Dumbledore's POV of The Lost Prophecy chapter in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

The entire dialogue is from this scene, but with how I interpreted Dumbledore to be feeling, and thinking.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter whatsoever.

Half an hour after I had sent Harry through the Floo to my office, I entered it, dreading the coming conversation. I knew that Harry would be furious with me, and I deserved it. My mistakes had cost him the one person who he had seen as a father figure.

As I straightened up, the portraits of the previous Headmasters and Headmistress' gave cheers of welcome, to which I responded with a, "Thank you," avoiding Harry's gaze. I walked over to Fawkes' perch, and stroked him, thankful he had acted when he had, grateful that he had saved my life. There was a long silence, until I knew I could not delay this inevitable conversation any longer, I turned to Harry, and said, "Well, Harry, you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the nights' events."

Harry avoided my gaze, as his mouth formed the word, "good," though there was no volume to it. It hurt to know that Harry wouldn't meet my gaze now. Though I was a hypocrite for even thinking that, considering how I had ignored Harry as much as possible, avoided his gaze countless times throughout the course of the year, and only now I realised just how much it had hurt him. However, after this conversation was done, I knew that there was a strong possibility that Harry would never trust me again, and that he may even come to hate me for my actions – or lack of actions, as were the case.

I tried to reassure him, "Madame Pomfrey is patching everybody up. Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungo's, but it seems she will make a full recovery."

Harry nodded at this, still averting my gaze.

"I know how you're feeling," I said quietly, as I remembered the feelings that had run through me at the loss of my sister, Ariana, due to my own actions.

"No, you, don't," Harry responded, his voice loud and strong, his eyes flashing in fury.

"You see, Dumbledore? Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own – " Phineas Nigellus' portrait commented.

"That's enough, Phineas," I interrupted. I knew that Harry was angry, angry at the death of his godfather, and I was on the receiving end of it. i knew that there was a part of him that blamed me for Sirius' death, and correctly, though he did not know all the details. I also realised that his anger was, though at the moment, directed at me, a large proportion of it was directed at himself. He blamed himself for Sirius' death, and that was not true in the slightest.

Harry turned to face the window, a trace of longing revealed on his face, only to be overshadowed with pain.

I tried to comfort him, to show to him that he didn't have to hide his feelings, suppress his emotions, "There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry. On the contrary ... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." It was this that differed Harry from Voldemort. Harry felt pain and grief at his godfathers' death, whereas Voldemort could not care less for anyone's death. Other than rejoicing over a particularly important death, Voldemort did not show any emotion, other than perhaps anger, at hearing anyone's death. The difference was so strong. Harry loved, and thus felt the death of those surrounding him. Voldemort did not and only felt anger or happiness, depending on the circumstances. It was that love that was 'power the Dark Lord knows not'.

Harry didn't seem to agree, though, "My greatest strength, is it? You haven't got a clue ... you don't know..." His voice was shaking, and his eyes flashing with renewed anger.

"What don't I know?" I asked him calmly. I knew I had to remain calm, to allow Harry to be free of most of the anger he held within, so that he could begin to grieve properly for Sirius. If he did not, it would only fester, and the end result would be devastating.

"I don't want to talk about how I feel, alright?" Harry said, hostility evident in every syllable that he had uttered.

It hurt to know that that hostility was directed at me, and that I had thoroughly deserved it. However, I maintained trying to get him to let his emotions ride out themselves, "Harry, suffering like this proves that you are still a man! This pain is part of being human – "

"THEN – I – DON'T – WANT – TO – BE – HUMAN!" Harry roared, and grabbed the closest item to him, which happened to be a silver instrument and flung it at the wall across the room. It shattered all over the floor.

Several portraits shrieked out of fear and anger, and Armando Dippet said, "really!"

I knew Harry had cared for Sirius deeply, and that he had loved him, but it hurt to know that Harry was willing to give up on life with the loss of Sirius. I knew it was to be expected, considering Sirius was the first and only father figure in Harry's life that he remembered. Sirius had given him what no-one else had – unconditional love and care. He had given Harry hope.

