I don't know when I got into my bed. The last thing I remember was feeling a might chilly in the Forbidden Forest with the Headmaster and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in my empty dormitory in the Hufflepuff Burrow. I rose from my bed and threw away the covers. It was strange to wake up alone in a massive room like this every morning after growing up in a cupboard. The space made me uncomfortable.

Then it all came crashing back. The truth, those words, the prophecy.

...Either must die at the hand of the other...

I didn't know how to handle it, how to manage those expectations. All of these people looked upon me like I was something special, something greater, some kind of saviour, and turns out I was. But how was I going to achieve this? I didn't know.

I looked at my watch and saw it was still early, very early. I crawled out of my bed with every ounce of courage I had knowing that all I wanted was to curl up and go to sleep and never wake up.

#

I turned my cereal around in a bowl slowly, over and over again. How would I even begin? Where would I even begin?

There were a few other early risers in the Great Hall. More than a week in the new school term had passed, so the number of stares and whispers I received had died down a little bit. I was glad for it. I turned to look up at the Head Table and saw the Headmaster deep in discussion with Professor Flitwick. Neither paid any attention to me, but I felt like they were talking about me. Looking around, I felt like everyone was talking about me. Did they think I was a fraud? I did.

"Hey there, Harry." A sunny morning call from Cedric as he sidled up next to me.

I tried to smile at the older boy, but the effort was draining. He definitely noticed my mood.

"Are you alright?"

I shrugged. "A little bit homesick is all."

Cedric nodded at me, his smile diminished. He looked disappointed and a surge of shame filled me. Cedric had been nothing but nice and encouraging from the moment he met me. I hated disappointing him, but I didn't know how to help it.

"Cedric, can I...can I ask you something?"

"Sure mate," he said, as he helped himself to some bread.

"How did it happen? The Purge, I mean?" I ventured.

He froze. "We don't talk about it, Harry. It's not...Merlin, we just don't talk about it okay?" He said. He sounded a little angry.

I leaned back, surprised by the first sign of anything but pleasantness from the every-sunny Hufflepuff. I nodded quickly and scarpered before he got any angrier at me.

#

Potions with Professor Snape was my oddest class. There was pin drop silence in his dungeon. I nervously pulled my robe sleeves down as I felt some of the draftiness of the chamber he taught in. My first class with him was bizarre. Usually I got at least some reaction from a teacher, but he simply walked in, planted himself at his desk and pointed to the instructions on the blackboard behind him. I read and followed. Not a word spoken. He didn't check my work or offer any advice, only a nod at the end of the class when I presented my work to him.

Imagine my surprise when he finally said something to me.

"Be careful with the flame, read the instructions again," he said.

I was so startled, I nearly dropped my ladle into the cauldron. I looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded frantically. I was warned that Professor Snape did not suffer fools and even Cedric had told me not to get on his bad side - advice I had every intention of following.

"Yes, Professor."

Silence resumed. I thought his interruption was a one-off event, only for lightning to strike twice.

"The Headmaster informed me that you received some news recently that may have been upsetting." He spoke in a slow, measured manner, like every word was carefully calculated.

I nodded in response. I didn't know if this was something I wanted to talk about with anyone, let alone the fearsome Potions Master. The Headmaster had warned me not to discuss the words of the prophecy with anyone, so I was surprised that Snape was in the know.

"Speak, Mr. Potter. Cease bumbling your head like a loon." He snapped.

"Er...yes, sir. I didn't know...if, well, if all the teachers knew." I managed to get that out and I hoped he wasn't offended by it.

"Prudent observation," he said softly, yet his voice echoed with authority in the stone room. "A few Professors are aware of your unique circumstances, myself and Professor McGonagall to be specific. I bring it up because you appear to be distracted today."

"Yes, sir," I said.

"I will not tolerate incompetence in my classroom, Mr. Potter. Whatever bothers you, see that you leave it at the door before you walk in." His words were like a slap.

I felt like the rebuke was the end of our conversation and I turned back to my cauldron, determined to finish this potion and leave before I did something else he disapproved of. As I sliced my toad head, I felt an anger boil up inside me. Yesterday, when I learnt of it all, I was filled with panic, but today, it was more anger.

