Whispers.

They were constantly whispering. All of them.

He had hoped it would die down eventually, that the world, or at least the students at Hogwarts, would eventually get used to his new title.

Destroyer of Voldemort.

Not particularly creative, but that had been the Daily Prophet headline, and it had stuck. For months, he had been hounded by the press, and he once again had been the favorite topic of gossip at Hogwarts. He was a seventh year now, for Merlin’s sake, you’d have thought they’d all have gotten used to it!

And it had seemed like they might have been, like it might have been dying down, finally, after the winter holidays. But lately, it just seemed to have picked back up again.

There were constantly whispers following him, no matter where he went. He could not understand most of them, and he could never find the source, but it was always there. A buzzing just at the edge of his hearing, at the back of his mind, behind him where he could not see.

Harry hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore it, focusing on the shepherd’s pie on his plate. He took slow, methodical bites, desperately trying to block out the swelling tide of murmurs.

“…Harry.”

“Harry! Are you ok?”

“Are you listening, mate?”

He looked up, realizing his friends were calling his name. He turned to his right to see Ron and Hermione staring at him from their seats beside him. Ginny, on his left, was talking to one of her friends and not paying attention. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.

“Sorry guys, what’d you say?”

“You were spacing out there, mate,” Ron supplied.

“Yeah, sorry, just distracted.” Harry shrugged.

Hermione still looked concerned, but Ron just nodded and asked, “You up for a game of chess tonight?”

Harry nodded eagerly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Will you two ever take your studies seriously? NEWTs are just around the corner and you’ve hardly begun revising!”

“Hermione, those are ages away! Give us a break!” Ron protested.

Harry only grinned, enjoying the familiar argument. Everything had changed too much; it was good to know his best friends never would.

xxXxx

The whispering was definitely getting worse, not better. Would people never lay it to rest? He was glad that his friends did not say anything about it, evidently preferring to ignore it and pretend that everything was normal. He wished things were normal, whatever that meant, so he appreciated the effort.

Currently, he was sitting out by the lake with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, enjoying the particularly nice weather since the temperature had thawed out a bit that week. Harry had hoped that venturing outside for their afternoon break period might have given him a welcome respite from the gossip of all of the students, but he had no such luck. It appeared that many of the students were outside enjoying the sunshine and above-freezing temperatures while they lasted. One group of Ravenclaw fourth-years were sitting within hearing distance of them. They were speaking just barely low enough that Harry could not make out their words, but he knew they were talking about him, just as everyone else always seemed to be. Every time he would glance up at them, the whispering would pause and they would all pretend to be engrossed in their schoolwork, but the hushed tones would resume almost as soon as he looked back down.

Harry sighed, feeling restless. An hour of trying to ignore the mutters and feeling their stares prickling the back of his neck had left him on edge and with very little of his homework done, even with Ginny resting her hand lightly on his leg and rubbing it slightly to try and relax him. He stretched a bit, cracking his neck, then looked up to see Hermione watching him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“What?” he asked, the word coming out more abruptly than he had intended.

“I’m a bit cold, how about you guys? Ready to head inside?” she answered, ignoring his tone.

Harry nodded gratefully, eager to accept whatever excuse she would give him to escape the unwelcome attention. Ron sat up from his position lying on the ground, upsetting the potions book that was lying on his chest. He rubbed at his eyes, evidently trying to rid them of the grit from his impromptu nap.

“Yeah, sure,” he said a bit blearily. “Ground’s a bit hard still.” He stood up and the other three followed suit, Hermione rolling her eyes at the redhead’s back. Ginny chuckled and Harry grinned at her, then the four of them trooped back to the castle together, ignoring the Ravenclaws as they passed.

After lounging in the nearly-empty common room for the little while until the bell rang, they switched out their study materials for their Defense Against the Dark Arts supplies and walked together to the classroom, taking their usual seats together.

Once the class of upper-year students had taken their seats, Professor Weasley entered the room, the light glinting off his fang earring and a crooked grin helping his scarred face seem less menacing. When he had everyone’s attention, he addressed the class with his hands clasped before him.

“Today, I thought I’d give you all a bit of a break.” He hurried on before the class could break out in cheers, “Nothing too easy. But we’ve been going at it hard lately, so it’s only fair to mix it up with something slightly easier, or at least a bit more familiar. Now I know you all covered boggarts already in your third year,” Harry glanced over at his friends at this, “but they do still often come up on the Defense NEWT. They’re theoretically simple to dispel, but it’s easy to get caught up in your fears in the moment, so more practice is certainly warranted. And,” Bill added, glancing around the room and meeting the students’ eyes, “you’d be surprised how much your fears may have changed over the last four years, particularly with recent events.” At this, his eyes rested briefly on Harry’s and Harry shifted in his seat. “It is wise to consider how you might counteract your current fears.”

He nodded curtly at the more sober look on the faces in the class. “I’ll give you a few minutes to think over what your fear might be, and remember it may or may not have changed, and then I’ll open the trunk I’ve brought,” he nodded towards a case that rested in the corner opposite him at the front of the room, “and give you each a turn.”

The class grew quiet as all the students grew introspective, taking this task much more seriously than they had as third-years, with only a few brief and quiet comments made on occasion. Harry glanced quickly at Ginny to see her brow furrowed in an adorable look of concentration, then smiled and turned his thoughts inward.

What was his greatest fear now? He thought of dementors first, but he no longer thought that likely. He had faced and beaten dementors too many times. And the memories that were once so horrible, while still definitely not happy, did not have quite the same sting now that they were tinged with the knowledge that Voldemort was gone for good. Perhaps his friends dying? But he had gone through that and survived. It was not pleasant, but was not unbeatable. And besides, the Wizarding World was at peace. So what, then, was his greatest fear?

Harry ended up towards the end of the long line again, reminding him strongly and with nostalgia of Remus’ class four years ago. He watched his classmates face their fears, succeeding on the whole but with an occasional stumble or sob. It was astounding to see the dichotomy, from the old and new boggarts, but also amongst the current class. Most of them had been touched by the war, but in different ways. Some had remained mostly sheltered, touched indirectly. Some had been on the run, or lost close family members. Still others had been in the thick of it.