Harry continued his rant, letting out some of the fury that had festered in him throughout the year, as he had when he had first arrived at Headquarters during the summer holidays, "I DON'T CARE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE – " and cut off, as he grabbed another silver instrument, and threw it, shattering the instant it made contact with the floor.

I could not care less for the instruments Harry was destroying in his fit of rage. And this was before I had told him of my part in everything, and the prophecy. Harry's words, however, disturbed me. I knew how he felt, and hoped beyond hope that these emotions were fleeting.

At the Ministry, during my battle with Voldemort, in the brief period when Voldemort had possessed Harry, Harry had begged me for death. It had not been Voldemort, I knew that, it had been Harry, and I wished beyond everything that Harry had not meant that, though I severely doubted that Harry did not mean it.

"You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it." I said quietly, knowing it was true. Harry's actions were proving what I just said true. If Harry did not care than he wouldn't be acting like this in the aftermath of Sirius' death. He loved Sirius, and his death was causing him an immense amount of pain.

Harry screamed, "I – DON'T!" with utmost fury upon his face, making me wonder just how close he was to physically attacking me.

"Oh, yes, you do. You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care." I said calmly, knowing that this was where the largest proportion of his anger was stemming from. He had lost everyone who he considered family, and was once again alone. Though that was not true. There were many that cared for him.

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL! YOU – STANDING THERE – YOU – " Harry's rage was becoming almost uncontrollable, beyond expressible through voice. He had long started shaking, his entire frame trembling with the force of his fury. Harry's eyes were darting back and forth, looking for, I presumed, an escape. My presumption turned out to be correct, when Harry ran to the door, and turned the knob, attempting to open the door.

I had had the foresight to lock it, knowing that I needed to be heard completely and then allow Harry to do what he wanted.

Harry turned toward me, his frame still shaking, "Let me out."

"No," I said bluntly, knowing what I needed to say had to be said to prevent future mistakes as a result of delaying this conversation.

"Let me out," Harry repeated, this time more sharply.

"No," I repeated.

"If you don't – if you keep me in here – if you don't let me – " Harry was talking in incomplete sentences, his anger overwhelming him.

"By all means continue destroying my possessions. I dare say I have too many." I spoke clearly and truthfully. Harry's destruction of my office was well deserved considering all the pain I had caused him, in the past, and as of recent.

I then returned to my desk, and sat, knowing the following conversation would be long and emotionally exhausting, keeping my eyes on Harry, should he attempt to open the door through magical means.

Once again, Harry repeated, "Let me out," in a cold, almost calm manner.

I replied firmly, "Not until I've had my say." I knew I had to proceed with this conversation now that I had begun it. I wished I did not have to convey to Harry his role in the coming war, a boy of fifteen, who had just mere hours earlier lost his Godfather. Harry, who I had come to love as a grandson.

"Do you – do you think I want to – do you think I give a – I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY! I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!" Harry exploded.

Harry's words hurt, but I dismissed it, knowing that Harry was not rational enough to be thinking through what he was saying. And I had deserved it. After all, it wasn't as if I had listened to his growing concerns. All I had done was left him at Privet Drive, and then ignored him as much as possible. My reasons may have been justified but the consequences – the pain it had caused Harry – shouldn't have been the cost. I could have just explained it to him beforehand, rather than shutting him out.

"You will. Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it." I said steadily, not allowing any emotions to leak through my voice, not the guilt, the pain at seeing Harry in such a state, and being the bearer of worse news.

This broke through Harry's tirade as he started, "What are you talking – ?"

