Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven - The Lost Prophecy

The sun shone on Godric's Hollow, casting golden shafts of light through the cemetery trees and warming the bright white stone of a fresh grave. Sirius Black had been laid to rest next to his two closest friends in the world, James and Lily Potter. Harry had insisted on the location. He had made all the arrangements himself. Though his godfather had never been the type to talk about the end, Harry could not think of their first and only visit to the village together without being sure that this was what he would have wanted.

Harry stood before the grave, staring at the newly constructed headstone that bore his godfather's name and an epitaph, also chosen by Harry.

Sirius Black

Born 3 November 1959

Died 18 June 1996

A Loyal Friend and Loving Father

More people had attended the burial than Harry had expected. Mrs. Zabini brought Blaise, of course. And Millie was there with both of her parents. Then there were a few members of the Order: Kingsley and Tonks, Sturgis Podmore and Emmeline Vance, among others. Ron Weasley had been sent back to Hogwarts to complete the term, but his mother was there, along with her five eldest sons. Fred and George were looking particularly solemn, though from the look of their dragonhide suit jackets, their joke shop appeared to be doing well. Sirius had always been a favorite of theirs, and Harry was quite sure he would have approved their fashion choice, had he been there to see it.

Hermione had wanted to come. So had Nell and Theo. But they, like Ron, had been sent back to Hogwarts after that night at the Ministry. Harry had flatly refused to return to school. There was no reason for it. His exams were already complete. He would not leave Sirius again.

As selfish as it was, he wasn't sorry that Hermione and the rest weren't there. He didn't want to see them. He wanted to be alone. Only Millie's presence had been a comfort in times like these. She alone had been silent. She allowed Harry to be silent as well. The others would only have given him hackneyed condolences or worse, tried to relate to what he was feeling. But Millie gave him the space he desperately craved, and she made sure others did the same.

The only company Harry had been able to stand beyond Millie was that of Remus. He alone was allowed to share in a portion of Harry's sorrow. Even now he was standing by Harry's side, observing the same trio of graves without a word, while their guests broke into small groups, conversing together in hushed voices.

Unable to stand the sight of Sirius's name any longer, carved so impersonally against the white stone, Harry tore his gaze away. That's when he noticed a lone figure, standing just beyond the gate that bordered the churchyard, as if afraid to step foot on hallowed ground. Despite the warm, sunny day, he was cloaked in black from head to toe, a hood pulled low over his face. He seemed to be taking great pains not to be recognized, though Harry knew him instantly. He was wearing the same cloak he had worn several months earlier, when he met Harry and Sirius in Godric's Hollow.

Harry felt a sudden burst of anger. Without a word of acknowledgement to Remus, he made a beeline toward the gate, vaulting the sunken iron fence easily and shoving Professor Snape hard in the chest.

"Where the hell were you?" he demanded.

Snape's hood fell back. He returned Harry's glare with one of his own, his mouth falling open as if to defend himself. Harry didn't give him the chance to reply, shoving him again as he repeated, "Where were you? When Umbridge forced me into the forest… When we flew all the way to the Ministry… When we were fighting your Death Eater buddies in the Department of Mysteries… Where the hell were you?"

He could hear murmured whispers behind him. The few guests that had lingered behind once the burial was over must be talking about the scene he was making. Harry didn't care what they said. He was too busy glaring at Snape, hating the imperturbable expression on his face. It was infuriating that he could adopt a perfect mask of indifference even now, after everything that had happened…

"Did you come to gloat?" Harry accused, "You must be happy now that he's gone. The last of your bullies, wasn't he? You must be so pleased!"

Snape met all of Harry's reproaches with what at first appeared to be cool indifference, but as Harry reached for him again, he grasped both his wrists, stalling his momentum. Harry struggled against his grip, but the strength his anger had given him was short-lived. It was soon eclipsed once again by his sadness. He hung his head in defeat, allowing his arms to go limp as Snape spoke for the first time.

"You know I had no love for Sirius Black. I will not insult you by pretending to feel sorry he's gone. But believe me… You must believe that this… It brings me no joy."

There was an emotion in his voice that Harry couldn't quite describe. And yet Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"You left me!" he said, hating how pathetic he sounded, "When Umbridge had us trapped… I tried to warn you but you just… You just left! And I had to do it myself…"

"I understood what you were trying to tell me," Snape replied, "But Dumbledore had warned me that the Dark Lord would try to manipulate your mind. I had to be sure what you thought you saw was true. Members of the Order have ways of contacting each other. I tried Remus first, but our usual means of communication was severed…"

"By Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry said spitefully.

