Dr. Albus Dumbledore looked down at the case files on his desk. One particularly thick file was stack on top of the rest, its tab green and red and the name written in his own lean, cursive spelt out: Potter, Harry J.
Harry had first been admitted to Stephen Mungo's Mental Hospital around the time of his eleventh birthday by his aunt and uncle. They had feared for their own son's safety when their nephew began showing signs of delusional psychosis.
He dreamed up the most fantastical things the head psychologist had ever heard of: an academy for the training of witches and wizards, mystical beasts, vicious battles. Albus had hoped their own medical magician, Dr. Severus Snape, would be able to come up with a combination of medication that would enable the boy to function in the outside world. The lad seemed to have it out for the man, as he weaved a tale around Severus of treachery and darkness that was beyond Albus.
Harry did manage to make a few normal acquaintances that he wove and even persuaded to indulge in his fantasy. Ronald B. Weasley, youngest son of many from a northern English family that developed a binge eating disorder at an early age and Hermione J. Granger, only child of a family dentist practice who had antisocial personality disorder. The three would spend days sitting in corners, talking in hushed whispers about Harry's delusional world until the day Hermione was released.
They had been seventeen by then and Ron had grown romantically attached. The attachment aided him in getting himself better and released, leaving Harry alone again within his world.
The only reprieve the poor boy got was when Draco came in. Draco L. Malfoy was a classic Multiple Personality Disorder case. He had two; Draco, who was a normal, sweet lad who could function in the world and aware of his condition; Malfoy, who was an arrogant, self-centered devil that had been absorbed into Harry's delusional world of witches in wizards. Due to Draco's coming and going from the hospital, the role he had in the other young man's world had become something akin to an archenemy.
Now that they were older, the keen ripe ages of nineteen, Albus hoped the boys' long acquaintance would push them to help one another where medicine failed.