I do not own Harry Potter. Charlotte Potter is my OC.

Direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix are in bold.

The Prophecy of Charlotte Potter

It was some time later when Charlie managed to collect herself. She climbed slowly to her feet, streaks of tears on her cheeks and her eyes red-rimmed. She took her first look around the office, which had completely repaired itself since the night of Dumbledore's escape. The whirring and whistling of the silver instruments intermingled with the snoring of the portraits.

Though she knew it was a long shot, she walked over to the door and tried the knob. It was locked tight, leaving her shut in. She thought about using Sirius' penknife to open the door and leave, but after some consideration dismissed the idea. Dumbledore would come after her and she was much too tired for such a charade.

"Ah, Charlotte Potter," a cool voice drawled from behind her. She turned to see Phineas regarding her lazily. "What brings you here so early in the morning? Has Dumbledore sent you with another message for my useless great-great-grandson?"

She stared at him helplessly, her throat burning with more tears. "I…we…he…"

"Spit it out, girl."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, sagging backwards against the door, hands trembling at her sides. "Sirius…he's dead. I'm so sorry."

Phineas' eyes widened for the briefest of moments in shock before settling back into his indifferent mask. "Dead, you say? My great-great-grandson, the last of the Blacks, is dead?" When she gave a tiny nod, he sniffed and said, "I'm sure there's been some mistake."

He swept out of the portrait, no doubt to explore Grimmauld Place and see for himself. At that moment the other portraits stirred and the red-nosed wizard in the portrait hanging behind Dumbledore's chair regarded the girl expectantly.

"Ah, Potter. Does this mean Dumbledore will be with us once again?"

Charlie gave another nod, fruitlessly trying the doorknob one more time.

"Wonderful! We've rather missed him." The man looked down at the quiet girl and smiled warmly. "He thinks very much of you, you know."

Charlie felt her heart squeeze in her chest and she lowered her gaze to the floor. As far as she was concerned, Dumbledore didn't think much of her at all, considering how he distanced himself over the past year. After this whole debacle, she'd be amazed if Dumbledore ever had something good to say about her again.

The fireplace roared with emerald green flames and the esteemed Headmaster himself stepped into the room. All of the portraits were awake now and they gave delighted cheers at his arrival. Dumbledore nodded in gratitude as he walked over to Fawkes' perch, setting the tiny, featherless bird atop. He turned around and looked at Charlie, only to find the girl refusing to make eye contact.

"You will be glad to know that the others suffered no lasting damage," he spoke softly. "They are being tended to by Madam Pomfrey and Nymphadora Tonks is recovering at St. Mungo's."

The relief Charlie felt that her friends were safe was overpowered by tremendous guilt. They would not have gotten hurt in the first place if it wasn't for her. If she had been smarter, more alert, if she had tried harder to put her Occlumency training into practice…it was all her fault. It was always her fault.

"I understand how you're feeling, Charlotte."

She choked out a bitter, disbelieving laugh. "You don't have a single clue how I'm feeling right now."

How could he? How could he begin to understand her agony, her guilt, her remorse, her frustration and her despair?

"You should feel no shame over your feelings, Charlotte. Your ability to feel pain is your greatest strength."

"My greatest strength?" cried Charlie, finally raising her head to glare fiercely at Dumbledore, who was studying her with an infuriatingly calm expression. "If it's supposed to give me strength, where was it tonight? Where was it when I needed to save Sirius? Where was it when Angelina—?"

She cut herself off and took a shuddering breath. Her hands trembled at her sides and she looked firmly at the door.

"This pain you are experiencing, both old and new, only proves that you are human, Charlotte."

"I know that!" she exclaimed, frustration and anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. "I know I'm human! But what good has that done me so far? I'm tired of this! I can't do it anymore! I can't take it! I've had enough of all this death and pain and darkness! I want it to end! Do you hear me? I want—"

Several silver instruments suddenly exploded into dozens of shining pieces, causing Charlie to halt her hysterical rant. The portraits, who had been watching the unfolding confrontation with rapt attention, shouted out in surprise.

