You'll rescue me, right? In the exact same way that you never did...
I'll be happy, right? When your healing powers kick in.

She knows He is alive. She knows He is still out there. She has known it all along, even before there were signs, even before a few Daily Prophet clippings were enough to give the others hope, she knew. And she waits for Him.

She gazes out of her cell's pathetic excuse for a window, as if expecting Him to fly to her somehow. Ordinarily, she'd resent that ridiculous thought, but, for now, she allows herself to take a small amount of comfort from it.

When He regains His strength. When He calls for her, everything will be alright again. He will make it so. Until then, when her imagination is not enough, she will lose herself in memories.

You'll complete me, right? Then my life can finally begin.
I'll be worthy, right? Only when you realize the gem I am.

When they first met. When He Marked her. When she first realized her passion and her purpose were one in the same. She'll exaggerate those memories sometimes, not to spoil them, but just so she may be allowed to cling to them.

The dementors crave her happy thoughts. They seem to care nothing for her lies. But are they really lies at all? When He was alone with her, teaching her the proper way to cast the torture curse- had His hand held hers longer than necessary after correcting the way she held her wand? Had He really referred to her as His favorite? Was that kiss truly a fabrication of her desperate mind?

She giggles. She doesn't care.

But this won't work now the way it once did
And I won't keep it up even though I would love to.
Once I know who I'm not then I'll know who I am,
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim.

But a minute later, she sighs. She does care, at least when she has the energy to.

She abandons her pretense for a while, focusing instead on the others and how wrong they are. She can't ignore the sting when her friends and co-workers, even her own husband tell her she's crazy, that she's going to die in this wretched place. Not because she believes them, but because they've abandoned her, and betrayed Him. That truth hurts unbelievably but it also inspires another memory.

Had she shouted, "We alone were faithful," or "I alone was faithful"? She's not certain if it's more comforting to be the head of such a faithful group or to be alone in her endless devotion. Surely, the reward will be great either way...

These precious illusions in my head
Did not let me down when I was defenseless,
And parting with them is like parting with invisible best friends.

In addition to dwelling on memories, she clings to real, physical sensations. At night, she swears she can hear Him whispering her name. And, at all times, she feels the tiniest tingling of her Mark.

Sometimes she will deliberately imagine these things and trick herself into believing them, but, at other times, she's not so certain what is real or unreal anymore.

But this won't work as well as the way it once did,
'Cause I want to decide between survival and bliss.
And though I know who I'm not I still don't know who I am,
But I know I won't keep on playing the victim.

When He does return, when she is rewarded and everything is right again, she remains uncertain of her own memories and actions.

When she fails, when the punishment is just as horrific as the reward was glorious, when it begins to remind her of Azkaban: she finds comfort in those thoughts yet again.

Real or otherwise, she refuses to let them go. After all, they brought Him back to her once before.

These precious illusions in my head
Did not let me down when I was a kid,
And parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend...