Hello all. Sorry for the long delay once again. This was a hard chapter to write. Writing your favorite character is challenging. Convincingly capturing their voice, their mannerisms, and finally their perfections and flaws is no easy task. This was also a hard chapter to balance information and yet keep the emotional highs and lows without going overboard and Ooc. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it. As always, this isn't mine, but rather, JK's.

Chapter 15: The Last Burden

Dumbledore rose from his chair slowly, his age more present than ever as he used the strength of his arms and hands to bring himself to full height, wincing as some of his body weight fell upon his blackened hand. He gingerly stepped out from behind his desk and walked over to the sunlit window and starred in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. He stood that way for several more minutes, silently gathering his thoughts.

"Professor," prompted Harry after waiting for Dumbledore to elaborate. The professor turned slowly on his heels, looked upon Harry in a way he vaguely remembered from the night Dumbledore finally divulged the reason of Voldemort's continual attempts on his life nearly a year and a half ago. Exhaustion, sadness, regret, empathy, and pain; so many emotions flickered past the old man's face in seconds. Harry held Dumbledore's gaze for several minutes as a sour feeling began to spread from the depths his stomach and an invisible weight pushed on his shoulders.

"I remember your first match," said Dumbledore, staring once more toward the Quidditch pitch. "I was astounded by the ease and natural comfort you found on your broom. Neither of us will ever forget that spectacular catch. I remember your exhilaration and unabashed joy as you were surrounded by your team mates and friends. Little did I know that you would have so few moments like it again."

"I have never been prouder of a student than I am of you, Harry," continued Dumbledore, his chest puffing visibly underneath his robes. "After each of the increasingly terrible ordeals you suffered, I always tried to envision myself in your place, wondering if I would have fared the same. Every time I did, I came to the swift conclusion I would not. I try to imagine the Patronus you cast to save yourself and Sirius from a hundred Dementors. I try to imagine the terrible burden of hearing your parent's last words you had to bear every time they came near, only to remind myself how fortunate I truly am. I never dreamed I would have a person like you on my hands. And I am glad that I did, because shortly before my death I was reminded what it means to live by those words I uttered on the eve of Cedric's death." Dumbledore looked painfully at Harry.

"Where was I, Harry? Where was I when you needed me? I could have spared you many burdens. I held the prophecy at bay in favor of your happiness, only to have allowed other burdens to tarnish your childhood. For the dangers I allowed to cross your path I may as well have delivered your corpse into Tom's cold hands. I let you bear the vindictiveness of the school during your second and fourth year terms. I let you shoulder the weight of confronting the magical world and its blindness to truth. In death, I left you wounded and with an insurmountable task."

"Professor, my friends and I found trouble because we went looking for it most of the time," said Harry. "Well, actually I usually led them to danger, if I'm honest. I'm just as responsible, if not more so. And I wasn't the only one trying to convince the wizarding world of Voldemort's return. Look at how you suffered; they nearly stripped you of everything."

"Titles, accolades, reputation," interjected Dumbledore, "are useless things, Harry. They can be tarnished easily given the passage of time and can likewise be repaired given an equal amount of time. Their value is only the value we give them. But childhood and innocence is priceless and I cannot give them back to you."

"What are you trying to say, Professor?"

"Sometimes guilt burrows deep enough to influence who we become," said the Headmaster heavily. "And I know guilt, and guilt changed me. I grew into a person who easily weighed people's worth, a person who could make split-second decisions on what was acceptable to sacrifice and what must be protected at all costs. Guilt paralyzed me; I made safe decisions and chose paths that assured the greatest chance for success, even at the expense of doing what was right. I once told you how remarkable of a man you were, at the age of eleven, to have looked upon the Mirror of Erised and not see yourself prosper in the ways in which it promised. I know few people who could have done so, and certainly not at the age of eleven. More importantly, it was through your selflessness that my own selfishness began to shine like a burning sun."