Snape hesitated before he replied in a measured tone, "Yes… She deceived us all. Even I believed that she would do whatever was in her power to protect her son. But instead she used him to further her own ambition… Yet even then I did not suspect her treachery. I continued to seek other members of the Order when Warrington and Montague found me. They said Umbridge had taken you and Zabini into the forest.

"Naturally, I followed you. I thought you merely needed rescuing from some other dangerous situation you landed yourself in. I never imagined I would find Umbridge amongst a group of angry centaurs, and you nowhere in sight…"

"It took some time, but I was able to extract from Umbridge what had happened. You were gone, and a number of students had disappeared with you. I assumed you had gone to the Ministry yourselves. I contacted Dumbledore at once. He ordered me to send what Order members I could find to stop you…"

Harry had kept his face lowered throughout Snape's explanation of that night, but when he paused again, falling silent for longer than usual, Harry raised his face toward him. There was a complicated expression on Snape's face, somewhere between resentment and regret, as he forced himself to say his next words.

"I knew Black wasn't well… That he was getting worse. When I was finally able to locate them, they were at St. Mungo's. I… I made the mistake of telling Remus where Black could hear. You should know that we tried to convince him to stay behind, but he insisted… He wanted to be the one to rescue you…"

Harry was satisfied. He knew what had happened after that. And it didn't really matter that Sirius had left St. Mungo's. The outcome would have been the same, either way. He no longer resented the fact that Snape came to the burial, but one question still remained on his mind.

"Why are you here now? Why did you come, if you never cared about him in the first place?"

"I'm not here for him," Snape replied, glancing pointedly into the cemetery.

Harry followed the direction of his gaze. Remus was still standing alone in front of the grave. He hadn't moved an inch. He didn't seem to realize that Harry had walked away, that he had any altercation with Snape whatsoever. Harry hadn't allowed himself to think of much beyond the preparations for the ceremony, but now that he had time to reflect, Remus had been in the same state for what felt like days.

"Remus?" Harry asked, "But why…?"

"Because I know how he feels," Snape replied without irony, "I know what it's like to lose the person you love most."

A simple fact clicked into place in Harry's mind. He felt incredibly stupid for not realizing it sooner.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, stepping aside for the Potions Master.

Snape seemed to hesitate, though it was only for a moment. Harry remained on the spot, watching as Snape approached Remus and placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. Remus flinched, obviously unaware that there was anyone else around him. It was Snape who initiated the embrace. Remus stiffened for a moment, as if in shock, then he crumbled, burying his face in the top of Snape's shoulder as his body wracked with sobs.

Harry didn't want to encroach on his grief any longer. As he looked away, his attention was arrested by the sight of Albus Dumbledore. It was a wonder Harry hadn't noticed him sooner. Not bothering to blend in with Muggle society, he was dressed in his usual long, flowing robes. He had chosen a somber dark blue, like the night sky just before dawn, and decorated with silver stars and arching white lines. He stood apart from the small congregations that were still engaged in their quiet conversations, almost as if he were waiting for this opportunity to speak with Harry alone. He beckoned to him, and Harry, moving as if on autopilot, directed his steps toward the headmaster.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Dumbledore commented by way of greeting, "I understand that it was all your doing, Harry. You have done well. It was a wonderful way of honoring your godfather's memory."

Harry wanted to thank him for coming, but he didn't trust himself to speak. There was a lump in his throat that had been lodged there ever since he spoke to Snape. He could only nod his head.

Fortunately, Dumbledore required little encouragement. He had turned his attention back toward the grave he had been observing before Harry joined him and commented lightly, "It has been many years since I visited this place. Perhaps too long."

Harry's attention drifted toward the headstone. He froze. The name atop the lichen-covered granite was Kendra Dumbledore. And just below that: Her Daughter Ariana.

Harry mused over the quotation beneath their names and wondered what their connection was to the headmaster. His mother and sister? An aunt and cousin? He did not think Dumbledore had ever mentioned a wife…

Rather than volunteer any information on the subject, Dumbledore offered his arm to Harry, saying, "Would you care to walk with me? There is something I would like to discuss."

