"'Neither can live . . . while the other survives.'"

"So," said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, "so does that mean that . . . that one of us has got to kill the other one . . . in the end?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"What if, I don't want to be a murderer?"

Dumbledore sighed and opened his hands.

"Is it evil if it is for the greater good?"

Something twisted in his guts at those words, and Harry could barely stop a sneer from coming to his lips.

"Greater good?" Harry swallowed around the fury that was trying to build in him. "What greater good should I care about, exactly? My family is dead. My only chance at a family is dead," His lower lip trembled. "Why should I care about people who don't care about me?"

"I know that you are angry," Dumbledore began.

"No," Harry whispered, tears filling his eyes. "You don't know me at all." He shook his head and knuckled away the tears. "Why should I care for . . . for anything?" He asked helplessly.

"Your 'Greater Good' left me in a household that you knew I'd be miserable in," Harry whispered. "And that was okay for you, because it was . . ." He swallowed, and let his tears drip down his cheeks. "That was okay for you, because it kept me safe-supposedly safe," He bit out around clenched teeth. "Supposedly safe from Voldemort."

He shook his head and ignored the tears that were falling freely now.

"But you left me with people who hated me. Who made certain to know that no one would ever want me. This is your legacy," His lips twisted angrily. "And I wasn't safe from them, but you didn't care." He shook his head and tried to regain control over himself.

"I don't believe in your 'Greater good.' Why should I? Greater good for whom? Yeah? Not for me. And not for Sirius. Or hell, even Snape. He's had a shit time of it too, it seems. Or James and Lily Potter? Yeah?"

He shook his head and stared angrily back at Dumbledore.

"You don't know me at all," He repeated, still speaking in that despair filled whisper. "I don't want to play this game anymore of yours."

"Game, my boy?" Dumbledore's eyes also glistened with tears, but his were still yet unshed.

"I don't want to be your puppet, sir. I don't want to fulfill this prophecy," He shook his head, something breaking deep inside of him.

"I don't understand what you mean, Harry. You've never been anyone's puppet," Dumbledore argued, standing up and reaching beseechingly out to him.

Harry backed away from the man who had been his mentor, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-protecting manner.

"No. You don't know me. I don't know what 'good' is. I've never seen it. I've never had it," He spat, tears slowly drying up. "I've never lived it," He sniffed, suddenly aware of how tired he was. Such a bone deep tiredness he had never felt before.

"You've seen the Weasley family? The Grangers? They are good, I swear it, my boy."

"I'm not your boy!" He suddenly screamed. "I'm no one's boy, and that's your fault! Tell me," He began to pace, nervous energy propelling him back and forth.

"Who is the worst person? The man who murders? Or the man who leaves others to murder? Or," His voice dropped back into a whisper. "Is it the person who shows a child who has just lost everything into a home-a household that will further destroy any hope that was left within him," He pointed savagely at his former mentor.

"You left me with a family that treated me as scum, headmaster. Scum. I am nothing. Whatever I was before tonight, whatever was left after your fucking chosen family beat me down for fourteen fucking years, whatever was left is gone. And you know what's left?" He pursed his lips angrily.

Dumbledore didn't answer him and his magic surged forward, putting a crack down the middle of the massive desk in between them.

"Do you know what's left?" Harry asked again, face rippling in a mix of anger and despair.

"No," Dumbledore whispered.

"The freak is left," Harry said, pounding his chest. "The freak that no one ever wanted, that's who's left. The freak of the Dursleys. The freak of Hogwarts. The freak of the wizarding world. He-who-fucking-belongs-nowhere. That's who's left," His lower lip trembled wildly as the door behind him exploded around him.

"You are not a freak, I swear it," Dumbledore said emphatically.

"You don't know me," He shook his head again and walked backward, nimbly stepping over chunks of the door.

"I don't think anyone does," He added in a whisper, before turning and fleeing down the stairs.

"Oh my boy. What have I done to you?" Dumbledore whispered, tears finally flowing down into his beard.