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.