A couple of students did fear the loss of family members, a number feared Death Eaters returning (while Voldemort’s followers had been mostly rounded up, some pockets did remain), and one student even feared the Dark Mark itself. A few students still had fears of Dark creatures, and one (though it was not Neville anymore) feared the Deputy Headmaster Snape.

Harry watched Hermione face down her fear that had morphed from a fear of failure to a fear of not making a difference in the world, and almost cringed when Ron overcame his fear that Hermione would leave him for a better man, who was now fortunately faceless and not Harry himself. He wondered at the strangeness of doing such a private act out in front of the class as he saw Ginny determinedly cry out “Riddikulus!” at the idea of her brothers splitting up and drifting apart in the wreckage of the war, with her helpless to draw them back together.

And then it was rather suddenly his turn, and he realized he still had no idea of what his greatest fear was. He looked up at the shape before him, and then frowned as it morphed into the huge, purple-faced, lumbering form of his Uncle Vernon.

Well that was rather anticlimactic, he thought as he raised his wand, ready to banish the specter. But then it opened its mouth.

“Freak,” it spat at him venomously. “How could you think you could ever be more than that? That the world could have a use for you once Voldemort was gone? That you could ever be normal, ever be left alone? Foolish boy. You know it’s all your fault. You could have ended it sooner, spared more lives…“

Harry stood frozen under the tirade, until he caught sight of Ginny’s pale face out of the corner of his eye. His desire to comfort her after having faced her own boggart, and a bit of embarrassment for his current inaction in front of her, rose up in him and brought him back to the present reality. He lifted his wand higher and shouted “Riddikulus!” over the sound of his uncle’s ranting, and watched with satisfaction when Uncle Vernon deflated with a sound like a fart into a skinny man, and his mouth disappeared with a pop. He almost giggled but held it back, allowing the student behind him to rush forward to confront the boggart.

But by the time class had ended, the reality of what had happened had sunk in. His entire class, filled with those many like him, Ron, and Hermione who had not originally returned for their seventh year at Hogwarts or had been prevented from finishing, along with the entire class of students that used to be the year below them, had just seen him freeze in terror at his muggle uncle. And heard all that the man had spewed at him. He shrunk in on himself slightly as he left the class with a subdued Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. His only comfort was that he was not the only one whose secrets had been exposed, nor was he the only one to have frozen at first. But he was the Destroyer of Voldemort! How could he be so terrified of his uncle, a man he had not even seen in a year and a half (having returned to the Weasleys after the Battle of Hogwarts)?

Harry glanced over at his friends and girlfriend, noting that Ron and Ginny looked lost in their own thoughts but that Hermione was looking at him thoughtfully, again. He broke eye contact quickly and looked away from her, trying to ignore the whispers that had, as always, started up as soon as he stepped into the hallway. Among his friends, Hermione knew the least about his life at the Dursleys, and he tried to keep his face from reddening at how much she could put together from what she had seen. Ron had been with the twins when they rescued him back in second year, and Ginny had of course heard from her brothers, but Hermione knew little more than that he had disliked it there.

He tried to clear his head as they entered the Great Hall for dinner, and as he looked around in search of a distraction, his eyes met Snape’s dark ones. Snape gave him a funny look that he could not identify, and then Harry severed the eye contact and hurried to their normal spot at the Gryffindor table. A cold feeling had settled into his stomach, though. Snape knew. He didn’t know how, but he had already heard about everything.

Just then, Ron’s voice gave him a welcome break from his own thoughts. "Snape’s looking even more like a sourpuss than usual today. Wonder what’s eating him?”

“Ron!” Hermione interjected in a long-suffering tone. “He’s still our professor, you can’t call him names.”

“So? I still don’t get how he got off scot-free. Sure, maybe he was a spy all along, but he still committed plenty of unnecessary crimes!”

Harry and Ginny shared a look as the old argument started back up. Usually these days, Harry took Hermione’s side, at least in his head if only occasionally out loud. Snape had done quite a lot for the Order; Harry had helped to prove it. But today, he couldn’t prevent a trickle of doubt from seeping into his thoughts. Ron was right, Snape was very clever and quite slippery. It couldn’t be too much of a stretch for him to have doctored the memories, could it? It would be just the sort of back-up plan a man like him would come up with.

“…at least consider the vampire angle. I mean, look at his robes! All black, and he wears those high-collared necks.”

“You know why he wears high collars, Ron. Honestly!”

At this, Ginny chuckled a bit at her brother’s expense and then rolled her eyes at him, and the argument ended, with a grumpy ‘hmph’ from Ron. Harry followed his friends’ examples and tucked into his food, inwardly laughing at his own foolishness.. He knew that Snape was innocent. Even Ron knew it, he just enjoyed bringing up the childish arguments for old times’ sake.

xxXxx

By the next day, the boggart incident seemed to have spread all over the school. The whispering that seemed to always follow Harry was growing louder, and he could sometimes make out the word ‘freak’ from the garbled susurrations. His friends were still ignoring the gossip, and Harry followed their example, but some part of him wished that they might stand up for him a bit more obviously. He had to deliberately refrain from doing it himself, knowing that such a reaction on his part would not help things. But surely his friends could help? Why were they not doing so?

His question was answered a few days later when he returned from a trip to the loo to find Ron and Hermione whispering about him. Ginny was ignoring them, and they of course stopped as soon as he approached, but his heart sank at their betrayal. Surely they did not believe he had no use now that Voldemort was gone, as so much of the school seemed to? But no, perhaps they merely blamed him for not destroying Voldemort faster? A good chunk of the other Gryffindors did, he knew. And Ron had lost his brother, after all. But surely they knew that he had done all he could in the war? They had been there!