Why was he so mean to me? I didn't ask for this and...and it shouldn't be a crime to feel distracted by the fate of a society put on your shoulders. I cut into the toad's eyes with a little more force than needed and one eye went flying off my chopping block and right to his desk. It rolled a little and came to rest in front of him.

I stared open-mouthed, horrified, afraid, but still mad.

For his part, he looked at the offending eye staring back at him without a single shift in his expression. He looked at me with the same indifference.

"It seems you are determined to melt your potion today." He rose from behind his desk and walked up to me.

I involuntarily stepped back as his large, black-clad figure approached my desk. With a swish of his wand, the contents of my potion disappeared.

"Leave. Come back more focused."

I nodded quickly, grabbed my bag and left. I could feel his beady black eyes boring into my back as I made myself scarce.

#

The Hogwarts Library was massive, impressive and overwhelming all at once, much like the rest of Hogwarts. Cedric told me that it was manned by the ever-formidable Librarian, Madam Pince. As long as I didn't talk too loudly or dog-ear pages, I would be on her good side. I roamed through the endless aisles of bookshelves in wonder and ran my hand along the spines of them.

As I turned a corner, I saw a familiar face. "Hi Fred," I said, trying my best to make voice carry while still whispering.

The redhead turned with his same mischevious grin, which instantly fell off his face when he caught sight of me. I looked on confused as he continued to gape at me like I was the devil incarnate. After a moment's pause, he straightened up and walked away without a backwards glance.

My heart sank a little bit and I could feel the beginnings of tears prickling my eyes, but I took a deep breath and held them at bay. I soldiered on and found a quiet spot to do my Charms homework, wondering what I had done to offend the Gryffindor boy.

#

I was playing with my food when I felt someone plop down next to me. I turned over and was surprised to see Fred there, smiling like he hadn't given me the coldest of cold shoulders not a few hours ago.

"You look like a niffler stole your galleon. Why the long face?" He asked in his chipper voice.

I shrugged. "Uh...nothing really." Was something wrong with him?

I think he noticed the confusion on my face. "What? Kneazle got your tongue?"

I shook my head in the negative rapidly, not wanting to offend the boy again. "I saw you in the Library earlier, but when I said hi, you were...weird."

Fred looked confused by this. "Mate, I skived off Herbology all afternoon and took a nap in my secret room. You definitely didn't see me in the Library." Then his eyes widened. "Ah." He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. "I think you might have seen that dashing bloke."

I turned to where he pointed and sure enough, there was a copy of Fred sitting at the Gryffindor table, chatting amiably with a dark-skinned girl. Whatever he said was making her laugh heartily. Fred turned me back around to face my table again and I looked to him.

"Fly might get in if you leave your mouth open for that long, mate."

I snapped my mouth shut. "There's two of you."

He chuckled. "It's not magic, he's my twin is all. That's George."

Oh! Well, of course that makes perfect sense. There were twin girls in my class at primary school too. I grinned in embarassment at Fred. "Sorry about that, I thought it was you." Another thought then occurred to me. "Does your brother not like me for some reason?"

Fred's grin was like a fixture on his face and seeing it disappear was a worrying sight. His face didn't look quite right if he wasn't grinning. "It's not that he has anything against you specifically, mate." Fred shifted uncomfortably in his seat and squirmed as he tried to find the words. He cleared his throat. "I had a brother, a younger brother. He'd have been about your age now, in his First Year at Hogwarts too. We have a pond in our back garden at home. George had taken him out when...when The Purge came. He was in George's arms when it happened."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I nodded and awkwardly patted Fred's arm.

Fred sniffled lightly and looked away. We sat in silence for a few moments until Fred could look at me again. "Wasn't just him, we had a younger sister too, she was just a baby. The only girl in our family. The first Weasley girl in seven generations - it was a very big deal when she was born. She was with Mum when...well, you know."

I didn't know. But I think it was clear I needed to find out.

But now was not the time to ask. And Fred was not the person to tell.

"Thanks, Fred. And I'm sorry."

#

I thought long and hard about what to do. After dinner, I fled to the Library and looked into history books. Hogwarts didn't have any old newspapers in stock, so I figured the books were my best bet. I didn't find anythign useful other than vague comments in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Modern Magical History spent an entire chapter discussing the devastation of The Purge, but it didn't really say what actually happened. It seemed to be a thing everybody simply knew.

