"It's time the tale were told of how you took a child and you made him old."
- The Smiths

The next morning, Harry woke up in a familiar round room, which was decidedly not Gryffindor Tower. As sunshine streamed through the windows, he was dismayed to learn he was still in St. George's, as he'd expected Ron to wake him in the same manner as the last time he had this dream. He sat up, rubbed his eyes and grabbed the unfamiliar glasses from the nightstand. The same large woman who'd sedated Harry the first day strolled through the double doors, pushing a trolley piled high with trays.

"Brekkie!" she cheerfully called. "Up and at 'em, lazybones!" Several of the other boys groaned and sat up, but others slept on or simply stared into space. The woman continued, "Time to start another bright and smiley day, sunshines!" Harry already didn't like her. Noting the huge, floppy pink bow situated at the back of her giant head, he was painfully reminded of Professor Umbridge, though this woman didn't so much resemble a toad as a water buffalo.

As she made her rounds, she noticed his watching her. The nametag on her chest read Nurse Bainbridge. "Hullo, Harry!" she called merrily. "What is it today? Quodmitch practice? Perhaps you're under attack by hooded men again!" She chuckled to herself.

Through gritted teeth, Harry tersely retorted, "It's called Quidditch and no. Today, it seems, I'm stuck here, listening to you."

Bainbridge seemed more than a little taken aback at his reply. Harry had to admit he was somewhat enjoying seeing the shock on people's faces when he answered questions to which they obviously didn't expect answers. He continued, "Didn't Dr. Sinistra leave a note for you? I woke up some time last night. She said we could deal with this today, which is good, because I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be in my proper world again."

"Yes," Nurse Bainbridge replied, smiling again, but this time with more than a little cruelty behind the expression. "But we didn't really expect to still have you with us this morning. It's such a rare occurrence, after all." Any cruelty Harry might have perceived was replaced with bright smiles once again. "But we're certainly happy to have you with us today! Here's your breakfast!" She swung a tray attached to the bed in front of him and placed a plate on top of it.

"Thank you," Harry replied, grimacing at the burnt toast and nearly raw eggs placed in front of him. He picked up his fork, shocked the faint scar reading "I must not tell lies" was now missing.

Bainbridge must have noticed his pause. "Will you be needing any help with that, Harry dear?" Bainbridge smiled beatifically.

"No, Nurse Bainbridge. I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

From the next bed, the supposedly asleep Draco Malfoy loudly snorted. Harry grinned, in spite of himself.

Later in the day, Dr. Mason came in to check on Harry. The doctor was still very excited at the prospect of speaking with him and Harry soon learned why. Perched on the edge of his bed, much as Draco had been the night before, Dr. Mason brushed a lock of grey-streaked brown hair from his face. He softly asked, "Harry, do you know who I am?"

"Well," Harry began, "I know your name is Dr. Mason. When I - uh...popped up? The other day? I heard some of the workers say your name. But I'd never heard of you before that."

The doctor admitted that he'd heard a rather lot about Harry. Dr. Mason said, "Harry, you've been in this institution for a little over five years now. Do you know what year it is?"

Promptly, Harry replied, "1996."

"That's quite correct. In 1990, you had a very serious accident the day of your tenth birthday party. Your head received blunt force trauma to your frontal lobe, by way of a doorknob. That's also the way you received this scar." The doctor lightly tapped on Harry's forehead with his index finger.

"But Voldemort...." Harry scrunched up his face, obviously upset and befuddled.

"We'll get there, Harry, but not just yet. Perhaps later today. May I continue?" Dr. Mason peered carefully at Harry, his light brown eyes filled with concern.

Harry nodded and the doctor continued, "That blow put you in a coma for nearly a year. The next year, you were physically responsive enough for all your vital signs to indicate that you'd wake up at any moment. And you did wake up, only not completely. Almost a year to the date after the accident first occurred, you started speaking.

"At first, we were thrilled, but later we realised that you weren't talking to anyone around us. Instead, you'd created a magical universe where you were a wizard and the Boy-Who-Lived. I must admit, your world has captivated me for the past five years. You live in a world filled with magic and friends and fantastical premises, but also one of corruption and evil. A lot like the real world, in fact. Only...enhanced."

Extremely upset, Harry managed to quietly murmur "No..." before looking down at his lap. This was all too much to take in. This was a dream. A dream. Harry pinched himself in order to wake up.