He was subdued the rest of the day, torn between pretending he had not heard Ron and Hermione, as was clearly their strategy, and confronting them on it. He could hardly believe what he had overheard, but was not even sure what to say in his own defense. Because it was true, wasn’t it? He knew it, they knew it, and surely Ginny knew it too. He would just go along with the ruse until he had the strength to sever ties with them, as they clearly wanted. It was for the best, after all.

xxXxx

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny kept trying to ask him what was wrong, but he was never sure how to answer them. He had overheard the three of them calling him a ‘freak’ the other day, just as the rest of the school now constantly did. He knew they were just trying to push him to admit it, to admit everything, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He wasn’t strong enough. But he would be soon. He owed it to them.

McGonagall and Snape gave him odd looks frequently now, and it made him uneasy. He had given more thought to Ron’s arguments about Snape, and the more he considered it, the more it made sense. Snape was clearly still up to something. Many a time as he wandered the corridors after curfew in his invisibility cloak (his sleep had grown quite restless so he had taken to avoiding going to bed), he had seen Snape stalking the halls and searching for more than just wayward students. And it was too strange that he had relinquished the title of Headmaster to McGonagall so easily, stepping down to be Deputy. Perhaps he had done so to allow for more time for whatever he was plotting? Then again, McGonagall might be in on it. Both of them were giving him odd looks, and he felt increasingly tense under their close scrutiny.

But that was ridiculous, he knew McGonagall, she could no more be involved in something nefarious than Hagrid could keep a secret. Snape was someone to watch out for, though. And watch out he would.

xxXxx

Snape was definitely up to something. He was sure of it. But he could not figure out what. The signs were all there, but he had no evidence. He considered speaking to McGonagall about it, but it felt like his first year all over again. He knew that McGonagall trusted Snape, and without proof his suspicions would just be shot down.

He began keeping an eye on the Potions Master whenever he could. He watched him carefully during meals and during class in the dungeons, always looking for something to give credence to what he knew to be true. He even occasionally attempted to find him and follow him during free times, slipping quietly in and out of the shadows behind the dour man. And at night, since he so rarely could sleep well anyway with all that was on his mind, he took to pulling out the Marauder’s Map to locate Snape, then donning his invisibility cloak and taking off in silent pursuit.

Ron tried to ask him several times where he kept going in the night, but Harry could not tell him, not yet. He knew that it was his duty to protect the school, to protect the Wizarding World, but he could not drag innocents into his battles. And he did not have enough evidence, not yet, to warrant telling anyone at all. But he would soon.

xxXxx

He was in Potions class one day in mid-February, sitting next to Ginny as usual with Ron and Hermione at the bench to his right. He was working quietly and speaking to Ginny or his other friends only when necessary. They had made it clear that they were only still with him to keep up appearances, and he was trying to maintain as much distance as possible in deference to their choices.

He caught Snape sneaking odd glances at him throughout the class and began to grow suspicious. True, Snape liked to watch him carefully during class to spot his mistakes and sneer at him, but he was watching him much more carefully than usual. Was something about to happen, was his plot about to unfold?

Suddenly, Harry became aware of a swell of whispers that was rising slowly around him. It had begun gradually, without him realizing, until now he discovered that the entire class was talking about him. He could hear them calling him a freak under their breath. He was confused. Was this part of Snape’s plan? He looked up at Snape to see if he had noticed, and gasped when he saw that Snape was dressed in his long Death Eater’s robes, the silver mask on his face.

Harry stood up, then looked around to see the whole class staring at him from where they remained in their seats. Why were they looking at him, couldn’t they see Snape? He noticed that Snape was slowly approaching from the corner of his eye and glanced back at him, then back towards the class, and gasped again when he saw that half of the students had donned silver masks as well. He looked at his friends, checking quickly to see whether they were still safe, and saw with some relief mingled with shame that they were as yet unharmed but were frowning at him with accusation in their eyes. And he understood. It was his fault; he had suspected something was amiss but said nothing, too caught up in his personal issues with his friends and the never-ceasing gossip around the school. Well, it was time to begin trying to fix his mistakes, even if it was hopeless.

When he came to, he was lying on a bed looking up at the white ceiling of the hospital wing. Confused, he sat up and looked around, his puzzlement growing when he saw Snape, McGonagall, Bill Weasley (the new Gryffindor Head of House), and Madam Pomfrey all surrounding his bed. How had he gotten away from all of the Death Eaters? And if they had won, why was Snape standing there and not being carted off to Azkaban? Then he noticed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all standing together on the far side of the wing, as though afraid to get too close to him, and the whispers started up around them. Only this time, they were hardly whispers, but practically shouts, screams that reverberated around the room.

“Freak! Worthless! All your fault! Fred is dead because of you! You couldn’t even save us from Snape and you knew! Good-for-nothing!”

And suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He struggled up and tried to lunge for Snape to rectify his mistake, all the while protesting weakly.

“No, please, it’s not my fault,” he sobbed, “I tried so hard. It’s not true! It’s not my fault! Please!”

Then he felt hands around him before he could even make it off the bed. They were forcing him back down and he struggled and kicked wildly, shouting and trying to hear himself above the echoing din of his friends’ accusations. Then his movements suddenly became much harder, impossibly lethargic and slow, he saw a wand pointed at him and then blackness.

xxXxx

He very slowly returned to awareness the next time, vaguely noticing that it was now sometime after dusk. The world seemed dull and washed-out around him, and he tried sluggishly to sit up but then gradually realized that he could not move. Looking down, he fuzzily saw straps that somewhat resembled muggle hospital restraints tying his wrists and ankles down to the bed. His ankles were fixed a bit further than shoulder-width apart with his legs fully extended, and his wrists were secured down by his sides so that his arms were straight, but with enough space between the straps and his torso that he could not reach his body or even his shirt with his fingers. Some small part of his mind registered that this was probably not good, but for some reason he could not bring himself to care. His thoughts felt slow and thick, as though he had to push through a pool of molasses just to string a sentence together.

Just as he thought he might drift back to sleep, the form of what he surmised was likely the matron approached his bed. He tried to form his mouth into words, knowing there was something he should ask her, but unable to remember what it was.

