The fire popped and crackled in the grate, but Blackheart barely noticed the dancing flames and sparks that flew when a log shifted. He stared at the orange blaze, his mind a million miles away.

Sirius was somewhere in the house, reading a book, taking a nap, doing something that Blackheart didn't care to know. Ever since he'd met with the Weasleys in their treehouse, he'd found himself in a bit of a funk. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason he'd felt lonelier than ever the past few days. Seeing the Weasley siblings and the way they interacted with each other had made him question whether he was too isolated, too apart from everything good that the world might offer.

When he'd been young, it had been out of necessity, his segregation. And he'd had a good childhood, growing up knowing that he was loved and protected. But what if the solitary existence he'd adopted as an adult had been less about protecting himself and more about staying in a place where he was comfortable, where he couldn't be emotionally hurt?

"You're staring at that fire like it's done you personally wrong."

Blackheart only grunted when Sirius came into the room.

"Care to talk about it?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "My head is just...full."

Sirius sank into the wingback chair opposite his godson and shifted into a similar pose: slouched against the cushions, legs extended toward the warmth, and brow furrowed.

"Is it wrong to live like I do?" Blackheart asked finally.

"In what way do you mean?"

"Alone. Isolated. Hidden."

Sirius nodded, although Blackheart wasn't watching him. "I see."

"I just…I see others about my age and even with the war on, they're...well, they're living. Am I doing that? Sometimes it doesn't feel like it."

"Well, I probably am not the best one to talk on the subject."

Blackheart finally looked at Sirius and felt a twinge of guilt. They led similar lives, but not with similar motivations. Sirius was almost as much a prisoner here as he had been in Azkaban. Blackheart was free to come and go, as long as he kept his identity hidden.

"Do you think the way I was raised was wrong?"

Sirius winced, thought about it, and then finally shook his head. "It is what it is. We can't change the past. Well, strictly speaking, that's not true. We could, if we had a time turner."

Blackheart rolled his eyes at the bit of humor.

"But...no. I don't think so. You grew up protected, safe. If you'd been left where you were…" He trailed off and shook his head once more, his eyes narrowing into a scowl. "I can't imagine why Dumbledore thought it was a good place to put a child. Those people…" He huffed out a breath. "Well, I'm sure he had his reasons."

Silence descended as they both pondered Blackheart's childhood.

"The way you grew up," Sirius finally said, "may not have been what your parents intended, but you're stronger for it. You're alive. You're safe. You avenged their deaths-at least to a point."

Blackheart scowled at the memory. It was his darkest moment. He'd almost lost himself to the darkness and despair when Wormtail's life had been draining out of the betraying little rat due to Blackheart's spell. It had taken both Dobby and Sirius months to break him out of depression and convince him that the act had been necessary and justified. Not only had Wormtail betrayed James and Lily, but had also helped to resurrect Voldemort. His crimes were clear and it was apparent that the Ministry wasn't doing enough to catch him.

He shook his head and forced the thoughts away. He'd done plenty of questionable things since then, but nothing that came close to taking a life.

"And you've become a person I'm proud to know, honestly."

Blackheart blinked and considered that. He sometimes wondered if he was the good guy, or if he would be considered one of the bad guys. He knew what the Ministry answer would be, but what about the grey area, between black and white?

"Cheers," he mumbled.

"Oh, come off it," Sirius said with a smirk. "You've been like this since...well, since that last job you took. I know there was the whole mess with Dumbledore…."

"I'm still trying to figure what he thinks he's doing," Blackheart said. "Those horcruxes…"

"We could ask him," Sirius said.

Blackheart tilted his head in acknowledgement, but he didn't think it was quite time for that just yet.

"I'm sure it's tied to Voldemort."

"Likely."

"But I just can't decide what the Deathly Hallows have to do with anything. His spy seemed to think they're real."

"I have to admit, I never believed in them. I always thought they were just legend."

"If Dumbledore believes in them-"

"He may just be covering all his bases."

"Possible."

"It's more than that bothering you, though."

Blackheart turned to look at the fire again. He wasn't ready just yet to talk about the feelings of loneliness and what he thought they might mean.

A pop sounded in the hallway and he smiled.

"Master Blackheart?"

"We're in the study, Dobby!"