The doctor regarded him sadly, removing Harry's hand from the place where he'd pinched himself. "This isn't a dream, Harry. You were in the dream. You're a Muggle here, Harry. We all are. Well, we're all just regular humans, I mean. There are no wizards. There is no magic here. At least," he conceded, "not the kind you're used to. We need you to stay here, Harry, especially if you want to get well."

Noticing the tears welling in Harry's eyes, the doctor reached over to the bedside table and handed him a tissue. Dr. Mason asked Harry, "I know this is a lot to take in. Would you like to visit the rest of the ward, Harry? It might give you time to let things settle."

Harry nodded and the doctor looked out the window, very interested in a tree, as Harry wiped his eyes. Feeling a discomforting breezes as he hopped out of bed, Harry asked Dr. Mason, "Would it be possible for me to get some real trousers?"

Dr. Mason laughed and said he thought that could be arranged.

Nurse Bainbridge delivered a dishwater grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, both at least two sizes too big for Harry. Damn, he thought to himself. Even in this world I have to dress in clothing that probably belonged to Dudley. Harry was happy he didn't have to deal with his cousin, at least. That would have been too much for him.

Because she was the Head Nurse, Nurse Bainbridge was not able to lead him around. Instead, she informed him that one of the orderlies would have the honour. Harry was not at all happy when that person turned out to be Peter Pettigrew. He greeted Harry nervously, probably not liking the murderous look in Harry's eye.

He works in a mental hospital. He should be used to murderous looks by now. Traitor.

Peter introduced himself with a stuttered "P-P-Peter. I've w-worked here for t-t-ten years."

Coldly, Harry replied, "I know who you are." Peter seemed confused and perhaps a little frightened. Harry had to remind himself that like Draco, Peter might not be who he appeared to be. In fact, he had to remind himself several times. Then he reminded himself again, just for good measure. However, just because he wasn't a deplorable turncoat didn't mean Harry had to like him.

It turned out that Peter's stuttering was from more than just extreme nervousness. He led Harry around, pointing out objects and rooms and people, each with a pronounced speech impediment. If it were anyone else, Harry wouldn't have thought anything of it, but with Pettigrew it was wearing on his last nerve. He really hoped he didn't have to be shown any more c-c-c-coffee p-p-p-p-p-pots.

"And this is th-th-the c-c-common room." Peter pointed out a room filled with overstuffed armchairs. The room was quite stuffy and several patients sat by the windows. A few were gathered around an ancient television set. They were of all ages and he noticed girls present here, too. Peter led him to a window to observe the view. A girl a few years older than him stood nearby. She had short, bright pink hair sticking out at all angles.

"Tonks?" Harry tried, tentatively.

The girl took a drag off the cigarette she was smoking and blew a smoke ring into Harry's face. "What the heck is a 'tonk', kid? New sexual position? Drug? Either way, I'm fairly sure I don't have what you want." For some reason, she seemed a bit wistful.

Harry coughed and shook his head, slightly scandalised. "No, sorry. You just look like someone I know."

"No problem, mate. If you happen to make up a definition for tonk, let me know. I'd love to hear what you come up with. And help you fulfil it, if at all possible." Not-Tonks winked and walked away.

Everyone here is a pervert. He momentarily paused in his thoughts. It's not all that bad. Another pause. Oh God, I've been infected, too!

Breaking Harry's reverie, Peter asked, "M-m-m-mister Potter, would you like to meet any of the other patients?"

"All right, Mister...Pettigrew, was it?"

"I didn't actually s-s-say." Peter looked confused. "Did Dr. Mason tell you my name?"

Harry shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Must have."

Peter led Harry over to two girls Harry's age who, to his great relief, he did not recognise at all. He greeted them each. One looked up and fixed him with an intense stare. She solemnly intoned, "My name is Emmaline Aurora Serena LeFay. It is my destiny to keep you safe from harm. Do you like my violet eyes and lustrous platinum hair?"

Harry stared at the girl's brown hair and eyes and blinked. "Yes. Yes, I do," he replied, and very slowly backed away.

I've got to get out of this place.

"I have curves in all the right places!" the girl called as Harry hurried back to Peter's side.

While leading him to another location in the common room, Peter tried to soothe Harry. "It's all right," he said in a quiet voice. "There are patients here who scare me and I've been here for a long time!" Harry glared, befuddling Peter into silence.

