On many nights, it occurred to Snape that Harry might never fully recover. He might always go through periods of intense drug use, might always have mood swings, might always smoke like a chimney. Truth be told, Snape sort of liked the scent of cigarette smoke on Harry's breath, but he wasn't about to tell anyone that.

The boy was doing better lately. Poppy had acquired some muggle medicines for him to try. Snape had, of course, rolled his eyes and stated that some of the side effects were just as bad as what the medicine was supposed to cure. Nevertheless, Harry's mood swings were less frequent. He hated being wrong. Looking up from his reading, he realized that Harry wasn't in the room, and hadn't been for a while. Sighing, he got up and walked to the little porch, where he knew Harry would be. Harry was huddled in a blanket, shivering and smoking.

"How long have you been out here," asked Snape. When he got no response, he picked up the empty pack of cigarettes and said, "You really shouldn't smoke a pack this quickly."

"I just had to think," spoke Harry, calmly.

"About?"

"What I'm supposed to do with myself," he sighed. Snape moved closer to the boy and wrapped his arm around him.

"What do you think you're supposed to do with yourself," he asked.

"I don't know, everyone expects me to do amazing things, but what if I just want to play the role of housewife? What if I just want to do something menial, like work in a store, or cook? What if I want to have nothing to do with magic?"

"You surely don't want to give up magic," asked a slightly alarmed Snape.

"No, but that's not the point. The point is that it's never been about what I wanted. It's always what everyone else wanted. What Dumbledore thought was right, what my uncle told me to do." Harry nuzzled his head into Severus' shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being held.

"What if I told you that it doesn't matter what you want to do, so long as you're happy," asked Snape. "Then what?"

"I think then I'd be really confused, because the only thing that really makes me happy is, well, you."

"You'll find something aside from me," said Snape as he kissed Harry's head. "You're only 16, after all. I'm here as a support and nothing else. Now what we really need to talk about," continued Snape, changing the tone, "is this bloody mess you're making with all of these cigarette butts. It looks like you're trying to make some kind of sculpture, but really, I think you're just too lazy to pick them up."

"No one understands my art," said Harry cheekily.

"If it looked like something other than wet cigarette butts, maybe someone would understand it," said Snape.

"What if it's a statement about how the establishment is attempting to take over and thus hindering the creativity of the common masses to nothing more than a pile of wet garbage," asked Harry.

"Then I'd say that there's one wizard I know who has some homework he needs to do," responded Snape, shooing Harry inside.

That night, Harry slept, curled in Severus' arms. He hadn't slept in two weeks.
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More and more, Harry was thinking that he'd like nothing more than to meander through life, doing odd jobs, knowing unusual but useless things, and playing music. Snape was trying to convince him that he ought to lend his hand to something a little more substantial than that, if for nothing other than financial reasons. Harry wanted none of it. He continued to study hard in his classes, but ceased searching for a viable career option, much to Snape's chagrin. Severus had decided to take this up with Hermione.

"Why do you think I can get him to do anything," asked Hermione.

"You seem to have a way with dumb animals," quipped Snape.

"Harry isn't dumb," said Hermione defensively.

"No, but he's acting like a real dunderhead right now. He's all but given up on finding a career, or even a job for that matter," explained Snape. "He has good days, of course, days where he his capable of accomplishing a great deal, but then there are days where he is little more than a bump on a log."

"Maybe it's a phase," suggested Hermione.

"I've seen bumps with more personality," replied Snape.

"Could it be," said Hermione thoughtfully, "that he's bipolar?" When Severus looked at her with a confused look on his face, she spoke again. "Don't tell me you've never studied any muggle illnesses, Severus. They're really quite interesting and, contrary to popular opinion, wizards can get them."

"I know what bipolar disorder is, Miss Granger," said Snape, somewhat offended. "I merely believed that Harry's irregular moods were due to his adjustment to life without drugs."

"Well, that's probably partially correct," said Hermione. "But how long did Harry use drugs? Do we even know?" When Snape shook his head, the girl added, "The longer a person uses a drug, the more changes it can cause in their body. In Harry's case, he was taking strong opiates, which could have caused his body to stop making them of its own accord."

"What are you saying," asked Snape.

"Harry can't make his own happy drugs in his head," said Hermione.

"There's no need to talk down to me as if I'm a child, Miss Granger. Now how would one figure out whether or not Harry was bipolar?"

"I would ask Poppy," said Hermione.

Getting Harry to see Poppy was an entirely different matter all together, as Snape soon found out. The boy might look fragile and weak, but Snape suspected that was an image he liked to cultivate as a defense mechanism. It took the potions master a full hour to corner the boy at all, and another ten minutes get him to calm down enough to keep him in one place.

"I'm not going to the hospital wing," hollered Harry. "I already know what's wrong with me, you already know what's wrong with me. There's nothing left to be discussed."

"We can't be sure of that, now can we, Harry," asked Snape, trying to wrestle the boy into a stable position. Finally, he pinned him on the sofa, and held him in place.

"You have obviously proven yourself stronger than a skinny addict kid," retorted Harry. "Are you proud of yourself?"

"Maybe you should ask yourself that question," hissed Snape. "You're going to see Poppy, and she's going to figure out what's going on with you." He pulled the boy up to his feet and began leading him out into the hallway.

"Well, you can make me go, but you can't make me talk to her," glowered Harry.

"Oh, we'll see about that," said Snape. "If you make it difficult for her, she'll just make it more unpleasant for you."

Snape knew that Harry hated the hospital wing, and he couldn't really blame him. Although Poppy tried to make it as pleasant as possible a place to be, it was still sterile and uninviting, especially compared to the rest of the castle. Severus remembered hating the hospital wing when he was a child. His train of thought was interrupted by Poppy entering the room and approaching them in a business like manner.

"What can I do for you two today," she asked.

"Well, I'd like to have you run a battery of tests on Harry," said Snape. The boy glared at him.

"What sort of tests?"

"I think he needs a mental health assessment," mentioned Snape. He ignored the dark look he was getting from Harry, ignored the fact that the boy was fuming and would probably not speak to him for a day or two.

"Well, I certainly think we could do that," responded Poppy. "There's really only one problem."

"And that is," asked Snape icily.

"He needs to consent to the tests, or have a guardian sign a release form." Snape's heart sank. Harry would never consent. If the boy had had his way, he'd have stayed in Snape's quarters, staring at the carpet in a lazy, depressed stupor.

"Is there any way around that," asked Snape.

"Well, if we knew that he was a danger to himself," began Poppy.

"What if he's been a real arse to live with," interrupted Snape. He'd like to get around mentioning Harry's addictions to Poppy if he could. It was rough enough for the boy that his close friends, Dumbledore and McGonagall knew.

"I have no right to run the tests against his will if he's simply being annoying," said Poppy, obviously trying to hold back laughter.

"Fine," sighed Snape. "I didn't want it to come to this but Harry's been using drugs for quite a while." He felt the boy struggle in his grasp, wanting to get away from his treacherous lover. Snape simply strengthened his hold on the boy. "Recently, he's began to give them up for obvious reasons, and this is affecting his mental stability and health. Without proper treatment, he might begin to use again." Snape knew that now Harry wouldn't speak to him for a week.

"Well, as that's the case," said Poppy, whose demeanor had changed considerably, "then we can certainly run the tests."