He struggled for a moment but could only get out, "W--"

"Sshhh," Madam Pomfrey soothed him. "There now, just relax for now. Drink this, there's a good boy." She held a glass up to his lips and tipped it's contents into his mouth, and Harry swallowed reflexively and then sank back into the welcome darkness.

xxXxx

When he woke for the third time, he felt marginally more clear-headed, but when he opened his eyes the world still seemed faded and muffled, even more than the usual blurriness he saw without his glasses and despite the bright sunlight shining through the infirmary windows. He turned his head slightly and, squinting, saw what he recognized as Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall approaching, with Snape just behind them. He stiffened and his eyes widened at the sight of the Potions Master, but when their eyes met the man stopped walking forwards and instead hung back, remaining within earshot of Harry’s hospital bed. Strangely, Harry found that although he knew he should be worried about Snape being so close, he could not bring himself to actually feel that way.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” Pomfrey said cheerfully, perching his glasses onto his nose for him. “How are you feeling today?”

Harry swallowed back the saliva in his mouth and answered somewhat slowly, “OK. Head feels weird. Fuzzy.” He rolled his eyes towards Snape and asked, “Wha’ happened?”

Pomfrey nodded with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “That’s from the combination of the calming draught and the magic suppressors.” She gestured towards Harry’s limbs, and Harry assumed, given his continued inability to move, that he must have the same restraints on underneath the blanket now covering his body.

“As for what happened…” she trailed off, looking at McGonagall for support. Then she sighed and continued, “Harry, do you have any history of mental illness on your mother’s side of the family, that you know of?”

Harry shook his head, confused. What did mental illness have to do with Snape still being a loyal Death Eater? He struggled to connect the dots in his head, but his thoughts still felt slow and heavy.

The matron sighed again. “Harry, do you know what schizophrenia is?”

Harry frowned. The term seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Eventually he shook his head.

McGonagall, who had not yet said a word, sat on the edge of his bed and put a comforting hand on his forearm, looking at him with concern.

“It’s a muggle mental illness,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “It has a myriad of symptoms, but one of the classic signs is psychosis. A break from reality, you might say. Usually manifesting in hallucinations, delusions, often paranoia. Harry,” she paused, “we think you might be showing signs of this disorder.”

Harry blinked at her. He knew this statement should make him scared, angry, sad, but he hardly felt anything. He only felt confused. He glanced back at Snape again, his frown deepening. “But Snape--” he tried to explain.

“Harry,” McGonagall interrupted him. “Professor Snape is a good, innocent man.” Harry thought he might have heard Snape snort at that, but he was not sure. “He is not guilty of whatever crime you think he is, nor is he involved in any plot with evil intent.”

“Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey began, addressing the Headmistress directly with a warning tone in her voice, “he may not be ready to hear this yet. Schizophrenic’s beliefs seem as true and obvious to them as reality seems to us. Potions may work faster than muggle medicine, but we have only calmed him down, we have not begun trying to deal with the disorder itself.”

McGonagall sighed and removed her hand from Harry’s arm, clasping it with her other in her lap. “Harry, we need Professor Snape here to allow him to see you for himself so that he may brew you a potion tailored to your needs. You need to know, it is extremely rare for a wizard to have schizophrenia. In fact, it has never been named as schizophrenia among wizards, but the group of symptoms have been documented on occasion throughout history in muggleborns and half-bloods, and a few modern mind healers believe it to be the same disorder or at least a very closely related one. As such, there is no current magical treatment, but Professor Snape has already begun working on a possibility based off the way that the muggle antipsychotics work.”

Harry did not understand most of this, gleaning only that they thought he had some sort of muggle disorder that would make him believe things that weren’t true. But he was confused; that couldn’t be right. He would know if there was something wrong with his mind. And besides, his mind, his will, was strong; he could fight off the Imperius Curse! He opened his mouth to try to argue with her, but his mind still felt foggy and he could not get the words to come together in the correct order.

“I… Imperius… can’t…” He took a breath and swallowed more saliva, then tried again, “Snape tried… he’s planning something.”

McGonagall was shaking her head, but Pomfrey spoke up before the Headmistress could. “Harry, do you remember anything strange from the last few weeks?”

Harry’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No.” He swallowed again. “Students talking again. Friends don’t like me. ‘Specially since the boggart. Freak.”

“What do you mean, Harry?” McGonagall asked, her tone somewhat alarmed. “The gossip about you has died down considerably since the Christmas break.”

Harry looked up at her, confused, but could not think of what to say.

Madam Pomfrey sighed, then stated, “I think your friends would like to see you now, Harry. Would that be ok?”

Harry frowned, unsure of why they would want to see him, but nodded anyway. The matron and McGonagall disappeared from his bed, and he turned his head to the side again to see the two of them and Snape retreating down the hall towards the matrons office. Once they had disappeared inside, he faced the ceiling again.

He was just beginning to close his eyes a few minutes later when he heard quick footsteps approaching. His eyes flew open in time to see a mane of bushy brown hair cover his face at the same time that he felt a chest crash into his torso and two arms circle his shoulders. Recognizing that this was Hermione, although he could not fathom why she would want to hug him so after everything that had happened, he instinctively moved to return the hug, but was stopped by the restraints still binding his wrists and ankles.

When Hermione finally stepped back, wiping her eyes, and his vision cleared, he saw that Ron and Ginny were there as well. Ron looked paler than usual, and Ginny’s eyes were red-rimmed. Harry frowned, seeing only concern in their eyes. But that didn’t seem right, not after all that had happened the past few weeks.

“Hey mate,” Ron finally said in a somewhat scratchy voice. “How’ you feeling?”

Harry shrugged, unsure how to answer. “OK, I guess,” he finally said.

“Oh Harry, we were so worried,” Hermione burst out. “You’ve been acting so strange lately, and not wanting to talk to us, and then you went off in Potions like that…” she trailed off, as though she had said something she should not have.