The orderly silently led him over to the group of seven or eight patients gathered around the telly. To Harry, they almost looked like they were huddled around it for warmth. Suddenly struck with an image of the fireplace in Gryffindor Tower, he sighed heavily. Harry really didn't want to be here. He wasn't comfortable and things didn't seem right, even if it could be explained away by blunt-force trauma.

The huddled group had obviously appointed a leader. The leader had dirty blond hair and was sitting up very straight and tall and the other television-watching patients all looked to him for their next move. Unlike the other patients Harry had met, this man seemed somewhat together. The leader stood up; his perfect posture translated into his standing position as well. Keeping his back straight, the leader bowed formally and straightened himself up again. He smiled, revealing a nearly toothless grin. A slightly crazed look appeared in his eyes and he grabbed Harry around the shoulders. The man then bellowed, "I can do joined-up writing!"

At this, Harry felt a sharp pain in the region of his scar and he wrenched himself away from the man. He doubled over, suddenly dizzy, and his face scrunched up with pain. Letting out a small whimper, he keeled over, as little explosions of stars appeared in front of his eyes. Before he passed out completely, he could hear Peter saying, "Sit down, G-G-Gilderoy!"

Then there was darkness.

In what was becoming increasingly familiar territory, Harry Potter was flat on his back in another bed. Being a sixteen-year-old boy, he fleetingly wished that this were under slightly different circumstances. In yet more familiar territory, Harry could not speak, nor could he move or open his eyes. He could, however, make out several voices surrounding him. These voices, at least, were pleasantly familiar to him.

He felt someone lean over him, a hand on his cheek, then heard Madam Pomfrey as she clucked, "Poor dear. Too much pressure on someone so young. No wonder he's having such odd dreams and passing out in class. It's too much for anyone."

Harry tried to stir to get her attention, but he was unsuccessful. He resigned himself to being an impartial observer in his own life. Really, though, is this all that different from every other day? he thought, bitter cynicism settling somewhere near the pit of his stomach.

Hermione then piped up, "Do you think we did the right thing, telling Dumbledore about that dream Harry had?"

Harry could almost hear Ron shrug. "I'm not sure, Hermione. It wasn't our dream to tell, but I do think doing whatever we had to do to help him can't be bad in the long run." An unidentifiable third person made a muffled noise of agreement.

The muffled noisemaker turned out to be Ginny Weasley. "When Tom Riddle was possessing me, I'd black out for hours at a time and show up somewhere, not remembering how I got there and no idea what I had done. I can't begin to describe how horrific and terrifying that is. If what's happening to Harry is anything like that, I say we have to do everything in our power to help."

Harry heard footsteps approach the bed. A soft hand moved hair off his forehead, brushing lightly over his scar. He couldn't move, but still shivered slightly. Hermione softly murmured, "Come back to us, Harry. We need you here."

Harry nearly screamed. I'm trying! God, I'm trying. He struggled to pry apart his jaw muscles, but was unsuccessful yet again.

Another voice softly intoned from his other side, "Harry will return whenever it is possible for him to do so." Luna. She somehow didn't seem quite as loony when trying to comfort Hermione.

When Harry recognised Neville's voice agreeing with Luna, he briefly wondered if perhaps he had been put out for viewing in place of the Head Table in the Great Hall. Hogwarts own Sleeping Not-So-Beauty, he thought, trying in vain to amuse himself. It's like a joke, for God's sake. How many people does it take to watch over screwy Harry Potter?

Neville said, "Hermione, fill us in. I'm a bit lost. I know you said Harry was having some weird dreams, but what's different about this one as opposed to the other strange dreams he's had in the past?"

"It seems," Hermione began, "that in the dream Harry had the sensation of being in a place that is...other. In short, he visited a place that doesn't actually exist, all without apparently ever having left his bed."

Ron agreed, "He was in our room all night. More likely than not, one of us would have noticed if he were gone. You didn't notice him missing at all last Monday, did you?"

There was a pause in the conversation, which Harry chalked up to Neville shaking his head.

"But Harry said he was in some kind of Muggle hospital room," Ron said. "He also thinks he blacked out."

Hermione interrupted, "Harry experienced a lot of pain in his scar. He never remembered falling asleep, only being woken up by Ron the next morning."

"So, Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's involved?" asked Ginny.

When is he ever not? thought Harry bitterly.

"When is he ever not?" said Ron bitterly.

Ha!

"It's a lot to go on based on one dream," said Hermione, ever sensible. "But we both still thought Professor Dumbledore should know."

