Chapter 4 27th June, 1996

Harry had barely opened his eyes when there was a flash of fire, accompanied by a soft squawk, as Fawkes appeared above his bed. The Phoenix had grown since his rebirth and was now the size of a chicken.

''Lo Fawkes,' Harry whispered sleepily, as he reached blearily for his glasses.

With his glasses on, he spotted the scroll that had been deposited upon his bed by Fawkes. Reaching forward Harry grasped the parchment and unrolled it.

Dear Harry,

If it is convenient for you, I would like to see you in my office once you have eaten breakfast. There is a matter of great importance I wish to discuss with you before you leave Hogwarts for the summer. Fawkes will wait for your answer.

I am, yours most sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

PS. You are most welcome to use the Floo connection.

Harry was now wide awake, staring at Dumbledore's letter in bafflement. What more could they possibly have to discuss, he thought incredulously. A number of possibilities sprang to mind, each more bizarre and unlikely than the previous, as Harry tried to come up with an explanation for the Headmaster's note. Harry was so lost in thought it was only when Fawkes nudged his knee that he realised the Phoenix was waiting for a reply.

'Oh right, sorry Fawkes,' he muttered hastily as he scrambled out of bed in search of a quill.

Locating a rather battered quill from the depths of his trunk he turned Dumbledore's letter over and hastily scribbled a reply.

Of course, sir.

Fawkes snapped the reply up the instant Harry moved his quill away, and in a flash of fire the Phoenix was gone. Harry stared at the spot where the bird had disappeared for a moment longer before snapping out of his stupor and hurriedly pulling on clothes haphazardly. He emerged from his room two minutes later and made his way to the kitchen table. He'd just poured the milk on his cereal when he realised Snape was not at the table. Frowning, Harry leant back in his chair glancing up the corridor to where Snape's bedroom was. He hadn't noticed when he'd left his own room but Snape's door was open. Surprised, Harry went to investigate.

Looking into the room Harry was shocked to find Snape fully-clothed, spread-eagled across the top of his duvet. Hurrying forward, he let out a sigh of relief as he realised Snape was simply asleep. Snape must have been really worn out to have slept so late, Harry surmised. Since he'd been living with Snape, the man had always been up two or three hours before Harry himself. In fact Harry doubted he'd ever slept past six in the morning. At present it was nearing nine though and it looked like Snape wouldn't be waking anytime soon. With a small smile Harry exited the room silently, returning to his cereal.

Snape still had not woken by the time Harry finished breakfast. He was anxious to see Dumbledore as soon as possible though. Summoning a piece of parchment and quill, Harry set to writing a note for Snape. After the events of the previous evening he thought it would be best if he left Snape a message, in case he wasn't back by the time the man woke. Positioning the parchment so that Snape would see it when he entered the kitchen Harry moved to the fireplace. Throwing down a fistful of green powder, he called out his destination and disappeared in a swirl of emerald flames.

He emerged from the fireplace in Dumbledore's office to find the man himself seated at his desk in deep magenta robes. Dumbledore put aside his copy of the Daily Prophet he'd been perusing, instead fixing his twinkling blue eyes upon Harry.

'Good morning Harry,' Dumbledore greeted.

'Hello Professor,' Harry replied as he discreetly dusted himself off.

Dumbledore indicated that Harry should take the seat opposite him. Harry obliged, although his gaze was captured by the burnt and blackened hand of the Headmaster. Dumbledore's own gaze followed Harry's. The blue eyes rested upon the cursed hand for a moment before Dumbledore gently shook the sleeve of his robe, carefully obscuring the limb.

'I trust you and Severus sorted out your differences last night?'

Harry snapped back to reality to find the Headmaster studying him with a knowing look, the hint of a twinkle in the old man's gaze.

'I think so,' he replied honestly. 'He was still asleep when I left though so...'

Harry trailed off, shrugging.

'Oh I wouldn't worry about him,' said Dumbledore. 'He'll be a bit groggy for the next few days but he should be back to his normal self by the end of the week.'

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about. Dumbledore seemed to realise this and smiled apologetically before offering an explanation.

'Exposure to this sort of magic,' Dumbledore gestured to his withered right hand, 'without adequate preparation, will often cause fatigue.'