The house elf hobbled in, his pointed ears bobbing as he shuffled.

"Master!" He wrapped around Blackheart's knees and squeezed tightly. Blackheart laughed and greeted him with a warm embrace.

"We were just talking about you, Dobby." WHen the elf's bulbous eyes went even wider, Sirius held out his hands placatingly. "Only good things, I promise."

"Master Sirius should not tease Dobby."

They both laughed.

Blackheart summoned Dobby's small chair from the corner and it slid to a halt before the fire.

"We were discussing how wonderful Blackheart's childhood was," Sirius said when they were all settled back into their seats.

Dobby's eyes turned adoringly to Blackheart, watering a little. "Dobby did his best. He wasn't sure that it was the right thing, but after watching those nasty Dursleys…" He sighed deeply and his hand twitched, as if it might lift to bash the side of his head. Blackheart had spent many years trying to dislodge the notion that Dobby had to punish himself anytime he thought he'd done something wrong.

"You did the right thing," Blackheart said. He may have his doubts at times, but he would never admit them before Dobby. The elf had done what he thought was best, and it had worked out in the end. As Sirius had said, Blackheart was alive, healthy, and had the ability to be happy, one day.

Dobby blinked away more tears and stared down at his feet as they stuck out the end of his elf-sized chair.

"Master was such a good little baby."

Blackheart's face heated as Sirius hooted. He loved a good baby story and Dobby was all-too willing to spill the details.

"Tell us more about the little Master."

"Sirius," Blackheart warned.

"It's all in good fun."

"For you, maybe."

"Dobby was so worried that he couldn't be a good father. Not that he would ever try to replace Master James-"

"Nobody thinks that, Dobby," Sirius soothed. "As James' best friend, I assure you that he would be nothing but grateful that you raised his son to be such a fine young wizard."

Dobby nodded and sniffled slightly.

"Now, tell us some more about what a cute iddy biddy baby-"

"Padfoot!"

Dobby's expression lit up and he glanced sideways at Blackheart before turning to face Sirius. "Oh, Master was such a cute baby!"

"I remember."

Blackheart crossed his arms over his chest, seething.

"Dobby used to suspend him in mid air to clean his little bottom." Dobby actually giggled and Blackheart groaned.

"Master was a curious baby, as well," Dobby said. "Dobby remembers the time that he crawled off the end of the island in the ocean where we lived and landed right in the cold water. Dobby cannot swim, but he levitated Master right out of the water. Dobby nearly died of a heart attack that day."

Sirius was holding his stomach, laughing hard as he slumped down further in his chair.

While Blackheart was mortified, he couldn't help but smile a tiny bit. He could never be angry at Dobby, no matter how much the elf embarrassed him.

"Are you nearly finished?"

"Nearly, Master Blackheart," Dobby quipped, a sly grin on his face.

"And please stop calling me Master," Blackheart said. "For almost ten years I thought that was my real name." He huffed in annoyance, setting Sirius off once more.

"Yes, Master."

"Cheeky little elf."

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He'd barely slept, but he had more energy than he had in a long time. He wasn't sure if it was nervous energy for the mission he was about to undertake, or if it was because he'd finally made a decision and was pursuing something besides the usual cloak and dagger work. Either way, when he'd had the short snippet of dream-the Weasley siblings standing in the treehouse, explaining what Blackheart's life could be like-he woke up convinced that it was time to make a change.

Dobby had insisted on staying the night, even though he normally worked and stayed at Hogwarts, to make dinner and breakfast for both Sirius and Blackheart. He worried about their ability to take care of themselves since Kreacher had died the year before. Blackheart had given up trying to argue with his guardian years ago. Instead, he recognized the need to mother as Dobby's paternal instinct asserting itself, even though Blackheart was long since grown. His enthusiastic spread of foods when Blackheart entered the kitchen were proof of that.

"Dobby, you didn't have to-"

"Do not lecture Dobby, Master," Dobby scolded softly. "Dobby must take care of Master. It is his duty."

Blackheart opened his mouth to continue, but then snapped it shut. Who was he to argue? Instead, he tucked into a hearty breakfast, trying to ignore the way that Dobby hovered and watched him eat with pride.

"And where is Master off to so early?"