Harry waited patiently while they walked slowly through the quieter part of the cemetery, away from the other guests. He was sure that Dumbledore would begin as soon as he had gathered all his thoughts. Harry wished he could feel more curious about whatever it was he wanted to share, but he hadn't felt much of anything since Sirius had died. He gazed absently at other headstones as he passed. Some had familiar names… Abbott, Carrow, and MacMillan among them… Then there were others, more strange and unusual. Names like Knighton, Peverell, and Wright.

"Do you recall your first year at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked abruptly. "I am referring to the time you spent in the hospital wing, when you asked me why Voldemort tried to kill you when you were only a baby?"

Harry exerted himself to recall that time, but after everything that had happened since then, the events that took place at the end of his first year seemed to have happened to some other eleven-year-old. Just last year he had been a Triwizard Champion and witnessed Voldemort's return firsthand. Before that he had met his godfather for the first time, and had spent the better part of a year hiding him in the Chamber of Secrets. Then there had been his second year, when he discovered that same Chamber while attempting to save Millie from the jaws of a giant serpent. Eventually, by working backward in this way, he could just remember his stay in the hospital wing. Professor Quirrell had died, and Dumbledore had informed Harry that the Philosopher's Stone would soon be destroyed.

When Harry nodded his head in assent, Dumbledore asked, "And do you remember what I told you?"

"You didn't answer," said Harry slowly, "You said it was something you couldn't tell me… Not then…"

"That was my mistake," Dumbledore admitted heavily, "After everything you had gone through… I told myself you were too young to know. That it would be wrong to burden a child with the knowledge."

"It has something to do with the prophecy, doesn't it?" Harry asked, "That's why Voldemort wanted it so badly."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "Shortly before your birth, a prophecy was made concerning Lord Voldemort. He knew that the prophecy existed, though he never knew the full contents. When he set out to kill you, he believed this would fulfill its terms. But as you already know, your mother's love protected you from his curse. And so, since his return to his own body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear the prophecy in full. He believed it would contain the knowledge he seeks so desperately. The knowledge, in short, of how to destroy you."

"Well, too bad for him," Harry remarked carelessly. "The prophecy is gone. I smashed it."

"What you smashed was merely a record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. The original was made to someone, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly."

"You?" asked Harry, though he felt he already knew the answer.

Predictably, Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes. Sixteen years ago, in fact, on a cold, wet night in a room above the Hog's Head Inn. I had gone to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher. I don't mind telling you, Harry, that it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all, but Sybil Trelawney is the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, gifted Seer. I thought it common politeness to speak with her."

"Professor Trelawney!" Harry gasped. Suddenly the specter that had risen from the smashed prophecy, draped in shawls and with eyes strangely magnified by glasses, made sense to him.

"I do not wonder at your surprise," said Dumbledore with a shadow of his usual humor, "I believe I may have witnessed her first, and I daresay only, actual prophecy. I thought at first she had no trace of the gift herself, but as I turned to leave, she began to speak to me. It was not the voice I had heard before, but a harsher, more raspy tone that hardly seemed to belong to her…"

Dumbledore paused, as if lost in the memory of that encounter, before he sighed and said, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…"

He paused again at the end of this recitation while Harry pondered the words. Then he continued, "I have relived that night so often, I assure you I have the entire thing memorized. I have studied it for ages, trying to find some loophole… Another explanation…"

"What does it mean?" interrupted Harry.

Dumbledore came to a stop. They were on the other side of the cemetery now, though it was a small area. He could still see Remus, standing next to Snape by his parents' graves. Dumbledore looked into Harry's eyes, his usually kind face set with resolve as he said, "It means that the person who has the only chance of defeating Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. And this boy's parents would have defied Voldemort three times already."

"You mean my parents," Harry concluded, "You mean… Me?"

To his surprise, Dumbledore was the first to look away.

"The odd thing is, Harry," he said, "It may not have meant you at all. Professor Trelawney's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year. Both had parents in the Order who had narrowly escaped Voldemort on three separate occasions. One was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"But then… Why did Voldemort… Why did he come after me? I mean, what if the prophecy isn't about me at all?"

"Have you already forgotten?" asked Dumbledore, "The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal… When Voldemort decided the prophecy meant the Potter child, he tried to kill you, and in doing so he left you with that scar."

