Disclaimer –
The story of Harry Potter isn't mine, and I'm receiving nothing for fiddling around with it. Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. All I'm doing is messing around with her world. I won't accept any accusations saying I'm doing otherwise. The only things I take any claim for are the incantations and characters I have created for myself.

Author's Note –
I'll use italics for letters, thoughts, Parseltongue, and any other forms of verbal and non-verbal expression that seem appropriate. I won't use bold tags for anything except chapter titles.

Summary –
One-shot. Sequel to Confronting the Past. After learning the shocking truth about his mother from Professor Snape during detention, Harry goes to meet with Professor Dumbledore to ask about a certain other secret. Takes place immediately following previous story.

–– STORY ––
Embracing the Present

He was in love with my mother.

That was the singular thought that continued to plague Harry Potter's mind as he made his way back to the common room, taking secret passageways unknown to the general populace of Hogwarts in order to maintain some privacy, to desperately keep hold of his thoughts about the truth that had been hidden from him since he was a baby.

How could he have been in love with my mother?

It wasn't the idea itself that was so ludicrous. In fact, considering the bits and pieces of his and his parents' pasts that he'd learned over the last four years, Harry wasn't really as surprised as he was telling himself he was. Never once had Severus Snape said a word against his mother. That was an honor reserved only for his father and, in recent years, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. There was no need to mention the times when Snape had gone out of his way to save Harry's life, most notably in his first year when Quirrell had tried to kill him and in his third year when Lupin transformed into a werewolf.

But – well – it was Snape!

Snape, the man who had been so horrible to him in four years and interfered with his Potions work as a result, nearly failing him on several occasions. Snape, the greasy-haired asshole who had only ever insulted Harry's dead father, never once bothering with showing even the slightest amount of sympathy toward the orphaned son of said father.

Snape, the only person at Hogwarts aside from Ron and Hermione who had ever really stuck his neck out for Harry.

As Harry continued up the steps, he realized it was this thought more than anything else, more than even the revelation of Snape's love for his mother, that made Harry realize he no longer felt hatred toward Snape at all.

Snape and James Potter loathed each other when the latter was alive. Harry knew this quite well. Dumbledore and Quirrell both told him as much in his first year. Snape also hated Harry. Not to the point where he would let Harry die, but enough that he would belittle Harry and the memory of his father at every opportunity. In his third year, Harry learned that Snape loathed James so much because of a prank that would have resulted in Snape's death if not for James's intervention. Snape believed that James was in on the prank, and refused to believe otherwise because his hatred ran so deep.

Harry had always thought the man was simply petty, but he was now realizing that it was far beyond that. Snape didn't hate Harry simply because he was the son of Snape's enemy. Snape hated Harry because he was the son of both Snape's enemy and the love of Snape's life, a love that apparently still had an inescapable hold over Snape to this day. Every time he was forced to look at Harry, he was reminded of his greatest regret, and his greatest loss.

If that bothered Harry, it was nothing to the realization that had Lily not chosen James over Snape, Harry might not have been born at all. Or, even worse, he might have been Snape's son. The thought disgusted him, but not as much as he thought it would, for reasons he could not explain even to himself. Perhaps he knew and didn't want to think about it?

Perhaps this was all a bad dream, and he would awaken soon, jumbling through unimportant and ridiculous thoughts about a connection between his mother and his least favorite professor, and an explanation for why Snape was such an awful git, and a prophecy of some –

The prophecy!

In all of his confused thoughts and jumbled disbeliefs, Harry had completely forgotten about the prophecy Snape had told him about. He unscrambled that part of the long conversation out from Snape's confession and pulled it back to the forefront of his mind, trying to remember exactly what Snape had said …

"About a month before you were born, I heard a piece of information that I knew the Dark Lord would want to hear, revolving around the birth of someone with the power to vanquish him."

Snape, while still loyal to Voldemort, had gone to him with information that he had apparently overheard somewhere, information regarding the birth of a boy or girl who would, evidently, eventually destroy Voldemort. Harry didn't even need to think about who that someone would be.

"He thought it was your family that this prophecy revolved around, and so he targeted the Potters."

Voldemort had gone after Harry's family after hearing about the prophecy, and they'd somehow eluded him for over a year before he'd finally gotten to them with Peter Pettigrew's help. Snape had gone to Albus Dumbledore, who had done everything in his power to ensure that Harry and his parents were never found by Voldemort.