'Oh right.'

Silence descended on the office as Dumbledore fixed Harry with his piercing gaze. Harry had the distinct impression that he was being evaluated. Feeling uncomfortable, he let his gaze wander to the various portraits which encompassed the circular office. All of them appeared to be sleeping. He could have sworn though that Phineas Nigellus had been studying him silently not one minute ago, but when he looked directly at the portrait he seemed to be just as inattentive as his contemporaries.

'So, Harry,' said Dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. 'You have been wondering, I am sure, why I have called you here today?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied immediately, his curiosity piqued once more.

Dumbledore spared him a wistful smile before continuing on in a serious tone.

'I did not intend, Harry, to have this conversation with you until you became of age,' the Headmaster began gravely. 'In fact I had hoped that it would unnecessary for you and I to ever discuss this topic. However, last night changed everything.'

Dumbledore paused, studying Harry intently.

'There is now only a finite amount of time available – a year to be exact – during which I can still aid you. I am only sorry that I cannot offer you more time, Harry. My only consolation is that I waited so long to confirm my hypothesis – for I fear that this outcome,' here he gestured at his right hand, 'was inevitable.'

'What do you mean, sir?' Harry asked in alarm. 'And how did you injure your hand?'

'I will answer both your questions in due time, Harry, for you would not understand the answers just yet. No,' Dumbledore continued quietly, 'in order for you to truly understand we must begin at the beginning.'

Dumbledore paused, fixing Harry with one final calculating look, before standing. Harry watched as Dumbledore approached the cabinet that stood by his office door and bent to retrieve something from within. He recognised the shallow stone basin immediately and watched apprehensively as Dumbledore placed the Pensieve in the centre of his desk.

'Last night Harry, you spoke to me of the prophecy,' began Dumbledore. 'You told me that you do not fight because of the prophecy – you fight because Tom Riddle destroyed your family. You fight because Tom Riddle is so certain that you are the boy mentioned in the prophecy that he is prepared to murder your friends and destroy your life.'

'But the prophecy does refer to me, doesn't it?' Harry cut in, unsure of what Dumbledore was trying to tell him. After all, Dumbledore had told him, not even a fortnight ago, that Voldemort had marked him as his equal. Surely there was no doubt now that he, Harry, was the child mentioned in the prophecy.

'Yes,' Dumbledore stated simply. 'Of that there is no doubt.'

'Then why does it matter?' Harry demanded, failing to keep the frustration out of his voice. 'I'm not going to let him control my life any longer. I don't care what the prophecy says; I'm going to stop him.'

Silence met his outburst.

Harry, feeling embarrassed, distracted himself by fiddling nervously with a thread on his shirt. After a moment Dumbledore cleared his throat slightly and Harry looked up to see the Headmaster studying him. The brilliant blue eyes were full of pride but there was something else in the gaze as well – a deep sadness. The gaze unsettled Harry, and he had the sudden feeling that Dumbledore wasn't telling him something, but he shook it off at the Headmaster's next words.

'You truly are your parent's son Harry,' Dumbledore said gently. 'Both James and Lily would be immensely proud of you. As am I.'

'Thank you, sir,' Harry said thickly, surprised by the sudden praise.

'Once again I have underestimated you Harry.'

'Sir?'

'I had considered meeting you throughout the coming year, Harry, to discuss the information which I have uncovered,' Dumbledore began thoughtfully. 'In doing so I had hoped that you would have come to the realisation, under my guidance, that the prophecy does not rule your life. It would seem though that I have underestimated you significantly, my boy, as you have come to that exact conclusion by yourself. It is for that reason alone that I know you are ready to hear what I have discovered. It is fortunate indeed that you remain at Hogwarts for the next few days, as there is much to be discussed.'

'For several years now,' Dumbledore continued briskly, 'I have been collecting memories. I wish for you to view these memories with me now, Harry, as they are the basis of my research. I must stress though that from this point onwards, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From heron in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron.'

'But you think you're right?' said Harry seriously.

'Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being – forgive me – rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger.'

'The information, sir,' Harry began tentatively, 'it's about defeating Voldemort isn't it?'

Dumbledore nodded grimly as he opened the bottom drawer of his desk and extracted a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.

