'Professor,' Harry asked, 'suppose that the Time-Turner had worked properly the first time – the time Hermione and I went back to save Sirius and Buckbeak. What would have happened then?'

'We can only guess,' Dumbledore said gravely. 'No one can know what would have happened, Harry – but as it so happens, I have already given thought to this idea. If you and Miss Granger had succeeded in going back three hours the first time, my guess is that you would have saved Sirius and Buckbeak as per your first attempt.'

'Do you know who saved us from the Dementors, sir?' Harry asked, holding his breath.

'I guessed,' Dumbledore said, smiling.

'Sir ... can I ask you something?'

Dumbledore chuckled immoderately. 'Yes?'

'When I was by the lake when Snape –'

'Professor Snape, Harry –'

'Yes, sir. When Snape was standing there, casting the Patronus, I kept switching from my mind to his – I don't know how, but I could tell what he was feeling and see things the way - the way he saw them. It stopped when the Patronus disappeared. Professor, why ...?' Harry trailed off, looking into Dumbledore's face.

'I know more about your relationship with Professor Snape than you think, Harry,' Dumbledore answered. 'I was the one who suggested the idea of the empathy link to him. I trust you know now why it exists. It is my belief that this connection opens whenever either of you are feeling particularly emotional, and allows you to see into the other's mind. Such a connection does not come by chance, Harry. It is a result of your mother's love – for both you and Professor Snape.'

'But there's another thing, Professor,' Harry interjected, and suddenly his voice was hard and cold. 'When I was in the Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk told me that I had the Heir of Slytherin in me, but I wasn't the heir. Professor –' and here Harry looked up in the old man's face '– why didn't you tell me I've got Voldemort inside me? You only said that he transferred some of his powers to me. Why didn't you tell me the whole story?' He was almost shaking with anger, and it took all of his willpower to remain calm. 'I want answers.'

Dumbledore looked sad at Harry's furious face. 'I wanted to protect your innocence,' he said softly, and in the thick tension between headmaster and pupil the six words sounded ridiculously lame. 'What kind of boy wants to go around with the knowledge that he carries inside him the wizard who killed his parents? I wanted to shield you. You were happy – I saw no need to break your bubble.'

'But I'm not innocent!' Harry exploded. 'I haven't been innocent ever since Voldemort gave me this bloody scar.' He lifted up his fringe and showed the lightning-bolt shaped cut to Dumbledore, who drew back almost imperceptibly. 'That's just an excuse you thought up, pretending you were the master of your little wizard chess game – well, I'm not playing anymore! I reckon you justified all your twisted thinking by claiming it was all for the greater good!'

This time Dumbledore recoiled as if Harry's words had slapped him around the face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry, impassioned with anger, didn't let him say it.

'And I don't reckon you really care, do you, that Voldemort's inside me? You were probably going to work on destroying Voldemort all by yourself, and then only tell me at the last moment that I've probably got to bloody die because I've got a Dark Lord inside me, and then make me out as some sort of hero who died oh-so-nobly defending the wizarding world against Voldemort! Well, why don't you just tell me that now! Tell me everything you've ever kept from little innocent me about my life!' Here Harry paused to take a breath, and angrily blinked away the tears that threatened to blur his vision. He didn't care if he got detention or got expelled for yelling at the Headmaster; he just wanted to know the truth.

Dumbledore watched the livid thirteen-year-old boy stalk up and down, occasionally kicking random things in the headmaster's office, but never shifting his eyes from Dumbledore's face. Then he said, 'Please try to calm down, Harry. You are partly right – I have been keeping things from you – and partly wrong ... you don't know the whole story.' He waited, but Harry did not say anything, only throwing himself into the chair at Dumbledore's desk and glaring at him.

Dumbledore sighed. 'The Basilisk was not fully correct,' he said calmly. 'Only a part of Lord Voldemort lives inside you, not the whole soul. To understand this, I need to tell you about Horcruxes. Horcruxes have been used by people wishing to conquer, or simply postpone death. A Horcrux is what happens when a person splits his soul and puts a part inside a physical object. Once that part of his soul is under the protection of that object, that person cannot die.'