With a gasp, Harry fell back against the wall halfway up the steps between the fifth and sixth floors, still in the hidden passageway, unable to believe what he was now processing, what he'd learned not even half an hour before … he pulled himself up on the ledge in front of the window, clutching his forehead with one hand, for once not from pains from his scar but from the truth that had been kept from him for so long.

Snape's confession explained everything. Why Voldemort had gone after Harry in the first place, why he'd killed Harry's parents, why he'd tried to spare Lily Potter's life before killing her anyway to get her out of the way … the only thing Harry didn't know was why Voldemort survived when the killing curse rebounded on him. Finally, he had some further understanding of Voldemort's motive, his ever-increasing desire to see Harry dead, that it wasn't simply out of irrational evil as so many believed, as Hagrid had once told him …

Was this what Dumbledore had decided not to tell Harry all those years ago, mere days after Harry's first real confrontation with his parents' murderer? Harry remembered how he'd asked Dumbledore while lying in the hospital wing more than three years ago now …

"Well … Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day … put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older … I know you hate to hear this … when you are ready, you will know."

Part of Harry could understand and even appreciate the reasoning – at eleven years of age, he was surely too young to comprehend the knowledge that he somehow had powers even Lord Voldemort feared – but another part of him resented Dumbledore for not telling him, not providing him the closure he needed, not explaining why his life was as bleak as it was. He was now fifteen years old, had faced Lord Voldemort in one incarnation or another more times than any other non-Dark wizard alive, and fully believed he was ready for the information he had been so curious about for almost four years.

He would have to go see Dumbledore sooner or later, find out about this prophecy business and whether its merit was real or not. He didn't really doubt Snape, but this night had not brought him to fully trust Snape. Nodding firmly to himself, he decided that he would go see Dumbledore after his detention tomorrow.

One more question remained: who made the prophecy in the first place, and why?

"Harry, what are you doing back so early?"

Harry shook his head as he walked into the common room five minutes later. It was Hermione who asked the question, and he could see Ron and Ginny sitting with her, waiting for him to speak, both sets of eyes questioning.

He looked at his watch. It was only seven o'clock. It had only been half an hour since he'd left Snape's office, and yet on some level it felt as though he'd learned of everything he now knew a lifetime ago.

"Snape postponed the detention," he said, glad that he could at least be truthful on one point.

To his surprise – though he could have hit himself upon realizing how carelessly he had thrown that comment out – three shocked faces greeted his answer.

"Snape postponed detention?"

"Yeah," said Harry distractedly, taking a seat next to Ginny on the couch in front of the fireplace. He stared into the flames, unable to distract himself from his thoughts enough to give his three friends his full attention. "I have detention tomorrow night instead."

Unfortunately, Ron wasn't ready to drop the subject.

"Snape, as in Professor Severus Snape, the greasy-haired git, the bane of our existence, did what could be considered a favor to you?" he sputtered out. Hermione's eyes narrowed at Ron, while Ginny giggled. "No way."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Harry muttered, half-amused and half-irritated; somehow, irrationally, he didn't like the way Ron had just insulted Snape. But then, what reason would Ron have to not do so? After all, he hadn't heard what Harry had … and he never would, as Harry had promised Snape …

"You will inform nobody of this, including your friends, Weasley and Granger."

He was going to honor his word to Snape and not tell anyone what he'd learned. No one else had the right, or even the need, to know about it anyway. More importantly, though, Harry had a feeling that if he told Ron and Hermione, Snape would find out. He'd always had a funny feeling that Snape could read minds.

"It does seem rather odd," said Hermione, her voice slightly suspicious. "Did he tell you why, Harry?"

"No," Harry lied. "I'm sure he had his reasons, though."

He hoped the conversation would end there. Sure enough, both Ron and Hermione dropped the subject, though both did so with obvious reluctance. Ron looked as though he wanted to keep cursing Snape's name, while Hermione kept shooting Harry suspicious looks, as though she knew he was hiding something from them. He knew just from those looks that the subject wasn't dropped for good. Hermione would eventually bring it up again, as she always did. In the four years they'd been friends, Hermione always had that curiosity that knew no boundaries, even if she had nothing to do with whatever she was curious about.

