Burden of a Prophecy
As a baby, I didn't know who I was.
Before I was made the equal of the Dark,
Before I was made to bear Voldemort's mark—
Before I found out about the prophecy—
I was an innocent boy. I was free.
At eleven, I found out a shard of the truth.
I was told then how I received my scar—
Killing green light reaching out from afar
To shatter my world, my father and mother
Who sacrificed more for me than any other.
At twelve, I thought I knew who I was.
I'd defeated a Basilisk down in the Chamber,
Slain Tom Riddle to free Ginny from danger,
Reassured myself I was a true Gryffindor—
I thought I would never need anything more.
At thirteen, I found the two who knew my past.
Remus' lessons and listening ear served me well;
The Patronus he taught me saved me from cold hell.
And when I met my godfather, I dared hope to be free,
To hope that I might, someday, know the joys of family.
At fourteen, I faced the Darkness and survived.
Voldemort rose again, flesh, blood and bone;
I stood my ground and dueled him there, all alone.
My parents—I saw them—they helped me return
And back at Hogwarts School, bridges were burned.
At fifteen, I lost my family and learned my fate.
I saw Sirius' death at Bellatrix's hands,
Watched him cross over to unknown lands,
Felt Voldemort take my mind in cruel possession,
And heard my destiny in Dumbledore's confession.
At sixteen, I am alone.
My "family" hates me—this, Dumbledore knows;
The Weasleys can't know what the Prophecy shows;
And Remus can't reach out; well, neither will I—
For I know that I am doomed to murder or die.
I do not dream of life past seventeen.
I don't think I'll live; nor is it my desire;
I'll stand one more time in the face of the fire
And at last I will fall—then I'll be truly free
Of the terrible burden of my prophecy.
