Hello all. Long chapter here; its been in the works for a while and I really hope you enjoy it. Thanks for everyone who takes their time to read and review. Cheers!

As usual, none of this is mine, but JK's.

Chapter 14: The Power He Knows Not

Harry descended into the Pensieve and found himself standing in Professor Dumbledore's office. The same silver instruments sat on the desk making their odd movements and small billows of clear smoke while Fawkes' stand remained in the corner nearest the sun-lit window beside the headmaster's desk. And yet, Harry could feel something very different about this memory—different than any memory he'd ever entered. It felt alarmingly real.

"Hello, Harry," said a voice behind Harry that had haunted his latest nightmares. Harry did not want to turn around and believe his ears. Every electric pulse in his brain screamed to him that it was only a memory and the man behind him was gone and buried in the earth.

"Harry, please turn around."

Harry did so. How could he not? The words carried the tone of his calm, gentle, soft-spoken voice layered in his characteristic eccentric mirth that Harry knew too well. Albus Dumbledore stood at the doorway of his office, his twinkling blue eyes dancing in the sunlight as he gazed at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. For a moment Dumbledore simply considered Harry with his benign smile, but was soon replaced with shadow around his eyes and a grave frown as his blackened hand ushered them to the desk.

"Please, take a seat, Harry." Bewildered, Harry walked to the familiar chair he'd sat in many times over the past several years. He reached out tentatively, surprised to find the chair felt quite solid. Yes, something was different about this memory than the others. There was a lack of dream-like substance to the memory in which Harry had become accustomed too. Dumbledore—or at least, the memory Dumbledore, as Harry reminded himself—took his seat and waited for Harry to do the same. Only when Harry had finally sat down did Dumbledore speak again.

"I'm sure by now you have realized this is not a normal memory," stated Dumbledore knowingly. Harry couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore was somehow looking at him, reading him as if Dumbledore were still alive. He quickly tossed aside the stray thought. Dumbledore continued to sit in silence as he watched Harry. Finally, the silence between them had grown so uncomfortable that Harry couldn't resist.

"You're not real," said Harry.

"If by real, you mean no longer alive and breathing the pure mountain air or the pleasant aroma of Hogwart's gardens, then, no, I am not real, Harry," said Dumbledore, a brief smile rising to his lips. Again, Dumbledore had fallen into silence. Harry was taken aback by the memory's apparent ability to respond to his words.

"You said this wasn't a normal memory," said Harry, suddenly. "Does that mean you can understand what I'm saying, and you know, talk and er, answer questions?"

"Admirably simplified, Harry," said Dumbledore, chuckling. "No, this is not a normal memory—truthfully; it can hardly be considered memory at all when you recognize this exchange between you and me has not occurred until now. It is more closely related to the enchantments found in the portraits of Hogwarts, but is, in my humble opinion, a magic far more advanced than that. In fact, between you and I, compared to hiding Nicholas' stone in the Mirror of Erised, this bit of magic is far more ingenious. Though, in practice, it was much more complicated. I doubt however, that you are much interested in the details of that particular accomplishment. I dare say it shall be a longer discussion with Miss Granger when she visits next." Harry's eyes widened at the revelation. This Dumbledore, whatever it is he was—memory, enchantment, or something else—was clearly beyond anything Harry had ever experienced before.

"In regards to your question, yes, I can respond to your questions," continued Dumbledore. "All my knowledge, my experience, and even some of my more base emotions are present here. In this regard, I am very much like the portraits of Hogwarts. Some minutia of everyday life is certainly absent from me, as are the finer emotions I might otherwise have displayed had this conversation occurred prior to my death." Harry winced and looked away abruptly at Dumbledore's casual reference to his death. Dumbledore then reached his uncharred hand across the desk and gently gripped Harry's wrist forcing him to look the headmaster directly in his eyes. The headmaster's gaze was hauntingly real.

"It was not your fault, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry held the gaze for a moment before he pulled away and diverted his eyes once more. When he spoke, he did so directly to the floor, his attention focused on a particular knot in the wood.

"You don't know that," said Harry. "You can't know that."

"What don't I know, Harry?"

"Because I know this was made before you died." Harry said it more callously then he intended, but he wasn't having Dumbledore—no, the memory of Dumbledore—convince him like he'd done with Sirius. Harry's words brought yet another round of silence to the office. After several minutes, Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Your capacity for love continually astounds me, Harry."