Thoughts of Hermione and her curiosity were pushed from his mind as the conversation once again brought itself to the forefront of his mind. Pieces of the conversation came back to his thoughts, connecting themselves with pieces of information that he already knew to form the completed puzzle that was the truth. Unfortunately, he was still missing a few crucial pieces.

"I went straight to Albus Dumbledore, and begged him to protect her."

Dumbledore had known about the Potters' plan to go into hiding. He'd even offered to be the Secret Keeper himself. Harry recalled Dumbledore telling him, the night he'd learned the truth about Sirius and Wormtail, that he gave evidence to the Ministry that Sirius was the Secret Keeper for the Potters, not knowing that Wormtail was the true Secret Keeper …

"I had begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily, feeling no care for Potter, and so he had promised to."

Harry couldn't deny that he'd been outraged at first upon hearing that Snape, having already virtually condemned the man to death in the first place, couldn't care less whether James Potter lived or died. Then again, if he thought about how he would react in this situation, he also couldn't deny that he likely wouldn't care if, say, Draco Malfoy was sent to his death if it meant a woman Harry loved could be spared, as much as that part of himself disgusted him. He couldn't hate Snape for being human about love and hate, no matter how much he might want to try …

"He asked me to help him protect you, in the name of Lily."

It made sense. On the same day Dumbledore decided to put off telling Harry about this supposed prophecy that Snape had mentioned, he'd told Harry that Snape had tried to keep Harry alive in his first year because of his life debt to James, but Harry knew now that this was not, had never been, the case at all. He'd been trying to save Lily's son, not James's.

"About a month before you were born, I heard a piece of information that I knew the Dark Lord would want to hear …"

But who was the one to give that information? Who made the prophecy that Snape had overheard? Was it someone Harry knew, perhaps, someone who had delivered prophecies before then? Some who could perhaps predict the future accurately …?

The thought died in his head as Harry jolted upright in his seat, suddenly remembering a similar prediction, one that was made on the same day he'd learned the truth about Sirius's innocence and Wormtail's identity and deception, and how those events had been foretold by that prediction.

"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 …"

It was Professor Trelawney who made that prediction more than a year before, who had been in a trance-like state while making it, and who had not recalled a single moment of the prediction after making it. Harry remembered it well; it was after his Divination exam.

The memory brought another memory of Professor Trelawney forth, though not of the woman herself. He and Dumbledore had spoken of her just days after the fact.

"Was it – was she making a real prediction?"

"Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been. Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay rise …"

It was a comment in their conversation that had seemed so innocent, even inconsequential, that Harry had simply overlooked it, at the time too worried about Sirius and Lupin to care. But now he remembered, and now he knew that the prophecy Snape had overheard was made by Professor Trelawney … for Professor Dumbledore.

It was this secret that Dumbledore had chosen not to tell Harry at the end of his first year, he was absolutely certain of it. But he needed to know what the prophecy said. He needed to know exactly why Voldemort had come after him when he was only a baby.

Abandoning his resolve to see Dumbledore the next evening, Harry got to his feet and walked toward the Fat Lady's portrait, ignoring his friends' questions and marching straight through the hole. He swung it closed behind him before they could even get up, ignoring the portrait's protests.

It only took Harry until he reached the grand staircase to realize that he didn't know the password to Dumbledore's office, and so he changed his course and headed to Professor McGonagall's office instead.

He knew it was a long shot to ask Professor McGonagall for the password. His head of house was immensely loyal to Dumbledore and would likely refuse Harry entrance to the office unless it was for something urgent. She hadn't believed Harry for a moment when he'd gone to her in his first year and told her that someone – who, at the time, he believed to be Snape – was going to steal the Philosopher's Stone that night, after all. Then there was the fact that she wasn't about to help him against Professor Umbridge, either, instead merely telling him to keep his head down, as though that would help him when she was baiting him.

He had a fleeting thought that he could possibly go to Snape and ask him to provide the password to Dumbledore's office, but he banished the thought as quickly as it came up. Just one hour before, Snape had been too depressed to even begin the detention. No, Harry would leave him alone for the time being, until his detention the following evening.

As he reached the fourth floor landing, his thoughts were interrupted.

"Potter?"

Harry spun around, alarmed, and relaxed as he saw Professor Flitwick making his way toward him from a perpendicular corridor.

"Hi, Professor," he said embarrassedly, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't see you coming."