Harry’s brow knitted together in confusion. They were worried? “I’ve been strange?” he finally asked, still struggling to put his rather disorganized thoughts into sentences.

Ginny and Hermione remained silent, but Ron gave a small nod. “I don’t think you notice, mate, but you mutter to yourself sometimes. Quite frequently lately, actually. And you hardly ever seem to sleep.”

“And you look a mess, Harry. You’ve got bags under your eyes and your hair is even messier than usual, and greasy,” Hermione added in.

“And Snape has noticed you following him a couple of times,” Ginny said quietly. “And sometimes, I think you hear something that no one else does. And then you stopped talking to us without ever telling us why.” Her eyes began to brim with tears and she angrily dashed them away.

Harry felt so very confused. “Hard to ignore whispers,” he got out. “‘Specially since boggart.”

“Whispers, Harry?” Hermione asked. “What whispers?”

“Students. In the halls.” Some part of Harry’s mind was experiencing something akin to worry now, but most of him was still wrapped in the foggy cocoon of numbness.

Ron shook his head. “They’ve hardly been whispering at all since Christmas break.”

But Harry shook his head in protest. “Freak,” he finally said.

At this, the three of them looked sad. “Oh, Harry,” Hermione murmured.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey came bustling over, but without her usual brisk demeanor. “It’s time for Harry to rest now. He’s been through quite a lot in a very short time. You can come back later.” Her words were unusually gentle as she shooed Harry’s friends away.

Harry closed his eyes tiredly once his friends were gone and allowed his mind to drift. He was too confused, and there was too much to think about, to focus on figuring anything out, so he let his fogged mind rest.

xxXxx

For the next few days, Harry was kept restrained on his hospital bed and drugged to the point where he could not care. They freed his right arm during mealtimes to allow him the small dignity of feeding himself, but otherwise he was kept completely immobile and completely calm. Madam Pomfrey tried to explain more about schizophrenia and help him begin to separate out the reality of what had happened over the past several weeks, but he felt too fogged and confused to take in much of what she was saying. All he understood was that the professors and his friends seemed to think that his reality was not their reality. But he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea that what he had seen and heard and known for the last month and a half may not have happened.

And yet, as the fear he had been feeling constantly began to fade, he ceased hearing the whispering that had become his constant companion, his friends funny looks morphed into ones of concern, and even his suspicions about Snape began to dissolve. It was disorienting, though mildly relieving.

Since he had remained under control so far, and Snape had made some headway with tailoring a potion to Harry, they began slowly decreasing his dose of the calming draught. Harry gradually became unfogged enough that he could wonder at his behavior over the last few weeks and struggle in his mind with whether what Madam Pomfrey and his friends had said was true. Was he truly crazy? And if so, were they about to ship him off to St. Mungo’s? The only crazy wizards he knew of were those in the closed ward at the hospital. He did not want to go there, but he supposed that if what they had said was true, it might be where he belonged. It sounded as though he had randomly stood up in his Potions class and started attacking students. It was so confusing to think of his memory of that event from that perspective, and it was difficult to decide which was in fact the reality, but he did want to trust his friends. He also began to wonder what the other students knew of his condition. If he had really gone off in Potions class like that, then he did not know how it could be kept secret. But there was a privacy curtain up around his bed now, so he had not seen anyone but Pomfrey, McGonagall, Bill Weasley, his two best friends and girlfriend (if she was still his girlfriend), and occasionally Snape. Would he eventually return to classes, perhaps to Gryffindor Tower? If so, he dreaded the reactions of the students. The whispering would be ten times worse… But wait, they had said the whispering was not real. This was so confusing.

He eventually learned that he was to continue to be treated at Hogwarts, since St. Mungo’s could do no better anyway. And because there was a fairly significant stigma against mental illness in the Wizarding World, and also to protect his privacy, they had passed off the incident in class as a potions mishap and were saying that he was still recovering. Hermione said that the students were buying it; potions could do all kinds of things, including cause hallucinations, so it was not a very far-fetched story.

His head still felt a bit fuzzy and unfocused, even with the lowered dosage of the calming draught, and he was told that the feeling that his senses were muffled was due primarily to the magical suppressors in his restraints; he was not used to viewing the world without magic, having never done so. But over time, he became aware enough that he grew restless and bored, and hoped to be released soon, at least to the extent that the calming draught allowed him to feel such emotions. He now was usually left with his right arm free, and both arms were freed at times under supervision, but he began feeling a small amount of muted embarrassment for the situation he was in.

Finally, after nearly three weeks of being restrained in his hospital bed, all four of the professors -- McGonagall, Snape, Weasley, and Madam Pomfrey -- entered through the curtain and approached him together. He lifted his head as much as he could and waved them a small greeting with his free hand, watching them all conjure seats for themselves and settle around his bed.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall began, “we have something about which we need to speak with you. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape have agreed that you are doing well enough to move you from the hospital wing and give you a bit more freedom. However, you will be watched carefully for signs of a relapse, and to be sure that Professor Snape’s potion continues to work. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Harry nodded, and McGonagall gave him a small smile.

“Good, Harry. Now, we have decided that the best option is likely to put you up with a professor, at least for a little while. You will very gradually be able to resume your normal activities, but you need to be watched more closely than you could be in Gryffindor Tower.” She glanced at Snape and Bill for a moment, then looked back at Harry. “Professor Weasley has offered to house you. However, there are a few reasons that we are hesitant about that arrangement. For one thing, he has no experience in healing beyond the basics, and has very little understanding of your condition.” Bill shuffled his feet a bit at this statement, but McGonagall placed a comforting hand on his knee and smiled at him before returning her attention to Harry. “Additionally, he is a first-year teacher, and as such is much more busy than more senior faculty members.

“Another option has been mentioned, but it is one that requires input from you. Professor Snape would be an ideal choice on a number of counts. The dungeons are much quieter and less busy, which would mean less overall stimulation for you and less interruption when you need rest. Of the Hogwarts staff, he is second only to Madam Pomfrey in knowledge of healing, and actually has a small amount of knowledge on mind healing. He is also the one who will be working on continuing to tweak your potion, and so having you close by would likely be beneficial for that process. And if necessary, he would be able to overpower you.”