"Not this again, Professor, please."

"Your love is your greatest asset, Harry, your source of strength."

"Then why am I so weak," he asked, his voice dripping with desperate pleading to understand. "If I'm so bloody powerful, why couldn't I save Sirius, or stop Voldemort in that graveyard, or save Cedric, or—" but Harry stopped, refusing the utter the words that caused him more pain then the death of Sirius, or Cedric, or anyone else.

"Or save me," said Dumbledore softly. Harry quickly brushed aside the tears in his eyes. He hated the truth of those words. He hated more than anything his inability to save the person who had always protected his, whether it was behind the curtains or out in the open. It was this solitary fact that made the pain of losing Dumbledore so much worse than Sirius, or Cedric.

"I knew what lay in wait for us in that cave, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Though I still do not know the details, I was aware that blood was to be given to gain entry, and that an army of Inferi was likely awaiting us. From the look in your eyes, however, I can tell there was at least one obstacle I did not anticipate, yes?"

"You could say that," said Harry, who still refused to look at the headmaster. He had now turned his gaze to the office window, wishing beyond reason he was flying outside. He shook his head, knowing those days were long gone.

"Tell me," said Dumbledore.

"What do you want to hear," asked Harry, turning angry. "That you made me swear to leave you behind if I had to? That I had to sacrifice you should that be the only option? That you made me promise to make you drink a potion that caused you terrible pain and misery? That I had to plead and lie to you so you'd take each sip while you begged for death? Or how about being forced to watch you being murdered by Snape after you'd made me hide under my cloak and immobilized me, so I couldn't do anything about it? Is that what you want to hear? Or maybe you'd like to hear this; that it was all for nothing—that someone already retrieved it—that it was a fake." Harry stood up and stormed away from the headmaster, his back against him. Even though Harry knew the man before him was not Dumbledore, he couldn't help but be angry.

"Harry, I know none of this has been easy for you—none of your life has been easy for you," said Dumbledore, the pace of his words slow and deliberate, clearly weighing each with heavy consideration. "But I want you to understand this; it was not for nothing."

"Then what was it for?"

"You," said Dumbledore. Harry rounded on him, ready to explode, only to find a broken Dumbledore before him. As suddenly as the anger had come it had dissolved as Dumbledore buried his face in his hands and was now openly weeping. Several minutes passed before Dumbledore regained any composure. Harry had reclaimed his seat.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to—" but he fell silent. He felt awkward to be apologizing to a memory, or whatever it was the Dumbledore in front of him was.

"It is alright," said Dumbledore, blowing his nose on a handkerchief he pulled from his robe pocket. "I need you to understand something, Harry. I was prepared, on several occasions, to give my life in exchange for yours. You are valuable, Harry, far more than I ever was—far more valuable than Sirius, and even your parents."

"You said the same thing in the cave," said Harry feeling anger building once more. "All because of that stupid prophecy—"

"Because I love you," said Dumbledore. Harry once more felt the anger slip through the coils of his stomach. "You are more valuable because Sirius loved you, and you are more valuable because your parents loved you—not because of a prophecy—because you are my student, because you are his godson, and because you are their son. Think, imagine, just for a moment, if it had been you and Miss Granger in the cave, or perhaps Mr. Weasley. Would you not willingly give your life to protect them?"

"Of course I would," said Harry.

"Why then cannot I do the same for you?"

"I—"

"Because you think yourself unworthy to love," said Dumbledore simply. "It torments your soul and your most private thoughts because all you have ever known, all you have ever experienced is that those who love you have given their lives in exchange for yours. You believe yourself guilty that you survived and we did not. Worse yet, is that you believe you are worthy of the resentment and mistreatment your relatives have spent a lifetime heaping upon you. Nothing could be further from the truth. You still do not see the extraordinary person in yourself that I had the privilege of seeing nearly every day as your burdens followed you through the castle. That fact that you can even feel loss as strongly as you do, despite the way you have been raised, despite the incalculable weight of the burdens you have been forced to bear, despite every degrading remark and ridicule you have bared is a miracle if ever I have seen one."