"My selfish plans focused on the enemy's queen instead of those I treated as my own pawns on a chessboard. At times I treated you much the same way. I treated your right to know the truth as a pawn, sacrificing it in exchange for your happiness, staunchly guarding it like a king. You see it, Harry, what I have truly done to you? Instead of regarding you as a whole person, I weighed the worth of every aspect of your life because I thought I knew best. I weighed the value of the prophecy over the value of your happiness. I have kept secrets from you because I considered their value less than your happiness. I have fought two dark wizards in my lifetime, always weighing the value of things and people. I believed that if I could keep myself detached, I could see the wizarding world through its darkest moments. People would die, but in the end, justified because our side won. Do not misunderstand me; I wanted to save everyone. War takes from both sides and only hate and pain are left in their place. I told you this once before; so long as you were here, now, safe and happy, other lives lost were tolerable. And now, I must lay a burden at your feet that it will take what is most priceless from you."

"Sir, please, just say it," said Harry.

Time came to a standstill as the noonday sunlight filled the headmaster's office. Dumbledore returned to his seat at the desk, his breathing now distinctly harsh and shallow. Harry's mind was abuzz with activity, his thoughts trying desperately to see where this conversation was going, but nothing, he concluded, could be worse than having the fate of the world rest on his shoulders.

"I began to suspect not long after I found the ring that another Horcrux had been inadvertently made by Tom, a Horcrux unlike any in history ever known," said Dumbledore while he nervously stroked his beard with his blackened hand, which was now quivering as if ice cold. But as Harry returned his gaze to the headmaster's face, he saw streams of tears flowing down his wrinkled cheeks and into his beard. Suddenly the room felt hot and suffocating. Harry could feel the walls of the room drawing closer, pushing a great weight upon his entire body. His heart pounded heavily against his ribcage in a mad desire to burst from his chest.

"I'm the last one," said Harry, his voice barely audible, but in the silence of the room his whisper was like a shout. "I'm the last Horcrux, aren't I, professor?"

"I—I searched everywhere, everywhere I c-could find any m-mention of Horcruxes for ways to d-des—destr—" but the Dumbledore could not finish the sentence as he broke down and wept into the palms of his hands. Harry knew the word Dumbledore had struggled to say. He felt empty and lifeless. This he imagined was what it must be like to receive a Dementor's Kiss. He continued to watch as Dumbledore slammed his blackened hand on the desk in both anger and defeat.

"It's alright, professor," said Harry, not entirely sure if it was the professor or himself he was feebly assuring. Dumbledore slowly raised his head, his eyes now bloodshot and raw and his beard visibly damp and glistening in the reflections of the sunlight.

"How did you know," asked Harry. "When did you know I was a Horcrux?"

"I discovered a very old tome hidden among Egyptian sorcerer writings. In it, I found the most complete account of Horcruxes, containing an incantation to reveal an existing Horcrux. Prior to the Christmas holiday, well past midnight, I entered your dormitory, concealed my presence and performed the charm as you lay sleeping. The prophecy, as great a burden as it is, was never a question of how to tell you, it was when. This however, was unlike anything I have ever deal with, for I had already given you too many burdens."

"In order to create a Horcrux," continued Dumbledore, "a spell is cast upon the intended victim and the castor himself, accomplishing two purposes; the first is the splitting of the soul of the castor, and the second, tying the castor and the intended victim briefly together at the deepest level of magic known. Like the force of love, life is yet another expression of magic at its purest form, while the creation of a Horcrux is against the natural existence of life. While this spell is active, the one intent upon making the Horcrux murders the intended victim. I believe, and I feel confident I am right, that when your mother willingly gave her life to shield you from Tom, the purest magic was placed upon you as a shield; life and love, and thus, the Horcrux Voldemort intended to make failed when the killing curse, a spell fueled by the intent to eliminate life and powered by hate, collided with the magical essence of love, leaving you that scar. That protection saved you from the killing curse, but the incantation Tom performed prior to your intended murder was still in effect, leaving the already separated fragment of Tom's soul without a container. It latched onto the only living thing in the house. In a way, Tom achieved what he had set out to do in the first place, but not in the way he intended and in doing so, gave you both the burden of the prophecy and the burden of housing a portion of his soul."

"And so I resolved to find a solution," said Dumbledore, his voice weak but filled with evident disdain. "I was determined to find a way to spare you this last burden. I cannot say if the Egyptians were the first to explore such dark magic, but it was evident in their writing that such creations were resilient to destruction. To my despair, there was no mention of known ways to extract a soul from its container other than the complete destruction of the container itself, which would also destroy the fragment of soul within."