Breathing heavily, Charlie pressed against the door, screwing her eyes shut and trying to calm herself down. "Sorry," she bit out.

"They are merely objects. You need not be sorry." Dumbledore regarded the girl intently over his half-moon spectacles. "Do you know why, at fifteen years of age, you still show displays of accidental magic?"

She gave a stiff shake of her head in response.

"It is because you are unaccustomed to experiencing anger. Your capacity for forgiveness and tolerance is extraordinary, especially considering the circumstances of your childhood. When you feel such rage, you do not know how to properly express it, and thus it unleashes itself in magic form. You much prefer to act as the peacekeeper, as the calm protector. You care, Charlotte. You care so much it hurts."

Charlie desperately tried the doorknob but it was still locked tight. She didn't need to hear this, how supposedly loving and caring she was. "Please let me out."

"No. Not until you have heard what I have to say," spoke Dumbledore, moving around to settle in his chair.

"Why should I?" she demanded. "This entire year you've ignored me. You ignored me when I needed you the most! I don't want to hear what you have to say!"

"It is certainly not the least of what I deserve," said Dumbledore quietly, his heart aching at the way she glared at him. "But I cannot let you leave, Charlotte. We have important matters to discuss, and you will listen."

Defeated, she leaned against the stubborn door, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Fine," she whispered.

"Please, sit," he said gently.

She studied him warily, and after a moment removed herself from the door and shuffled across room. She settled into the chair across from him, hands folded tightly in her lap. Phineas returned to his portrait at the same moment, pale and gobsmacked.

"Dumbledore," he rasped. "Potter told me—she told me that Sirius—what happened?"

"I will tell you the full story later, Phineas," said Dumbledore, not unkindly. "I am sorry. I'm afraid this is my fault."

Charlie's eyes flashed with surprise as Phineas demanded, "What do you mean this is your fault?"

"If I had been upfront with Charlotte from the beginning, then she would have known that there would be no need for her to go to the Ministry of Magic. You see, I knew for a long time that Voldemort might try to lure her into a trap. If I had cautioned her sooner, she would not have left the castle, and Sirius would not have gone after her."

Charlie stared at her lap, suddenly very tired and very despondent. She couldn't find it in herself to blame Dumbledore, even though he had known of Voldemort's plans and had not warned her.

"Charlotte, I owe you an overdue explanation, and I hope you'll forgive the mistakes of an old man. I understand now, what I have and have not done in regards to you.

"Fourteen years ago, I had a guess as to what the scar on your forehead might mean. I guessed the connection that had been forged between you and Voldemort. When you rejoined the magical world, I felt no satisfaction at realizing my theory was correct. You were able to detect when Voldemort was close to you, when he was feeling rage or his own particular brand of twisted glee. This ability became more pronounced when he returned to his body.

"I began to worry that Voldemort might realize the connection between you. My fears were realized the night of Mr. Weasley's attack. You ventured so deeply into Voldemort's mind that he sensed your presence. Charlotte, have you wondered why I have kept my distance all these months?"

She glanced up, feeling a twinge in her heart at how sad he looked. "Yeah," she said softly.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before Voldemort tried to manipulate you, tried to influence your thoughts. I thought if he knew our relationship was more than that of a Headmaster and his student, he might use you as a means to spy on me. I thought if I kept my distance, he would have little incentive to take hold of your consciousness and use it as his own. And I thought I was doing right by you, every time I saw the shadow of Voldemort stir behind your eyes."

Charlie swallowed thickly, remembering the instances in which the foreign feelings of hatred and rage towards Dumbledore would rise within her.

