn't matter that he hadn't really done anything. It just galled him to be reduced to such a state. His old memories were now being meshed with all of the memories he had made since. The kindness of others and the fame of Harry Potter outstripping his own by a long shot. He had his own holiday now, called Potter Day. While he was stuck in this ward day in and day out. A sudden desire to rush out and reclaim his fame hit him like a forceful blow and he stood up ready to charge the world. But in standing he realized how old he really was. His joints creaked and ached at the sudden movement and he was winded by the abruptness of the movement. He sat back down again slowly and realized that it was over. His time in the spotlight had been over for years and he just hadn't been aware enough to know it. He was now doomed to spend the rest of his days in this little ward. He placed the letter into the folder and noticed for the first time the daily paper amongst his letters. His subscription had been covered for years by his fans yet had always been tossed, unread into the trash pile. Now it drew his attention like a magnet and he picked it up and read the article by Rita Skeeter on the front page.
It featured a reunion of the students he had taught years ago. Heroes was emblazoned across the top of the page and detailed biographies of them all were on each of the subsequent pages. He read on and on as the sadness he felt grew and grew. Finally he set the paper down on the desk and neatly folded it back to it's original shape. The tea trolley entered the room and the nurses bustled about serving tea to the ones who drank it and making sure that Mr. Docherty had used his newspapers and replaced them with fresh ones. His favorite teacup was filled with his favorite tea and set down on the desk in front of him along with a large plate of scones. The nurses knew from the past not to disturb him until each of his letters were filed away and they went about with the other patients, leaving him to his work.
During all this bustle, Lockhart had been thinking. He had no savings, he had always charmed what he needed out of others. But if how he felt was any indication, his good looks were long gone. He could always go and let Olglvie take care of him but he had detested her before and doubted it would be any different. The puzzle of what to do now troubled him for quite a while until a strange thought hit him. He had a nice warm bed here. His favorite food was served to him daily and he didn't need to pay for any of it. The other patients left him alone and he did still receive fan mail on a daily basis and he could write them back when he wanted. As a retirement plan it wasn't the worst one available. Smiling now he put away the letters and carefully destroyed the one from Olglvie. He neatly cleaned off his desk and went to the door and called out to a healer. A small rotund healer came scurrying over and with importance that he now understood, he requested his evening meal be a steak well done instead of medium rare. she smiled and went off to place his request. Gilderoy went back and settled himself down on his bed and sighed in contentment. Let the world outside go on about their busy lives. Potter could have his fame and be welcome to it. He had found a niche he could exploit and enjoy and he was going to do it.