Apologies for the delay, I've been extremely busy lately, and also had a HD failure which lost me 3/4 of the chapter. It's a bit short this one, I was going to make it longer, but I got the last line, and thought it was actually a good place to end the chapter.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Harry Potter, or anything else in JKR's world. I am not making any money off this (sadly!), and anything in italics has been lifted from the books, and I'm just using to keep my story on track.

Enjoy!

When Harry woke up the next morning, he kept his eyes shut, as he processed everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours. A familiar burning feeling crept up his throat as Cedric's face floated through his mind, before being blown away in a flash of green light.

He heard "kill the spare" over and over, in Voldemort's high, cold voice, before Cedric's face faded with a whispered "take my body back, will you?", and was replaced with his mother and father's, who reassured him that everything would be alright, before they too vanished in a haze of green. Just as he thought he could not hold it in any longer, Harry felt a soft touch on his shoulder.

His eyes flew open, and despite not wearing his glasses, he made out Dumbledore's half-moon glasses and long, white beard. "Professor!" He cried. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

Dumbledore looked tired, more tired than Harry ever remembered seeing him. "You seemed to be reliving some difficult memories, Harry. Tell me, was it Cedric, or your parents whom you saw?"

Harry's eyes dropped. "Both, sir. I just wish I could have put the entire memory in your Pensieve yesterday, and not just a copy."

"That is not wise Harry," Dumbledore chastised gently, "for it is our experiences which make us who we are, and the fact that you feel pain and regret is part of being human, and importantly, what makes us different from Voldemort and his followers." Harry's eyes remained fixed on the bed sheets covering him, as they started to sting. "You remember what I once told you made you different from Lord Voldemort, I hope?"

"You said that it was our choices which show who we really are," Harry replied sullenly, "but what –"

"Do you not see Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted. "You feel guilt and sorrow for the loss of you classmate, and your feelings influence your actions profoundly. Do you think that Voldemort would be capable of the atrocities he carries out if he were capable of feeling guilt?" Harry shook his head. "So you see, if we were to remove any painful memory we were to ever have, the world would be full of Tom Riddles, incapable of feeling remorse."

Harry shuddered, the memories of the previous night replaying in his mind. "I think I see, Sir. But –"

"It is no easier, knowing this?" Harry shook his head. "I know" Dumbledore said, sadly. "However, may I share a word of wisdom with you?" At Harry's affirmation, he continued. "The old adage, that a weight shared is a weight halved, is true. Talk to Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, you will find that with time, and support, the pain, while it will never leave you, will lessen and become manageable. It is," he sighed, "one of the sad lessons we must learn when we grow up."

Harry stared resolutely at his hands, unable to look his Headmaster in the eye.

"I think it is time I left you to rest, Harry. When you are released from Madam Pomfrey's care, would you please come to my office? There is much we must speak about, but this is neither the time nor place, and I have some pressing matters to deal with. Your escape and forcing of Minister Fudge's hand have sped up events significantly, and I fear we may not be ready for the coming war …"

Harry looked up in shock at this, "Sir…?"

Dumbledore looked at him more a moment, in confusion, before a look of understanding flitted across his face. "Ah, you misunderstand me Harry." He chuckled and patted Harry's leg. "I was most relieved that you escaped, and relatively unhurt at that! No, it was more how easily we were able to convince the Minister of Lord Voldemort's return which caught me by surprise."

"I may not have Professor Trelawney's Inner Eye," his eyes twinkled, as he winked at Harry, who snorted, "but I have long foreseen Tom's return, and the events at the end of last year only made yesterday's outcome inevitable." Harry nodded soberly, recalling the Divination Professor's prophecy. "No, as I was saying, what surprised me was how easily Minister Fudge was convinced to see reason after your intervention. I must admit, I believed that I'd have to ensnare Tom and expose him publicly, before the Minister would see reason, but perhaps circumstances around young Barty Crouch's unfortunate state helped matters along –" he trailed off in thought.

"But that is no longer of import." He concluded, standing up abruptly, "You need to rest, and I have matters to attend to!" He made for the doors to the Infirmary, but paused at the doorway. "Please do not forget to come to my office when you are released, Harry." Harry nodded curtly, already dreading the conversation. "I trust you remember the password?" Again Harry nodded, and watched as the Headmaster spun around and disappeared down the corridor. He sighed and leaned back into his pillow, closing his eyes and trying not to imagine Cedric or his parents' faces, but it proved to be a losing battle, even when he drifted off to sleep again.

Later that morning, the Diggorys came to visit him. They did not blame him for what had happened; on the con trary, both thanked him for returning Cedric's body to them. Mr Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears.

"He suffered very little then," she said, when Harry had told her how Cedric had died. "And after all, Amos … he died just when he'd won the tournament. He must have been happy."

When they got to their feet, she looked down at Harry and said, "You look after yourself, now."

Harry seized the sack of gold on the bedside table.

"You take this," he muttered to her. "It should've been Cedric's, he got there first, you take it —"

But she backed away from him.

"Oh no, it's yours, dear, I couldn't … you keep it."

The following evening, Madam Pomfrey released him, and he slowly made his way up to the Headmaster's Office. Giving the gargoyle the password and riding the moving staircase to the top, he knocked on the oak door. He heard a muffled "Come in!" and pushing the door open, took a step into the Headmaster's sanctum.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, writing furiously at what appeared to be a quite lengthy letter. He gestured with his left hand for Harry to sit down opposite him.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Harry. I just need to finish this letter –" Harry shrugged and sat down in the offered chair, before realising the Headmaster wouldn't have seen the shrug.

"That's fine, Sir." He was startled when a soft rush of wings announced Fawkes' arrival. "Besides, I think Fawkes wants some attention." Dumbledore chuckled.