"Something I hear quite often," said the tiny wizard with a small grin, waving off Harry's embarrassment. "Where are you going, Potter? Students don't normally roam the hallways at this hour of the evening."

"I was just going to see Professor McGonagall to ask her for the password to Professor Dumbledore's office –"

"You have some business that warrants the headmaster's attention?" Professor Flitwick asked a little suspiciously, his grin faltering.

"Yes, sir," Harry said a little nervously, quickly thinking up something to tell the Charms teacher. "It's about something he and I talked about a few months ago, right after … um, Cedric Diggory's death …"

It was a lie, and Harry had no idea why he'd chosen it. Then again, Harry knew that he and Dumbledore had brushed the subject every year since he'd started at Hogwarts, and so he felt justified in that regard. Nevertheless, he felt a little guilty and chose to not look Professor Flitwick in the eye.

"Very well, Mr. Potter." It didn't escape Harry's notice that Professor Flitwick's voice left a little disbelief in its tone, though he did not comment to the contrary. "I would normally tell you to go see your head of house instead, but if your business is with Professor Dumbledore and not Professor McGonagall, then …"

He trailed off, then looked at Harry directly.

"The password is Pumpkin Pasty. Try not to stay out until after curfew. Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Professor, and thank you."

Professor Flitwick nodded once, then turned and walked back in the same direction he'd come from. Harry continued on down the staircase to the third floor and walked down the stretch of hallway that led to Dumbledore's office. He could see the large gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase to the office just twenty feet away.

He stopped about halfway down the corridor, suddenly unsure of how to open the conversation. How was Dumbledore going to react when Harry told him that he knew about the prophecy, even if he didn't know exactly what it said? He knew that Dumbledore intended to be the one who eventually explained to Harry exactly why Voldemort wanted him dead so badly – and the keyword was eventually, since it'd been more than three years since Harry first asked that big question – and now Harry knew part of the reason without Dumbledore's help. He knew that Dumbledore knew that Snape knew about the prophecy; there was no way Dumbledore didn't know, not with much how he trusted Snape.

Should he just tell Dumbledore outright that he knew and wanted to know what the exact contents were? Or should he just ask the same question he'd asked in his first year, without giving away that he knew about it until after Dumbledore answered him?

Quickly deciding that he was stressing himself out worrying about how to bring up the subject with Dumbledore, the man he trusted most at Hogwarts, Harry decided to go on instinct alone with the conversation to come. Having made his decision, he continued down the corridor and stopped in front of the gargoyle.

"Pumpkin Pasty," he said clearly.

"If you say so," muttered the gargoyle, stepping to the side to allow Harry entrance.

Harry gulped as he stepped onto the spiral staircase, as nervous as he was three years ago when Professor McGonagall brought him here during the Chamber of Secrets mess. Dumbledore had known right away, of course, that Harry was not the one attacking his fellow students, had known that something else was at work in the walls of the school … perhaps he had known that Tom Riddle's memory was using Ginny Weasley to attack the school with the basilisk before Harry himself knew …

The staircase stopped at the door of the office, and Harry knocked twice, his insides threatening to fall apart within him.

"Enter," came Dumbledore's voice.

Gulping again, Harry opened the door and stepped into the office he had been in a few times before, most recently when he had relayed to Dumbledore that Lord Voldemort had returned to human form. Nothing had changed in the few months since that night: the silver instruments remained scattered on different tables across the office, the portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses of the past either snoozed in their frames or stared down at him, Fawkes sat on his perch, and Dumbledore's desk sat on a foot-high dais on the other side of the circular room, with Dumbledore himself writing something on a long piece of parchment.

"Harry!" he greeted when he looked up, genuine surprise in his look and tone. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

It didn't escape Harry's notice that Dumbledore, despite staring in his direction over his half-moon spectacles as he always did, didn't look directly at him. He'd forgotten that Dumbledore had been avoiding direct contact with him for the last few months. With that fact in mind, his uncertainty over speaking to Dumbledore tonight suddenly doubled.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor," he began, stepping further into the office with nervousness in both his voice and his movement, which Dumbledore didn't miss, "but I was hoping I could speak with you about … er, private matters …"

"Of course, of course," said Dumbledore, waving a hand at the chair in front of his desk that Harry had sat in several times before. "I can finish this report later – please, sit down."