"But he didn't know the full prophecy!" Harry argued, "You said it yourself! He might have made a mistake!"

"He chose the boy he felt was most likely to be a danger to him. And what's more, he chose not the pureblood, but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he'd ever laid eyes on you. And in marking you with that scar, he set in motion a prophecy that predicted his own destruction."

"The prophecy also said I would have power the Dark Lord knows not," Harry countered, "But I haven't got anything like that! I couldn't duel him the way you did. I can't have my body destroyed and come back again and again. I can't do anything special…"

"Blaise tells me that you handed him your own wand when he lost his in the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore interrupted, "And yet others say they saw you deflect a stunning spell that had been aimed at Sirius. How did you manage it?"

"That… That was…" Harry fumbled. For some reason, he felt embarrassed to admit he had been practicing wandless magic in secret. "That was only a shield charm!"

"That you conjured without a wand?"

"Professor Nobilis says anyone can do it," said Harry quickly, "That the magic is in the wizard or witch, not in the wand itself."

Dumbledore smiled, willing to let the matter rest, though he could not help but add, "So it is, Harry. So it is. But there is more to you than that. When Voldemort possessed you that night in the Ministry. When he used your own voice to beg me to kill you… You fought him off. You did that on your own. I had nothing to do with it. How did you manage?"

Harry faltered with his answer. It was too painful to think of that night… Of how he felt when Sirius died… He couldn't say it, so Dumbledore helped him.

"There is a door in the Department of Mysteries," he said, "One that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is more wonderful and terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature itself. It is also the most mysterious. Voldemort doesn't have a shred of what this room contains. He has never understood its true power. Your mother felt it when she died to protect you. Sirius felt it when he risked his own health and safety to defend you. I believe you felt it as well, and this is why you were able to fight off Lord Voldemort's attack."

"You're talking about love," Harry said finally.

Dumbledore nodded his assent.

Harry considered the prophecy again. In many ways, it felt stupid to him. The idea that Voldemort's belief in some stupid riddle could cause him to mark the path to his own destruction… What if he had just ignored it? Trelawney would have remained nothing more than an old fraud, and Harry's parents would still be alive. Sirius would never have gone to Azkaban. None of this needed to happen.

But what was done was done. He had been marked, and that was the part that concerned him now.

Neither can live while the other survives.

"It means I have to kill him," Harry concluded, "Or else he'll kill me."

Dumbledore didn't need to speak. Harry felt as though he finally understood the mystery that surrounded his connection to Voldemort. More than his scar or their shared connection, this explained why it had to be him. Why all of these terrible things needed to happen. To give him the strength to do what he needed to do…

"Good," he said, "I want to kill him. He murdered Sirius. He murdered my parents. I want him dead. For good."

Dumbledore did not seem surprised by his reaction. He did not gasp, or widen his eyes, or look disappointed in him. He merely asked, "Could you do it? Could you take a life? Even one as vile as Lord Voldemort's?"

"I tried to kill Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry asserted boldy, "Just after Sirius… She tried to run away. Her back was turned. And I tried to kill her. I wanted to kill her. I spoke the words… If I'd had my wand…"

"Let's pretend for a moment that you did," said Dumbledore, "If your spell had succeeded, would you feel any better than you do now? Would it have at all eased the pain of Sirius's loss?"

Harry hung his head and murmured, "I don't know…"

He was lying. He knew the answer. In some ways, it was a blessing he was not more skilled at wandless magic. As angry as he had been at the time, he wasn't sure he would like the version of himself that had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

But that didn't matter. If it was a choice between himself and Voldemort, he would choose himself. Bellatrix was evil, but Voldmort was worse. He was the one to blame.

Harry looked up into Dumbedore's wizened face again and said, "I'm glad you told me, professor. But I don't really care about the prophecy. I never did. The only thing I want to know now, the only thing that matters… What killed Sirius?"

"The locket that cursed your godfather was exactly what it appeared to be at first," Dumbledore explained, "A relic of Salazar Slytherin. How it came to be in Voldemort's possession is still a mystery, but it is certain he placed a curse on it."

"Why?" Harry demanded.

"I have a theory," said Dumbledore, "But it is only that. I can't be sure…"

"Tell me anyway."

He worried that Dumbledore would refuse. That he would say again that it was too soon to tell him, or that he was too young to know. But Dumbledore did not look away from him. He replied, with much gravity, "I have come to believe that the locket was a horcrux."