"I did not dare to imagine the uses Voldemort would put you to if he possessed you. Tonight was only an example of the many possibilities of how he could have used you as his tool. I did not worry for my safety, oh no. I worried for yours, for I knew that if Voldemort possessed you it would end in your destruction. He hoped that I would sacrifice you in order to kill him. After all my attempts to keep my distance, my worst fears came true, despite my efforts to protect you."

He paused for a moment and Charlie played with edge of her sleeve, trying to process what was being said. Her brain was foggy but she tried to keep her focus. Though she wished she could have heard this explanation months ago, it was still important, and she ought to listen.

"After being informed of what you experienced that fateful night of Mr. Weasley's attack, I assigned Professor Snape the task of arming you against Voldemort's assault with Occlumency lessons. He learned of your dreams of the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort, ever since regaining his body, has been obsessed with hearing the prophecy. He continuously dwelled on the door, and so did you. It took him some time to learn what we always knew. Only those the prophecies refer to are able to take them."

"Me," muttered Charlie heavily.

Dumbledore nodded. "You see why I was so insistent that you master Occlumency? When Professor Snape informed me of your ability to perform a full mental barricade, I was hopeful."

"I didn't use it often enough," she said sullenly. "I let him get into my head when I had the ability to cast him out. I even had a feeling that something was wrong when I had that vision. I checked—" She paused for a moment, shoulders slowly slumping in horrified realization. "Kreacher. He lied."

"He did. You are not his master."

"Sirius, before Christmas, on the night of Mr. Weasley's attack…he told Kreacher to leave. He didn't seem to be around too much after that."

"Kreacher took Sirius' words literally and he left Grimmauld Place. He went to the last person in the Black family tree that he respected. Narcissa, Bellatrix's sister and wife of Lucius Malfoy."

"He wanted me to go to the Ministry of Magic," she said numbly. "It was all planned. How…?"

"I went to speak with Kreacher last night. You gave Professor Snape a clear mental image of the vision you had received. He checked Grimmauld Place, with a more reliable means of communication that members of the Order use, and discovered Sirius safe."

Charlie closed her eyes, feeling like the stupidest person on the face of the planet.

"However, when you did not return from the Forbidden Forest, Professor Snape worried you had gone to Sirius' rescue. He alerted certain members of the Order, all of which were at Headquarters at the time he made contact. Everyone agreed to come to your aid, while Sirius was asked to stay behind and wait for me to arrive. Professor Snape intended to search the Forbidden Forest for you, in case Umbridge had you under her captivity.

"But Sirius was not at all content with waiting around. He gave Kreacher the task of telling me what happened. That included Kreacher's deception, and like it or not, he was forced to tell me everything. Now, he was not Secret-Keeper for the Order, so he could not share our whereabouts. Also, all of our plans, our meetings, all of the information he overheard could not be shared, as Sirius had ordered. But there was one crucial piece of information that Sirius found to be trivial, and did not ban Kreacher from sharing it."

Charlie's heart thudded in her chest. "What?" she whispered.

"That he cared about you. That you were the most important person in the world to him. He loved you, and you loved him, and though Narcissa knew Sirius was in your life, she did not know to what extent. This confirmed her suspicions and a plan was formed."

Charlie could almost picture Voldemort's disgusted sneer when he learned of the loving bond she shared with Sirius. She could almost feel his glee at finally finding the perfect bait to use in order to lure her, a pathetic girl who rushed out blindly to save people, to the Department of Mysteries.

"So…if the Malfoys told Kreacher to lie, then where was Sirius?"

"Kreacher tricked Sirius into thinking there was still a hoard of family heirlooms in his possession. This was of course false, but Sirius went off to look, as he loathed the very idea of having his mother's prized objects in his home. As he went to search the attic, it was at that time you called."

"I tried being nice to him," said Charlie, almost sinking into the chair in her grief. "I thought…"

"You thought right," said Dumbledore gently. "I am afraid Sirius let his childhood resentments affect his treatment of Kreacher. I insisted he treat Kreacher with respect but he dismissed me. I don't think he ever took my belief that Kreacher could be a threat seriously. House-elves are to be pitied. They are made into what they are by the wizards and witches they serve. Sirius made no effort to make Kreacher's lot in life easier."

