It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. And yet, there was Lily Potter, staring back at him as he was backed against the wall, crouched against something solid. Her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, were looking back at Harry as though she were seeing him for the first time.

"Darling …" she whispered, and he drank in her voice, the perfect soft, melodic quality of it, so familiar but so lost in every way. How was she here? How was he seeing her?

"Do you know where you are, Harry?" Another voice from behind her, in the background. Harry forced himself to look up and around. Nothing was familiar. Everything was sterile. "It's okay," she said reassuringly.

"I'm … I'm at Hogwarts …" he said.

"No. No, Harry. None of that is real." That voice again, from the back of the room.

Harry closed his eyes for a second and then forced himself to look into the face of the woman in front of him … his mother. Lily Potter. She was real. He could see the freckles on her nose, her red hair and her green, green eyes, so like his. She was wearing white shirt, crisp and clean, and dark leggings or trousers and she was clutching something – an amethyst, or so it looked. She was everything he had ever imagined she would be, and more.

The voice in the back went on. "Keep talking to him … I think the sound of your voice is helping to bring him back, Lily …"

Harry screwed up his eyes and tried to process what was happening, but it was no use; the faint roaring in his ears that had begun at the start of this dream grew louder and louder and he couldn't hear anything else, let alone see who was in front of him –

"Oh, Harry … please, don't –" Lily beseeched, her voice breaking.

A flash of blue light and a splitting headache. Suddenly, Harry felt as though he had fallen a thousand feet down from a broomstick onto the Quidditch pitch. He felt sick but opened his eyes warily – only to be confronted by the sallow face of Snape, in the Potions classroom, who was eyeing him sharply with a look that Harry had not seen before – curiosity.

"Potter." Snape's voice was low and level.

Harry didn't respond at first; he took a few deep breaths and gathered his thoughts, such as they could be gathered. He turned his face towards Snape.

"What … have I just witnessed?" Snape asked. "I've seen several phantasmas, but not like that."

Harry swallowed. He certainly didn't want to discuss this with Snape. "Nothing," he said.

"Nothing," Snape said, sardonically. "That was as far from nothing as some of the drivel I have to mark from Hufflepuff. What did you see?"

"Nothing!" Harry snapped. He was not about to divulge what he'd seen of his mother. Nor how the whole situation was sounding like he was crazy. He had to deal with what was in front of him. Snape was not going to let him get away without some form of explanation.

"I saw … I saw another life. But it's not real, so it doesn't matter." Harry was relaying the base facts that he'd seen – a mother, a father, and neither were real, so it must have been a fantasy – another life. He would never divulge his mother's face up close, her freckles, her eyes, her familiar smell …

Snape considered him a second or two longer than Harry was used to. He then stood up and turned his head away.

"You are done for the evening. Go to bed, Potter. And don't deviate."

Harry looked up, barely able to conceal his delight that he had gotten out of detention early and bowled out of Snape's dungeon, taking the steps up towards the Great Hall two at a time.

That sterile room again, that smell of disinfectant. It permeated everything. Harry knew he was dreaming, but he was lucid. A low growl he didn't know –

"Are you saying that he could be like he was, before the illness?"

Harry heard a voice, a voice he knew, floating this loaded question above his head.

"Yes. I mean … Harry believes that he is part of some kind of magical world, where he is the key component in saving this world with his superpowers – it's a classic hero complex that we often see in the delusional and schizophrenic. He struggled with the normal lifestyle that you offered. He's since surrounded himself with imaginary friends who can help him with this – the clever "witch", the stable best friend, the shapeshifters and werewolves … you can see where I'm going with this?"

Harry pushed himself up from the hospital bed.

"Voldemort … he did this to me …"

Those in the room all exchanged concerned glances. "This Voldemort person. He's been saying it since he came in. It's been years now."

Hermione was not about to give up. She knew Harry and she knew when he was lying. Something was seriously eating away at him, and it had happened since Snape's lesson. Snape would never proffer an opportunity to make Harry look bad or stupid, and he had let it go very quickly. Even more reason to investigate.

"What do you think?" she asked Ron as they were sat in the Great Hall the next morning for breakfast.

"What?" Ron replied, his mouth full of scrambled eggs.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your best friend isn't here – aren't you wondering if he's, ok? With everything that's happened recently? Was he okay in the dormitory last night?"

"I think so."

"So, you're not worried? At all?"

"Nah. He'll be fine."

Hermione scoffed. "He is NOT fine. Haven't you noticed the change in behaviour? There's loads of stuff in his head about his parents and You Know Who and … well, loads of stuff."

"Are you done?" said Ron flatly.

Hermione scoffed, gave Ron a disgusted look, and went off arm in arm with Parvati and Luna trailing behind. Ron seemed genuinely bewildered. "What did I say?" he asked Fred.

Fred tutted and shook his head. "Brother … the female of the species can never be understood. Except in that case where you were a bit of a prick."