'Will it help me survive?' Harry asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the mesmerising swirls of the memory.

'I hope so Harry,' Dumbledore said softly.

There was silence for a moment as Harry considered Dumbledore's answer. Eventually he looked up to see the Headmaster struggling to open the bottle with his injured hand. Wordlessly Harry reached out for the bottle. Taking it from Dumbledore he opened the crystal bottle with ease and silently decanted the contents into the Pensieve.

'Thank you Harry,' Dumbledore murmured, rubbing his right hand with a slightly pained expression.

'Whose memory is this?' Harry asked quietly, in an attempt to distract Dumbledore from his cursed hand.

Dumbledore seemed grateful for the distraction and stood, walking around the desk to stand beside Harry.

'This memory belongs to Bob Ogden, an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He died some time ago,' Dumbledore continued, heading off Harry's question, 'but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you will stand, Harry...'

Harry stood hastily, positioning himself beside Dumbledore. At the Headmaster's nod, he leant forward and taking a deep breath plunged head first into the silvery substance.

XXXX

'What happened to the girl in the cottage?' Harry asked the moment he resurfaced from the Pensieve. 'Merope or whatever her name was?'

'Oh, she survived,' said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk and indicating that Harry should sit down too. 'Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months.'

'Marvolo?' Harry repeated wonderingly.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry from across his desk and watched approvingly as Harry made the connection.

'That man was Voldemort's grandfather?' he asked incredulously, although he was certain he'd made the correct assumption.

Dumbledore nodded once again.

'Marvolo, his son Morfin and his daughter Merope –'

'Wait, then she – Merope – was Voldemort's mother?' Harry interrupted hastily, making the leap of logic with ease.

'Indeed,' Dumbledore acknowledged. 'And it just so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether –'

'The Muggle Morfin attacked? The man on the horse?' Harry interrupted once again.

Dumbledore seemingly bemused by Harry's eagerness simply nodded.

'But, they were insane,' Harry continued on, as he puzzled through the mystery of the family. Now that he knew the occupants of the memory were Voldemort's family he was determined to work out why Dumbledore thought it important for him to have seen the memory. There had to be something about the family that he needed to know. 'Her family, I mean,' he added quickly. 'And her father was definitely a Pureblood fanatic; I can't see him being too happy about Merope marrying that Muggle. Besides, I got the impression Tom Riddle senior wouldn't have been making house calls anytime soon,' he finished disbelievingly, unable to imagine two people less likely to fall in love.

'Right again, Harry,' Dumbledore interjected. 'Morfin, Marvolo and Merope were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Merope Gaunt did indeed cherish a secret, burning passion for Tom Riddle senior – one which resulted in the birth of Lord Voldemort. However, I think you are forgetting that Merope was a witch. With the removal of her father's influence I am sure she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years.

'Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead?' asked Dumbledore, after a moment's pause.

'The Imperius Curse?' Harry suggested darkly.

'An admirable suggestion,' continued Dumbledore, 'but I think it much more likely that Merope would have used a love potion. I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter Merope.'

'Why were they so poor?' Harry interjected. 'And is Little Hangleton a wizarding village? I thought Purebloods tended to live in Wizarding communities. It just seems strange that someone like Marvolo would live so close to Muggles.'

'Lack of sense,' Dumbledore explained patiently, 'coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter. As to Little Hangleton, I believe it developed as a Muggle village on the outskirts of what was once the Gaunt Estate. With the decline of the family the number of wizarding families in the area decreased whilst the village of Little Hangleton flourished. By the time Marvolo Gaunt was born, the Gaunts were the only wizards within a 50mile radius of Little Hangleton.'

'What happened between Merope and Tom Riddle senior?' Harry asked, after a moment's thought. 'Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore began gravely. 'We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumour flew around the neighbourhood that he was talking of being "hoodwinked" and "taken in". What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not dare use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason.'

'But she did have his baby.'

'Yes, but not until a year after they were married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant.'

'What went wrong?' asked Harry. 'Why did the love potion stop working?'

'Again, this is guesswork,' said Dumbledore, 'but I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son.'

Sunlight was pouring in through the office window now as midday approached. The light had crept across the carpet so that it was warming Harry's back as he sat mulling over what Dumbledore had told him. Something on Dumbledore's desk glinted in the light, catching Harry's attention. He let out a startled gasp as he recognised the object.

