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.