This is meant to be a story with two, perhaps three parts. I love stories where Harry takes control of his life and breaks away from all expectations and lives his life the way he wants to. My fingers are cramping from writing this, I'm out of practice (sorry).

Enjoy! / Julia

Harry Potter was mad. No, scratch that, he was furious.

He could honestly not recall any other time he'd been this angry, and given his childhood, he'd have plenty of moments to choose from.

"So, let me get this straight," he said, his hands clenched into tight fists, nearly shaking with rage, "you're saying that I'm prophesized to defeat Voldemort?"

Albus Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh and nodded, his usually twinkling eyes sombre. "I am afraid so, my boy."

Harry had to restrain himself from flinching at the endearment. He was nobody's boy. "And you heard this from...who?" Please, don't say Trelawney, please don't say Trelawney.

"I was with dear Sybil when it occurred," was all Dumbledore said.

Of course, it was bloody Trelawney! Who else? "And you trust her to the extent to actually believe her?"

At that, the headmaster levelled a small glare at him. "Sybil has been a dear friend for many years, Mr Potter, and I thank you not to insult her abilities. She is quite a professional."

Sure, a professional phoney. Honestly, why had no one put her in St Mungo's yet, she was certainly crazy enough? "And, what did the prophecy say again?"

"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...," Dumbledore said and sat back in his seat, observing Harry through troubled eyes. "I have to say I am very sorry for the burden you must bear, Harry."

"What burden?" Harry asked, pretending to be clueless. He knew exactly what the headmaster was referring to, but it was so much fun knocking him off his high horse.

Dumbledore appeared to be momentarily shaken at Harry's words. He cleared his throat and said, "That you, a fifteen-year-old boy, are destined to defeat the Dark Lord. Surely you grasped the meaning of the prophecy?"

"Oh, I understood it perfectly. But I don't think you do."

Dumbledore, perplexed, stared at him, "Harry?"

Harry leant forward in his seat, a smirk forming on his face. "The prophecy has already been fulfilled, sir, and it has been for fourteen years."

Harry inwardly cackled at the look on the headmaster's face. He'd need to get a Pensieve so he could revisit this moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The prophecy said I would vanquish the Dark Lord, which I did, fourteen years ago. It never said anything about me killing him, as in permanently ridding the world of his existence. The definition of the word 'vanquish' is to overcome, to conquer, to defeat- something I've done every time Voldemort and I have encountered each other. Which is why the prophecy is fulfilled," Harry leant back in his seat and smiled at the old headmaster, who appeared to have lost the ability to speak.

-00-

Truth be told, Harry already knew about the prophecy. He'd been contacted by an Unspeakable during the summer after his fourth year, who'd told him about its existence. They had arranged a date and time for Harry to go to the Ministry to listen to its contents, leaving Harry with the difficult decision on what to do next. It was never a question of letting Dumbledore know what had happened, he'd most likely deny everything, especially his part in this whole mess, like being a witness when the prophecy was made. No, Harry had to play the player. It was time for his more Slytherin qualities to shine.

He had contacted Voldemort that very night. He'd reasoned that since the prophecy was about the two of them, he had a right to know, even though he'd nearly killed Harry during their last… meetup. One would've kept the contents of the prophecy secret, and used it to his own advantage, but when had Harry ever been normal? Still, he had seriously questioned his sanity as he'd sent the letter with Hedwig, but it was too late to turn back, or listen to reason, to have second thoughts.

Voldemort, of course, hadn't believed him. Understandable, since Harry had been partly responsible for his demise so many years ago. Harry had, in turn, sent him the memory of his visit to the Ministry, which had not been a very pleasant experience. To feel one's memory being pulled out of your head was a funny feeling and not one he wanted to experience again in the near future.

After having watched the memory, Voldemort requested that the two would meet and discuss any future decisions, having sworn a Wizard's Oath not to kill, or harm Harry. On a trip to Diagon Alley, with Voldemort in a disguise, of course, the two former enemies had come to the decision to wait until Harry had finished his education before progressing any further; Voldemort had said he refused to have an equal who hadn't finished school. Harry had compared him to Hermione, having to duck to avoid the stinging hex sent his way mere seconds later. At least it wasn't a Crucio.

Who would've thought that the Boy-Who-Lived and the feared Dark Lord Voldemort would turn out to be pretty good friends, or civil towards each other, at least? Harry claimed it was his natural charm, and sulked when Marvolo, as he'd asked to be called, had laughed outright for several minutes. They had met several times during the summer; an untraceable portkey had taken Harry from his room in Privet Drive to Marvolo's residence, enabling them to visit one another without any complications.

Voldemort had admitted to feeling foolish for having acted so rashly that Halloween night. If he had been patient and sought out to find what the rest of the prophecy had said, all the years he'd spent as a wraith could've been avoided. Harry, not wanting another hex shot his way, had wisely kept his mouth shut.

He felt slightly annoyed, though. Being labelled as an equal to Voldemort, the Dark Lord had expected him to excel in school, just like he had. He had given Harry several books that would help him advance in his subjects, with the warning to start taking his education seriously. Harry had outright laughed at the thought of Voldemort scolding someone for not paying attention in class, which had earned him another hex. There just was no way to please that man, was there?

