"Call me morbid, call me pale. I've spent too long on your trail, far too long chasing your tail. And if you have five seconds to spare, then I'll tell you the story of my life: Sixteen, clumsy and shy - that's the story of my life."
- The Smiths

When Harry woke up, Ron and Hermione were still there, peering at him in concern. Judging by their relative positions, he assumed that not much time had passed at all.

"God," Harry spat, trying to sound as angry as possible. "Don't the two of you have anything better to do than sit around watching me? I'm not helpless, you know."

Hermione looked a little taken aback. "We don't think you're helpless! You... you just passed out again; Ron and I were trying to revive you."

"Harry, what the hell is going on with you?" Ron's voice was demanding, a cross expression on his face. "Dumbledore sweeps in and you tell us Hogwarts is under attack, you and Malfoy are apparently best mates, --"

That's one way of putting it.

"-- which is definitely news to me, and then you pass out only to come to five minutes later!"

"So?" Harry asked sullenly.

"So? So, now you're yelling at us and acting as though Hermione and I have offended your delicate sensibilities. Considering you were unconscious, I don't see how that's possible. Tell us what's happening!"

Harry looked down guiltily before remembering his mission. He had to break ties, no matter what the cost, and if that meant acting like an unreasonable git, than so be it. Time to put the plan into action, even if he hadn't the foggiest idea about how to go about that. God, he just needed time to think.

"It's nothing, Ron. I... I've got to go."

With that, he hopped out of bed, shoved his feet into his slippers and threw his dressing gown over his t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He then ran out of the room as though he'd been shot from a cannon, grabbing his wand as he went. Whatever he was going to do, Harry knew he needed to make a stop first.

As he rushed out of the room, Hermione called after him, "Harry, where are you going?"

"The lav," he shouted over his shoulder. Of course, Hermione would quickly work out that he was moving in the wrong direction, and when he heard two sets of footsteps behind him, he knew it was his friends trying to keep up with him. Ron would normally have no problem overtaking him, being so much taller than Harry, but he probably was keeping pace with Hermione.

As he made his way toward Gryffindor Tower, Harry ignored the occasional person witnessing him wandering around in his pyjamas. In his single-minded pursuit of his trunk, Harry got all the way to the sixth-floor entrance before realising he didn't know the password.

"Come on, come on," Harry muttered under his breath, hoping someone would tumble out.

Hermione and Ron caught up with him as he stood there. Hermione was out of breath, doubling over as she gasped for air. Ron still looked put out, putting one arm around her in an attempt to help her regain her composure. "Pomfrey is going to throw a fit when she finds out you left without asking. And it wouldn't have killed you to wait for us."

"What's the password?" was Harry's only reply.

Hermione straightened up and primly - if breathlessly - said, "Manticore jaw." The Fat Lady, raising a concerned eyebrow, nodded at the trio and obediently swung open.

"You don't have to follow so closely, you know," said Harry irritably. There were a fair number of Gryffindors in the common room and several heads swivelled in their direction at the sound of his voice. He imagined his appearance was surprising, given the amount of time he'd been spending in the infirmary.

Hermione, apparently deciding to ignore Harry's words, said, "I hope you're not thinking of fighting Voldemort."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry, his tone softening as an idea formed. "I'm going to the Shrieking Shack. Only Pettigrew knows how to get in and he wouldn't guess I was there, especially if I'm supposedly laid up in the hospital wing. Dumbledore told me to go there whenever I need protection."

"Oh," said Hermione doubtfully. "If Professor Dumbledore told you...."

Turning on his heel, Harry charged toward the stairs, Ron and Hermione following closely behind. Bursting into the sixth year boys' dormitory, Harry made a beeline for his trunk and began rustling around in it. No one was there that he could see, for which Harry was grateful since it would lead to fewer questions and explanations. A moment later, Harry made a triumphant noise and emerged with his Invisibility Cloak. "I need this to get to the Shack, just so no one spots me." He clutched his wand, happy to have it back in his hand, relishing what might be the last few moments he had with it.

"Wait," said Ron. "We're coming with you. No reason for you to be by yourself." Hermione nodded emphatically.

"Suit yourself." This was exactly what Harry wanted, but he couldn't let them know that.

"You're still in your pyjamas, you know!" Ron called, hurrying after him.

"Doesn't matter."