"It is my fault that Sirius died. Or should I say, almost entirely my fault – I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole." I stated clearly, though guilt wracked through me as the words left my mouth. "Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger." Harry's eyes turned accusing as I said that. I shouldn't have shut Sirius up in Grimmauld place, knowing well of all the negative memories associated with it, and preventing him from leaving it, though it had been for his own safety. In the end it hadn't made a difference. I ploughed ahead, despite the pain caused by Harry's silent accusation, despite the truth of it, "Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have come after you. That blame lies with me, and me alone." Guilt was weighing me down heavily, knowing the consequences of my disastrous mistakes, of delaying this conversation.

Harry remained standing by the door, his body half turned towards me, half towards the door, his hand remaining on the door knob, though his grip had slackened.

"Please, sit down," I requested of him.

Harry paused for a moment, and then hesitantly walked to the seat across from my desk and sat down, silently, though his body was rim-rod straight, tensed to stand up in an instant.

Phineas Nigellus then spoke, the words coming out gradually, "Am I to understand that my great-great-grandson – the last of the Blacks – is dead?"

"Yes, Phineas." I confirmed.

"I don't believe it," Phinease responded, and abruptly upped and left his portrait, undoubtedly to go searching through the Noble House of Black.

"Harry, I owe you an explanation," I said, knowing that I now had to place the inevitable burden of the world onto Harry, a child of fifteen, having only just lost his godfather. "An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done and have not done with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it is like to be young ... and I seem to have forgotten, lately..." I confessed, knowing that the consequences of my mistakes had much more severe repercussions as to those of others. And many of them had hurt the young boy in front of me.

"I guessed, fifteen years ago, when I saw that scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort," I started off.

"You've told me this before, Professor," Harry said bluntly, in a defeated voice.

"Yes," I responded, apologetically, and continued, "Yes, but you see – it's necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or feeling powerful emotion." I said this, wishing I had been incorrect, that it had not been this individual who had to have been prophesised to reinstate peace in this world, or die trying. I knew that he was capable of it, but I wished this burden hadn't been placed on Harry. He had suffered enough as it was.

"I know," Harry said wearily. His voice had taken a tone that only old men should have, who had suffered too much, seen too much.

"And this ability of yours – to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused – has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers." I paused, though Harry did not acknowledge that he had heard. I knew that he knew of this already, but it was necessary to begin here.

"More recently, I became concerned that Voldemort might realise that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley," I continued on.

"Yeah, Snape told me," Harry muttered, carelessly.

"Professor Snape," I corrected, gently, "But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?" I questioned gently. I knew that these were all sore points for him, and for myself as well. I had not enjoyed it in the least, distancing myself from Harry.

Harry looked up slowly, "Yeah, yeah I wondered." The curiosity that would have once alighted his eyes, had dulled incredibly with emotional and physical exhaustion.

I kept going, "You see, I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realised that our relationship was – or ever had been – closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes..." Though my intentions had been good, I hadn't gone about it in the manner I should have.

I saw in Harry's eyes staring at one point in a manner which clearly displayed he was reminiscing something, probably a memory my words had invoked.

I felt the need to clear up any doubts. I didn't want Harry to think I had distanced myself for my own benefit, when it had been the opposite. I had done it to protect him. "Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you, Harry. An old man's mistake..." I sighed deeply.

Had I not known Voldemort would not have died and should I have killed him by killing Harry, it would have been the single most difficult action I would have ever had committed. Killing someone who I loved as a grandson, who had already lived through so much pain and isolation, would have been the end of me, regardless of whatever benefits would come of it. The peace of the wizarding world somehow didn't seem to be worth it, when the one who gave his all to help didn't get a chance to live freely.

Harry was listening, but he didn't seem as curious as he would have previously, and I knew that the cause of this was Sirius' death. He looked as if he didn't care of anything anymore. Lifeless.

"Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realised he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort's assault on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape."

I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts, and to observe Harry's reaction to what I had said as of yet. He didn't seem to be reacting at all, despite what I had told him. It worried me, and I hoped that some time with his friends would allow him to begin the grieving process. I also doubted he would let his friends be so once he heard the prophecy. Harry would refuse to let anyone else die for him, as it was his job to bring down Voldemort, and would think he would be an immense danger to allow anyone to become or remain close with him.