"Further reading revealed that the Egyptians believed it was possible for a splintered soul to become whole once more, but only if the creator of the Horcrux demonstrated true remorse for their actions, particularly toward the victims used to create the Horcrux in the first place. The Egyptian sorcerers were if nothing else, observant people, and they recognized that love was essential to remorse. I believe both of us can feel confident that Tom is incapable of demonstrating remorse. He does not love. Even if it were possible for Tom to experience such a change of heart, the container of the Horcrux would still be destroyed in the processes. Lastly, the Egyptians recorded that only Feindfyre had proven successful in destroying Horcruxes. Of course, we know that Basilisk Venom is equally destructive to the Horcrux after your encounter with the diary. Regardless, my answer could not be found in the ancient Egyptian writings. It became imperative now for you to secure the real memory from Horace. I had hoped that securing Horace's authentic memory of his conversation with Tom would reveal what magical lore did not. To my horror, it did, but not in the way I had hoped. We now knew what we were dealing with, but I was once more without an answer to what mattered most."

"You speak Parseltongue," continued Dumbledore, "because a piece of Tom's soul lives within you. You have access to his mind because his is linked with yours. Your hot temper and impatience are exemplified because they are fueled by Tom's tendencies and traits. Your magical strength has been stunted as it unconsciously battles against the foreign presence within you. I also believe this is why Tom could so easily possess your body. In other words, a war of wills battles within you."

"I've always known," said Harry in a hollow voice, "that somehow it might come to this. I'll do what I have to do, professor. I will see it through, no matter what. I'm the only one that can. Just tell me what I need to do." Dumbledore looked upon Harry in disbelief. His eyes, still red and glistening, betrayed the headmaster's fear.

"Run," said Dumbledore quietly.

"What?"

"You do not owe the magical world this debt, Harry."

"But, the prophecy," protested Harry, "I'm the only one that can."

"This burden is too much," said Dumbledore resolutely. "I once helped you find resolve to see this struggle to the end, not because of the prophecy, but because it was the right thing to do. I can help you and your friends disappear completely. It is the least I can do after failing you when you needed me most."

"I—I can't," said Harry. His mind was working rapidly now. True; he could easily run and his self-preserving instincts urged him to do so. His mind imagined the consequences of failing to see this burden to the end; he saw the Weasley's tortured, Muggles slaughtered, his classmates bowing at the hem of Voldemort's robes. He re-lived Mad-Eye's death, Sirius' graceful fall into the veil, Cedric's sudden defeat, Dumbledore's descent into the shadow of the astronomy tower. He saw Ron's angry scowl, accusing him of his cowardice over the dead bodies of his parents. And worst of all, he saw Hermione's disappointment, her image of the gallant Harry Potter shattered into pieces as she was led away into the darkness in shackles, her fate unknown. Harry fell from his chair and onto his knees as the pain struck at this chest. Could he condemn them to such a fate? For the first time, consciously, Harry deliberately weighed his life to that of his friends, to those already gone, and those who might survive, and found their future worth giving his.

"…I'm just trying to help you see the small light at the end of the tunnel…we've all got to keep our eyes on it or we'll lose ourselves even if we do make it out alive…"

If he did run and survive, live the rest of his life hiding, what would it be worth? Harry smiled inwardly as he finally realized the light he would fight for. It wouldn't be for the wizarding world's happiness. It would be most of all for the person who never left his side. And it would be for Ron and all the Weasley's and his fellow Gryffindor's. Slowly, then, Harry picked himself up from the floor and stood fiercely determined, his eyes locking with Dumbledore's.

"I love them too much," he said.

"Once more, Harry, your selflessness burns like the sun to a man plagued by shadow. Are you sure this is the path you wish to take? Can you honestly, and willingly, give your life to see Tom destroyed for good?"

"For the world," answered Harry, "no, I can't. But I can for my parents, for Sirius, for Cedric, for Mad-Eye, and for my friends."

Dumbledore considered Harry for several minutes. Then, finally, the headmaster bowed his head to his student before rising once more to his full height, his face radiating with new determination.

"There is a possibility, though a very small one, that you could survive another killing curse," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at Dumbledore.