"Er...a mission," Blackheart lied. He stuffed another sausage in his mouth rather than grimace. He'd never been good at keeping the truth from Dobby, but this whole thing...it was brand new and Blackheart hadn't even fully wrapped his mind around it yet. How could he explain it properly?

"Another one?" Sirius shuffled into the room, eyes going wide at the food displayed on the long table. "You just got back."

"Unavoidable," Blackheart mumbled.

"This one from the other scroll?" Sirius sat and began pulling platters to him. Dobby hurriedly produced a pot of steaming coffee that Sirius sighed in happiness over.

Blackheart's mind raced. "Er...no. That was...not something I'm going to do."

"Another message came?"

"Er...yes. Early this morning, or rather, in the middle of the night," Blackheart hedged. Well, it was true. He supposed that a dream could be a message, of sorts.

"And what do we do about Dumbledore?"

Blackheart stared down at his plate, moving bits and pieces of food around with the tip of his fork. He still had no idea what to do about the old wizard and what he was up to.

"Dobby will continue to watch him," Dobby said firmly. "And when Master is ready...he can speak with the Headmaster."

Blackheart latched onto the idea. "Yeah," he said. "I think...I think that's best. I need to decide the best course of action first."

Sirius didn't look convinced, but munched his toast thoughtfully. "Sure, sure."

"I'm hoping this mission won't take too long," said Blackheart, even though he wasn't sure how long it would actually take. There was no way to tell because his idea wasn't a cut and dry one, just sort of a whim that felt right.

"Good," Sirius grunted. "I've been thinking that we need to off old Voldy. It's obvious that the Ministry isn't going to do anything about it."

Blackheart choked on his sip of coffee. "You're joking."

"Why not?" Sirius asked with a shrug. "Maybe it's your destiny. You did survive facing him once."

Blackheart pushed his plate away from him and tried to understand what Sirius was getting at. "Yeah, as a baby. Nothing but dumb luck-"

"I don't think so-"

"-and why does that make it my-"

"-I've just been thinking that it might be worth-"

"-just because it happened to turn out well once-"

"-don't know for sure-"

"-you're off your nut!"

Dobby watched this half-conversation, sentences lapping over one another, neither wizard fully listening to each other, back and forth, his fingers twisting together painfully.

"Can Dobby say something?"

They both stopped arguing and stared at the elf as he climbed up onto the table, his Hogwarts tea towel quivering as his body shook.

"Dobby…" He took a shaking breath. "Dobby does not want Master to face the evil wizard. Dobby fears…" He sniffled and twisted even tighter. Blackheart winced, but knew that he could do nothing to stop the elf from it until he'd said what he wanted to say. "But, Dobby thinks that Master Sirius may be right. It is what Dobby has always feared the most."

He finished in a whisper and looked up at Blackheart for just a flash before returning his watery gaze to the table.

Blackheart ran his hand through his hair and decided that right now was not the right time to discuss matters this weighty. He had a mission to accomplish first, to get some answers for himself. He needed to deal with a few personal issues before he could consider the weight of the wizarding world.

"Thank you, Dobby." He regarded both of his companions and gave a quick nod. "I'll think about it. When I return…. Well, I hope to have a few more answers. And then we'll discuss it further."

Sirius looked as if he might say something more, but then swallowed it back and washed the words away with another drink of his coffee.

"Hope things go well."

"Me, too."

Blackheart stood, trying to hide the shaking in his legs, and began to clear the table. He levitated his plate and cup, but they dropped instantly, his own magic overrode by Dobby's.

"Master takes Dobby's job…"

Blackheart smiled and shook his head. It was the same every time. "Just trying to help out, Dobby."

The little elf climbed down off the table and came to stand in front of Blackheart, staring up at him, his little fists clenched and perched on his hips.

"Dobby doesn't get to take care of his Master often," he scolded. "Master should let him and be grateful for it."

"I am!"

"And Master should also take the lunch that Dobby packed for him in the refrigerator."

Blackheart rested his hand upon the top of Dobby's head, an affectionate touch that they'd developed once Blackheart was taller than Dobby. "Thank you, Dobby."

Once outside the house, Blackheart looked back at it fondly as it squeezed and disappeared out of sight. The bustle of a busy London street surrounded him, but he barely noticed it. Instead, his mind was on the elf that had raised him, and his godfather, who wanted the best for him.