Harry was stunned into silence. He had never really contemplated why he felt angry for every death that occurred in response to his protection. Not for his parents, for Sirius, for Moody, and for Dumbledore. But he knew what Dumbledore said was true; he hated that he had lived and they had died. As those feelings of guilt erupted in the pit of his stomach, he found he could not look Dumbledore in the eyes, so he turned away to stare once more into the sunlit windows, only to find the very light of the sun an unwanted visitor to the darkness of his guilt.

"You feel it now," said Dumbledore knowingly. "And so, you ask, if love is so present within you, and is the power referred to in the prophecy, why then are you incapable of protecting them, yes?" Harry responded with a curt nod. Silence filled the office yet again.

"You remember, of course, our time this past year working to uncover Voldemort's secret; his path to achieve immortality. I had told you I began to suspect the use of Horcruxes when you brought me the destroyed diary from the Chamber of Secrets. That I had discovered the ring buried within the ruins of the Guant homestead provided absolute proof that he had done so. But how many? I had no way of knowing. Then you accomplished what I had been unable to do; you uncovered the truth. You found a weakness in Horace that I could not breach. Six Horcruxes, seven pieces of soul—you know all of this, of course. But it is always important to retrace our steps sometimes." A brief pause arose and Harry fully expected to see one of the Headmasters clever grins, but his aged face only reflected a darker shadow. Harry could not help but feel an oppressive weight bearing down on him. Something terrible was coming.

"It was after discovering the ring that I began to suspect a more sinister development," continued Dumbledore. "A development I believe that even Riddle is unaware of yet is completely of his design. Harry, do you remember why Quirrell could not bear to touch you with the intent to harm?"

Harry nodded.

"You said it was because of my mother; you said it was her love and her sacrifice."

"And yet, you probably wondered why you were unprotected from those who similarly tried to do you harm?"

"Sometimes," admitted Harry. "Why didn't it protect me from—"

"—Your relatives," said Dumbledore with a crack in his voice. Harry nodded, remembering the several occasions with Dudley and his gang, the flying frying pan, or sometimes the shoving and violent man-handling.

"At the time, I gave you the answer I believed to be accurate, or at least, as accurate as an educated guess could possibly be. Quirrell did after all have the intent to harm you, to kill you even, to please his master. He had suffered his fatal wounds from contact with your skin. There was at the time, little else that could explain such a phenomenon. I had yet to suspect Horcruxes or that there was anything other than residual dark magic connecting you to Riddle through your scar. Everything regarding the relationship between you and Riddle is one-of-a-kind, Harry. Nowhere in magical lore or history has there ever been two wizards tied together so intricately in magic as you and Tom Riddle."

"However, as your time at Hogwarts progressed, I started to rethink my hypothesis. I began to realize that there was certain specificity in regards to the protection your mother had granted you in her death. You suffered physical harm from your relatives, and passively from the house elf, Dobby, as well as creatures such as the Dementors. No, by your third year I had come to the conclusion that your protection was effective only towards Riddle. I was proven right the night you came back from the graveyard. He was able to breach that protection. Now you and Riddle where once more intertwined in ways no other two wizards have ever been—connected by your scar and the curse that failed, connected in blood, connected by similar pasts, connected by wand—no two wizards have ever been like you and Riddle."

"So if my protection was only good against Voldemort, and you knew that definitively by the end of my fourth year, why did I have to keep going back? Especially since he found a way past it? And if it was only against Voldemort, why was Quirrell affected in the first place?

"While Tom may have found his way around the physical protection, he was still unable to breach the wards I erected," said Dumbledore. "I built those wards on the blood of your mother, blood that runs through you and your aunt, Harry. As long as you dwelled inside that residence, you were protected from Tom. As to why Quirrell could not touch you, I believe that was the result of willingly sharing his body with Tom's splintered fragment of soul. In effect, he acted as a conduit for the protection of your mother to reach Tom. And so I offer this as exhibit A; your mother's protection was the manifestation of the power of love."

"I guess that makes as much sense as anything else would," said Harry. "But what about my relatives?"