"Professor Snape discovered that you had been dreaming about the corridor to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body; and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not know what it meant. And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along – that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lift them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last – or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency."

"But I didn't. I didn't practice, I didn't bother, I could've stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he'd never have been able to show me where to go, and – Sirius wouldn't – Sirius wouldn't –" Harry cut off, unable to go on saying Sirius' name. I was slightly surprised to hear that he had even said it, knowing from personal experience, that after suffering a loved one's loss, it was much more difficult to voice that loved one's name. Harry took a deep breath, and then begun again, "I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!"

I remained calm, though I knew that this would be a large shock for him. I had known that should Sirius not show any kindness to Kreacher, that there was a large chance of betrayal, as Kreacher would be delighted to leave Grimmauld Place at the subtlest of hints. And that had been exactly what had occurred.

"Kreacher lied. You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic." I explained.

"He – he sent me on purpose?" Harry asked, shocked, disbelieving.

"Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months."

"How?" asked Harry, vacantly. "He hasn't been out of Grimmauld place for years."

"Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to 'get out'. He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left ... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy." I explained what Kreacher had told me. I had known that even the slightest aggravated command of Sirius would be able to allow Kreacher to leave the house, interpreting it as a demand to leave Grimmauld place.

"How do you know all this?" Harry questioned, his face even paler than it had been.

"Kreacher told me last night. You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of The Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.

"When, however, you did not return from your trip to the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once." I sighed heavily, knowing we were getting closer to the contents of the Prophecy, and Sirius' death. I was tired, but I knew Harry would be worse off.

I continued on, "Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once." I ensured I added this in, to convey to Harry that there were others, other than Sirius, whom also cared greatly for him. "Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime, he, Professor Snape, intended to search the Forest for you.

"But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me – laughing fit to burst – where Sirius had gone." I explained, grimly. I also happened to notice, that the number of times Sirius' name was mentioned, Harry winced slightly each time, though I suspected he did not realise this.

"He was laughing?" Harry said in a hollow voice.

"Oh, yes. You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoys our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa valuable information of the sort that is very valuable to Voldemort, yet must have seemed too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it." I paused to take a deep breath.

"Like what?" Harry enquired, though with a lack of feeling.

"Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you. Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was – but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black." I said quietly, gently, knowing that this would be a big blow for him. He had gone to save Sirius, only to have Sirius come to save him, and die in the process.

"So... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night..." Harry managed to get through his lips, though there was barely any volume to his voice, and his lips barely moved.

"The Malfoys – undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions – had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the Hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him." I was watching Harry carefully, knowing that it couldn't have been easy hearing the lengths Voldemort had gone to to draw him out to the Ministry, and how as a result it had killed his Godfather.

Harry's breathing was coming in too quickly, and he seemed to almost be hyperventilating. I was becoming concerned when he spoke again, "And Kreacher told you all this ... and laughed?" Harry croaked out, looking rather ill.

I responded, "He did not wish to tell me, but I am a sufficiently accomplished Legilimens myself to know when I am being lied to, and I – persuaded him – to tell me the full story, before I left for the Department of Mysteries."

"And, and Hermione kept telling us to be nice to him –" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. I noticed he was trying to rein in his anger again, as his hands were fisted on his knees, clenched till the skin on the back of his hand was completely white.

I interrupted him, knowing what he was going to say, "She was quite right, Harry. I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's – "

Harry cut me off, his breathing unnaturally harsh, "Don't you blame – don't you – talk – about Sirius like – Kreacher's a lying – foul – he deserved – "

I cut Harry off, correcting him, "Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry. Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius' bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier – "

"DON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT!" Harry yelled, abruptly furious. He had stood up, his eyes flashing, and once again, I found myself wondering just how much more it would take for Harry to attack me. I should have known better than to try to let Harry see the situation objectively, knowing Harry was too emotionally involved, to think clearly about Kreacher, particularly after learning his part in Sirius' death.