"Best be off," he mumbled to himself. He stowed the lunch sack that Dobby prepared in his pocket and pulled his cloak around himself tighter against the crisp April wind. At least it wasn't raining today. With a glance around himself-nobody seemed to even notice him at all-he apparated to the Nimbus Broom Factory, where he hoped to get a job, at least for a little while.

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Ginny was running horribly late. She rocketed down the stairs at the Burrow while pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail and shoving her flight goggles on, pushing them to rest on her forehead.

"Did you forget your alarm?"

Her mother was frying bacon at the hob and turned to watch as Ginny snatched her flight robes off the peg by the back door and shoved her arms into the sleeves.

"Slept through," Ginny grumbled. She eyed her father's plate and after receiving a wink, snatched his bacon and shoved it between slices of toast.

"Ginny!"

"It's fine, dear," her father soothed. "I can wait for more."

"Sorry, Mum!" Ginny bit out through a mouthful of food, and then dove out the back door. She apparated mid-stride and arrived at the flight testing location for Nimbus, an old abandoned aircraft hanger in Northamptonshire. From the outside, it looked rusted and in disrepair, but inside it was a state-of-the-art broom testing facility, complete with indoor Quidditch pitch that had actual weather conditions charmed to rain, snow, sleet, or hail. Even the occasional lightning bolt would appear from the ceiling to challenge those testing the brooms.

Ginny was set for a grueling stormy run today and wasn't looking forward to it at all. It was one thing to play Quidditch in the elements, and quite another to pretend to play Quidditch while charmed rain beat down upon you in torrents and lightning flashed overhead. The witches and wizards in charge of the weather were deadly accurate with their charm work and intended you to push the broom faster and further than ever in order to test its abilities properly. It was exhausting work.

"'Lo, Weasley."

Ginny nodded at the swarthy witch who got the flyers ready for their test flights. She was a capable, gruff woman, blunt with her words, but fair with praise. Ginny had always liked Phyllis immensely, because she always knew where she stood with the woman.

"Runnin' a bit late, are we?"

Ginny scowled as she slid her feet into boots and then began plaiting her hair over her shoulder. "Just couldn't seem to wake up this morning, no matter what."

"Well, we all 'ave those days, don't we now." Phyllis held out the harness for Ginny to climb into and helped her tug it into the most uncomfortable position possible. "Don' worry 'bout it, though. The boss willna even notice. 'E's got someone new to torture in there, 'e 'as." She nodded toward the booth at the far end of the field and Ginny squinted toward it. She could see the boss of the testing facility, Mr. Morgan, talking to someone that she didn't know. His back was turned to Ginny, but she could make out his dark hair and broad shoulders.

"New flyer?"

"Probably," Phyllis grunted as she spun Ginny around and laced up the back of the harness. "I've nawt seen 'im fly. Just saw 'im."

Ginny winced at the feel of the safety equipment, but knew it was necessary. "I suppose we do need someone else since Nigel last week." She tried, but failed, to keep in a small laugh.

Phyllis gave her a stern look, but Ginny could see the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "Naow listen 'ere. I did that 'arness work proper, so I did. It's nawt my fault if the bloke loosened it fer 'is own comfort. Barmy, daft…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I know, Phyll," Ginny said. "I trust you. Nigel was always a bit of an odd duck. He hated flying. Not sure why he ever got the job in the first place, honestly."

"Well, 'e could never fly the way you do, Ginny." She gave the safety harness one last tug and pronounced it good with a firm nod.

"Here's hoping this new one is better. I could use a few days off." Ginny pulled her goggles down over her eyes, summoned the first broom to be tested off the racks, and entered the Quidditch pitch. The sky overhead was a beautiful, deep blue, but Ginny could see dark clouds hovering near the edges of the pitch. They'd allow her to get used to the configuration of the broom before they really began throwing things at her.

She wrapped her hands around the shaft, feeling the solid, sturdy construction. This broom was more solid than most of the ones she tested and she studied the tail configuration: full with long, trailing tips. This was a broom not meant for speed, but for endurance. She sighed when she realized they were likely going to really be testing her today.

"Nothing for it," she muttered and mounted the broom before pushing off.