'Sir,' he exclaimed, 'it's the ring – the one Marvolo was wearing – the one that...'

Harry trailed off as his eyes moved towards Dumbledore's cursed hand. Harry's thoughts raced as he recalled what he had seen last night. The ring that now lay benignly on Dumbledore's desk was the same one responsible for the deadly curse that had infected the Headmaster.

'Is it still cursed?' Harry asked sadly.

'No,' Dumbledore said simply, picking up the ring and passing it across the table to Harry.

Harry grimaced as he took the ring, before pulling it closer to inspect the surface of the stone. The stone was split down the middle but what caught Harry's attention were the strange markings on the ring. Looking closer he was able to interpret the scratches. There was a circle with a line through it, encompassed by a triangle. Harry frowned, as he recalled what Marvolo had said as he'd brandished the ring in front of Bob Ogden, claiming it to be the Peverell coat of arms.

'Who were the Peverell's?' Harry asked.

Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably at the question.

'They were a very old wizarding family,' he answered tightly. 'One of the first to become extinct in the male line.'

The abrupt reply made it clear that Dumbledore had nothing further to add about the Peverell family.

'Why did you use the Sword of Gryffindor to break the stone, sir, if it didn't break the curse?' Harry asked instead.

'Ah, so you heard that last night, did you?' Dumbledore replied, although he did not sound reproachful, in fact he was smiling slightly.

Harry felt his cheeks redden though as he was reminded of his eavesdropping.

'I did not intend to use the Sword to break the curse.'

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Dumbledore raised his blackened hand and continued.

'You will understand why soon enough Harry. Now, if you are ready there are several other memories I wish to show you before the day is out.'

Harry nodded his acceptance, reluctantly handing back the ring.

'Can I ask one more question sir?'

'You may,' the Headmaster allowed.

'Why did you put the ring on?' Harry asked.

Dumbledore froze at Harry's question. Capitalising on the silence, Harry continued – puzzled as he was by the ring, now that he knew some of its history.

'You said you were 'sorely tempted' but why would you need to put it on? Does the ring do something?'

Harry broke off as a shadow crossed the Headmaster's face at his words. For a long time Dumbledore said nothing and Harry thought that perhaps he had gone too far. Eventually though the Headmaster answered him.

'I am sorry Harry, but I cannot answer that question,' he replied gravely, suddenly sounding his many years. 'It is something that you must work discover on your own. All I can say is that the stone will not aid you against Voldemort.'

The Headmaster held Harry's gaze until he nodded his acceptance of the man's terms.

'I'm sorry,' he apologised awkwardly.

Dumbledore smiled slightly, shaking off the shadow that had crept across his features at the mention of the stone.

'You should never apologise for asking questions,' Dumbledore said lightly, sounding like his normal self once more, as he stood and moved to stand once more beside Harry.

Harry looked over at the Headmaster and watched as the man touched his wand to his temple and with a look of immense concentration pulled it away from himself and towards the Pensieve. Harry watched in awe as the fine gossamer silvery strand broke away from Dumbledore's temple, remaining attached to the man's wand. With a flick of his wrist Dumbledore deposited the memory into his Pensieve, where it began to swirl.

'Abandoned by Tom Riddle, Merope was left alone and pregnant in London,' said Dumbledore.

'How do you know she was there, sir?'

'Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke,' explained Dumbledore. 'Co-founder of 'Borgin and Burkes'.'

Harry recognised the name of the shop he had once flooed to by accident.

Reaching forward Dumbledore tapped his wand against the Pensieve and Harry watched as a revolving little old man emerged from its depths.

'Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, may years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along...going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, "Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favourite teapot," but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!'

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory whence he had come.

'He only gave her ten Galleons?' said Harry indignantly.

'Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity,' said Dumbledore. 'So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms.'

'But she could do magic!' said Harry impatiently. 'She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, 'perhaps she could. But it is my belief – I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right – that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life.'

'She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

'Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?'

'No,' said Harry quickly, 'but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother –'

'Your mother had a choice, too,' said Dumbledore gently. 'Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand ...'

Harry obliged and leaning forward, dove into Dumbledore's memory.

