Disclaimer: I'm obviously not making any money off this, so what makes you think I own Harry Potter?

Disclaim her: The Angels have returned.

Note: Out of character with: Harry, Severus, Voldemort…

Rating: M for Mature. I don't write for children.

Point of View: First

"speech" thoughts and/or mind speech (Harry and Voldemort) Parseltongue

I don't own the quote stated below.

A/N: Happiness is not the absence of problems, but rather the ability to deal with them.

Chapter 1: Out of control

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I can see you; I know you can feel my eyes on your back as you walk away. I know you don't care. You didn't help me at all when he…passed. I was right, but no one listened to me. They all trusted you and made me look like a fool. They always made me look like a fool.

You don't believe me either way, do you? You don't think I can cope with this? Maybe I can…or maybe I can't. Either way, you and I will be here in the end won't we? Or perhaps we will not. Who knows?

But I know that you know that he's going to win, that's why you're so worried now. Worried about my state of mind, and if I will be competent enough to fight for you, for our… cause. For no one else but I can really meet his level of strength can they?

It's truly all just a struggle for the ultimate prize. Whoever has Golden Boy, The-Boy-Who-Lived, can win. For with him on one side, that shows the crucial outcome of this utterly ridiculous war.

I also know that you don't want me to talk to him. For if I happen to, I going to bet anything that I have worth gambling off that he'll tell me things about you and things about me that you kept hidden away from me all this time.

Merlin, I wish you would leave me alone as I'm fine. Perfectly fine. I can't stay here anymore however; I feel as if someone is watching me. Probably another one of your spies, no doubt. You just can't trust me, can't you? No, no. I understand this well. You think I'm going to hurt someone or inflict damage onto myself? Get over yourself, old man, why haven't you noticed before now? Are you truly that senile?

I want to go sleep, I've been so fucking tired lately that I haven't been able to pay attention to anything properly. Damn it, any contact with you makes my head burn! He can see you through me. Ah… why can't you tell…?

It's actually rather amusing though, as you finally appear to notice that something is not quite right, and as you turn back toward me and I won't meet your gaze, I to prove to you how truly wrong this really is. You try to grip my chin to make me look into your eyes but I yank away, much to your disappointment. I've always been a disappointment, haven't I? A… disgrace?

Now it is I who walks away with those eyes on my back, making me want to strangle you on the spot for all the hurt you've caused me through the years. But a small part of me, far back in the depressions of my mind, wants you to do something, anything to make me feel better, even if it just is a little bit. But that part is crushed, as the fresh wounds you've inflicted onto me resurface into my thoughts as clear as if they're happening at that exact moment in time. So there is absolutely no chance now for you to redeem yourself into my eyes.

I ascend the stairs without another glance back at you and enter my room to find them there, waiting for me to tell them what you said to me. They're such backstabbers though, making me trust them and then running off to tell you whatever I've said later on. Sneaks. They should have been labeled sneaks along with that girl Marrieta, always telling the teachers that I'm not well and a number of other things that people do not need to know about me. Even now, if I told them not to tell anyone about what you told me, they'd go run off to you the minute they had the chance to.

That's why I can't trust anyone. I may be paranoid, but this didn't just happen out of the blue. It took a number of suspicions about them and you that happened to occur over the years. And now people wonder why I "see" things in the shadows. No, I'm not just seeing things. They're really there. Although, I admit I may be imagining things when I see Malfoy out of the corners of my eyes, but not with them. They try to follow me wherever I go. I should hope that you are not having them spy on me, but then again, I don't think I'd put it past you nowadays. It's about as low as you could get even though I would understand your spying if you had some credence to the assumptions you've made on me. I suppose that would be all right. But since you don't have any evidence to comply with the things you've accused me of, I can't find any rights in this wrong.

They're asking me what you said again. They're asking if something is wrong because I didn't answer right away. I wonder what I should tell them, or if I should say anything at all. I know they'll tell you whatever I say. They always do.