Harry took the offered seat with clear hesitation. Now that he was actually facing Dumbledore, his plan to simply bring up the subject with the aged headmaster seemed foolish, naïve, as though he was once again eleven years old and simply not ready to hear what he so desperately wanted to hear. If Dumbledore noticed his hesitation, he didn't show it.

"What did you wish to speak with me about, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, his midnight-blue eyes twinkling as they always did as he peered over his clasped hands.

In a moment's decision, Harry decided to just ignore his nerves and ask the question.

"I'm not really sure how to ask this, sir," he began, only a little hesitation in his voice. Dumbledore waved him on to continue. "Do you remember when I was in the hospital wing at the end of my first year, and you came to visit me?"

What a stupid question, he thought. Dumbledore was over a hundred years old. Of course he remembered.

The look in Dumbledore's eyes changed noticeably, though his voice was still calm and gentle as he replied, "I do recall. Please continue."

"It was after I faced Voldemort, when he was possessing Quirrell." He wasn't sure why he was elaborating on a point that Dumbledore was already well aware of, but he couldn't stop himself from doing so. "I'd asked why Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby in the first place, and you said that I was too young at the time, that I was not –"

"– yet ready to deal with the knowledge," finished Dumbledore, nodding at his words.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, knowing that this was the moment, that he would lose his resolve if he waited any longer to ask the question. "Does the reason have anything to do with a prophecy?"

He didn't know if Dumbledore was expecting a certain question from him, but Dumbledore looked shocked nonetheless. He sat up straighter, staring directly at Harry for the first time since the end of his fourth year.

"How did you find out about that?" he asked, his voice neither accusatory nor warm. He seemed genuinely surprised by what Harry had just asked him.

"Well, that's why this is private," said Harry quietly, now trying not to meet Dumbledore's eyes. "Professor Snape told me."

The shock from Dumbledore made his previous shock look like nothing. His eyes were glinting madly with this revelation.

"Severus told you? When was this?"

"A little over an hour ago," Harry replied, his nerves beginning to ease now that he was sure Dumbledore wasn't going to start yelling at him. He was beginning to wonder why he believed such in the first place. "I had detention with Professor Snape because I messed up a potion in class, and he asked me why I'm rarely able to make potions properly, and I told him it's because he's always making comments about my father, and then I realized –"

"– that Professor Snape has never said a word about your mother," Dumbledore finished for him, putting his face in his hands and rubbing it wearily.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, worried that he'd said too much.

Dumbledore raised his head up again a few moments later. To Harry's surprise, he was smiling more brightly than Harry had seen in a long time.

"You are not in any trouble with me, Harry," Dumbledore assured him, placing his clasped hands on the table and smiling, if at all possible, even more brightly. "If I were to be perfectly honest with you, I never expected Professor Snape to come clean about his history with your mother to you – he told you, I assume, that I know about it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated. He was relieved that Dumbledore was taking his newfound knowledge in stride, but he was still troubled. "Professor, how come you never told me that my mother was once friends with Snape?"

"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore. "To answer your question, I did not tell you for two similar yet different reasons: one, it was not my place to tell you or anyone else in the first place, and two, when Professor Snape agreed to help me protect you after your parents died, he asked me to keep his reasons for doing so secret from everyone else. I kept my promise to him and told nobody, even after various promptings."

Harry recalled asking Dumbledore why he was so sure Snape was on their side just half a year before. So that was the answer.

Dumbledore blinked. "Do you resent him, Harry?" he asked.

"I … don't know," Harry admitted, and he knew he was being honest with Dumbledore when he said it. "I feel as though I should … I mean, he sent Voldemort after my family, even if he didn't know it was my family … but he still sent Voldemort to track down and kill someone just because they might be a threat someday …"

"You are not wrong to feel so conflicted," said Dumbledore gently, leaning over his desk and staring Harry directly in the eyes now. "I, too, was disgusted to discover that Severus had gone to Voldemort with his knowledge of the prophecy and was thus indirectly responsible for Voldemort's actions in regards to that knowledge. When he found out that Voldemort was hunting down your family, he was desperate to keep Lily from being killed and came to me. To his discredit, he didn't care what happened to you or your father, and I will make no excuses for him in that regard. However, his efforts would always be for naught. Lily would never have allowed Voldemort to reach you if she could do anything about it. Despite his promise to Severus, Voldemort killed her in the end. He may regret his actions – and I assure you that he does – but he will always have to live with the fact that he is indirectly responsible for the deaths of two people, one of whom he loves more than life itself."