"What I failed to notice was that your mother's protection did not shield you from within the very home I intended as your sanctuary," said Dumbledore sadly. "As I once told you, being as gifted as I am, my mistakes are correspondingly larger as well. And no failure of mine has ever been as great as the one I inflicted upon you by placing you in your relatives care. Never could I imagine an aunt or uncle who could treat their own flesh in blood in the manner they did you. You may have been safe from Tom and his Death Eaters physically, but I failed to protect you from the most terrible danger a child can ever face; neglect, an environment absent of love, and though I don't know if you ever suffered physical abuse, I suspected that at least in your early childhood you might have. For this, I, and I alone, am wholly responsible."

"I forgive you," said Harry almost immediately, surprised he wasn't as angry as he'd thought he might be. "To be fair, I never said anything. I didn't trust you to do anything. I should have given you that chance." Dumbledore wiped away a solitary tear from beneath his spectacles and nodded his silent appreciation.

"So, returning then, to your original question," said Dumbledore, clearly determined to bring the conversation to full circle. "Magic, at its very basic essence, Harry, is simply the manifestation of our will. We could in essence, utter incantations until we were blue in the face, and our magic would remain unstirred if it was not our will to see the magic done. Intent always matters."

"You remember clearly, I am sure, of your failed attempt to curse Bellatrix with the Cruciatus Curse?" Harry nodded.

"Yeah—she said I had to mean it," said Harry remembering the conversation as though it were hours ago.

"Despite her—addiction to suffering—she is correct. You see, you could not cast that curse because even in the midst of your anger and grief, you did not have the desire to see her tortured. Again, your immense capacity to love protected you."

"I don't love her," said Harry with immediate protest. He wasn't about to have Dumbledore insinuate that he loved everyone.

"No," admitted Dumbledore, shaking his head. "But you are also a kind-hearted person despite the hostile environment you were raised in. You know as well as I do, that deep in your heart, you would never subject anyone to the kind of pain the Cruciatus is capable of inflicting. You might wish it, you might even envision it, but if you are honest with yourself, you know you could never really do it to another human being, no matter how terrible they are. Tell me, Harry, which of the Unforgivables do you think is the most difficult to cast properly?"

"I don't know," answered Harry truthfully. "When Crouch was teaching us about them in fourth year, he said all of us could cast the killing curse on him but it wouldn't really work."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore with brief twinkling eye. "Can you think of a reason why?"

"Is it like the Cruciatus," asked Harry thinking hard. "You have to really want that person dead?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Startlingly easy, isn't it? As you might have guessed by now, the Killing Curse is the easiest of the Unforgivables to perform. While it is true that a certain amount of power is required to cast the Unforgivables, Crouch would have believed your limitation at the time of your fourth year would have been two-fold. Firstly, your lack of desire to kill your then professor and secondly, a fourth year typically does not have sufficient control of their magic to perform the spell in the first place. In fact, I believe at the time that only yourself and Miss Granger would have the control necessary to perform the killing curse had you the intent to do so."

"Sir, what does this have to do with my ability to love, other than not letting me use Unforgivables?"

"Yes, of course, forgive me," said Dumbledore. "Let us try a more direct line of thinking. What are the requirements to cast a Patronus?"

"A happy memory," said Harry. "A strong one."

"Correct in theory," said Dumbledore nodding. "And when initially teaching such a spell, it is necessary to simplify. But in truth, a memory is not really the requirement for a Patronus to function."

"What do you mean?"

"Why must you focus on a happy memory, Harry? Because it evokes emotion—powerful emotions—such as elation, fulfillment, and most profoundly, love."

"I think, I understand," said Harry slowly, though his mind was racing. He still had yet to connect all the pieces, but they were falling into place. The Cruciatus required the intent to torture as well as the desire to see the victim suffer, just as the killing curse required the intention and desire for the victim to be dead, which Harry assumed must be hate, while a spell like the Patronus required an intent to protect or defend while also having the very opposite desire as the Dementor.

"Sir, are you saying that emotion has an impact on the power of a spell?"

"Very good, Harry," said Dumbledore with a true smile. "All young witches or wizards express emotion fueled magic at early stages in life through what is commonly referred to as accidental magic. Then, upon reaching the age of eleven, you are brought to school to learn to control magic, and in the process, emotion gradually becomes less and less a part of the magic we perform. With this in mind, you can perhaps see that while standard spells are performed easily enough by any witch or wizard, spell casting that is dependent on emotion and intention working in tandem is far more difficult, like the Unforgivables and the Patronus charm you are so familiar with."