Charlie let out a sharp breath, staring blearily at her hands. "It wasn't Sirius' fault," she mumbled.

"That certainly wasn't my implication," soothed Dumbledore. "Nor will you ever hear me say it."

Quiet descended upon the office, with Charlie feeling as if another nail was being driven into her heart at this new piece of information. How foolish she had been.

"It is time, Charlotte," spoke Dumbledore after a moment. "It is time for me to share what I should have told you when you were eleven."

Biting down on her bottom lip, she gave a short nod to show that she was still listening.

"When you arrived at Hogwarts, you were safe. Not as happy or as well-nourished as I would have liked, but you were alive. I knew when I left you at the doorstep of you aunt and uncle's that I was condemning you to a hard and miserable childhood. You must have wondered, at one point, why I could not have left you with a nice wizarding family.

"You see, on that fateful night, I had a decision to make. I knew that while Voldemort was vanquished for the time being, his followers were still out there, deadly and seeking vengeance. I also knew that Voldemort would be back, though I did not know when, and he would do whatever it took to kill you. Considering this, I made a choice for your safety.

"While Voldemort has an extensive knowledge of magic, more so than any other wizard, I knew his weaknesses. None of my most powerful protection spells would work, but I have many tricks up my sleeve, as they say. There is an ancient magic that Voldemort knows and despises and underestimates."

"It has something to do with my relatives, right?" spoke Charlie softly. "Last year, in the graveyard, he said that he couldn't touch me while I was with them."

"He is right. When your mother died for you, her protection lingered in your blood, and the blood of her family. I brought you to her last remaining relative and though she took you in reluctantly, grudgingly, she still made the decision to raise you, to protect you. The charm I placed upon you was sealed. Your mother's bond of blood gave you the strongest of shields."

"She didn't fight it? My aunt?"

"She did not. I left her a letter explaining that while Lily's blood had been shed, her protection lives on in your blood and hers. You only need to return once a year and she knows that housing you has kept you alive all this time. Protecting you, it seems, was something she felt she owed her little sister."

Charlie thought about this for a moment and she sat up a little straighter as she recalled something. "The Howler she received last summer…you sent it, didn't you?"

"I thought she might need a reminder of what was at stake. I knew the ordeal with the Dementors would awaken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate daughter. I worried she might react accordingly. But it seems she understands familial loyalty, as you have extended towards them countless times.

"When you arrived at Hogwarts for your first year, I was content that my plan was working so far. I did not expect that you would face Voldemort so soon and survive yet again, but you did. The challenge before you was great but you overcame it spectacularly. You delayed Voldemort's return to power and fought a battle no other wizard would have won. I was immensely proud."

"I asked you, back then, why Voldemort wanted to kill me," said Charlie, and though the memory flashed clearly through her mind it felt like a lifetime ago.

"You did. I suppose I ought to have told you then but I could not bring myself to do so. You were eleven, and I told myself you were too young to know the truth. But I should have seen the signs, understood the dangers. It was only your first year and you had already encountered your greatest enemy. You had already asked a question that had more weight than you probably knew.

"After the events of your second year, I thought twelve was no better than eleven. So when you left my office, bloodstained and with exhausted victory in your eyes, I convinced myself I made the right decision. You had just gone through a traumatic ordeal, after all. You did not need to be burdened with the truth just then. Do you see the flaw in my plan yet, Charlotte?"

"No," she said.

"I cared about you. Too much, in fact. I cared about your happiness more than the truth, and I acted as such. Voldemort would say that I behaved as fools who love do. Perhaps so. But I have watched you closely for a long time, more than you could imagine, and how I could I deny the chance to save you from more pain and suffering? You were alive and happy. What did I care the consequences my actions would have in the future?"