Harry spat out, with festered rage, and I knew he was looking for someone anyone to blame for this disastrous turn of events. "What about Snape? You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual – "

I automatically defended Severus, knowing that he had been acting as he could have in the circumstances, in the presence of children of Death Eaters and Umbridge. I knew the risks Severus undertook to help the greater good, and that he did so as a way to atone for his past sins, though he had already atoned for them through his consistent work against Voldemort, keeping Harry safe, and spying, now and in the previous war. "Harry, you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge, but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she attempted to force you to tell her Sirius' whereabouts."

I knew that many people had often questioned my decision about trusting Severus Snape, as he seemed to suit the part of Death Eater, not to mention how he favoured his own house in an attempt to make up for the other houses' treatment of Slytherins. Yet, I knew that he genuinely regretted his earlier decisions, particularly the consequences of these actions.

Harry continued on, still attempting to lay the blame on Severus. I knew how easy it was to blame someone else to forget one's own guilt, though Harry's was misplaced. "Snape – Snape g – goaded Sirius about staying in the house – he made out Sirius was a coward – "

"Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him," I assured Harry, knowing that Severus had taunted Sirius to get some semblance of justice for what he had suffered at the hands of the Marauders during his school days now that he had one on him. Though they had an intense dislike for one another, neither wished the other dead, and I knew they didn't take one another's words to heart.

"Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons! He threw me out of his office!" Harry snarled, trying to find a reason to justify his blaming of Severus. On this point however I felt guilt gnawing at me, knowing this has been another one of my mistakes that had severe consequences. I had thought that Severus would have been able to overlook Harry's parentage – particularly his father, in light of the upcoming war. Yet, it seemed as if the old wounds had been dug too deep.

I should have been the one who taught Harry. Though my reasons for not doing so were justified, and I was correct in my assumptions, if Harry had known what he should have years ago, this wouldn't have occurred. I knew that Harry had deserved to know during his first year, when he proved himself beyond expectation – beyond imagination – that he was capable of taking the knowledge, and yet I delayed it. I should have answered his question that day he was lying in one of the beds in the hospital wing.

I sighed heavily, my words weighing me down, "I am aware of it. I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence – "

Harry abruptly cut me off, "Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him – how do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my – "

I stated clearly, "I trust Severus Snape," as I had done so many times over, to many individuals who had expressed their doubt in my judgement. "But I forgot – another old man's mistakes – that some wounds run too deep for healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father – I was wrong." I had allowed myself to assume that my decisions were the correct ones, that they were all necessary, and instead, they had been wrong, and now I suffered, as did many around me, the consequences of my actions. Sirius had died, I had taken Harry's only fatherly figure from him, I had taken Remus' only remaining friend from him, and I had lost Harry's unwavering trust in myself.

"But that's okay, is it? It's okay for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not okay for Sirius to hate Kreacher?" Harry ranted, having allowed his anger to overtake him.

"Sirius did not hate Kreacher. He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike ... the fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and now we are reaping our rewards."

As I said this, I had come to realise just how much of those words applied to Harry too. I knew of the neglect he suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, as it had been expected, considering what I knew of Lily's sister, Petunia, and what Minerva had told me when she had observed their actions the night I left Harry at their place. And yet, I would continue to send him there, albeit for a shorter period of time. He needed to due to the blood wards, and Harry's safety was the highest priority.

"SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GO, DID HE?" Harry exploded.

His words shocked me for an instance, and it hurt that he could believe that of me, despite I knew of how he came to the conclusion. I think he felt as if I didn't care for him at all, though I had explained the reasons for why I had pushed him away, not even dignifying him with a glance. If I could think that of him, then why not of others too? And yet, the words still were painful.

I responded quietly, "I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it. Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated." And yet this was another example that childhood emotions were difficult to let go of.