"He didn't say anything, why do you ask?" I can feel my hand nearly form into a fist in annoyance.

"We were just wondering, Harry. You haven't been yourself lately." Hermione says almost as if she's concerned for me. As if that was ever true.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, as I go to my trunk to look for my wand. I shouldn't have left it anywhere as they'd probably go and steal it. Sneaks.

"We mean…" Ron begins but I interrupt him brusquely.

"We." I almost burst out in laughter at how stupid what they've said sounds.

"Yes, we were wondering why you seem so depressed."

"Ah, you're wondering why I'm so down." I can feel my fingers beginning to form into a fist and it takes effort to push down the urge to hit either one of them.

"Yes, Harry. We're worried about you." Hermione says softly.

"Really." I hope they caught the sarcasm.

There is a short silence as I can feel their gazes on me as I completely ignore them and continue rummaging through my trunk. Where in the hells is my wand!

"You're wondering why I'm so "depressed." Now that's interesting. Why would I be so… unhappy? Let me think…Oh, I remember now. My godfather's dead. I guess there's no reason to care about that, is there now?"

"Harry…"

"No, don't you say anything. I'm sick of hearing you say things about me to Dumbledore. You want to be his snitches, I don't care." I turn my back on them.

" Harry, it's not like that. You don't understand."

"Don't you dare tell me what I don't understand. I understand this perfectly."

"Please, don't do this again--" Hermione says anxiously.

"Do what? I'm just telling it like it is." I smile at them and they shrink away in fear. Oh, this is just absolutely precious! They think I'm going to hurt them. Well, they deserve it, even though this not the time for such crude actions. They'll tell you about this later, mark my words.

"Harry…"

"Stop saying my name, you're wearing it out." I walk out of the room as I finally find my wand. I really should get a room of my own; I can't stand living with them. They grate on my nerves more than my scar burns. And almost on cue, it burns sharply, causing me to grip the wall beside me.

Luckily, I left the room before they could start giving me lectures about how I need to tell you about this and practice blocking my mind from these attacks that he gives me. If they had even started on that, they would probably no resemble human form anytime soon. …The pain subsides and I go downstairs to find you finally have left. Thank all the good gods in the world, if there were any to begin with.

There isn't anyone down here right now except Snape, and he doesn't even seem to notice me as I enter the kitchen to get some water. Here's even more proof that I'm just a thing to be used and manipulated. No one's going to pay attention to something like that.

It looks like he's sleeping, as his eyes are closed and he's breathing softly, but I'm not going to make noise to try to get him to pay attention to me. That's the last thing I want. He's been really on edge lately, but I've quickly learned how to stay out of his way. I begin looking for a glass for my water.

"…Potter." Damn, he wasn't sleeping after all.

"Yes sir?" I turn to face him, empty glass in hand, and find he's right behind me. Holy shit. The glass drops from my hands and shatters upon contact with the floor. How the hell did he get in back of me without so much as a sound?

I back up into the counter regardless of the glass on the ground. This isn't right.

"Honestly, Potter, you'd think I was going to hurt you from the way you're acting." He stands there, and I know there's something different that I can't place about him. It's in the corners of my mind trying to be grasped, but I can't. Where have I seen this before?

"What are you doing?" I ask without emotion as he grips my arm and shooting pain pierces my head. My free hand's fingers dig into my palm, nails close to breaking through flesh as the pain increases.

" I need to…talk to you. Something has…happened that I need your…help in." He looks into my eyes and makes eye contact with me. His eyes are empty. What the--

"He's…hurt."

"Who?" He's even closer now, his shoes are crunching on the glass that's on the floor.

"Him." He's so close that I can see the specks in his eyes. He leans against me and I freeze in my surprise. But then, I can feel how cold he is.

"How did this happen?"

"…Aurors. They ambushed us and they took down some of our best…" He pauses and moves away while he coughs up blood in the sink. He rests his hands on the edge of the sink and just breathes for a few moments. I have no idea why he's telling me of these things and why I was just accepting it. Maybe I didn't care anymore. Or maybe I never really cared to begin with. There really isn't anything else to lose I suppose. Maybe that's why I did what I did in the next moment.