"Sexual politics mate, politics," said George as he walked sheepishly in Angelina's wake. Fred had lagged back and was making inappropriate jokes.

The courtyard had been decorated nicely for the autumn season, Harry thought. It really was a beautiful space with pumpkins lit with candles, floating above students' heads, russet-coloured leaves in intricate patterns adorning the archways. He was just about to turn around and head back towards the dormitory when he saw Ginny.

"Gin?"

She turned, tears had streaked down her face and smudged her makeup.

"Oh, Harry. Hi."

"Are you ok?"

"Oh, totally. Yeah, things are fine. I ended it with Dean." She sniffed and tilted her chin up slightly in rebelliousness.

Harry paused. Girls could be tricky. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

"It's ok. He wasn't very nice about it."

"I'm sorry about that too."

Ginny waved her hand in dismissal. "It's fine."

"He's an idiot if he wasn't nice to you. You … you deserve someone kinder."

Ginny smiled. "Are you ok? You look a bit pale."

Harry ran a hand through his untidy hair and tried to smile. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a bit tired."

They stood for a few seconds in awkward but companiable silence until Harry made to turn back towards the castle.

"I think I'll –"

"Harry?"

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"I …" She faltered, as if she was trying to find the right words. "I just wanted to say, there was a reason that I ended things with Dean."

Harry swallowed. Her eyes were sparking but she looked calm. She took a step towards him. He had never noticed how soft her skin looked, almost alabaster. She looked embarrassed but determined.

"Yeah?" he said, not sure where Ginny was going with this. He felt a slight tingling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes. It's … well, it wasn't working anyway, he said I was always distracted, not paying him enough attention."

"I mean that's … that's just silly."

"No, he was right. I wasn't. But that's because …" She broke off.

She took another step closer. He could count her eyelashes now. The tingling in his stomach turned into a burning and, for a moment, he saw her for the first time as more than just his best friend's sister. For a moment, he forgot about his current torment, the flashes of another life, the awfulness of having to keep everything to himself. In that moment there was just Ginny, beautiful Ginny, standing very close to him and about to say something that he would have never allowed himself to entertain as a reality.

"Because what?" he asked, rooted to the spot.

"I … I had feelings for someone else. And according to Dean, it was obvious."

Harry cleared his throat and swallowed. "I see. And … can I ask who?"

Ginny bit her lip and looked, for the first time, a little awkward. "I think you know."

Harry blinked. Was she actually saying this to him? Ginny Weasley, who he had grown up with alongside Ron and Hermione and the Weasley siblings? Ginny, who he had spent Christmases with, birthdays, life and death situations? He opened his mouth to say something, but words wouldn't come. He couldn't move his feet. She took one final step, so they were only inches apart. He could smell the apple-scented shampoo in her hair.

"You do know, don't you?" she whispered, looking up at him, almost shyly.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up to his, bringing his mouth down towards hers. But as he did so, there was an awfully familiar lurch behind his eyes, sending his world spinning.

"Harry?"

Harry's eyes snapped open, and his father was kneeling in front of him. The world had turned grey again.

"… dad?"

"Yeah … it's me son. You need to listen to what the doctor is saying to you. Do you understand what he's saying?" James Potter looked at his son with a mixture of hope and pity. His face was a carbon copy of Harry's own but lined and worn, tired and anxious, his eyebrows knitted together in concern but an encouraging smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I …"

The same doctor Harry had seen in his previous visions, if that's what they were, was sitting calmly on a chair in the corner of the room, his clipboard next to him, his white coat giving him away.

"Harry. I was just saying, there is no need to be afraid. There is no Voldemort, no werewolves or witches, no goblins and no dark magic. You know this. Your mind has built that world up so gradually that it feels very real to you. But there's no need to be afraid. Your mum and dad are here and very much want to take you home. Would you like that?"

Harry stared around him. Lily was also sitting in the corner, her green eyes filled with tears as she looked at him with such love.

"Darling … you've been out of it for so long, you're finally coming back to us. Don't you want to come home? To live your life again? We've missed you so, so much …"

Harry's eyes burned. How was this real? She seemed so real, and so did his father. Was what they were saying true? Was he crazy? Could he just give in, do whatever they wanted, and go home? Was it that simple?

As he opened his mouth to ask, the world spun again and he was back in colour, Ginny was standing in front of him, her expression one of hurt and confusion.

"Oh … so you, you don't …?" she asked, her voice small. Harry looked around wildly; he was stood in the Hogwarts castle courtyard; he and Ginny were alone. The sun was setting behind the hills. What the hell was happening to him?

"Ginny … I … I don't know what's happening, I –"

"It's okay, Harry. It's okay. I get it."

And she turned and left at a brisk walk through the wooden door to their left, it banged behind her with a solemn finality. Harry gasped once, twice, and then leant against the stone wall bringing his fists up to rub his eyes. Whatever was happening, it wasn't a dream. It wasn't his imagination. It was really happening.