"Yeah, he did hate it!" Harry said fiercely, his voice cracking midway. "You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night – "

I quietly defended myself, albeit weaker than usual, "I was trying to keep him alive." However, the truth in Harry's words rang through. I knew what I had done, now. Despite the memories of Sirius' corrupted childhood, I had forced him to stay there, for a year, with little to no reprieve.

"People don't like being locked up! You did it to me all last summer – " Harry raged.

His words once again cut to the centre of the situation, and the truth in his words was undeniable. I was having my actions thrown back into my face, and though I well-deserved them, it was still painful to hear.

I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands, unable to face Harry's accusations, and the righteous anger he held for me. This time it was different to Harry blaming it on Severus. He was blaming it on me, and though I had admitted earlier than I was to blame for Sirius' death, to hear it coming from Harry's mouth was so much more painful.

I knew that I now had to explain the prophecy to Harry, I couldn't delay it any longer, and with a determination I was not feeling, I raised my head from my hands to observe Harry.

"It is time for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me – to do whatever you like – when I have finished. I will not stop you." I said quietly. I knew that whatever Harry's reaction was to be, whether he would yell at me for what I had done, or if he would continue destroying my possessions, I would let him. I deserved no less, particularly after telling Harry that his life had been pre-destined, and that it was his job to kill Voldemort or have Voldemort kill him.

Harry glared fiercely at me for a moment, before flinging himself into the chair opposite me, across the desk.

I kept my eyes on the grounds for a moment longer, before turning back to Harry, resolved to finish this conversation. "Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole as I planned and intended. Well – not quite whole," I amended, taking into consideration the neglect Harry had suffered, and his physical state when he had first arrived at Hogwarts. He had been so small, and thin, but his eyes had been so bright in wonder. I continued on, with sorrow underlining my words, "You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."

I paused, waiting if Harry would react to what I had just confessed. I knew of Harry's unhappiness, the neglect, the suffering he had endured, and yet I kept him there. Harry stared coldly back into my eyes, and I knew that it would be all the more difficult to regain Harry's trust, if there was even a chance of it.

"You might ask – and with good reason – why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, and would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son." And it was true. Too true. But all I had wanted to do was to ensure Harry had as much protection as possible, and Lily's sisters' family provided that, no matter how grudgingly.

"My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters – and many of them are almost as terrible as he is – were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

"But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated – to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

Harry immediately disputed this, saying, "She doesn't love me. She doesn't give a damn – "

I cut across him, knowing that his words had been truth, yet, it didn't make a difference. "But she took you. She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet she still took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you." I saw a flash of pain cross Harry's expression for merely a moment when I was describing his aunt's lack of affection, but it immediately disappeared.

Harry started, "I still don't – "

I knew what he was to say, so I continued my explanation without waiting for him to finish, "While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years."

Harry suddenly straightened up, a look of realisation coming across his features, "Wait. Wait a moment. You sent that Howler. You told her to remember – it was your voice – " Harry's voice was full of shock.

I tilted my head to the side explaining, "I thought that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers oh having you as a surrogate son."

"It did," Harry admitted quietly. "Well – my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she – she said I had to stay." As he said this, his gaze had drifted down towards the floor, before he brought it up again to ask, "But what's this got to do with – " Harry cut off abruptly, unable to say Sirius' name.

I continued on, as if the slight interruption had not occurred, knowing Harry would want to regain his composure, "Five years ago, then, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far my plan was working well." Harry had turned out to be much quieter than either Lily or James, and it had taken him longer to cease withdrawing himself.

"And then ... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose significantly to the challenge that faced you and sooner – much sooner – than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was ... prouder of you than I can say." My admiration for him and what he had faced at the mere age of eleven surfaced through my voice.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine. An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"I don't understand what you're saying," Harry said, quietly, confused.

"Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" I questioned.

Harry nodded, wearily.

"Ought I to have told you then?" I asked.

Harry stared at me silently, but with emotions flashing across his eyes.

"You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No ... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age." And though the words I spoke rang true, I also knew that Harry had more than proved himself to handle what was to be soon revealed.