"But then, how is the Horcrux destroyed if I live?"

"Normally, the killing curse is ineffective to a Horcrux. This is due in part from the intent of the spell when it was created. Its purpose is to rip the soul from a living vessel, not an inanimate one. As you are a living vessel, the killing curse will, I am certain, destroy the fragment of soul within you, as well as your own. As I told you, I did not find a way to save you from this burden, but I did stumble upon a theory of my own. I do not tell you this to give you false hope. I do not know for certain that it will work. No one has ever breached this magic before."

"You remember what Tom took form you in order to return to his body?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "He took my blood."

"Precisely," said Dumbledore with a sense of triumph. "He took your blood, blood that contains the sacrifice of your mother, and therefore, carries her intent and will. Once more, magic in its purest form bind you and Tom in ways no one has ever been bound. Though no proof exists for such thinking, I believe her protection still lingers, weakened through that horrid ritual. It is possible it may protect you once more. However, it must be activated in the same way your mother provided you the protection in the first place."

"So, I have to give my life without defending myself?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I have heard it said within the Muggle community that greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."

"Love," whispered Harry.

"Yes," affirmed Dumbledore. "Love ties all of humanity together. Incapable as they are to manipulate the forces of magic, Muggles also recognize that love is the source of true strength. It is magic we are incapable of truly manipulating or imitating, because love does not manipulative. It is pure. It will not expose itself to those who seek to control it or gain it for selfish desires, but rather to those who give themselves to it. It compels us to do what is otherwise impossible."

"So how do I do it," asked Harry. "I don't know where to start."

"This war will not be easy, Harry," said Dumbledore as he began to pace back and forth behind his desk. "You will face difficult choices, you will witness terrible events, and you will suffer great loss. Each time it will become more difficult to make the right choice. Tom will try to break you by taking everyone and everything you hold dear. You, more than anyone, will feel the pressure to act swiftly to bring the war to an end, giving Tom an opportunity to capitalize on any of your mistakes. Guilt will bite at your heels with every death you believe you could have prevented had you been smarter, faster, or somehow more powerful. You must resist that pull or Tom will win, even after your sacrifice. You must destroy all the Horcruxes before you go to face him for the final time. I assume you received my possessions per the will?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Sir, why did you give me the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Because I used it to destroy the ring," said Dumbledore.

"Scrimgeour said it was missing," said Harry deflating.

"Of course it is," said Dumbledore with a smile. "The Sword of Gryffindor belongs to no one and will present itself as it always has; to a worthy Gryffindor in a time of great need."

"And the Snitch?"

"Will open when the time is right," said Dumbledore.

"Sir, do you know where the other Horcruxes are?"

"I do not," said Dumbledore sadly. "The snake will likely be at Tom's side when you go to destroy it, and therefore likely the last Horcrux you destroy before confronting Tom. I had suspicions that it may be possible for Tom to have passed on one of them to a follower much in the same way he did with Lucius. Harry, you mentioned that the Horcrux we found in the cave was a fake—was there any clue as to who replaced it?"

"Just a note," said Harry. "It said he'd found out Voldemort's secret. Whoever they were, they knew they were going to die. He signed it with the initials of R.A.B."

"R.A.B.," mumbled Dumbledore. "Hmm…I am not sure who that might be. I would suggest devoting your attention to finding the identity of this mystery person as it is the best lead you have. Perhaps uncovering their identity may lead you not only to the real Horcrux, but also to others. Also—"

But Dumbledore was interrupted as the whole office shook slightly and the sunlight penetrating the office windows dimmed.

"It seems we are nearly out of time, Harry," said Dumbledore. "This enchantment will last only a short while longer. Once you leave, this memory will dissipate and be gone forever. I have one last thing to say to you; do not forget your friends. The burden is yours, but you do not have to lift it on your own."

"Professor," said Harry as he felt the floor beneath him vanished and the walls of the office blur into a mixture of colors.

"Yes, Harry?"

"You made a memory like this for Ron and Hermione, right?"

"I did."

"You won't tell them what I am, will you?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "What I have to tell them is much different. It is your choice to tell them or not."

"Thank you, professor," said Harry as he felt himself pulled from the memory.