Charlie's throat tightened, and though Dumbledore did not expect her to speak, she couldn't if she wanted to. It seemed her words were lost.

"Your third year proved to be as eventful as the others. I found myself running out of excuses as you mastered your Patronus and found Sirius. You were thirteen and had proven multiple times your exceptional skill at magic. You had just rescued your godfather from a life in prison, and who was I to dampen your delight with the truth?

"The years were getting away from me. But I still could not do it. When you came from the graveyard with Angelina's body, grieving and agonized, having just escaped death yourself, I knew the time was coming. Voldemort had returned and you needed to know. So tonight, I will finally share with you the knowledge you have long been waiting for. I have seen many students pass through this school, but none of them have ever shouldered so many burdens. I dreaded telling you the greatest one of all."

Charlie felt her stomach quiver nervously. "What is it?" she asked, managing to find her voice.

"Charlotte, Voldemort tried to kill you all those years ago because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He only knows part of it, having never heard it in full. When he set out to kill you on Halloween night, he believed he would be fulfilling the prophecy. But he was wrong and it cost him. The curse meant to kill you backfired. Since returning to his body, he's been determined to hear the prophecy in its entirety. His attempts have increased since your escape last year and the prophecy is the weapon he's been searching for. He wants the knowledge of your destruction."

"I destroyed the prophecy," spoke Charlie, almost tonelessly. "When Macnair grabbed me, I smashed it into his face."

"That was merely a record of the prophecy. The real prophecy was told to someone, and that person can recall it perfectly."

"Were you the one who heard it?"

"I am. It happened on an ominously rainy night, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head sixteen years ago. I was there to interview an applicant for the post of Divination teacher. I felt no inclination to continue the subject, if I am to be honest, but the applicant was the great-great-great-granddaughter of a very gifted Seer. It quickly became apparent that she did not hold the same talent as her relative and I kindly told her that I didn't think she would be suitable for the post. I began to leave."

Dumbledore stood up and walked over to his cabinet, where he retrieved his Pensieve. He set it on his desk and then held his wand up to his temple. Charlie watched the process of adding thoughts to the basin, her heart creeping up her throat.

When the last silver strand was added to the swirling contents of the stone Pensieve, Dumbledore gave a soft sigh, as if he was still reluctant to share this crucial piece of knowledge. He prodded the surface with his wand and a familiar figure rose from the silvery depths, draped in shawls and beads. When Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was with a harsh tone Charlie had heard her use only once before.

"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 the child as his equal, but the child 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…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

Trelawney disappeared back into the Pensieve and the office fell into absolute silence. The portraits, nor Fawkes, made a sound. Charlie stared at the runes marked into the basin, nausea pooling in her stomach.

"The prophecy said the child," she said after a long moment. "Professor Trelawney didn't say she. She said the child."

"As odd as this may sound, the prophecy may not have meant you at all. There were three children born at the end of July, to parents who were members of the Order and had defied Voldemort three times. You were one. Neville Longbottom the second, and the third…"

He paused and stared at her meaningfully, and Charlie understood then that Dumbledore was very much aware that she knew about her brother. Perhaps Remus and Sirius had alerted him…or maybe he had known since their second year.

"Harry," she finished for him.

"Yes. I know you will have many questions but that particular story is one I wish to tell you both at the same time. You will get your answers, answers you should have once more gotten long ago. Could you be patient on this matter for a little longer?"

It was only right for Harry to be with her when answers were revealed. She would wait until he was recovered. She gave a nod of acquiescence and asked, "Why was it just my name on the prophecy?"

"The keeper of the Hall of Prophecies thought it obvious that, since you were the child Voldemort attacked, you were the one the prophecy was referring to."

Charlie felt as if ice was flowing through her veins and it was becoming difficult to breathe. "Even though Neville and Harry were born on the same day…the one to vanquish Voldemort is me. I'm the one he chose. I'm the one he marked as his equal."

