Harry's been barely there for so long-- his head is in a bubble. It's not nice, not bad, it just is. His mind is filled with cotton and his attention span is essentially non-existent. His body moves on its own accord and he fidgets a bit too much and Harry can't find it in himself to mind because he can't find himself.

Harry's barely there. It's a blessing, somewhat. He reads the Prophet's blabbering about him, calling him a liar and attention seeking, and it's fine because he can't absorb it. He goes through detentions-- an absolutely absurd amount-- and doesn't mind because he can't mind anything.

He remembers how, toward the beginning of the year, he'd have nightmares that seemed like he was watching through Voldemort's eyes. Those nightmares were the worst, so he's absently glad he isn't having any nightmares at all anymore (thanks to Malfoy.)

And then Malfoy gives him the potion -- ("What's this?"

Malfoy shifted on his feet as Harry examined the vial. It smelled like smoke and was an acid green. "It's called an 'associate' potion."

"A what now?"

"It provides the opposite of dissociation," explained Malfoy. "I had my mother make it for you. Just take one a day and you're set. She's giving me daily deliveries, so."

"Oh," said Harry lamely. "You think it'll help-- er, this?"

"I speculate so."

"Thank you," breathed Harry. Malfoy fought off something that looked awfully like a blush and nodded.) -- and the world comes crashing down on him with full force.

He could see the world in full detail again-- he hadn't realized he'd lost that-- and the pain of the Blood Quills was almost blinding. He was here. And here, Harry quickly cams to conclude, was a fucking awful place to be.

Attention to everything swarmed his head and everything he did and saw, he was hyperaware of. The first evening he took the potion, the effects of it was breath-taking. Literally. Having a sensory overload induded panic attack while lying down on the grass, Harry became reacquainted with one Luna Lovegood.

She plopped down next to him with wayward grace and silently slipped a Calming Draught into his shaking hands. There's a dreamy smile playing on her lips. Harry drinks the vial once slightly composed.

"Thank you," said Harry.

"There's something different about you now. You seem better," she states.

"Better?"

"More alive," she said. "Are you actually going to participate in Divination now?"

"I think so." He smiles and-- although he's sure he must look slightly deranged-- Luna returns it. "What've I missed?"

"Umbridge is supervising it now." Harry nods; he remembers this, if nothing else. "She likes to heavily allude to Light students suffering super terrible, long, agonizing deaths."

"Seems like Umbitch," said Harry bitterly.

"She's a real bitch about my religion, too."

"Your religion?"

"Well," Luna runs a hand through her hair. "My spirituality; my world view. Nargles. Wrackaspurts. She's mad I 'think I can see things that aren't there.' And that it's not Ministry approved."

"You know," said Harry, "Now that I can think, I think I wanna overthrow the government."

Luna smiles smally. "Is that a promise?" she teases.

"A wizard's oath."

The magic in the air buzzed faintly.