The broom pulled slightly to the left as Ginny put it through the paces, running the normal drills. And there was some sort of drag with the tail configuration that she'd have to tell the construction chaps about once she wrote her report. The weather was just beginning to change when she felt a presence beside her and turned to see the new flyer join her.

He was shifting about on the broom they'd given him-one of the already-tested, training ones-trying to get used to the harness. He glanced at Ginny, gave her a nod of acknowledgement, and then titled into a steep dive.

Ginny watched, in awe, as the flyer ran through a series of furious dives, twists and turns. She admired his determination to learn the different aspects of the pitch they were on, but wondered if he intended to fly this hard every day. If so, he'd be burned out by the end of a month. Perhaps he was just showing off for Mr. Morgan and the rest of the testing team, who stood around the edges of the pitch, behind the enclosing charm, watching.

Once he'd finished his dives, he pulled up even next to Ginny. The wind was picking up and rain was beginning to fall. The new flyer was already soaked, his black hair plastered to his head, blown back by the intensity of his speed. He gave a half-smile to Ginny and turned to face the same direction she was flying, putting them parallel to each other.

"Going to pick up the pace, now." Mr. Morgan's amplified voice sounded around them and Ginny gave a firm nod. The new bloke's grip shifted on his broom and he hunched his shoulders.

A blast of cold, icy air blew at them, slowing their speed considerably. The rain turned to freezing pellets and Ginny gritted her teeth, lowering until she was almost laying on the broom. The storm raged about them as Ginny began the standard testing maneuvers. The new bloke followed her lead, shadowing her every move. She wasn't bothered by it, because she'd trained other flyers before. ANd it had been her own fault for being late today that she hadn't been properly introduced and notified that she would be training someone.

The flyer was good, Ginny had to admit. She'd seen it in his showy moves at the beginning of their flight, but had to admire that he kept up with her pace, despite what was being thrown at them. Nigel would have been grumbling and complaining the entire time. The earpiece that she wore to communicate with additional flyers was silent in her ear. Perhaps Morgan had forgotten to tell the new bloke that he could speak with her.

At the end of the test, Ginny was shivering, even after casting a warming charm to her robes. Her entire body shook and her teeth chattered. SHe was sure it would take her hours, and possibly several doses of Pepper-up Potion, to warm again. Despite that, she realized that her bad mood from earlier had evaporated and she hadn't minded the flying time today. Strange.

The other flyer's teeth were clicking together just as loudly when they landed on the pitch and made their way to the reporting station. She found herself watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Well done!" Mr. Morgan entered the small room, clapping his hands, a pleased smile splitting his face. "That was some damned good flying."

"Thanks," Ginny mumbled through frozen lips. She could barely move and didn't even protest when Phyllis manhandled her to get her safety harness off.

"And you, Harry! I knew you'd be a natural at it."

Ginny's eyes widened at hearing his name. She glanced back over her shoulder, just making sure that it wasn't the Harry that she knew. There were similarities in their looks-dark hair, similar eye shape, but the nose was different, and the jawline, and there was something strange about this man's eyes. They were a sort of grey-green that seemed bizarre. After he peeled his goggles off, he slipped a pair of thin glasses on, he glanced at Ginny and then quickly away.

Ginny felt her heart pound and a silly, dropping feeling enveloped her stomach. He seemed...familiar, even though she was sure she'd never met him before. There was something about his mannerism, the way he held himself, that reminded her of someone, she just couldn't remember who.

Phyllis jarred her back to reality with a sharp tug on a strap. "Och, sorry."

"S'fine."

"Yer near frozen through, lass," Phyllis said with a chuckle. "Grab yerself a hot cocoa, or better yet, a dram o' whisky."

Ginny laughed and then clamped her mouth shut when she realized that it sounded slightly hysterical. Her heart was still pounding and she swore she could feel Harry just a few feet behind her.

"Come on, you two," Morgan said through an face-splitting smile. "Let's get you warmed up and you can officially meet."

Harry allowed Ginny to exit the little room first, gesturing toward the door. His cheeks were red, but she wasn't sure if it was just in reaction to the cold, or if he was blushing. Her own face felt hot and chaffed from the wind.

"Ginny Weasley," she said, holding out her hand when they'd entered the reporting room. The broomsmiths were seated in cubicles around the outside walls, each turned to face their work stations where brooms were crafted and charmed in sequences. Every Nimbus broom was handcrafted, which allowed for the precision in the brand. Morgan was going around the room now, gathering the broomsmiths away from their tasks so they could hear Ginny's report.