'Can't?' Harry interrupted questioningly, his interest piqued in spite of himself.

'Not until all the pieces of his soul have been destroyed. Usually, when people make Horcruxes, they only make one, as it is incredibly damaging to split the soul even once. For splitting the soul can only be done through the killing of another human being. Can you think of anybody who would want to split their soul, against all the risks and consequences that might ensue?'

'Voldemort,' Harry said instinctively, then realised what the full meaning of what he had said. 'Professor, you don't mean ...'

'... that Lord Voldemort created a Horcrux? By all means. I have suspected he did for a while, but I received what I believed was almost conclusive evidence about a year ago, when you handed me the remains of Tom Riddle's diary. A seemingly harmless but incredibly dangerous diary bearing the former name of Lord Voldemort that could possess an innocent girl and almost destroy her life? And even though that Horcrux was destroyed, he would still have others – precious magical artefacts into which he imparted parts of his soul. One was the diary. About any others, I am not completely sure, but I have my suspicions.'

'But ... I'm a Horcrux.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'That, my dear boy, is practically confirmed, I am afraid. The strange connection that was brought to light in your first year, of your scar paining you whenever you came near Voldemort while he was in a particularly vulnerable or powerful state, your ability to speak and understand Parseltongue, the Sorting Hat's insistence that you would have done well in Slytherin (going so far as to Sort you there upon your arrival in the past) – these factors all point to your being a Horcrux. When Lord Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at you that night in 1981, the curse rebounded on your because of your mother's love and hit Voldemort, causing what was left of his soul there to shatter. A tiny piece of his soul was blasted away from the rest and latched itself onto the only living thing left in that room – you.' Here Dumbledore stopped, if nothing else, to see the expression upon Harry's face.

Ignoring a rising sense of fear, Harry said slowly, 'You told me at the end of first year, Professor, when I asked you why Voldemort would want to try to kill me, that I was too young to know. I want to know why now.'

Dumbledore hesitated for a split second, then launched into a long and harrowing tale about the war, which had begun before Harry was born and ended on the day his parents died – and about a prophecy, made before Harry was born, that foretold the birth of a child, a boy, who would bring hope to the wizarding world:

'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 ...'

It was like something out of a fairy tale for a boy who had only known about the wizarding world for three years, if that. His first instinct was to dismiss the prophecy as nonsense – after all, he, Ron and Hermione had always discounted Trelawney as a fraud – but then he remembered what she had told him all of a few hours, and a month, ago: It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight ... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight ... before midnight ... the servant ... will set out ... to rejoin ... his master ... Now that he knew what she had done, what she could do, it made more sense. He related his thoughts to Dumbledore, who nodded.

'I believe it was a true prophecy that you witnessed, Harry. It is apparent now that part of it has come true. Whether the second part will or not, we cannot be certain.'

'Can't we? So prophecies don't always get fulfilled?'

Dumbledore shook his head sadly at Harry, whose hopeful expression morphed into one of disappointment. 'Yes ... and no. The prophecy concerning you and your parents would not have come true if Lord Voldemort had not first heard it and chose for it to be true. It is our choices that define us, Harry, much more than our actions, and fourteen years ago, Voldemort made a choice that would set up his own downfall. By choosing to believe in the prophecy, he ensured that there would be somebody with the power to vanquish him, somebody whom he marked as his equal. Do you see?'

Harry nodded, temporarily silenced, but as the weight of what he had been told hit him, he finally understood the full impact of what Dumbledore's words. 'So ...' he began, a cold dread settling in his stomach, '... so, since I've got a piece of Voldemort inside me, and neither can live while the other survives, and all the Horcruxes need to be destroyed for him to die, does that mean that I have to die ... eventually?' He found Dumbledore's eyes, full of sympathy and regret, and got all the answer he needed. 'No ... it can't be true ...'