It was my first weekend at Hogwarts and I made my way to my favourite Professor's office. I knocked on his door, hoping that he would be in. I heard shuffling at the other end and the door opened to reveal Professor Flitwick in a fetching blue cardigan with a large goblet in his hands.

"Good heavens, Mr. Potter," he said with a grin. "I do quite enjoy our lessons, but I must insist you take a break from Charms over the weekend."

I rubbed the back of my head and looked to the floor. "I'm sorry to bother you, Professor, but it couldn't wait. Do you have a few minutes?"

The dimunitive professor backed away from the entrance to his office and flashed his arm forward, allowing me entry. I shuffled in.

#

Professor Flitwick looked grave and the colour had drained from his face. Then he began to look angry.

"It is unacceptable that you have been kept in the dark about something so essential and foundational to our society today." He spat out.

By this point, I knew that any mention of The Purge evoked strong reactions from the people I spoke to, but seeing my favourite teacher appear so angry, it was certainly a shock.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He took a long breath. "It's not your fault, Mr. Potter. In fact, take a point to Hufflepuff for showing such fortitude to approach me with this question. It was probably not easy. With the muggleborn students, we have an orientation where they are given a history about the war and especially The Purge. This is so they understand the society they are entering and the hope they represent."

He took a long sip of his tea and set it down on his table. "While I appreciated the novelty of sending Hagrid to fetch you, it was too much to hope that the Headmaster would ensure you were better prepared for the world you were entering, especially considering your special status in it."

He leaned back his head and looked to the ceiling of his office, then looked back at me. "Very well then. Of what is known, it is speculated that He Who Must Not Be Named was paranoid, paranoid beyond belief. He was convinced that the children of Britain would rise to attack him. He wanted them subjugated, controlled. But other than being a madman, he was also a genius."

"I do not know the specifics, nobody does really. The Purge could have been a spell, a curse, a ritual, something Otherworldly for all we know. But it was certainly a magic most foul. There are Dark Arts, which is magic so evil, so very terrible, that only the blackest and most twisted of souls would dare even to think it, let alone use it. The Purge is such magic."

Professor Flitwick cupped his hands on his knees and steeled himself. "On Halloween in 1981, a wave of energy, that is the best description that the brightest of scholars have been able to come up with, a wave of energy emanated from within the Heart of London and spread outward. Within the ensuing thirty-five minutes, every magical child, whether raised by wizards or muggles, born after 1st September 1978...died. There are accounts of children..." He stopped to take a deep, shuddering breath. "...children withered and turned to dust and disappeared."

I stared on. Numb. "But...why?"

Professor Flitwick got off his seat and came to stand in front of me. He put his hand on my shoulder. "I don't know."

"But how did he do it?" I rambled on, feeling a pressure building in my chest.

He sighed and rubbed my back. "I don't know."

I was shaking. "Why...why not me?"

He raised his hand and a handkerchief appeared in it, he handed it to me. I didn't even realise when hot angry tears came spilling out of my eyes.

"I don't know," he said. "You Know Who never found you. He enacted a curse and killed every child in one fell swoop. But you survived. Nobody knows how or why, all we know, all we were told and all that we have found out, was that your parents sacrificed themselves to keep you alive and in the wreckage, all that was left was you and that scar on your forehead."

I slapped my hand on my forehead and traced the familiar outline. I had always had this scar, from as far back as I could remember. I never thought twice of it unless Aunt Petunia said something nasty about it or, more recently, if someone pointed at it. But for the first time, I felt branded.

"What happened to Voldemort?" I asked.

Professor Flitwick flinched at the name and took a step back from me. "He vanished, turned to dust, much like his victims."

Professor Flitwick stood in front of me. Standing at his full height while I sat hunched over, we were at the same level. He placed each of his hands on my shoulders and looked me dead in the eye.

"Whether you like it or not, whether you can bear it or not, this is your reality. You represent hope in the darkest hour our people have ever seen. You are the Boy Who Lived, Harry. You Know Who is gone, undone by his own madness. All you must do to live up to your title is simply this: live. Breathe. Be joyful and merry and spread hope. Help a hurting people heal. Can you try to do that?"

I nodded. I lied.