"I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day ... you were too young, much too young." I had comforted myself in this manner, and by delaying telling him the prophecy it had resulted in Sirius' death. I should have questioned myself more, should have answered Harry.

"And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. you did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes ... we came very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?" I had once again given excuses to myself, not wanting to acknowledge what I was doing in reality.

"Well, it seemed to me, that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven, to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph ..." I trailed off slightly.

"Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't – " Harry started.

I cut him off by simply stating, "I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act." I had told Harry the truth, allowed him to realise that despite whatever he had perceived of my actions that I did truly care for him.

"Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as closely as I have – and I have watched you more closely than you could have imagined – not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that would have such a person on my hands." My pride for Harry exceeded that of any other of the students I had had the fortune to teach and guide. And yet, in the end I caused him much more pain, though I tried to prevent it, to allow him to be as happy as he possibly could. He would resent me for it, I knew. It had cost him Sirius.

"We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel Dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon ..." I saw Harry flinch, the memory of Sirius still too sore to be reminded of, and yet I had just reminded him of his happiness at when he had discovered his godfather's innocence. Of what he had lost.

"But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself ... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another – the greatest one of all." My reasons were justified with weak reasons, and though they held true, they still seemed insignificant in light of what had occurred, and what this knowledge would have prevented.

"I still don't understand." Harry said, quietly.

I let out a large breath, and said, "Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear the prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you."

There was a long silence in which I observed Harry, his reaction to what I had just revealed. He had just lost his godfather, and now I was heaping the burden of the world onto his shoulders – or was about to.

"The prophecy's smashed. I was pulling Neville up those benches in the – the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell..." Harry's voice broke in between his words when referring to the room, and trailed off towards the end.

"The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly." I clarified.

Harry questioned, "Who heard it?" though by the look of his face, he had already guessed as to who it was.

"I did." I confirmed. "On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."

I stood up, walking past Harry, and went to the cupboard beside Fawkes' perch. I bent, and slid back a catch, and took from inside of it my personal Pensieve in which I stored many of my thoughts and memories to view. It enabled me to pick out certain patterns or suspicious circumstances that I would not have been able to do so just thinking of it.

I withdrew the thought process involving the prophecy, and placed it in the stone basin. I prodded the Pensieve with my wand, and the figure or Sybill Trelawney rose out of it.

In a voice that was not quite her usual mystical tones, rather more hoarse, harsh tones, she said, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..." As the prophecy ended, Sybill sank back into the basin.

There was absolute silence in my office. Neither of us said a word. I stared at the Pensieve while I waited for Harry to break the silence. I knew he was in shock. It was a large thing to stomach, and so soon after having lost his Godfather, too. Even after all this time, the prophecy managed to shock me. Though I knew of Harry's potential, it was still painful to think of the future Harry must have, and whether he lived or died in the final battle. Though, if my suspicions were correct, there was a possibility that Harry would have to give himself up, instead. That thought was even more painful, as I knew that keeping that theory to myself would cause Harry to feel as if I betrayed him.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, in a quiet voice, so quiet, that I almost did not hear it. "It ... did that mean ... what did that mean?"

"It meant that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times." I summarised, knowing and dreading the next question I knew he would ask.

"It means – me?" Harry asked, with loud, harsh breathing.

I took a deep breath, and answered softly, knowing it would raise Harry's hopes, but also knowing that Harry deserved to know that there was a slight possibility, though highly unlikely, that it was not referring to him. "The odd thing, Harry, is that it may have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then ... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?" Harry asked, still in shock, I believed, by the tone of his voice. However, I knew it was slowly sinking in, as Harry was continually hesitating to ask questions, as if not wishing to know the answer.

"The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child. It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be one to whom Sybill was referring." I answered.

"Then – it might not be me?" Harry asked, the hope in his voice, almost unbearable. I knew I had to deny him that hope, what with the evidence that proved otherwise.