Some part of Harry found that last statement somewhat unsettling, but he said nothing.

“What we need to know, Harry,” McGonagall continued, “is whether you believe you could handle living with Professor Snape. Aside from your personal disagreements, which I am confident you could both set aside, particularly considering how much your relationship has improved this past year, we need to know whether the delusions which you experienced that seemed to center around Professor Snape will make it more difficult for you to maintain your grasp on reality while living with him. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape have both stated that they are unsure, but could see it being either harmful or helpful. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry thought about the question, unsure really of how to answer. He did not relish the idea of living with Snape, but he did want to leave the hospital wing, and maybe he could really help him get better, if he was sick as they said he was? He still felt confused, as he seemed to always feel to some extent lately, but he eventually nodded, saying, “I think that’s fine.”

xxXxx

And so Harry found himself, two days later, living in Snape's guest room, a situation he had never imagined he'd be in. He was being given a couple more days to acclimate before beginning to add classes slowly back in (and hopefully, at some point, Quidditch, though Ginny had taken over his captain duties in the meantime), and some part of him in the back of his mind enjoyed this relative freedom. Even if he was only allowed around Snape's quarters, that small piece of him reveled in the idea of actually visiting the loo (as opposed to using the hospital’s bedpans) and showering for the first time in three weeks. He spent most of his time lounging by the fireplace and reading his textbooks, trying to catch up on his missed schoolwork.

He could not yet practice the spellwork, though, since they had left a small magical suppression anklet on him as a precaution. McGonagall had seemed very apologetic as she explained that it would be taken off once they were sure he was settled and safe. Harry was still on too high of a dose of the calming draught to feel more than annoyance, but some part of him recognized that this was a rather extreme and somewhat frightening measure, even if he could not muster up the emotions for a more appropriate response.

Snape had explained to him that the potion he was working on for Harry, and that Harry had begun taking a week prior, still had a very large component of calming draught in it, but that he was hoping to decrease that amount so that Harry could feel a bit more like himself. The other part of the potion could mainly be categorized as an imagination suppressor, designed to discourage delusions and hallucinations, and he was working on a modification to the calming draught piece so that it more specifically targeted fear and paranoia, rather than more blanketly suppressing the autonomic sympathetic response.

Harry hardly understood Snape’s explanation, but he nodded along anyway, and enjoyed how uncharacteristically kindly Snape was treating him, even if it was still somewhat difficult to believe the man was truly innocent. The professor was still gruff, but he hardly ever barked at him, even when Harry could see in his face that he wanted to. He allowed Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to visit, and even once let Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stop by for what turned out to be a particularly teary visit. And on occasion, when he saw Harry struggling with something as he read through his textbooks or worked on his essays, he even offered his assistance.

Once Snape was convinced that he was adequately settled, Harry was allowed to return to one class a day, although he still spent the rest of his time, including meals, in Snape’s quarters. He felt somewhat strange returning to being amongst the students, especially since he had now been told that all of the whispering had been in his head. There were some occasional whispers -- he was fairly certain there were some -- but they were just about his somewhat-mysterious accident and lengthy recovery. It was being put about that he was still recovering slowly and not supposed to over-exert himself, hence why he was not returning to all of his classes yet nor was he performing unnecessary magic (the suppression anklet was still on).

After a few days, Snape managed to find a better balance of a modified calming draught and the imagination suppressor, and Harry’s potion was switched again. He slowly became a bit more aware than he had been, and now was able to realize more fully the implications of his situation. He could tell how dulled his emotions were, making him feel as though he were constantly just slightly disconnected. He also realized just how much difficulty he was having concentrating or focusing on something for any length of time, and noticed that he tended to feel drowsy much sooner and his mouth seemed to fill with saliva much more consistently than he was used to. Snape informed him that these were expected side effects, and that he could do little about them. But while he had not even noticed these previously, and had hardly minded the suppression anklet, he found himself chafing just slightly at his restrictions, or at least feeling as annoyed as the potion would allow him.

The difficulty he was having paying attention was particularly bothersome. He was very easily distracted, even if it was just by his own thoughts, and had a difficult time following lectures in class or even just Snape’s instructions around the quarters. He gained a new appreciation for just how patient Snape was being with him. He consistently forgot things that Snape had told him, and each time he could see Snape swallowing back his retorts and patiently repeating himself. Ron did not have quite as much patience when he visited, although Hermione tried to rein him in, sending him glares when he was about to step out of line. Harry was not sure whether he was grateful to Hermione, or wished that she would just let Ron speak his mind. At least they were reacting, which was more than Ginny was doing. She just seemed quiet and sad each time he saw her. He tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. He was still not entirely sure that they were still dating -- he had thought they had essentially broken up a few weeks ago, but now he was not sure how much of that had been real -- and he was somewhat afraid to ask. But he feared that even if they were technically still together, that they might not be for much longer.

However, as his mind cleared slightly, Snape’s behavior began to seem simultaneously curious and comforting. He was reminded of how their relationship had begun to change since the Final Battle. At first, once Snape had healed fully (minus the scars) and Harry had begun to be hounded by the press, Snape had been his usual sneering self towards the reluctant celebrity. But Snape’s usual behavior had seemed as though there was now less vitriol behind it, as though his biting remarks were more out of habit than true hostility. And as time wore on, they had developed what seemed like a mutual respect, although perhaps a bit grudging. With his new knowledge of Snape’s friendship with his mother and his vow to protect him, Harry had almost dared to hope that they may be able to form a friendship. Somehow he had lost sight of that over the last few weeks. 

Finally, after a full week of taking the new potion in which he remained stable, the suppression anklet was taken off, and he was allowed to return to most of his classes. On occasional days when he had an especially heavy load, he was told to skip one class, but for the most part he was able to participate in classes and work in earnest on catching up. He frequently borrowed Hermione’s notes after lectures to copy down parts that he had zoned out on, and used his extra time (since he had still not returned to Quidditch) to work slowly through the material, trying to remain patient with himself.