During their time together, Harry had come to discover that Marvolo wasn't actually that bad a person to be around. His knowledge about magic, both dark and light, seemed to be endless, and he was a brilliant source to turn to for information if Harry ever needed it. He had mentioned to Marvolo that he would've made an excellent teacher and asked if he was willing to put the days of being a Dark Lord behind him and instead start a career in teaching. Though he had been joking, his sore behind wasn't in agreement, thanks to those blasted stinging hexes. When Marvolo had told him about the curse he'd put on the DADA-position after having been declined the job, Harry had had a small temper tantrum and thrown the closest thing he could find at the man, which in this case turned out to be his pillow.

In retrospect, throwing a pillow, or any object, at the Dark Lord, wasn't the smartest thing Harry had ever done. Even though he'd apologised, Marvolo had gone so far as to hex him whenever he opened his mouth. Like Pavlov's dogs, he'd eventually learnt to be quiet to avoid being hexed. When Marvolo had said he should've tried that tactic from the very beginning, he'd received another pillow to the face. Harry had then grabbed the portkey and decided to barricade his door and windows in his room back at Privet Drive, just to be on the safe side.

-00-

"So you knew of the prophecy, then?"

"Hm?" Harry jerked back to the present situation at Dumbledore's question.

"I get the feeling you already knew about it, Mr Potter," still no twinkle in those blue eyes, "I'm curious from where you got the information."

What a polite way to ask a question without even asking it. Harry had the feeling Dumbledore was close to resembling a bomb, seconds away from exploding. "I was contacted by the Ministry, they wondered if I wished to know the contents of it. What I want to know is why you never bothered to tell me, Professor. That's kind of a big thing to hide, isn't it?" Harry narrowed his eyes, trying to control his temper. The old man had known all along, and he'd never bothered to tell Harry as if his life was his to control.

Dumbledore's eyes turned regretful. Harry was willing to bet his entire vault at Gringotts it wasn't genuine. "I simply didn't want to add any more to your already heavy burden, my boy. It's too much for a boy your age to handle, I simply wanted to wait until you were ready."

"So witnessing my godfather being murdered is what you count as 'ready', sir?" Harry asked, his very insides burning with rage. Oh, how considerate of the old headmaster.

Dumbledore had the decency to wince at the raw anger in Harry's voice. "I had meant to tell you sooner, I just… what happened tonight was tragic, tragic indeed."

That was the old man's reasoning? 'I had meant to tell you sooner'? Again, how considerate. "Quite."

Dumbledore frowned at his cold tone, obviously not appeased with the response. What had he been expecting, for Harry to scream, cry, and destroy his office in anger and sorrow?

If Harry was completely honest with himself, he hadn't been as close to Sirius as he had led people to believe, even Sirius himself. Because really, why would he be close to the man who had chosen to go after Pettigrew, when his godson had been inside a burning building? Hagrid had been the one to get him out of there, in the end, after Sirius had been arrested by the Aurors. He'd spent thirteen years in Azkaban for wanting revenge instead of family, to put it mildly. After he'd escaped and found Harry, what had he expected would happen? It wasn't as if he could do much, being a convicted criminal, albeit an innocent one. Until Pettigrew had been found and arrested, Sirius would've been forced to spend his life in hiding, away from the public eye. Did that really sound like something a teenager would like? To live with someone who constantly had to be alert to the danger of being discovered? Sure, Harry had loved the man, but he couldn't let go of the fact that Sirius had chosen Pettigrew over him. A child should always come first, no matter what.

Marvolo had offered to have Bellatrix tortured for her actions in the Ministry, but Harry hadn't seen the point. That old witch was already as crazy as she could be, torturing her wouldn't make any difference.

"Was there anything else?" He didn't want to be in the presence of the headmaster anymore. He could barely stop himself from taking his wand and cursing the old fool to hell and back, he needed to leave.

Again, Dumbledore frowned at the lack of emotional response but appeared to assume Harry would go on to mourn in private. "No, dear boy, I'll let you get back to your friends. Do remember that my door is always open, if you need me."

Harry nodded and forced himself to smile as he got up and left.

-00-

Marvolo opened his desk drawer and took out a small wrapped box. "Happy birthday," he said as he gave it to Harry, causing the emerald eyes to widen in surprise.

Harry hadn't thought Marvolo would've cared, he hadn't thought he even acknowledged anyone's birthday, not even his own. Still, he smiled and grabbed the gift, "Thank you!" Then he proceeded to rip it open, ignoring Marvolo's huff at his impatience.

Inside the box was a beautifully crafted wand holster. It resembled snakeskin, it had the same texture. Smooth to the touch, and it glimmered in the light. "It's beautiful," Harry breathed in awe as he carefully turned it over in his hands.

"I'm glad to like it. It's made of basilisk skin."

At this, Harry gulped. He didn't need to ask which basilisk Marvolo had gotten the skin from. "You were in the Chamber?" A nod. "How did you get in?"