"Harry...er, Harry Kilduff." His hands were freezing and Ginny realized that he hadn't been wearing gloves. She'd have to mention it to him. Surprising that it had escaped Phyllis' keen eye.

"Nice to meet you. Morgan's right," she said quietly. "You do fly well."

"I've nothing on you," he said, his cheeks going even pinker. "That was…" He blew out a breath and shook his head. "You've been doing this for awhile. I can tell."

Ginny's own cheeks flamed. "Not quite a year. I got hired right out of Hogwarts. You...you didn't attend, did you? I don't remember you." Perhaps he was older, Ginny thought, but he looked young.

"Er, no. I didn't, didn't grow up around here. We...traveled." He made a strange sort of face and Ginny wondered at the story behind his life. She was just about to ask when Morgan clapped his hands again, drawing their attention.

"Now, Ginny, give us the report on the Nimbus work model." All eyes turned toward her and Ginny forced herself to turn away from Harry and the feel of his hand in hers. They hadn't stopped shaking hands and realized when everyone gave a sort of awkward chuckle.

"Yes, well…" She stammered and tucked her hands behind her back, clenching them tightly. "The broom is heavy and rather clunky, but with the intent of being a work broom…"

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The letter shook slightly in his hands as he stared at the words. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what it all meant.

"Alright, mate?"

Harry Potter looked up from the parchment at Ron, and then around at the Aurors milling about inside the locker room.

"Alright."

Ron sat on the bench next to him and looked Harry up and down once more. "You're looking a little pale. Everything okay?" He motioned to the letter and Harry tucked it away in his inside robe pocket.

"Fine," he bit out. Instantly, he felt bad. Ron hadn't done anything, after all, other than ask after him. "I just…" He glanced around again and seeing that nobody was paying them any mind, leaned in closer to his friend. "I've been summoned to the Headmaster's office."

Ron gaped at him and then blinked several times. "What? Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded.

"What did you do?" A sly smile spread over Ron's face. "Get into some of the Twin's products, did you? Send something up to old hog warty Hogwarts?"

Harry scowled. "No." He had no idea what Dumbledore meant by requesting that he visit the castle. He'd only been in the Headmaster's office once, during his first year, when he and Ron had gotten into trouble by throwing dumgbombs at the Slytherins during a Quidditch match. The experience hadn't been pleasant, with Snape seething at them, and Harry had never wished to repeat it, so he'd kept his nose clean during the remainder of his years. Relatively, anyway.

"I have no idea what he wants."

Ron went silent and then turned to Harry. "You don't reckon it's about...You-Know-Who, do you?"

"Why would it be?" Harry asked. "I mean, I know that some people think, with this and all," he pointed to his scar, "that I'm somehow connected with him. But I don't think so."

His friend glanced up to the scar, something Harry was used to happening all the time, and then shrugged. "Maybe so. I just thought...well, you read that report the other day. The Death mark hovering over that house in Suffolk." He shuddered and began to unlace his boots.

"Yeah."

"Nothing for it but to go, I guess."

"Yeah."

"Want me to come?"

Irritation bubbled up inside Harry. Did Ron think he couldn't take care of himself? Harry was an Auror, the same as Ron. They'd had the same training, even though Harry was stuck standing guard at Gringotts. Dead boring, but at least he hadn't been chucked from the program.

"No. I'll be fine." He stood up swiftly and shucked his Auror robes, stuffing them into his locker.

Ron was quiet while they both changed. "Come by the Burrow later," he said. "We'll grab a pint."

Harry hesitated and then shook his head. "Ginny doesn't want me there. She really hates me."

"She doesn't," Ron said, but it sounded weak to Harry.

"She's dating Neville, anyway," said Harry. THe scene in Diagon Alley flashed in his mind. It didn't make much sense that Ginny would be dating someone like Neville Longbottom, not when she could be with someone like Harry. Neville spent his days digging around in the dirt, talking to his plants, and being...Neville. Harry just didn't understand.

Ron's eyes went wide and then he nodded jerkily. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, she is. Sometimes I forget."