"I'll help you. I know what's wrong with you."

"We…weren't talking about me." He barely manages to breathe out. I finally make the connection.

" You're coughing up blood. There's obviously something wrong with you. This whole time you have been talking about him when you know it's you who's needed the most help. When did this first happen?" I'm by his side now.

"Weeks ago…when the term was still in session and Black was still alive." The pain in my head increases, but I push it back. This is not the time for that.

"When? I need to know exactly."

He coughs and hacks blood into the sink once more. "First…week of June. I knew something was…wrong when I was in my chambers. I couldn't…breathe. Just like…right now. I didn't want to suspect anyone…because I thought it was just some kind of wizard illness that had been going around. Although, when it didn't subside…I began to think it was Dumbledore." I lead him to a chair but he only just grips the top of it for what seems to be support.

"Why Dumbledore?"

"He was getting…sick of me not getting any information for him. He wanted me to tell me what the Dark Lord was doing, but I couldn't do that. I didn't want to fight for him anymore. I hated fighting for a lost cause."

"…." I say nothing as he stands up straight once more.

"Potter, haven't you noticed what the objective has been for all these months now? He hasn't been trying to kill you anymore. He wants you to join his side, that's why he hasn't gone on any massacres." He sways a little as he moves to go out the door.

"Where are you going? I said I would help you."

"Will you join him? That's all he wants now. He just needs you."

" For what? To be his weapon?" I find myself unable to breathe properly and I draw another glass from the cabinet. I turned on the faucet to drain away the blood and then I fill the glass up.

"Not a weapon, Mr. Potter. I would just like the reassurance that you are with me and not that senile old man."

"Why are you here? I'm tired and don't want to prolong this any more than necessary. You want to kill me, just get it over with. I don't care. My care abandoned me when that bitch of yours, Bellatrix, killed my godfather." I turn around, the glass in my hand shaking, as I fight to control the anger inside of me that wanted me to do something, anything to wipe that calm, practically amused look off his face.

"I'm not going to kill you Potter. There's no need to, you've done just about enough to kill yourself these past few weeks."

Unable to continue looking at that face any longer, without thinking of the consequences, I hurl the glass at him. He merely steps aside and it breaks against the wall. My anger burns within me, wanting nothing more than an outlet to be released out upon. I fight to be calm and draw my wand out of my robes and repair the glass by the sink and set it down on the counter.

"Aren't you still an underage Mr. Potter?" Something in his voice tells me that he isn't looking for answer because he already knows the answer.

"Yes." I don't want to have to talk to him any more. My scar burns again slightly as my thoughts about the Dark Lord became rather increasingly sadistic.

"Come, we're leaving. I would rather you come quietly and without a scene."

"Who said I was going to come with you?" I bite the inside of my lip. This I actually hadn't seen coming.

"Do you really want to stay here?"

"There are other places I can go." I finally realize that Snape had left and it had just been Voldemort and I this whole time. His presence is making me uncomfortable and his aura is practically suffocating…like mine, I realize after a few seconds. Like I really needed more things to add to my breathing problems.

"What's wrong with your breathing?" He asks, approaching me as I simply stand there in front of him.

"Nothing that should be of any concern to you. Just kill me and get it over with, I told you I wasn't bothered by this anymore."

"I'm not going to." He lifts me up into his arms and begins walking me out of the kitchen. I give no protests to this act surprisingly. His body is just about as cold as Snape's is, and I can feel his arms through his robes. He's freezing.

"They'll know that I'm gone even though they don't care about me."

"Do you care?"

"No." Some rational part of me that hadn't been screwed up over the years wants me to have Him put me down but is suppressed again by the part of me that doesn't mind about whatever might happen now. We're out the door unnoticed through some kind of miracle, and he Apparates us away.

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A.O.T.I.F.: (sigh)

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