Luna inquired, "If the dreams are being caused by Voldemort, how is he doing this?"

"You-Know-Who - oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione, fine - V-V-Voldemort," stammered Ron, "and Harry are connected mentally somehow because of Harry's scar. Dumbledore thought because Harry's mind was weakened, he could have easier access to the formation of Harry's thoughts."

"In other words," continued Hermione, "when Harry's mind was vulnerable after his Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape, Voldemort had a clear conduit to Harry's subconscious. He'd actually be able to shape Harry's reality - the people, the places, and possibly even the situations, all based on Voldemort's whim. And once that vulnerability was discovered, it could be exploited again and again."

Neville said, suddenly understanding, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could make Harry see whatever he wants, whenever he wants, for as long as he wants. He's trapped in his own mind."

Ginny let out a low whistle, while Luna murmured, "How awful...."

"Well," Hermione replied. "You're nearly right. Dumbledore doesn't believe that Voldemort can determine how long Harry is out, exactly, which is why Harry may be able to fight his way back."

Ron asked, "How long has he been out now, Hermione?"

Sighing, Hermione answered, "Nearly three days now." Harry felt her grasp his hand and for some reason, he felt comforted.

Three days? Harry thought. But...if Voldemort can shape my reality, where am I now? Why can't I speak or move, but can hear what's going on all around me? Is this real or is what I saw before real? Or is neither real?

Concentrating fully, he endeavoured to either force his eyes to open or wrench his jaws apart. He decided to focus on his jaw, ignoring the conversation that continued around him. After a few minutes, his jaw painfully started to move.

Through a nearly closed mouth, he managed to mutter, "I'm here." His jaw then pulled open properly, his eyelids following quickly thereafter. Harry was greeted at the sight of five gaping faces surrounding his bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

"Hi," he said softly.

After a moment, his friends managed to collect themselves and shut their mouths. Despite the fact he had just spent much of the last day in a mental hospital and then spent the last twenty minutes wrenching open his jaw, he laughed. "You should see your faces right now," he told them. "What a welcome."

Hermione, not caring that there were four other people present, launched herself onto the bed throwing her arms around Harry. Surprisingly, Ron followed. Then Ginny. Then Neville. Luna just vaguely patted his foot as she stared off into space. Ron, Ginny and Neville tactfully removed themselves, but Hermione stayed attached. She launched into a mile a minute speech. "Harry, we were so worried! You fainted in Potions and we tried to wake you up, but it wasn't working, so Snape levitated your body here and you've been asleep for three whole days and never do that to us AGAIN!"

"Yes, well, of course I did that on purpose in order to see if you really cared. Congratulations on passing my ingenious 'Faint in class and stay unconscious' friendship test." Harry smiled. He was still puzzling over the hospital, but he was also thrilled to be back. "And uhm, Hermione, could you get off me now? I'd really like to see if my lungs are still working properly."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "I'm sorry!" She removed herself from the overly enthusiastic embrace.

"I do have a favour to ask, though," he said as he fumbled for his glasses. He slipped them on and blinked owlishly.

"Anything, Harry," replied Ron.

"Could someone go and get Dumbledore? I need to speak with him right away."

Ron ran off to find Professor Dumbledore, successfully returning soon after. Harry immediately turned apologetic. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my dreams when you stopped me before Potions. I wasn't quite sure what to tell you."

"That's quite all right, Harry. I have been known to make my own mistakes. Dreams, though? Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley only knew of one." Dumbledore curiously peered at Harry.

"Yes, dreams," Harry replied. "I was just trapped in another one and several times between my initial dream and this last one I kept hearing voices at the back of my head - voices that seemed to belong to the other place."

Dumbledore placed his index finger on his chin and looked thoughtful before asking, "Will you please describe your dream world?"

Harry then launched into a lengthy explanation about St. George's, describing the scenario. He told them about Dr. Sinistra sharing a name, but not a face, with her counterpart and about how Dr. Mason seemed familiar, but he wasn't quite sure why. Then, with some disgust, he illustrated Nurse Bainbridge's sickeningly sweet ways and her likeness to Umbridge. When he got to the part about Peter Pettigrew, Hermione let out a soft gasp and Ron looked like he was about to punch someone. Finally, Harry somewhat reluctantly told them some of his conversation with the other world's Draco Malfoy, revealing that they were roommates. He wondered why he wanted to keep that fact to himself.