He quite enjoyed (though in a slightly muted way, as usual) the return of his magic. It had felt very strange to not have it available for his use, and even more bizarre to look at the world without its presence. It was as though a veil had now been ripped off of all of his senses so that he could truly see, hear, taste, touch, and smell again. He had not noticed how vulnerable he had been in the hallways without his magic, but he did notice how Ron seemed a bit more relaxed as they walked to class together.

At long last, after another successful week, he returned to student life fully, aside from still living in the dungeons with Snape as a precaution. He was attending all classes, was eating in the Great Hall again, and was returning to Quidditch. He felt uncomfortable at first in the Great Hall, remembering the constant whispering he had been hearing not so long ago, but slowly relaxed with his friends’ continued support and distraction.

Quidditch, however, which had once been so freeing and joyful, and an outlet for him at times, was now frustrating and somewhat nerve-wracking. His flying did not feel the same, nor could he figure out how to work with his team as smoothly as he once had. He could not grasp the instincts he had always followed in the air and when searching for the snitch, and he felt clumsy and cumbersome as a result.

He knew that he was not as fast as he once had been, unable to think as quickly as he once had, and without the imagination and flair that he had always possessed. He knew it, and he knew that his team knew it. Only Ron and Ginny from among them knew the truth behind his accident, and so they began talking about how he had changed so much and had lost his edge. Harry began feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable around them, unsure of how to respond or what to say, particularly as he began overhearing them telling his friends.

Now that he was spending less time in Snape’s quarters, giving him a little bit of space from the man, he was able to recognize just how strangely the professor was acting towards him. How could he have just accepted so easily the patience that the man had for him? And what in the world had possessed him, such a private and rather ornery man, to take in Harry Potter to his personal quarters?

The more that Harry thought on it, the more that Snape’s actions seemed somehow… off. Surely someone else could see it? And as the gossip and whispering of the other students grew worse, he suddenly understood that this must have been Snape’s plan all along. Harry was now fully under his control. He was unquestioningly ingesting whatever potion Snape was giving him each morning, he was living with the man, sleeping in a room down the hall, and Snape had made everyone believe that he was crazy. Not only that, but Snape had quite a lot of influence in relaying to the others how well Harry was doing, due to their close proximity to each other, and in decisions regarding further treatments. Harry could hardly believe that he had not seen it before, and that he had doubted himself so fully.

The whispers were very quickly growing worse as well, and Harry began to wonder if Snape was somehow feeding the gossip vine. He was frequently overhearing comments about his freakish changes, and it was wearing on him, but he recognized that that must be Snape’s goal.

He bided his time, trying to act normally as he developed a plan, some way to break out from under Snape’s control and then to convince others that Snape was up to something. He began only pretending to take the poison Snape was administering to him each morning, holding the potion in his mouth until he could spit it out into the toilet. His mind began to slowly feel clearer, and he watched and waited for his chance.

A few days after he had stopped taking the poison, he was in Potions class and concentrating hard on a particularly difficult potion. He was stirring feverishly as Ginny continued to chop ingredients to his left, when there was a bang from the table to his right and he felt something splash his arm. He looked over to see a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor standing back from their exploded cauldron, somehow untouched. Then he felt a burning begin on his arm, and he looked down to see angry red sores begin popping up on his skin.

Snape glared at the offender from the front of the room and then snapped out, “Miss Weasley, please take Mr. Potter to the infirmary. I will join you there shortly.”

Harry felt a cold sense of dread settle over him. Had this been part of Snape’s plan? Perhaps he had meant to seriously injure him and his plan had failed? He did not have much time to ponder this as Ginny was pulling him up out of his stool and hustling him off to the hospital wing.

As soon as he had passed through the double doors to the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey began fussing over him and muttering about ‘inept students that shouldn’t be in NEWT Potions.’ He sat quietly on his bed and let her heal his arm, considering how best to move forward. He was growing increasingly afraid as he thought on his predicament. Snape had said he would come up soon, and he still had so much control over him…

Just then, the doors to the wing burst open and Snape came striding in and headed for Harry’s bed. Harry was unable to suppress a flinch and shrunk back against the headboard of his bed.

“Harry, there’s nothing to be afraid of dear, it’s just Professor Snape,” Pomfrey soothed him absently. Then she seemed to realize what she had said, and she examined Harry with a concerned look on her face.

Harry began to feel panicky. “Madam Pomfrey, you have to believe me!” He agitatedly tried to stand up and the matron pushed him back. “He’s trying to control me, to kill me, I know it!” He grew even more frustrated and afraid as Pomfrey’s face continued to look only sad and concerned. “Please!” he shouted and tried to stand again, but this time Snape stepped forward as well to restrain him, and soon he had returned to darkness.

xxXxx

When Harry woke, early morning light was filtering into the infirmary through the large windows in the outer wall. He blinked and saw a blurry face swim into view. The figure pressed his glasses onto his face, and he saw that it was Madam Pomfrey. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t, and as he looked around he recognized the signs of magical suppression and imagined he must be restrained again. He groaned quietly and lay back on his pillow. Not this again.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Pomfrey assured him kindly. “We only put the restraints on because I need Professor Snape here and we weren’t sure how you’d react just yet.” She glanced over at someone, and Harry turned his head to see McGonagall and Snape on the other side of his bed. “We have quite a lot we need to discuss with you. But first, how are you feeling? You’ve been out for a couple of days.”

Harry frowned. “A bit thirsty,” he admitted.

Pomfrey nodded and filled a nearby glass with water from her wand. She raised the head of his bed a bit and held the glass to his lips, and Harry drank greedily. Once he finished, he settled back and looked at the matron expectantly, trying to avoid meeting Snape’s eyes. He realized that, oddly, he felt embarrassed and uncomfortable about being restrained again. He had not felt an emotion so sharply in quite a while, and it was simultaneously unsettling and refreshing.