The three of them bustled out of Gryffindor Tower as quickly as they'd arrived. Harry flung the cloak over them all when they had passed the entrance. It was awkward, to say the least; the days where they could all fit under the cloak comfortably had long since passed. Ron was hunched so far over he was practically folded in half and several times their feet stuck out, threatening to reveal their presence. Harry was grateful for the cover of darkness because the last thing he needed was to be caught by Filch or, worse, a stray Death Eater.

Finally, the three made their way to the Whomping Willow. The tree lurched threateningly at them until Harry and Hermione both cast freezing charms on it, allowing Ron to press the small knot that would open the path to the Shack. They made their way through the secret passage, the trip through the tunnel oddly quiet, though Harry hardly noticed. His mind was completely focussed on getting to the other side. James, Lily, Sirius, Draco, and Dr. Mason - they were all counting on him - all leading him to a normal life. He couldn't - wouldn't - let them down.

Once they got to the rickety shack, the three glanced around the large room that made up most of the Shrieking Shack's first floor. "What do we do now?" asked Ron expectantly, standing close to Hermione.

"We wait until the fighting has stopped," suggested Hermione.

"Actually," Harry said, turning and pointing his wand at them both. "You listen, while I talk. Expelliarmus!"

Caught off-guard, Hermione and Ron's wands flew into Harry's outstretched hand.

"Sit," he ordered, gesturing to the floor. "We have a few things to discuss."

Hermione looked scared, while Ron looked at him incredulously. "You're not Harry!" Ron accused. "What have you done with him?"

Harry gave a short laugh. "Wrong, as usual, Ron. I'm definitely Harry. A Harry that's got rather sick of your faces, but still me." He advanced on Ron, staying carefully just out of easy reach. "You want to know why Malfoy and I are so chummy? Because he's not you. Because he's about the farthest thing from you I could get and still stay within the human race. You know, since the second I came to this place, I've had to put up with your bumbling and – quite frankly – stupid wisecracks. I've put up with your jealousy over the fame I never wanted, the money that's worthless to me, while you have everything I've always wanted."

Ron looked furious, his brow furrowed and nostrils flared. He looked as though he was going to reply, but Harry kept going, rounding on Hermione. "As for you, you are not my mother. You are not my watchperson, nor my personal saviour."

"Harry," Ron said, a warning note to his voice. Hermione stilled him with a hand to the arm.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not want saving? That I wouldn't want you swooping in with your potions and protective charms? You're just a bossy little know-it-all who vastly overestimates her powers and your self-righteousness makes. Me. Sick."

When he'd finished his little speech, Ron looked ready to punch him, no matter who had the wands, while Hermione's eyes were brimming over with tears. Harry had to try very hard not to wince; he couldn't believe the things he heard spilling out of his mouth. Hermione might be bossy, but she never overestimated herself and, if Harry had to admit it, he rather appreciated her protective streak. Sometimes she spoke the truth that he needed to hear. As for Ron, his insistence that Harry was normal was usually the only thing that kept him sane. Ron had been his first friend and this was how he was repaying that gift. It didn't matter that they might be figments of his imagination, this hurt.

Have to keep going. Remember what's real. Remember what you have to do!

In order to keep the emotion from showing on his face, Harry turned to one side. He watched his friends out of the corner of his eye, just in case they decided to attack him.

Harry spoke again, this time more truthfully, half-trying to convince himself that what he was doing was the correct choice. "How could I think this was the real world? What's more likely? A kid who's had an unfortunate collision with doorknob or a world with magic wands, flying horses and people who turn to animals? A giant comes to my door when I'm eleven and tells me I'm the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived, that I'm rich and famous, when before I was a little nothing. How on Earth is that normal?" he asked, a hysterical note to his voice. "This. Isn't. Real!"

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, apparently unsure about how they should react. Harry stopped pacing, but still refused to meet either of their faces. It would be impossible to continue, if they kept looking at him like that.

When Hermione finally spoke, Harry could hear a slight waver in her tone and he knew she must be crying. "Harry, I don't know what's happening to you, but you have to know that we love you. It's not fake and whether or not you believe the things you're saying, I know I'm never going to stop loving you."

There was a long pause, then Ron gruffly replied, "Me either. No matter what happens, you're my best friend. Never forget that."

This was simply too much for Harry. What they said was true for him, too. No matter what they did, he would love them. He came very close to simply handing back their wands and trudging back to the castle.

But then he thought about his parents and Sirius and Draco. He thought about finally, really having a home and family. His resolve strengthened again.