"Before leaving, Salazar Slytherin created several ways for his heir to leave and enter the chamber without detection from the rest of the school. It was an eventless trip. I have to say, I am impressed that you managed to defeat the basilisk since you were only twelve years old. How did you manage it, if I may be so bold?" Marvolo asked, studying Harry intently.

Harry shuddered slightly, not liking that particular memory. Being chased by an enormous snake that could kill you simply by looking at you wasn't anyone's cup of tea. "Well, it was your entire fault, for starters."

Marvolo frowned in confusion, "How can you blame me for what happened in the chamber? Back then, I was still without a body, if you recall."

"Well, not the 'real' you, the diary you, and-"

"What do you mean?" Marvolo's face had lost all its colour. His eyes were wide and deadly, his fists clenched the armrests of his chair so tight the wood was creaking under the strength of the grip. Harry frowned at the man's reaction. Surely, someone had told him? "Lucius Malfoy smuggled your diary into the school. The memory inside it gathered enough magic to lure Ginny down into the chamber and release the basilisk. It petrified several students, including a ghost."

Marvolo hissed in anger at the mention of Malfoy Senior, promising torture and pain for what he'd done. "Proceed." He ground out between clenched teeth.

"Ron and I managed to figure out it was a snake. Well, Hermione was the one who figured most of it out, but then she got petrified. We followed the clues into the abandoned bathroom and found the entrance by the sink. I opened it, then we-"

"How?"

"Sorry?"

"How did you open the entrance to the chamber?" Marvolo's voice was a mere whisper. He was staring at Harry as if he'd never seen him before.

"I told it to open in Parseltongue, of course. How else would I have opened it?"

"You-you're a Parselmouth?" Marvolo said, appearing to be well and truly shocked. Hadn't someone told him this before? Malfoy had been there when he'd done it at the Duel Club, he must've told his father. After all, it wasn't as if everyone had the ability to speak to snakes.

"Yes. I always have been able to speak to snakes," Harry said with a confused shrug of his shoulders.

"Only descendants of Slytherin himself have the ability to speak Parseltongue, and even then it's a rare gift. How could a Potter manage it?" Marvolo seemed to speak to himself, no longer looking at Harry. Instead, he gazed out the window, lost in his thoughts. Harry shifted quietly in his seat, not wanting to disturb the man. Something told him it wouldn't end well for anyone who'd dare to disturb them now.

"I don't know if it's relevant, but Dumbledore said something that might explain it," Harry said quietly, thinking back on that particular conversation.

Marvolo's eyes returned to him, now bright and alert. "Yes?"

"He said that, when you tried to kill me that night, some of your power transferred itself into me. Could that be the reason?"

"Some of my power... transferred itself into you..." Marvolo had again gone pale, his eyes wide as he stared at Harry, or more pointedly, at his scar. "Oh, Merlin…"

"What?" Harry began to worry at the man's unusual behaviour. Marvolo had always been the reserved one, very rarely showing emotions.

"It can't be… and yet, it appears to be so…"

"Marvolo, you're starting to scare me," Harry said and stiffened in his seat.

Marvolo shook his head as if to clear it, eyes never leaving Harry's face. He slowly got up and circled his desk, coming to stand in front of Harry, who by now was well on the way of being truly afraid. Then, Marvolo kneeled down in front of his chair, hands gently grasping Harry's head. "It appears as if you are my Horcrux, Harry."

"Huh?" Was all Harry was able to say. Marvolo very rarely touched him; they had never been very affectionate towards one another.

Marvolo smiled, another rare occurrence, his thumb softly traced the scar, causing warm shivers to run down Harry's spine. He'd never felt anything like that before, usually, it always hurt. "You're my Horcrux, Harry. It means you're carrying a small part of my soul inside you. That explains why you have the ability to speak to snakes."

"I-I'm sorry, what?! I'm a Horcrux, your Horcrux? How…" This was not how he'd been expecting this conversation to go.

"When someone commits murder, their soul is forever damaged. It literally rips the soul apart. Some people, like me, chooses to secure a part of their soul inside objects, to ensure their survival if they were to die. It's very dark magic, most witches and wizards have never heard of it before," Marvolo explained while he continued to trace Harry's scar.

"What about people? Does it work the same as if with objects?" Harry asked, eyes wide with shock and confusion.

"I'm not sure, to be completely honest. No one's ever chosen to keep their soul inside a living vessel before. But it appears to be fine, do you feel any different?"

"Well, my scar kind of tingles when you touches it, usually it hurts whenever you're near, or when you're angry," Harry said and tried not to lean into the other man's touch. From the small smile on Marvolo's lips, he'd failed miserably.

"The… connection we seem to share is apparently available to transfer our strongest emotions to one another. When your scar's been hurting, I can most surely guarantee you I was thinking very unhappy thoughts about you, probably cursing your very existence."

At that, Harry snorted, leaving Marvolo smirking in satisfaction. Now that Harry really concentrated on their connection, he could feel a small sense of smugness emanating from the other man. "I think I can feel what you mean," he said, "you're feeling very smug at the moment, right?"

Marvolo huffed in surprise at the accurate assumption but nodded. "I made you laugh, not a very difficult task, mind you, your sense of humour is quite atrocious."

"Very funny."