"I am afraid, that there is no doubt that it is you." I said slowly, the words costing me a lot of effort, particularly after seeing the crushed look in Harry's eyes, knowing that I had denied him the opportunity to be relieved of the burden of either being a murderer or being murdered.

"But you said – Neville was born at the end of July, too – and his mum and dad – " Harry was grasping onto the last straw, desperate to not be resigned to this fate.

I answered gently, knowing that I was letting the last of Harry's hope die as I said it, "You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort ... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong! He might have marked the wrong person!" Harry exclaimed, unwilling to let the hope fade.

I replied, with sorrow undercoating my words, "He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him. And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in making you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far – something that neither your parents, or Neville's parents, ever achieved." Towards the end, the pride that I had for Harry became evident in my voice and tone.

"Why did he do it, then? Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then – " Harry's facial expression conveyed his shock of the turn of events.

I explained the rest of the story to him, "That might, indeed, have been the more practical course except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele that the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My – our – one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building." I kept the eavesdroppers' identity hidden, as I knew that it would only invoke further mistrust in him, and at this point in time, this was not a course of action I wished to endure.

"So he only heard – ?"

"He only heard the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not – "

Harry cut me off, sounding as though he couldn't get the words out correctly, "But I don't! I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or – or kill them – "

I interrupted Harry, by informing him, "There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intellect, than the forces of human nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. it is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession from Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you."

I observed Harry as he closed his eyes, and seemed to be thinking something distressing, for it allowed a look full of guilt to come across his facial features. Then he queried, in a tone of voice that caused me to wonder if he honestly cared for the answer, "The end of the prophecy ... it was something about ... neither can live ..."

"while the other survives," I finished softly, hating this particular part of the prophecy, knowing what it pertained to.

"So, so does that mean that ... that one of us has got to kill the other one ... in the end?" Harry asked the one question I was dreading beyond all others.

As I looked into his eyes, I saw the well of despair that Harry was trying to hide, and it hurt all the more, that I couldn't give Harry the answer that would lift some of that despair away.

"Yes," I answered in the affirmative.

Silence reined upon us once more.

As Harry became lost in his thoughts and grief, as was evident from his expression of longing, derision and pain, I knew that I was guilty of another act. I had known that after witnessing Cedric's death, Harry would withdraw into himself, and deal with it by allowing his anger to take control, rather than allowing himself to grieve properly. I recalled the words Harry had shouted at Ron and Hermione the night he had come to Headquarters, and his words cut at me again.

Why should I know what's going on? Why should anyone bother to tell me what's been happening?

He had been right, once again. I had locked him up, allowing him absolutely no reprieve by not permitting Ron and Hermione to mail him anything of substance.

And then, once the school year began, I had avoided his gaze, and done absolutely whatever I could to avoid him, unless it was absolutely essential.

And then I remembered something else I should explain to him. I had given the Prefect badges to Ron and Hermione, thinking that after the events in the Graveyard and the reaction of the Ministry to Voldemort's return, and their derision towards him, he would not wish for the extra burden it would place on his shoulders. Not to mention the trial. But he didn't know that. I knew that he thought that I thought him incapable of such a responsibility. And I wanted to correct that misunderstanding. Though it was small, and most likely, in the aftermath of the events having occurred in prior hours, insignificant to Harry, it felt as if I was righting at least one other of the wrongs I had committed against Harry.

"I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry," I started, hesitantly. "You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess ... that I rather thought ... you had enough responsibility to be going on with." My voice became a little unsteady, and though I fought to regain control of my emotions, a tear leaked through my eyelids, and escaped down into my beard.

I knew that I had lost most, if not all of Harry's trust in me, and that I would need to rebuild the relationship we used to have, that my actions seemed to have disintegrated. And I would. I loved Harry. He was the grandson I never had, and I cared for him greatly, though, it was that care that brought this pain upon him.

I would work at regaining his trust if it was all I could do. Harry needed someone who he could go to, as he had with Sirius. And I would try to be that for Harry, be there and listen to his worries.

I would try and, hopefully, succeed.