XXXX

Harry's thoughts were buzzing as he returned to the solid ground of Dumbledore's office. He seated himself in his chair once again and waited expectantly for Dumbledore to speak.

'Well Harry,' said Dumbledore as he re-seated himself, 'what can you tell me about Tom Riddle?'

Harry leant forward eagerly in his chair having anticipated the question.

'He believed you straight away when you told him he was a wizard,' he began thoughtfully. 'I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me.'

'Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was – to use his word – "special",' said Dumbledore. 'What else did you notice?'

'He didn't want your help to find Diagon Alley,' continued Harry, frowning slightly as he thought about the memory more. 'He didn't seem to have any friends either. The lady...Mrs Cole...she seemed to be scared of him. And I'm not sure sir, but was he trying to use Legilimency on you?'

'Yes, he was,' Dumbledore answered grimly. 'Even at that young age his powers were surprisingly well-developed. Most interestingly and ominously of all, he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. As you observed, even the adults were wary of him. He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive...I can make them hurt if I want to...'

'And he was a Parselmouth,' interjected Harry.

'Yes, indeed; a rare ability and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although, as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy and domination. Tell me Harry, did you notice how he reacted when I mentioned that another shared his first name, "Tom"?'

'Yeah,' replied Harry, 'he hated it. The Riddle I met in the Chamber of Secrets was the same; he despised the name because it was his father's – a foul, common Muggle, in his opinion. He said his friends called him 'Lord Voldemort'. Even at school.'

'Yes, Tom was quick to shed the name and any ties to his Muggle heritage. It is interesting though that you speak of friends, Harry,' Dumbledore observed. 'You will hear many of Tom's Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.'

The pair lapsed into silence again as Harry once more considered the scene he had just witnessed in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

'Sir,' Harry began, breaking the silence, 'do you know if Riddle returned the mouth-organ and the other objects he'd stolen?'

'Yes, he did,' answered Dumbledore. 'I believe he was sufficiently alarmed by my display of magic that he did not dare disobey me. I am glad you noticed that Harry, for it will become quite important soon enough.'

'What, the mouth organ?' Harry asked, perplexed. 'Is it like the ring?'

For the past few minutes Harry had been mulling over the possibility that in each memory there was something like the ring which Dumbledore wanted Harry to identify. He was certain there was a reason Dumbledore had gone to find the ring...it had to be important.

Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

'An admirable deduction Harry, but the mouth-organ was only ever a mouth-organ. No,' Dumbledore continued good-naturedly, 'I wished to draw your attention to Tom's tendency to collect trophies. It is important that you understand the boy Tom Riddle was, as he is the basis of the man Lord Voldemort is.'

Dumbledore's cryptic words made no sense to Harry but he nodded nonetheless, trusting that eventually he would understand. He was about to ask another question when his stomach rumbled loudly. Harry's face heated up in embarrassment but Dumbledore waved away his apology.

'No matter Harry,' he said amusedly, 'it is, after all, lunchtime. Perhaps we should adjourn for now and reconvene after dinner this evening.'

'Of course, sir,' Harry agreed readily.

He was eager to learn more about Voldemort's history now that Dumbledore had alluded to its importance. He was about to get up to leave when a thought occurred to him.

'Sir, can I tell Professor Snape what we've been talking about?'

Dumbledore was silent for a moment before he answered.

'For his own safety,' Dumbledore began seriously, 'I would ask that you do not discuss the information I have given you, Harry, at any time with Severus, whilst he remains in the employ of Lord Voldemort. However, I think Mr Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. Yes, I believe it would be wise of you to confide in them.'

'But, I haven't even told them about the prophecy!' Harry objected.

'Am I correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Oh, well I did say something to Professor Snape...but I guess that doesn't really count because he'd already heard it.'

'A wise decision, on the whole,' said Dumbledore. 'Although I think you ought to relax it in favour of your friends. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.'

'I didn't want –'

'– to worry or frighten them?' said Dumbledore. 'Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry.'

Harry nodded and then moved towards the fireplace, ready to floo back to Snape's quarters.

'What should I tell Professor Snape?' Harry asked as he was about to throw the green powder down into the flames. 'He'll ask me where I've been.'