"I am afraid you are right," said Dumbledore, and it seemed to pain him to utter the words. "It is prudent to note that Voldemort did not choose the pure-blood, the race he preaches to be the only one that should exist, but you, the half-blood. Before he even laid eyes on you, he saw himself in you, and I think that unsettled him. That scar he marked you with, with a curse that should have killed you, gave you powers and a future of constant defiance. You have already thwarted him four times. Tonight makes five. This has never been done before."

"I don't understand. Why would he even try to kill me? The prophecy said he would mark me as his equal. Didn't he have an inkling as to what that might mean?"

"He might have, if his informant had told him the full prophecy. But the eavesdropper at Hog's Head that night only heard the first part before he was thrown out of the building by the owner. All Voldemort knew was that a child would be born at the end of July to parents who had thrice defied him. A child who would have the power to vanquish him. He knew not that his decision would mark you as his equal. He had no idea that you would wield powers he does not know."

"I don't have powers," said Charlie in exasperation. "I'm nothing special. I can't fight like Voldemort. I couldn't even cast a Cruciatus at Bellatrix."

"In the Department of Mysteries, there is a room that is always locked and it contains a force that is as wonderful as it is terrible. It is a force that surpasses nature itself and the limits of human intelligence. It is under constant study and is the most complicated subject in the universe. The force that is in that room is the power you have."

"What?" she asked in confusion. "What is it?"

"Your heart, Charlotte. It is something Voldemort does not have, nor can he understand. Your heart is open to everyone, full of love, compassion and tolerance. It is the reason you did not cast a Cruciatus at Bellatrix Lestrange. It is the reason you charged to the Ministry to save Sirius. It is the reason you risked expulsion when you cast the Patronus to save your cousin. It is the reason Voldemort could not retain his hold on your body, for he could not withstand such pure feelings."

"I see." Charlie mulled this over for a moment before saying shakily, "The prophecy said neither can live while the other survives. When it comes down to it, it's me or him. One of us has to die."

"That is correct."

A solemn silence descended upon them and the portraits regarded the teenager with varying expressions of sympathy and horror. Though she was cold and numb, she was not surprised, nor did she care. She had always assumed, somewhere down the line, that there was a great chance that she would die at the hands of Voldemort. Now she knew that if she wanted to live out her life, she would have to kill Voldemort to make it happen.

"Okay," she said at last, slowly getting to her feet. "Okay. Is…is that all?"

"I have just one more explanation for my actions," replied Dumbledore and he sounded hesitant. "I did not make you prefect this year because…well, I thought…I thought you had enough responsibility on your shoulders."

A tear trickled down his face and into his long silvery beard, and Charlie had to choke back her own sobs. Her lingering shreds of bitterness towards the man disappeared completely. She understood what Dumbledore had tried to do. She wished he hadn't acted as he had but she would not resent him for it. He had done it for her, because he loved her.

"It's okay," she said. When Dumbledore looked at her in surprise, she put a semblance of a smile on her face, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I wasn't too disappointed. I think Hermione's the perfect choice for prefect. I'm glad it wasn't me. I was busy this year defending the school from Umbridge and I'll be busy in the foreseeable future, defending the world from Voldemort."

Steely determination overtook the grief and her next words were injected with a fiery promise. "No matter how long it takes, I will save them. I will defeat him. He's going to regret choosing me."

She strode over to the door and gripped the knob, and this time she was able to twist it open. She turned on her heel, eyes now blazing with emotion. She did not notice the awed, stunned gazes of portraits, nor Dumbledore's misty expression. She was thinking of all the people who had perished under Voldemort's wrath and a passionate anger boiled within her. The silver instruments rattled but they did not burst.

"I know I couldn't save Angelina. I know I couldn't save Sirius. But I will avenge them. I'll avenge everyone who has died because of Voldemort and his cause. I promise."

And it was a promise she would fight to keep until her last dying breath.