"That's the problem," Harry said, absently rubbing his forehead as he spoke. "I want to hate him for that, but I can't bring myself to. I don't know why. I guess I think he's suffered enough for his mistake." He paused. "Is that why Professor Snape left the Death Eaters and joined the Order near the end of the war? Is that the reason you've always trusted him?"

"Yes to both," Dumbledore replied. "He begged me to help protect your family and I agreed to do so – for something in return. From that day forward, Severus Snape ceased to truly be a Death Eater and joined the Order of the Phoenix as a spy from within the Death Eater ranks. When Voldemort was vanquished, I offered to protect Professor Snape from Azkaban by making it known that he helped our side, and that is why he teaches at Hogwarts."

Harry knew about the last part. During Igor Karkaroff's trial, which Harry had witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve, Dumbledore pronounced Snape's change of allegiance "at great personal risk" after Karkaroff named Snape as a Death Eater among several others in order to obtain a pardon for his crimes.

"So, you mentioned that Professor Snape brought up the prophecy in his conversation with you?" Dumbledore continued.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, unable to keep the smallest bite of bitterness out of his voice. "He said it was the reason Voldemort wanted to kill me in the first place."

"That is the truth, Harry," said Dumbledore, "loathe as I am to admit it. Did Professor Snape reveal the contents of the prophecy to you?"

"No, sir. It sort of came up in passing when he was explaining about his history with my mother."

"I see." Dumbledore held his wand to his temple and pulled a short strand of silver from it, dropping it into a conjured beaker. "What Professor Snape didn't know at the time he rushed to tell Voldemort about the prophecy was that he hadn't heard all of it. He was discovered eavesdropping, you see, and apprehended while the second half of the prophecy was recited, and was thus unable to deliver the crucial contents to Voldemort. Had he delivered the whole prophecy, I find it rather unlikely that Voldemort would have tried to kill you so soon."

Harry considered this for a moment. It made sense in a way.

"It was Professor Trelawney who made the prophecy, wasn't it?"

He still couldn't believe that the utter fraud who'd predicted his death dozens of times before, to the point of harassment, was the one who predicted his birth and the impediment it would be to Voldemort. It seemed ridiculous, impossible, and yet it made sense, considering Harry had seen for himself how one of Sybill Trelawney's trance-like predictions had already come to pass once before.

"Indeed it was," said Dumbledore, who was smiling at Harry again. "I'm pleased to see that you worked that out on your own."

"It took me a little while," Harry admitted, running a hand through his hair wearily. "I remembered something you told me the day Professor Lupin resigned, about the prediction that Professor Trelawney made – the one about Voldemort and Wormtail. You said it was the second real prediction she ever made, and I figured the prophecy was the first."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"I must admit, Harry, I never expected you to see that comment for what it was, but you are correct."

"But how did it come up?" Harry asked, genuinely confused on the matter. "Snape told me he overheard the prophecy, and I know it was made to you, but why were the three of you all in the same place together?"

"I did not expect Professor Snape" – Dumbledore once again emphasized the term 'professor', and Harry managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes – "to be eavesdropping on my meeting with Professor Trelawney. He overheard us at the Hog's Head, you see, during Sybill's interview for the position of Divination teacher. Between you and me," he added, "I must confess that had she not made the prophecy, I would most likely have declined her application –"

Harry grinned at this. It was clear that Dumbledore thought as little of the subject as Professor McGonagall did.

"– however, I knew right away that the prophecy was genuine. From that, I knew that Sybill must have some of her ancestor's Seer powers within her, if only a little. I chose to give her the chance to prove herself. When I realized that Voldemort knew of the prophecy, my decision became permanent in order to protect her, just in case Voldemort discovered it was she who made the prophecy and decided to come after her."

"I understand, Professor," Harry said quietly. "I just can't believe that Professor Trelawney of all people was the reason Voldemort came after me in the first place."

"You mustn't think of the situation in that regard, Harry," said Dumbledore with mild reprove in his tone. "Professor Trelawney never knew that she made the prophecy. Her role in the attack against your family is miniscule."

