Chapter 29
Harry and I quietly sat in the two chairs facing Dumbledore's desk. I looked down at my hands, my face expressionless as I heard Dumbledore sit down in his seat opposite us. I looked up as I heard the old man sigh loudly, and he pulled a wrinkled, withered hand down his face in exhaustion.
It made me feel angry.
Why was Dumbledore looking so defeated? He wasn't the one who just had to witness his own father get killed by his other blood relative. He wasn't the one who had to spend every day knowing that he had to defeat Voldemort; knowing that the entire wizarding world's fate was on his shoulders.
I didn't push down my anger. I let in consume me, but not control me. I sat there, staring at Dumbledore's tired face blankly. I knew that the anger was swirling in my eyes, and I didn't bother trying to hide it.
"I'm sorry."
Those words made me break. A loud, ripping sob burst from my chest, seeming to echo around the circular room. The portraits on the walls were looking at me curiously. I could see my ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black, staring at Dumbledore.
"Is it true?" he asked, his grey eyes flickering from me to Dumbledore. "Is Sirius Black, the last male of the Black line, dead?"
"I'm afraid so," said Dumbledore quietly.
I could feel Harry shake next to me. Phineas let out a mournful moan and shook his head, disappearing from his portrait. I assumed he was going to Grimmauld Place to see for himself.
"I know how you feel, Harry, Rosie," said Dumbledore.
I stood up quickly, the chair falling to the floor with a loud bang behind me. I raised a shaking, accusing finger at Dumbledore and shook my head. The anger inside me was no longer consuming me; it was now controlling me.
"D-don't you dare," I said shakily, trying to hold back my sob as tears fell down my cheeks.
"Rosie..."
"No!" I screamed, slamming my hand on his desk. Dumbledore didn't flinch. He merely looked at me with pity and understanding. The last expression was making me furious. He didn't understand. Not one bit.
"How dare you!" I screamed at him, not even caring that it was actually my Headmaster I was yelling at. I didn't care if I got expelled.
"Don't pretend you know how this feels!" I shrieked, sobbing even louder. "You have no idea! No bloody idea! So just s-s-stop looking at me like that – stop looking at me l-like you know what I'm going through!"
I backed away from his desk, my head shaking as I held it in my tear-soaked hands. I leant against the wall by the door, and I slid down it, bordering on hysterical. I was pretty sure I would regret this later, but for the moment, I didn't care.
"No, you don't know how we feel," said Harry flatly, still sitting calmly in his chair though his shoulders shook. "It's my fault."
"No, the fault is mine," said Dumbledore quietly. "Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger." Dumbledore sighed. "I knew it was only a matter of time before Voldemort made the connection between you two. I thought by distancing myself from you both, as I have done all year, he'd be less tempted, and therefore you might be more protected."
I said nothing. I tried to listen to Dumbledore's and Harry's conversations over my own sobs.
"The prophecy smashed before we could get it," said Harry dully. His shoulders slumped. "Now we don't know what it said."
Dumbledore shook his head. "The thing that smashed was merely a record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly."
"Who heard it?" asked Harry shakily.
"I did. On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave."
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Just as I turned to leave, she said the prophecy. The prophecy spoke of a boy and girl born in the closing days of July, that their parents defied Voldemort three times and lived to tell about it, and that the boy and girl would have the power that Voldemort was unable or unwilling to comprehend. Voldemort knew the prophecy had been made, but not of its full contents."
Dumbledore looked at us both to see if we were listening intently. Which we were. My sobs had stopped, although I still had tears streaming down my face. Dumbledore was satisfied with our concentration so he continued.
"He set out to kill you both when you were still infants, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy – he went to Harry first, believing he was more of a threat."
How sexist, I thought numbly, before once again giving him my undivided attention.
"Of course, he must have been delighted to see that you were together in the same crib... he probably believed he was killing two birds with one stone. But he discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you both backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape form him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you."
I couldn't even think properly. All the new information was swirling around in my brain, each thought never sticking long enough for me to comprehend. My tear-stained cheeks felt pale, and I felt slightly nauseous. But why didn't Dumbledore tell us as soon as he realised Voldemort was going after the prophecy?
"Why didn't you tell us?" I asked from my position on the floor, my voice hoarse from screaming and crying.
"Because I wanted you to have the chance at a normal life," he replied.
My breath caught in my throat. What is it with the 'normal life'? First Edward had said it... and now Dumbledore. Why didn't people ever ask me what I thought of my life exactly how it was?
"I wanted you and Harry to be able to grow up as normal teenagers... not having to worry about a prophecy saying that you both had to kill him. And I'm sorry. I apologise profusely, for I see that now it was all a huge mistake."
I sniffled a bit, feeling dread creep up in my stomach.
"So it's definite, then?" said Harry, the tears finally falling from his green eyes and down his face. "Rosie and I have to defeat him, no one else?"
Dumbledore closed his eyes, the normally ever-present twinkle disappearing. He opened them again, and looked at us with so much sadness and defeat that I felt awful for shouting at him earlier.
"...Yes," he finally replied.
Harry closed his eyes as if in physical pain, and I had to swallow numerous times to stop the bile from rising up my throat.
"I see," said Harry, his voice shaking and his lower lip quivering. "Can we go now?"
He didn't even wait for an answer. He walked over to me and helped me to my feet, before pulling me into a much needed hug. We both cried with each other in grief knowing that my father was dead, and terrifying fear knowing that we were, indeed, the only ones who could ever defeat Voldemort. Knowing that we probably weren't going to survive while trying to do so.
He took my hand and led me out of the room, but before I walked to the door I looked behind me at Dumbledore one more time.
My stomach dropped.
For Dumbledore let one tear fall from his eyes and into his silvery beard.
Author's Note - Only one more chapter left! I can't believe it! I don't know whether to be happy or cry.