Upon learning this news, Ron's face promptly turned the same shade of his hair. Harry wouldn't had been very surprised if smoke poured out of his ears, like someone who had just taken Pepper-Up potion. "You mean," Ron managed between clenched teeth, "you have to share a room with that git?"

"Calm down, Ron," Harry sighed. "I told you, he's not the same as the Malfoy here. Same name, same face, and honestly, same arrogance, but he's not a bastard." Harry winced when he remembered Dumbledore was still there. "Oh. Sorry, Professor."

"Quite all right, Harry." Something resembling a twinkle appeared in the headmaster's weary eyes. "Do continue."

"The Malfoy from my dreams is a mental patient. He has a screw loose, he's an ace short of a full deck. You get the picture."

Ron looked thoughtful. "Doesn't sound too different from our Malfoy," he said finally.

Harry, exasperated, retorted, "Fine. This Malfoy is crazy but nice. Better?" He wondered why he vehemently wanted to defend Draco, especially if he was just a manipulation of Voldemort's. Which reminded him.... "Professor, if Voldemort was shaping my dreams, why would he pick people I hate? I mean, I have nothing against Professor Sinistra or Tonks, but I was nearly surrounded by people who either were the same or strongly reminded me of people I hated."

"I'm afraid I can't answer that, Harry. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what Voldemort's next move is. Meanwhile, we'll try to devise a way to shut the conduit so he can no longer manipulate your dreams." Dumbledore paused, then said, "I have one more request, if you feel up to it."

Harry quickly nodded. "Go ahead. I want to stop this from happening, too."

"Could you please describe exactly what you feel right before you switch from Hogwarts to the hospital?" Dumbledore studied Harry intently.

Again, Harry nodded his assent. "It's not exactly the same every time. I always feel like I'm about to pass out right before it happens, sometimes there's pain in my scar, sometimes there's not. The first time I was in so much pain it was nearly worse than the effects of the Cruciatus Curse." It didn't escape Harry's notice when Neville shuddered at the mention. "Waking up in the hospital for the first time, I couldn't move or speak for several minutes. When I came back, it was from Ron shaking me awake, but the last thing I remember of the dream is being sedated by the nurse on duty. The next time I switched back to the hospital, I remember Malfoy pushing me right before I got really dizzy. Coming back, I had more pain in my scar, passed out, and when I woke up I couldn't move or speak. I finally managed to wrench my jaw open and then I could move easily again.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry continued. "It's similar, but never exactly the same. How is Voldemort doing this? Is it a hex? And can it be broken? I don't want to go back there."

Dumbledore removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "As I said, Harry, I'm not sure exactly why this is occurring. I will do everything in my power to stop it, though. I promise you this." He placed his hand consolingly on Harry's shoulder. Suddenly, Harry was filled with inexplicable anger. Confused, he looked at the headmaster, just as sudden pain fired up and he swore he could feel every nerve ending in his scar. Screaming, he plunged into darkness once again.

Sighing resignedly, Harry came to once again, but surprisingly this time he found himself in a cushy, green vinyl chair and able to move freely, instead of frozen in some hospital bed. As he shifted experimentally, he noticed Dr. Mason peer carefully at Harry from across his desk, much as Professor Dumbledore had just moments ago. Harry understood that he must be in Dr. Mason's office, but he wasn't entirely sure how he had arrived here. Cocking his head to one side, the doctor peered carefully at Harry and quietly asked, "Harry, are you with us again?"

Harry nodded, gulping nervously. "Yes, I'm here. I... I don't belong here. Why am I back? This is all just a dream." Frustrated, he wanted to kick a wall or cry. Possibly both.

Dr. Mason came around his desk to Harry's side and knelt down alongside the chair, to more easily facilitate eye-to-eye conversation. "Remember I told you earlier that we were going to meet again today?"

Again, Harry nodded. "Sure. What are we going to discuss?"

"First, I wanted you to acquaint yourself with your new surroundings and then I'll try to fill you in on a little more of the last few years," said Dr. Mason. "There are also some people here who'd love to speak with you. I think you'll be very interested in seeing them, too."

It was then that Harry realised that he and Dr. Mason weren't alone in the room. As he turned slowly, Harry swallowed hard and immediately went numb from shock. At that precise moment, he could have been knocked over by a feather. If Harry hadn't been sitting, he certainly would have collapsed because his bones were so like jelly.

Sitting behind Harry were Lily and James Potter, alive, nervously fidgeting and staring expectantly at their son.