As he wheeled around to face them again, Hermione stared at him and implored, "Harry, don't do this. We're your friends." Ron nodded, clutching Hermione around her middle.

Grimly determined, Harry aimed his wand at Hermione's chest and said, "Friends? I think it's time we see other people. Stupefy."

When the stunner hit Hermione, she crumpled to the floor, slipping out of Ron's arms. Face filled with disbelief, Ron lunged at Harry, but Harry had already sent a second stunner in Ron's direction, knocking him out, too.

Crouching at their side, Harry examined their lifeless forms, checking for any physical damage he might have caused. Both looked fine, but Harry knew he'd decisively lost two friends in a matter of minutes. Smoothing their hair off their faces, Harry rearranged Ron and Hermione into less awkward positions and carefully placed their wands back in their robes. Two connections gone, he thought sadly. Examining their unconscious forms, he sighed. The thought of physically hurting his two closest friends also hurt him deeply. Harry was struggling not to cry when he heard three soft pops from behind.

Blinking rapidly, Harry slowly got to his feet, now nearly laughing because he was so surprised and distraught. As he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew, and Lord Voldemort. Damn, thought Harry, still verging on maniacal laughter. I suppose I was wrong. Looks like Pettigrew would think to check for me here.

"Baby Potter, what have you done?" Lestrange laughed and practically skipped over to the seemingly lifeless bodies of Ron and Hermione, clucking her tongue in disappointment. The urge to fling himself over Ron and Hermione's bodies nearly overwhelmed Harry, but he only balled his hands into fists and didn't move.

"Looks like Potter already took away some of our fun. Should I wake them, Lord? Then we might have some fun of our own." While Bellatrix looked positively gleeful over the prospect of torture, Harry noticed Wormtail's eyes darting nervously from the floor to Voldemort.

Remembering that he'd just tucked Ron and Hermione's wands into their robes, Harry prayed that Voldemort would agree. Three to three wouldn't exactly be an even match, but at least it would skew the odds a bit more in their favour.

Of course, that meant that Voldemort said no. "Leave them, Bella. You can have your fun later. Just keep a watch on them for now. Wormtail, join her." Wormtail gave a shaky bow, then began to crouch next to Ron.

"Don't you fucking touch him," Harry hissed angrily.

Pettigrew instantly straightened up again, and took a step back, hesitating. "I...I-," he stuttered.

"Wormtail, you can't possibly be frightened of him. Would you dare ignore my order to obey a child who's ready for bed?"

Wormtail shook his head forcefully and returned to Ron's side, his hand hovering an inch or two over the slack face, though Harry noticed he never came in contact with Ron.

Voldemort traced a scaly finger along his mouth, where, by all rights, his lips should have been, and regarded Harry carefully. "Right now, young Mr. Potter and I have to have a chat. Don't we Harry?"

Harry considered telling Voldemort that he had nothing to say to a murderer, but was smart enough to shut his mouth for once. If Voldemort wanted to talk, let him talk. The longer he went on, the less likely it was that they'd all be dead, after all. Maybe someone would notice they were missing and would send help. It was a long shot, to be sure, but time was time.

That didn't mean he had to be polite about it, though. Sighing resignedly, Harry took a seat at the round, wooden table in the room's centre. "Sure, Tom. We can talk," he said nonchalantly, belying his terror. He gestured to the empty chair, as though the two were about to settle in for a nice cup of tea, instead of one giving a pompous speech while the other prepared to be tortured and killed.

Bellatrix gasped and advanced on Harry. "How dare you?" she shrieked, aiming her wand at him. "How dare you speak to our Lord that way?"

He's not my Lord, Harry wanted to retort, but for the second time in minutes, he bit his tongue. That's got to be some sort of world record. The urge to laugh hysterically returned, full-force.

Voldemort laughed in his usual tinny pitch. "Retreat, Bella. You'll have plenty of time to take your anger out on him." Reluctantly, Bellatrix put down her wand and returned to guarding Hermione. Harry noted that she was practically shaking with rage, her dark eyes wild.

With some effort, he stayed put at the table, though all he really wanted to do was run to Ron and Hermione's sides. He couldn't risk that and he couldn't risk reviving them. That would just sentence them all to an instantaneous death. He could feel his wand tucked into his robe, which offered some level of comfort. Not much, but some. Again, he tried gesturing to the chair across from him, but the move was shakier and less collected than it had been a second ago. This time, Voldemort joined him, a smirk stretching his inhuman features into something even more terrifying.