'Oh I'm certain he will,' Dumbledore replied knowingly. 'I will deal with Severus if he becomes too persistent.'

Harry shot the Headmaster a relieved grin before stepping into the emerald flames. He didn't envy the Headmaster the job of denying information to Severus Snape. Calling out his destination he disappeared in a whirl of flames.

XXXX

Snape opened his eyes blearily to find himself in a dark room. It took him several minutes to identify the room as his own and several more to realise he was sprawled, fully-clothed, across his bed. His throat was raw, as though he had recently gotten over an infection, and he had a thumping headache. Swallowing painfully, he raised his hands to rub the sleep out of his eyes before beginning to massage his temples in an attempt to alleviate his headache. His mind seemed to be moving at a snail's pace as the events of the previous evening came back to him.

He let out a groan as he replayed the discussion he'd had with Dumbledore. At least now he understood why he felt like he'd been run over by a herd of Hippogriffs. Whatever the curse was that had been on the ring, it was an insidious little bastard he thought dryly. It had certainly taken it out of him last night and he knew from experience he'd be feeling under the weather for the next few days. With some effort he hauled himself into a sitting position so that his legs were hanging over the side of the bed. As he was considering getting up he was reminded of the other outcome of the previous evening's discussions: his admission to Harry.

That had been painfully awkward, he recalled. Thinking back on it now, he realised there was a lot he still needed to discuss with the boy. With that conclusion he stumbled as gracefully as possible from his bed and out into the corridor. His gaze was drawn immediately towards Harry's bedroom, where the door remained open. Approaching the room, Severus was surprised to find it empty. Frowning, he turned away from the bedroom and instead moved towards the living room. A quick glance was enough to tell him that Harry was not in his quarters.

Perhaps he really had dreamt that conversation last night, he thought morosely. Given the power of the curse, Snape began to think it highly probable that he'd imagined his confession to Harry. Besides, he'd barely seen the boy for the past few days – it stood to reason that today would be no different.

It was twenty minutes later, after a hot shower to clear his mind, that Snape spotted the neatly folded parchment on the dining table when he re-entered the kitchen. With a tap of his wand he broke the seal and scanned the parchment quickly.

Severus,

The Headmaster wanted to see me. I'll be back later.

Harry

Snape frowned at the bizarre note before glancing across at the mantel piece clock. It was nearing midday. What in Merlin's name was Albus doing with the boy, Snape thought irritatingly. Resigned to waiting, Snape dropped wearily onto the couch, leaning back into its welcoming embrace. At least Harry's note implied he would be returning to Snape's quarters.

Snape did not have to wait long before the fireplace flared to life, emerald flames dancing merrily, as a spinning Harry was deposited in the hearth. Standing, he watched as the boy steadied himself against the edge of the fireplace as he absentmindedly dusted himself off, clearly deep in thought. Finally he stepped out of the fireplace and only then did he notice Snape. Harry had quite obviously not been expecting to meet Snape directly, evidenced by his peculiar surprised expression. He met Snape's curious gaze for a moment before guilty diverting his own. Snape cocked one eyebrow in surprise, his brow furrowing slightly at Harry's unusual reaction. Once again, he caught himself wondering just what Albus had needed to see the boy about.

Snape studied Harry quietly for a moment longer before finally clearing his throat uncomfortably, as he summoned his courage to breach the topic of the previous evening with Harry.

'We need to talk, Harry,' he said stiffly, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. 'About last night,' he clarified when Harry stared at him, nonplussed.

'Oh right.'

Snape gestured towards the kitchen table and silently Harry led the way over. The boy dropped into one of the chairs and immediately began to fidget uncomfortably, tracing patterns in the woodwork. Harry's apparent reluctance only served to unnerve Severus further, causing him to dry swallow several times before he managed to break the deafening silence.

'There is something that I have been meaning to discuss with you for the past week,' Severus began, his voice cracking. 'However, there was certain information, pertaining to my past, that needed to be,' Severus broke off searching for the correct word, 'considered before we discussed anything else.'

He had Harry's attention now and the boy was studying him with open curiosity.

'I was not aware that you knew much about my past,' he continued carefully, his gaze fixed intently upon Harry, 'but after last night, I am not so sure. You were already aware that I was the one who overheard the prophecy.'