"If that's the case, why didn't we learn this at Hogwarts?"

"We do," said Dumbledore, "in your seventh year study, predominately through Charms. Not every spell is dependent on emotion, but any spell can be augmented, or amplified by emotion that aligns with the intent of the spell. And that is essential; if magic is to be augmented by emotion, the emotion must be in agreement with the intention of the caster and the purpose of the spell. A perfect example would be when you drove away all those Dementors your third year."

"But I am drawing us away from the matter at hand," continued Dumbledore. "So now we come full circle to your question; is love the power he knows not, and does it make you truly strong? The answer simply, is yes. Let me illustrate; you know that Riddle murdered his father by his sixth year at Hogwarts. He was as you know, a very gifted student, much like Miss. Granger, but his focus was very specific, where as your friend's focus is like that of a broad brush. If you remember rightly, you will also recall that Riddle had extraordinary control over his powers even before he acquired a wand. Tom applies his hate and contempt so naturally to his spell work I would be willing to wager he is unaware they have any effect on his spell work."

"That's why he's so powerful," said Harry suddenly. "I mean, sure, he was brilliant, and knows a lot of spells, but it's the intensity, isn't it, that makes his spell work different."

"Precisely, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I believe this also answers further why you were not protected from your relatives. You're mother's intention was to protect you from Tom as he was the threat at the time of her sacrifice." Satisfied, Harry nodded for Dumbledore to continue.

"Now, which do you suppose is a stronger emotion; love, or hate?" Harry fell silent at that question. He knew what Dumbledore would say—that love was stronger. But everything he had ever experienced told him hate must be stronger.

"I truthfully don't know, Professor," said Harry quietly. "I'm still not really sure what love actually is, so how would I know which is stronger. If I had to go on experience, I'd say hate was the stronger emotion."

"And I could not fault you for thinking it," acknowledged Dumbledore. "On the surface, they appear quite equal. Hate appears to be stronger for the ease in which it can be applied. It is easier to hate than it is to love. Consequently, hate, (and those emotions that stem from it) augments spells that have the connotation to be more destructive, thus furthering the perception that hate is stronger than love. Hate at its most primal form is the result of selfishness. Love, on the other hand, at its most primal form is selfless. It is compassionate. It is sacrificial. It is putting others before ourselves, even to the point where we disregard our own existence. Take for example, the killing curse. It is unblockable; there is no counter curse, or shield charm that will repel it. It destroys objects with which it comes into contact. And yet here you are—the living breathing proof that love conquers all—even hate. Your mother sacrificed herself out of her love for you and her desire and intention to protect you, even at the cost of her own life. And if you look within yourself you'll find the same power and drive to lay your life down for your friends."

"So how do I use it, then," asked Harry. "How do I use love against him?"

"By the same way you perform a Patronus," answered Dumbledore. "Just as when you allowed yourself to be filled with your love for Sirius and your friends and drove Tom from your body the night he attempted to possess you. You concentrate on your love for those you are fighting to protect. The more personable and intimate, the easier it is to focus that emotion, just as it is for the Patronus charm."

"Professor," said Harry after several minutes of silence had filled the office. "I think I understand now, what it meant, about me having power he knows not—he never had love at all—no friends, family, or anything else. The prophecy doesn't say my power will be greater than his, just that I would have a power he knows not. And I can even see why you think love is stronger. But there's something else you haven't told me, isn't there, professor? I don't think you'd go through this trouble just to help me understand emotion's impact on spell casting—you could have done that in a letter."

"You are quite right. As I have indicated, I owe you more than simple platitudes, Harry, and now it is time to tell you what I did not have time to tell you before," said Dumbledore with deep sadness imbedded in his voice. The uncharacteristic tone forced Harry to lock his gaze with the headmaster, only to find him staring determinedly at his lemon drop bowl. "I can give you several reasons why I did not do so before now, but in the end, they are still only excuses."

"Just now, you and I have retraced how I came to the knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and hopefully have helped you understand the power you have that he does not. As I also indicated earlier that once I had discovered the ring I began to ponder something far more sinister than Horcruxes." At this Dumbledore forced himself with great effort to look Harry in the eyes, the sparkling twinkle long extinguished. "Harry, I am about to place yet another burden upon your shoulders, a burden far heavier than the prophecy."