"Well, Potter," said Voldemort, sounding more like a psychiatrist than Harry's captor, "I hear you have been having trouble with your dreams. Isn't that right?"

Harry snorted. "Of course you'd know that already, Voldemort." At the use of Voldemort's name, Bellatrix was instantly enraged again, while Wormtail looked even more terrified than Harry felt. Voldemort didn't react at all. "Just like any other trouble I've had in my dreams, it's been caused by you, hasn't it?"

Voldemort chuckled, low and threatening, which scared Harry even more than his usual laugh. Harry thought that it was the single worst sound he'd ever heard in his life. Leaning across the table and forcing Harry to stare into his terrible red eyes, he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, rather inspired, don't you think? I sensed you weakening – can you do the same?"

Harry shrugged. He'd felt Voldemort angry or happy, but he didn't think he'd ever felt him weakening. What did resurrected immortals fear?

Continuing, Voldemort said, "I decided to take the opportunity to invade your mind. Exploiting the link between us really has had its advantages. Imagine to my shock to see you and Severus, one of my most loyal followers practising a method to block your mind from me."

Harry was surprised that Voldemort would admit that Snape was his follower. Of course, Harry was fairly sure he was going to die, so he supposed it didn't actually matter.

"I could have told myself that he was merely following Dumbledore's orders. That he was trying to prove his loyalty, while spying for me. But as certain questions get answered, others spring up. How would Dumbledore know that Severus was such a fine Occlumens? He is, of course; I taught him myself, after all. Also, why would I not be informed of such an opportunity?"

Voldemort paused and examined Harry's face carefully, while Harry desperately tried to think of an escape plan, based on what he knew of the layout of the Shack. He could make a run for it and hope for the best, but not with Ron and Hermione in the state they were in and there was no way in hell he would abandon them. He cursed his stupidity.

I never should have left the grounds. I never should have let them come along with me! I never should have believed that stunning them would help anything. And I certainly never should have believed that a life where I have everything I want could be real. This is real. And I'm really, really going to die.

"Understandably, I grew angry. I believe you might have grown angry, as well. You were quite exhausted, which made your mind vulnerable as any kitten's. Severus is well-aware that you have to get worse before you get better, when it comes to Occlumency. I believe I chose quite an opportune moment. If I'd waited until your skills had improved, this spectacular idea would have been wasted. Of course, if you'd mastered the art, I would never have known anything in the first place. My nemesis, a failure. Disappointing, that."

"It's disappointing my nemesis couldn't beat a baby," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Oh, Potter, is that the best you've got?"

Harry morosely crossed his arms over his chest.

"What I saw in you was anger and desperation. A strong desire to belong and a sense of loss. I understand that. What did I want when I was abandoned in that god-forsaken orphanage all those years ago? The same things I sensed in your head. Parents, people who cared about me unconditionally. Tell me, Harry. How is your mother, anyway?"

Harry unsuccessfully tried pushing a knot out of his stomach.

"I also felt the typical lusts of a sixteen-year-old boy. Though, in your case, I wouldn't call them typical, would you?"

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, but Voldemort only laughed again, the same small, ugly laugh as before.

"I created a world for you, knowing you'd want to stay there. Once you saw what you could experience, you'd never want to go. And with more than one loyal follower inside the Hogwarts gates now, --"

Draco, Harry thought desperately. He hoped Draco had played his part and got the hell to safety.

"-- I knew I'd be able to crush you whenever I wanted. It seems like a shame to have gone through all of that when you're awake now, though. Of course, you must be here because of the tricks the mind plays, yes? Besides, I must confess to rather enjoying having you face-to-face. It's more...personal...this way. More fitting, don't you think?" Voldemort's eyes raked over Harry's two unconscious friends. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Cutting your ties, Potter? Did you know that you're the only one who controls when you come in and out of your head? I just gave you the opportunity to see what you truly desire."

Unable to control himself any longer, Harry shouted "LIAR!" and leaped from his chair, pointing his wand at Voldemort. He was shaking. "You have no idea what I want!"

Voldemort stood up leisurely, examining Harry like he was a particularly fascinating zoo exhibit. "Believe what you will." He pointed his wand at Harry's chest. "It won't matter in a moment anyway. Cru-"

"Tom, what are you doing?" Dumbledore stood behind Voldemort sounding tired, resigned. With a casual flick of his wand, Dumbledore knocked Wormtail and Bellatrix out cold, and they collapsed near Ron and Hermione.