He had just met his godfather and his parents' old friends in the past year. He still had to get to know Sirius well ... there were so many things to do and go and see and rescue and protect ... he couldn't be a Horcrux, he couldn't!

'I'm sorry, Harry.'

Harry opened his mouth, preferably to shoot another denial at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore's head moved very slightly and Harry caught a glimpse of the blue eyes behind the old-man spectacles. A tear was slowly making its way down the old man's creased face and onto his long white beard.

All the fight went out of Harry. He had no energy even to sit up straight properly, slumping as he did in the saggy armchair. How was he going to tell Ron – Hermione – Sirius – that he had to die so that Voldemort could be finally vanquished? He had a strong suspicion it would either kill Sirius or Sirius would kill him. Then a thought burst into his mind unheeded and he sprang upright. Dumbledore gave him a politely inquiring look, and Harry took this as a signal to talk.

'Professor, you know how I told you about going to the Chamber of Secrets again,' he began hesitantly, partly unwilling to speak of his latest blunder. But Dumbledore tipped his head slightly to the side, inviting him to continue, which Harry reluctantly did. 'The Basilisk got me in the end, right here' – he moved a hand to cover his midriff – 'and I passed out, but when I woke up, it was like nothing'd happened.' He turned green eyes appealingly to Dumbledore. 'I mean, my robes were ripped and all, and there was blood all over me, but I didn't have a scratch.'

Dumbledore smiled – not an indulgent smile. 'I have an idea how that might have come about, Harry. If I remember correctly, when you were wounded by the Basilisk last June, you would have been killed had it not been for Fawkes' tears?'

'Yes ... but Fawkes didn't come this time –'

'No. It is my opinion that he did not need to.' As Harry remained blank, Dumbledore elaborated: 'Phoenix tears are a beautiful and mysterious substance, Harry. They are the only known antidote to Basilisk venom, and it appears – though it has never been tested before – that once they have been absorbed into the blood, they never leave it. Therefore it was Fawkes' tears in your blood that saved you from dying in your second encounter with the Basilisk. Does that answer your question?'

'Not really ... I was hoping,' Harry said in a defeated voice, 'that the Basilisk might have destroyed the Horcrux. But of course it couldn't have – I was just being stupid.' He felt furious with himself forallowing his unconscious wishes to distort his sense of reality and bring him to a faulty conclusion.

'Why do you say that?' Dumbledore said curiously, with a strange look that Harry could not interpret.

'Because when I was leaving, I used Parseltongue to close the the Chamber,' Harry continued, downcast. Dumbledore let out a soft sigh. There was a long silence, in which Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs, apparently in deep thought, and Harry reflected bitterly on his second venture in the Chamber. He understood now that he couldn't have been able to kill the Basilisk the second (first?) time around, because it still had to be around in 1992, his second year. If only the Horcrux inside him had somehow been destroyed as well, it would have been worth it – every bit. He didn't feel like telling anybody else, not even Ron and Hermione, about it. It was just too much to absorb right now, on top of everything else. As for Snape, he would probably find out anyway, because of the empathy link. Now that he knew about Snape's past, Harry felt a bit of compassion for the Potions master. He had loved Harry's mother once upon a time, and he still loved her now – the scene by the lake had been proof enough. He supposed now that they had to work together to fight Voldemort; after all, they were on the same side. But then again, three years of mutual hatred couldn't be overcome in a day.

'It's not over yet, is it, Professor?' Harry asked bitterly, his eyes sharp with determination. 'Not by a long shot.'

Dumbledore smiled, his own eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. He turned and met Harry's gaze full on – not looking with condescension at the teenager, nor with regret or sentimentality. This was a war – or at least it was going to be – and he was looking at a boy who would have a very, very big impact on the result. A boy whom he had underestimated. A boy who had proven to be far, far more capable than his years.

'No, it isn't,' said Dumbledore to Harry. 'Because, really, we've only just begun.'

A/N: The sequel to this story is Harry Potter and the Two Secrets.