"Be that as it may, we have much to discuss tonight, so Fawkes will have to be satisfied by less attention than you usually give him, especially as I have a job for him. I have finished anyway –" He trailed off as he apparently signed the letter with a flourish, rolled it up and sealed it with hot wax. "Fawkes, if you may…?" He held the letter out to the phoenix.

Fawkes seemed to huff in irritation at being disturbed, but obligingly hopped off Harry's knee, took flight and snatched the letter from Dumbledore's outstretched hand, before vanishing in a flash of fire.

The warm feeling Harry always felt with Fawkes' presence abruptly disappeared, as he turned towards the Headmaster, who was regarding him sadly through his half-moon glasses. "Sir…?"

"I find myself in a quandary Harry" Dumbledore suddenly said. "There are things you must know, that I know you must know now that Voldemort has returned, but I cannot bear the idea of burdening one so young with such information."

"Sir…?" But Dumbledore put his hand up to stop Harry.

"I have already decided to tell you everything Harry. I am just trying to think how best to approach this – do you remember at the end of your first year, when you asked me why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?" Harry nodded, and leaned forward, his heart starting to race.

"At the time I thought you much too young for this information, and in many ways, I still do. However events have caught up with us, and I can no longer hide behind the excuse that you are too young. To do so now, would not do justice to your achievements, nor I fear, to the Wizarding World. It is time Harry," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you four years ago. I am going to tell you everything. I would however ask you for patience, and that should you feel anger at me, hold onto it until I am finished."

"Anger, Sir?" Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes," the Headmaster sighed, suddenly looking exhausted, "I believe that what I have to tell you will anger you, quite understandably. Given that I have withheld this information from you, you might, quite justifiably I might add, be quite furious with me by the end. I just ask you for a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me – should you want to – when I have finished. I will not stop you."

Harry was a little confused, and more than a little worried. What information had the Headmaster been withholding from him for so long? Then a burst of inspiration hit him, and he glanced into Dumbledore's eyes. "You know, don't you Sir? Why he came after me as a baby. Why my parents –" His question died in his throat, as the memory of his parents' echoes filled his mind.

"Yes, I know why your parents died Harry, and much besides." Harry flinched slightly, but held the Headmaster's gaze. "Four years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and diffi cult years."

He paused. Harry said nothing.

"You might ask — and with good reason — why it had to be so. Why could some Wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son.

"My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but myself realized. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters — and many of them are almost as terrible as he — were still at large, angry, desper ate, and violent. And I had to make my decision too with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty, or fifty years before he re turned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more ex tensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

"But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love me," said Harry at once. "She doesn't give a damn —"

"But she took you," Dumbledore cut across him. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."

"I still don't —"

"While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fourteen years."

"Four years ago, then, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

"And then … well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you, and sooner — much sooner — than I had anticipated, you found yourself face-to-face with Voldemort. You sur vived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was … prouder of you than I can say.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine," said Dumb ledore. "An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undo ing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"I don't understand what you're saying," said Harry.

"When you asked me why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby, ought I to have told you then?"

Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.

"You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No … perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.

"I should have recognized the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognized that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day … You were too young, much too young.

"And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced. Once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark upon you. We dis cussed your scar, oh yes. … We came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

"Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my pres ence, blood-stained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, have told you then, it was swiftly si lenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in me to spoil that night of triumph. …

"Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

"I don't —"

"I cared about you too much," said Dumbledore simply. "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

"Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have — and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined — not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and crea tures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

"We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and res cued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had tri umphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My con science was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon. …

"But you came out of the maze a few nights ago, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself … and I almost did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. But with Minister Fudge's acknowledgement of the truth, events will progress far more rapidly that I initially expected. And so now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all."

Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.

"I still don't understand."

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mis taken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, with his return to his body, and particularly your extraordinary escape from him this week, he will be determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. He will seek the knowledge of how to destroy you."

There was a long silence as Harry tried to process Dumbledore's words.

"I don't understand, Sir. What –"

"What does the prophecy say?" Harry jerked his head in acknowledgement. "There is a Department in the Ministry of Magic dedicated to the studies of those magics which are still mysteries, Harry. One of those magics is divination. There is in fact an entire room dedicated to keeping records of all known prophecies."

Harry made to get up but Dumbledore interrupted him before he was even half way out his seat.

"You cannot enter the Department of Mysteries, Harry. Only those working there may enter." Harry slumped back into his seat despondently, before realising something.

"Sir, if only people working the Department of Mysteries –"

"They are called Unspeakables, Harry." At Harry's confused look, Dumbledore explained, "they cannot speak of their work to anyone, so very few outsiders know what they get up to."

Harry shrugged, and started his question again. "If only Unspeakables can see the prophecies, how does Voldemort expect to hear the prophecy? Will he break into the Ministry of Magic like he did at Gringotts?"

"That is a definite possibility. Prophecies can only be viewed by those it refers to though, so Voldemort would have to personally enter the Ministry to do that. While the Minister has accepted his return, and so Voldemort has little to gain from subterfuge at this stage, I do not believe he will attempt this. He may be powerful, but with the Ministry on alert, even he could not be assured of success. No, I believe he will try to discover the Prophecy's contents by other means."

"Do you mean the Seer who made it Sir?"

"That is a possibility, although a Seer does not remember their prophecies, as you well know. Voldemort may know this too, although he may be desperate enough to attempt to find out that way anyway. The more likely scenario though, is he will hunt the person who witnessed the prophecy, and registered it in the Department of Mysteries."

"Do you know who that was, Sir?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry gravely before answering. "Yes, I do Harry, for that person is me."