"I know, I know," muttered Harry, worried that he'd spoken out of turn, though Dumbledore showed no signs of anger. "It's just hard to take in, sir. Before last June, I never realized just how badly Voldemort wanted to kill me." He paused before continuing. "You said Voldemort never knew the second half of the prophecy?"

"That is correct. Professor Snape was interrupted by the barman of the Hog's Head halfway through the prophecy and was therefore unable to relay its full contents to Voldemort. He could only relay the portion he overheard before Aberforth apprehended him, and Voldemort's decision to act with only partial knowledge proved to be a mistake he only barely lived to regret. You will soon see why."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I am going to show you the prophecy in full, as Sybill relayed it to me. Now that you know about it, I feel it is only right that you know exactly what its contents are."

Harry said nothing. A budding fear was building up inside of him, a fear that he was about to learn something he did not want to hear after all, something that he had been subconsciously dreading on some level since he first arrived at Hogwarts …

With an idle flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned the Pensieve over to him from its place in the cabinet. He took the beaker he'd filled earlier and emptied its silvery contents within the Pensieve. As the silvery fluid swirled around, Dumbledore tapped the surface with his wand and something began to rise out of the Pensieve, a transparent, gaseous figure … first head, then torso, and finally legs, and Harry recognized instantly from the large glasses on its face that he was looking at Professor Trelawney.

She took no notice of them, as Harry knew she wouldn't – this was a memory from more than fifteen years ago. Her eyes made her look as though she was in a trance, and when she spoke it was in the tone Harry had only heard once before, when she predicted Voldemort's return.

"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 powers 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 final words echoed through the room, the floating figure of Professor Trelawney fell back into the Pensieve and the room fell silent once more.

Seconds turned into minutes and still no words were said, both too occupied with their own thoughts to speak to the other. Harry was playing and replaying the words over and over in his head, piecing together what he'd heard with what had happened thus far in his life, and he slowly realized what it meant, and dreaded the idea that he was right. Finally, after an eternity of approximately seven minutes and forty-six seconds, Harry looked up with wide eyes.

"Professor?" He hesitated. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"That depends entirely on what you think it means," said Dumbledore, his own voice rather quiet. He did not meet Harry's eyes.

"It sounds as though – I think it means – I have to kill Voldemort and he has to kill me."

Now was the moment to find out whether he was right, which he hoped dearly against, or wrong.

"I'm afraid you're right, Harry," said Dumbledore remorsefully. He met Harry's eyes as he continued, "There was a time when it might not have been you the prophecy was referring to, but due to Voldemort's actions, there is no longer any doubt that you are the one marked by – and destined to kill – Lord Voldemort."

"Who else could it have been?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"One other boy who was born as the seventh month dies to parents who have thrice defied the Dark Lord," Dumbledore replied. "Neville Longbottom."

Harry blinked. "It could have been Neville? But – why did he choose me, then?"

"The answer to that question is only known to Voldemort, Harry. We can only speculate as to why." Dumbledore scratched his chin thoughtfully as he spoke. "I am of the opinion that he chose you because you are a half-blood, like him, while Neville is a pureblood. Perhaps Voldemort even saw a bit of himself in you. Whatever the case, Voldemort chose you over Neville."

Harry remained silent, going over the second half of the prophecy over and over in his head, the part that Voldemort did not know about … but he will have powers the Dark Lord knows not … what did it mean? What possible powers could Harry have that Lord Voldemort, a wizard who had graduated Hogwarts fifty years before, formed an army of wizards and creatures as Dark as himself, and ensured that the wizarding world as a whole feared his name all before Harry was even born, did not have? It was ridiculous … neither can live while the other survives … how was that possible when he and Voldemort were both alive? They had both faced hardships since the night Voldemort's body was destroyed, but both survived the killing curse that night. They both survived, and both were still living.

Or was that not what the prophecy meant? Did it instead mean that Harry would live, but not a true life? It didn't make sense, not yet.

"If I may, Harry …" Dumbledore began. Harry shrugged. "I can see that the contents of the prophecy are confusing you, even now that you understand the main concept behind it. I want you to know – this is why I did not tell you that day, when you were lying in the hospital wing after your confrontation with Voldemort and Quirrell. You were not ready, you couldn't be. Even now I remain unsure if revealing to you the full contents of the prophecy was wise, but there was no choice. You were aware of its existence, and knowing of something but not understanding it is, in the eyes of this old teacher, an inexcusable thing."

