Dr. Johnson surveyed his patient from over his small spectacles. The boy who sat before him paid little mind to his surroundings. This was not new. He'd been a patient of the institution for the better part of seven years now, coming into their care at the tender young age of eleven, and had never acknowledged a single therapy session or treatment…he honestly had no idea what happened to him daily.
Patients like this one always managed to elicit a pang of sadness from deep within him. Though he'd worked as a child and youth psychiatrist for the better part of thirty years, and had long since learned to avoid becoming too emotionally invested in his clientele, every so often he would encounter one that reminded him a little too much of his own children or those of someone he knew. This client looked very much like his nephew James had as a child, the same untidy black hair, the same glasses…they even shared a name. Dr. Johnson looked down at the case file in his lap, reading the name neatly printed at the top, "Harry James Potter".
A quick glance through Harry's file told much about the troubled young man before him. His parent's had abandoned him at birth, leaving him on the doorstep of his mother's sister. Unwanted, he had grown up under that same sister, neglected and abused, and forced to sleep with the spiders and other insects under the staircase. It seemed that the boy's aunt and uncle had used him as a kind of slave for years, before the outburst that had occurred at the boy's school one afternoon that led him to being admitted into this institution.
The boy, Harry Potter, was delusional. It seemed that over the years of abuse and neglect he had developed a kind of alternate world for himself in his mind, a world in which he was a magician or wizard of some kind, and attending a fictional school that he called "Hogwarts".
In the many years of observation, Dr. Johnson had witnessed some very disturbing behaviors from the boy. Though pets were forbidden by hospital policy, the young man had on multiple occasions managed to sneak small birds in under his clothing, which he then tried to keep as pets in his room. He called them all "Hedwig" although where he had come up with this name, Dr. Johnson had never understood. He had no real friends in the ward, and so it seemed had invented two called "Ron" and "Hermione". He could frequently be heard carrying on conversations with the two, discussing magic and wizardry as though he was playing a game of Dungeons and Dragons. It was only when you would look into his room and see him chattering and gesticulating to an empty room that you'd realize how deep his delusions ran.
On the other hand, one of the things that had been noted again and again was how, despite his obvious madness, he was unfailingly kind to the others around him. Though he never called anyone by their proper names, preferring instead to refer to the orderlies as "Remus, Tonks, Hagrid, and Sirius", he was a very sweet boy. In fact the only person he'd ever shown any hostility towards was one of the other doctors on the ward who came in only once every year or so for an inspection. He referred to her as "Lord Voldemort", and seemed to have a deep-seated hatred for her. Nobody really knew why.
When Dr. Johnson looked up again, he realized that the boy was talking to him, calling him "Professor Dumbledore" as per usual. Johnson didn't know what a "Dumbledore" was, whether it was a term of endearment or an insult. Ultimately it didn't matter, he supposed. The boy was babbling on about something he called "Horcruxes" which was new. A new part of the delusion was not a positive sign. Clearly his treatments were not effective.
The doctor finished making his notes for the week on the boy, recommending yet another change in the boy's medicine dosage. He suspected it wouldn't make much of a difference. Harry Potter loved his other reality wherein he was famous, "The Chosen One" even. He would likely hold on to that reality even with the medication rather than return to his real life and memories of his sordid childhood.
It was truly sad, the doctor reflected, that this nice young man could not be "The Boy Who Lived" (as he had often called himself), but rather would likely stay this way for the majority of his life, in many ways, "The Boy Who Never Had a Chance."