It was not a question, merely a statement but it was enough for Harry to speak up.

'Professor Trelawney told me,' he admitted shamefacedly.

Severus was hard pressed not to show his surprise but his confusion must have been obvious as Harry seemed compelled to elaborate.

'Well...not really,' Harry continued. 'Dumbledore'd already told me that a Death Eater had overheard the prophecy, when he'd been interviewing Trelawney for her job, and then at the staff party you were acting...' Harry trailed off, seemingly unable to find a polite way to describe Severus' behaviour that night.

'In an unusual manner?' Severus offered stiffly, once again silently berating Minerva for her overzealous punishment.

'Yeah,' Harry agreed quickly, with obvious relief. 'Anyway, Trelawney wasn't too pleased with you and she happened to mention that you'd barged in on her interview and well...it wasn't too hard to put two and two together,' he finished lamely.

'You did not confront me,' Snape stated in surprise.

'No.'

'You avoided me instead?' he asked quietly, wishing to confirm the reason behind Harry's avoidant behaviour.

Harry nodded.

The pair descended into silence as Snape considered the way Harry had dealt with the information. In all honesty he was surprised the boy had not confronted him immediately.

'What was different last night?' Snape asked curiously, wondering why Harry had stopped avoiding him.

'Something Dumbledore said,' Harry mumbled, seeming to understand exactly what Snape was asking.

Snape waited a moment longer but realised he would get no other answer. He wondered what Dumbledore had said but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. It didn't matter now.

'I am sorry I did not tell you sooner,' Snape said sincerely.

'It's fine,' Harry said immediately, offering Snape a small smile. 'I wish you'd never heard the prophecy but I don't blame you for my parent's death...or any of this,' he said, gesturing around the room at large, as though it represented all of the destruction descended from the prophecy. 'Voldemort's the one to blame,' Harry stated adamantly. 'You just made a mistake.'

'It wasn't a mistake, Harry,' Snape said gently, shaking his head sadly at the young man across from him. 'Do not imagine for one minute that I was ignorant of what I was doing or that I was coerced into joining the Death Eaters. I chose that path, Harry. I wanted to be a Death Eater. As much as I regret that now, it does not change what has already occurred.'

There was a stubborn glint in Harry's eye now, one that Snape was intimately acquainted with. He had not seen it for many years now but he knew it meant the boy was about to tell him just how wrong he was. In fact, the look was so similar to that of Lily's that Snape laughed. It was not a happy laugh; rather it was the laugh of a man who has forgotten an item of dire importance, only to realise it had been with him all along.

The stubborn glint disappeared from Harry's eyes, to be replaced by one of surprise and confusion as Snape's laughter died away.

'My apologies,' Snape offered calmly, 'your expression reminded me of your mother. She used to get that same stubborn glint in her eye before she would tell me just how wrong I was.'

He paused, smiling wistfully at Harry.

'I don't want you to tell me how wrong I am Harry,' he continued gently. 'Not yet, at least,' he added hastily when Harry looked like he was about to protest. 'I would ask that you listen instead. There is a decision you need to make and I cannot, in good faith, let you make that decision without all of the facts.'

'What do I have to decide?' Harry asked warily, frowning slightly.

'I will get to that eventually,' Snape assured gravely, 'once you have heard everything. But first, you need to know why I joined the Death Eaters.'

XXXX

A/N: My apologies for the long wait between updates. I decided to finish this chapter at an earlier spot than I had originally planned as it seemed a good place to finish and I wanted to give you guys something to read! Having said that, I hope that the next chapter will follow swiftly - although no guarantees. I'm quite busy at present so it's hard to find time to write. I'd love to hear your views about the chapter and I'd also like to thank the numerous people who reviewed regularly (even though I hadn't updated). It was definitely motivating to get reviews continually. I'd just like to add that if you would like me to reply to a review, please login so that I can send you a PM :) Having said that, I will get round to replying to everyone asap. One final note...some of the Dumbledore/Harry interaction will sound familiar - it's either directly from or paraphrased from the book. I hope this is alright. Also I'm not going to spend time typing out the memory scenes - please look it up in the book if you are not sure about what happened. Thank you for sticking with this story :) Until next time!