Harry nodded, not really listening. His mind was still swarming from the knowledge that he would have to kill or be killed, and he was not optimistic enough to believe that this confrontation to decide his fate, and perhaps the fate of the entire wizarding world, would not take place soon. Eventually Voldemort would get to him again – he'd proven he could do so at any time – and he wasn't sure he could fight off Voldemort and escape again after being lucky so many times.

"You will be fine," Dumbledore said in the most assuring tone Harry had ever heard. "Trust me."

"I do trust you, Professor," said Harry, finally breaking his silence and raising his head to meet Dumbledore's gaze. He couldn't keep all of his fear out of his eyes, however, which Dumbledore immediately picked up on.

"I'm glad to hear it," Dumbledore said with relief. "It has worried me ever since you returned to the wizarding world at eleven that I would lose your trust upon answering the question of why Voldemort wants you dead at his hand."

Harry didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. Just as he wanted to hate Snape for the role Snape had played in the deaths of his parents, he wanted to hate Dumbledore for – as he knew it now – the many ways that Dumbledore had manipulated his life, starting from the moment he'd left Harry with the Dursleys. The fact of the matter, however, was that he couldn't do it. Now that he knew the extent to which both men had gone to protect him, he couldn't hate either of them. But there was still one issue, now that he thought of it …

"Is this why you left me with the Dursleys?" he asked, a small amount of bitterness in his voice. "Because of the prophecy?"

Almost at once the smile on Dumbledore's face fell away again. For the first time since Harry had walked into the office half an hour ago, Dumbledore looked saddened.

"I know what you must think of me, Harry," he began slowly, his voice filled with some kind of emotion that Harry didn't immediately recognize. He pulled out his wand and stared at it, a gesture Harry recognized as a means of not having to look at him as he spoke. "I know you must think I condemned you to a difficult life with your aunt and her family, a life that sometimes doesn't seem worth it in your young eyes. Please, do not say anything," he added, holding up his hand that wasn't holding his wand just as Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, "do not try and deny my words. It is plain as day, written on your face. I know what you must think, but you must believe me, Harry, when I say that I did not know the extent to which your aunt's grudge against magic would extend. At the time, your safety was far more important than your welfare, and the magic that your mother's sacrifice left behind would ensure that while you lived with your mother's family, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could not touch you. I believed that Petunia would raise you as I hoped you would be raised – not in a home where you would grow up surrounded by your fame and your legacy as the heroic baby who vanquished Lord Voldemort and ended the war, but as a normal boy, or at least as normal as I could hope for – but I was wrong, as Hagrid reported to me when he returned from reintroducing you to the wizarding world. I crave your pardon for that, Harry. I was able to protect you from the darkness within our society, but I was unable to protect you from your family."

Harry nodded. He could not deny still being a little bitter about the life he had lived, but the past was the past and he wasn't going to hold it against Dumbledore, one of the only people alive who he trusted. Besides, he was tired of hating people.

"I understand, Professor," he eventually said, rubbing his forehead absently; his scar was prickling again as it so often did in the months since Voldemort's rebirth. He stood up. "Thank you for telling me about the prophecy."

"Do you forgive me, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, rising to his feet as well. The two wizards stared at one another over the desk, neither motioning to move. "I do not wish for there to be resentment between us. I realize that I have … distanced myself from you in the last few months, but I realize now that I was wrong to do so and I hope that we can put that behind us as we move forward."

"There's nothing to forgive," Harry said quietly. "You said it yourself: you didn't know. If I resent anyone for what my childhood was like, I resent the people who raised me. But if I have to go to the Dursleys because of the prophecy, because of the protection my mother's sacrifice gives me … I can put my resentment aside if it means I'm guaranteed to stay alive. Don't be sorry for protecting me, Professor."

Dumbledore looked relieved at his words, and Harry realized right then that his headmaster really was worried about losing the bond the two had shared since his first year, the master-and-pupil relationship of sorts that existed between them. It was almost like a friendship in some ways, almost like what he and Remus Lupin had when the man was a professor at Hogwarts.

"You may leave for the night if you wish," said Dumbledore softly. "Between what you have learned from Professor Snape and what you have learned here, I am certain that you have a lot to think about tonight. I can only hope that you do not hold Professor Snape's past against him. He is human, as we all are."

"I understand," said Harry with a curt nod. He turned to leave. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Harry."