“Harry, when I scanned you after the accident in Potions, I found a couple of strange things. One was that I found only very small traces of your antipsychotic potion in your system. Had you stopped taking it?” the matron queried.

Harry flushed and looked away. He felt less sure of himself and more confused now. Snape plotting something nefarious seemed somewhat far-fetched as he thought about it again, but he had been so sure… Could he really be crazy? But he felt so normal… Well, as normal as the Destroyer of Voldemort could be.

“As I thought, Harry. It’s all right.” She gently placed a finger under his chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. “I found something else as well.” She released his chin and stepped back. “There were traces of a… poison in your system. Just enough to detect. Professor Snape has been working on analyzing it… It is quite likely that it is what has been causing your symptoms.”

Harry’s breath caught. Was she saying what he thought she was?

Snape broke in as Madam Pomfrey appeared to be at a loss for words. “Potter, that means that your previous diagnosis of schizophrenia is likely incorrect. This poison fits your symptoms much more closely. You had never shown more than the psychotic symptoms of schizophrenia anyway, which from what I know is quite unusual.”

So he wasn’t crazy then? Could he trust that what they were saying now was true -- what if this was just a hallucination? He still had not been completely convinced that he ever had been crazy, but it was so confusing wavering back and forth like this. “So what does this poison do?” he finally asked.

Again, Snape answered. “It causes extreme fear and paranoia, and makes it difficult for the mind to differentiate fears, dreams, and imagination from reality. At our best guess, it was being administered to you little by little since just after the winter holiday, allowing it to slowly build up in your system.”

Harry frowned, realizing that he had been under the influence of this poison for four whole months. “So why did the potion seem to help then?”

“For a couple of reason,” Snape responded, crossing his arms across his chest. “One is that the potion would have counteracted the symptoms (though with some rather unpleasant side effects, as you noticed) even though it could not neutralize or eradicate the poison itself. The other is that we believe you to have somehow been poisoned in the Great Hall, and you ceased eating there during that time period.”

“So then, I’ll be fine now?” Harry asked hopefully.

Snape and Pomfrey shared a look, and McGonagall looked at him sadly, an expression he was growing used to. Eventually Pomfrey answered him. “Not quite, Harry. Now that we have managed to neutralize the poison, the fear and paranoia should subside, even more than they had while you were just taking the potion. But, the poison has permanently affected your ability to tell what is real and what is not. This should be much easier to manage now that the paranoia seems to have subsided, though.”

Harry only nodded, having somehow suspectedsomething like that. Oddly, he did not feel too bad about it. He had managed so far. He was certain it would be difficult, and that he likely would become frustrated in the future, but for now he only felt determined.

xxXxx

He was freed from the restraints only a little while later, once they were positive that he was remaining calm and rational. Harry was heartened by what appeared to be a very rapid recovery; apparently now that they knew about the poison and had specifically neutralized it, rather than it just slowly working its way out of his system, he was able to return to reality much easier. He also thought it might help that his mind was not fogged up on calming draught this time around.

He returned to living in Snape’s quarters once he was released from the hospital wing, although he was immediately allowed to return to his usual full schedule. And Snape, since he was a master of the mind arts, began working with him to help him learn how to distinguish reality from fantasy.

And slowly, he learned. It was difficult, especially since the more permanent effects of the potion had grown worse after his second round of dosing. Pomfrey and Snape speculated that the poisoner had grown impatient with the progress and increased the dose the second time, which was why it had been found the second time but not the first. But that meant that even without the added paranoia, he still experienced many apparent hallucinations. Sometimes it seemed that every passing fear or daydream became a reality for him, and it became frustrating at times to try to sort through it all. But Snape taught him strategies, such as reading his environment and particularly the people around him for clues. He also learned to trust and rely on his friends and Snape when he was around them, asking them for clarification or confirmation when he could not determine the truth with absolute certainty himself.

As he considered it, he realized that it was not completely random that many of his hallucinations and delusions were centered around Snape. The man had protected him, and been, in a sense, a constant in his life for a long time. And yet the man had taunted him and hurt him the entire time he had known him, until this past year. Since viewing Snape’s memories in the pensieve, he had had a difficult time sorting out his feelings towards his professor. He felt a sort of vague, distant kinship with Snape, given their similar childhoods. And Snape was a connection to his mother, something that he could not really find anywhere else. Yet some part of him feared these new feelings towards Snape, finding it difficult to trust an adult who had hurt him in such a way, even if he had also protected him. But once he had recognized and named his conflicting emotions, he found it easier to begin to develop a relationship with Snape, even beyond their relationship as mentor and mentee.

Eventually, the poisoner was caught. He was found to be a seventh year Hufflepuff who was particularly talented at Potions, and whose father had been sent to Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts. They made a valiant attempt at keeping the legal proceedings quiet, but word did get out, as it always did somehow. Harry had a particularly hard time during that period, never sure whether the whispering he was hearing was real or in his head since either was very possible. But after a time the furor and press attention died down, although Harry still struggled with shame over the entire Wizarding World knowing of his condition. And at times his hallucinations were exacerbated by his fears of someone exploiting it.

But, with some hard work, Harry managed to graduate from Hogwarts with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, and his girlfriend, Ginny. He had done remarkably well on his NEWTs, especially considering the year he had had. With Auror training now out of the question, he was recruited by the Falmouth Falcons and ended up playing for them for a few years before retiring as their star seeker.

And when he married Ginny in a small, private ceremony, he asked Snape to attend as one of his very few personal guests. And when he met his eyes after saying the vows and being announced as bonded for life, he could clearly see the joy and pride in the usually dour man’s eyes.

The morning after his wedding, he woke up next to Ginny and could see soft sunlight pouring through the windows and bathing his wife’s peacefully sleeping face. He lay and watched her until she woke, then smiled when she stretched languidly.

After a moment of just staring at each other, Harry finally asked, “This one really happened, right?”

And with tears at the corners of her eyes and a smile on her lips, Ginny answered, “Yes.”