"I'll talk to you later." Harry closed his locker and pulled his black robes over his shoulders, transferring Dumbledore's letter to his pocket. He wasn't looking forward to going, but a summons from someone like the Headmaster wasn't something you could ignore.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

"I realize that this comes as somewhat of a shock, Mr. Potter."

Harry jerked his head up and down, wondering what his expression was. Inside, he felt nothing but horror and revulsion. He was the one who was prophesied to face Voldemort? And only one of them would come out alive?

"Are you asking me to...:"

Dumbledore's face softened into a look of pity that made Harry hate him for a moment. "We always have our choices, Mr. Potter."

"What if I don't want to fight him?"

"That is your choice."

Panic welled up and Harry stood, pacing and running his hand through his hair. He'd been letting it grow long and even though Ron made fun of him for it, Harry liked that it fell down the back of his neck now.

"I can't… You can't…" He huffed and felt a burning sensation at the back of his eyes that horrified him even more. He would not break down. He was a twenty year-old wizard, after all, and crying was not acceptable.

"Prophecy can be a tricky thing." Dumbledore looked older, somehow, as he slumped slightly in his chair. "It's possible to misinterpret, or even misunderstand our own interpretations. In the end, it's only in hindsight that one can often see the clues that lead to an understanding. Divination is...unpredictable."

"So, you're saying that it might be wrong?" Harry asked. "That it might not be me at all."

"Anything is possible, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, "but I believe in this case that the prophecy speaks of you."

Harry's mind reeled. He closed his eyes against it and wished it away, but no matter how much he wanted it to leave his brain, it would not. The words were now embedded. Harry Potter was the one who would face Vold-Vold…You-Know-Who.

"I need...I need some time," he stammered. "I need to think about this, to decide…"

"Of course. My door is always open should you need to talk."

Harry stood and stumbled toward the door.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, causing Harry to turn and look over his shoulder. "I would be careful who you share this information with. It is not public knowledge. I fear, if it were, that the increased pressure on you would be immense."

Harry felt a shiver all the way down to his toes and nodded jerkily. "I...I will, Professor."

"That could have gone better."

Albus Dumbledore shook his head slowly as he stared at the empty doorway. The grinding of the circular staircase had faded out and he pictured Harry Potter running through the castle in an attempt to escape his future.

"Severus…"

Snape slid into the chair that Harry had just vacated and shrugged slightly. "What? The boy is unprepared, even unwilling-"

"Did you expect him to jump right up and proclaim his desire to rid the world of Voldemort, Severus?"

Snape's jaw tightened and he looked away from the Headmaster. "I expected that his sorting into Gryffindor would have meant something."

Dumbledore smiled. "You know my feelings about the Sorting Hat, Professor."

"Yes."

They both turned and looked at the hat, slumped in its alcove, waiting to be necessary for another class in the Fall.

"Presence of one particular trait over and above others does not mean that others do not exist, even in equal measure."

"Yes."

Snape said it again, but Dumbledore wasn't so sure he meant it. Severus was a true believer in the idea that nature triumphed over nurture, every time. He missed the irony of the fact that he was likely one of the bravest Slytherins there had ever been. Or, perhaps he recognized it and despised it enough to pretend he didn't.

"You believe he will accept his fate?"

Dumbledore's forehead creased as he thought about Harry's reaction. He'd hoped for better, even though he hadn't been completely surprised. Harry Potter was...a mystery. He seemed to be lacking the qualities that Dumbledore assumed would have developed through both nature and nurture. Not for the first time, he silently questioned his decision to place Harry with the Dursleys. He may have been protected by blood, but that did not mean he'd been protected from other dangers.

"I do not know," he admitted. "I hope so. I will continue to work with him."

"But the time is so short."

"I am well aware of the timetable, Severus." The weight of their task pressed down on him even heavier. "Three more…"

Snape's countenance darkened as he nodded slowly. "Three. The ring, the diadem, and the snake."

Fawkes gave a mournful hoot from his perch and Dumbledore turned to regard him. "Well, what do you think, Fawkes? Will Mr. Potter be up to the task?" But the bird did not answer, only blinked back at him.

"Not a vote of confidence, then."

Dumbledore thought about scolding Snape once more, but what could he say? Instead, he turned to look out the window as the sun set, casting rays of golden light through a hazy horizon.

"We shall see. We shall see."