"What's a horcrux?" asked Harry.

"A type of very old, very dark magic. So rare, in fact, that little is known about it."

"But you know something," Harry said in a demanding tone, "Tell me what it is!"

"All I can say for now is that Voldemort fears death more than anything else. He has tried many ways of prolonging his life. Drinking unicorn blood, trying to obtain the philosopher's stone… In some ways, he has been successful, as he managed to survive the curse that was meant to kill you, Harry, though his body was destroyed in the process… More than this, I cannot say. But I intend to find out more."

Before any more could be said, Hagrid had approached them both. His long, heavy strides crossed the small churchyard in a moment, and he had soon wrapped Harry in a bone-crushing hug. He made no effort to stop the tears that were flowing freely into his wild beard, and it was hard to make out his words through his sobs.

"Fine cer'mony… Jus' fine! Yeh poor boy, Harry… Ter be doin' all this… An' so young an' all… It ain't right! Yeh shouldn' have ter lose anymore family… not after yer mum an' dad!"

Strangely, the sight of Hagrid's open distress made Harry feel a little better. When Hagrid finally released him, he was able to meet his tears with a genuine, though sad smile. It was the first time he had smiled in days.

"Thanks for coming, Hagrid," he said, patting the large man on his forearm. "How's Grawp?"

Hagrid could merely sniffle in response, so it was up to Dumbledore to take their leave.

"Shall we move along then, Hagrid?" Dumbledore said pleasantly, "There is still much work to be done at Hogwarts, now that I am headmaster again."

"What about Umbridge?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering that such a person existed, "What's going to happen to her?"

"Do you know, Harry, I really hadn't thought to ask," Dumbledore said with a familiar twinkle in his eye, "But it seems I will have to find another Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher… Oh dear, what will I do? There don't seem to be many of them left…"

Once Dumbledore and Hagrid had taken their leave, Harry turned back toward that quiet corner where his parents' graves, and now Sirius's as well, stood in solemn dignity. The sun was going down. The burial had concluded hours ago. And yet he found Remus still rooted to the spot, gazing at Sirius's name as if he would never be happy again. Snape had vanished. Harry supposed he had said his peace, and left before Harry could pick another fight with him.

Harry took his place by Remus's side, taking his hand as he did so. Remus gave him a squeeze of acknowledgement, then for a moment longer they remained in silent contemplation. It was broken only by the sound of Harry's stomach, which growled loudly, a startling reminder that no matter what else had happened, or would happen to him in the future, he still needed to eat.

"Time to go, Harry," said Mrs. Zabini, arriving as if on cue.

Harry turned to look at her and noticed Blaise leaning on the fence a few yards away. They were the last of their guests to remain.

"Are you coming to Grimmauld Place with us?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry…" said Mrs. Zabini with some hesitation, "It's not… It won't be safe there anymore…"

"I can't go," Harry said. He was thinking of Remus. Of the last thing Sirius had requested of him…But it was Remus himself who spoke up first.

"It's alright, Harry," he said, his voice raspy and his eyes red. "You should go with Edana and Blaise… I can't… I couldn't…"

Harry could guess what Remus was thinking. His behavior over the past few days spoke for itself. He seemed thinner than he was before, and his appearance was more shabby than ever. He was unable to take care of himself in his current state, much less a teenage boy.

Before Harry could argue with him, however, Mrs. Zabini had turned her gaze toward Remus, surveying him up and down before she declared, "You're coming, too."

"I… What?" Remus murmured, seeming just as surprised as Harry felt.

Mrs. Zabini was out of patience with them both. "I am not going to repeat myself, Remus. Now come along. It's getting late."

She did not wait to be pressed with further questions, arguments, or thanks. She simply turned away, marching back toward her son with an air that did not invite any reluctance on their part. There was nothing for it. Harry and Remus exchanged a glance, and with a smile and a shrug, followed the Zabinis into the gathering night.


Author's Note:

Hello Everyone!

This concludes Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. Many thanks to all of you who have made it to the end of 131 chapters! I am truly humbled and grateful to you all for leaving comments, kudos, and in general sharing your support.

As usual, I will be going on hiatus for a while after this chapter. Fear not, this is not the end of Slytherin Harry's tale. I simply ask for patience while I prepare for his sixth year.

Thanks again, and hope to see you all again in the next installment!