He’d seen the future.

Harry barely registered the sound of breaking glass as his mind raced into a thousand different directions all at once.

It was real.

Hogsmeade, Hogwarts…?

No! Those were only possibilities – Other Harry had said so.

But Voldemort – the basement. The certainty of capture, of Voldemort gaining strength…

All of a sudden, Harry found it difficult to breathe.

He heard Dumbledore’s voice as if through a tunnel. He was calling Harry’s name, asking if he was alright. He sounded worried.

Harry took a deep breath and then another. “I saw the future,” he whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. He looked up. “I really saw the future!”

Dumbledore had half arisen out of his seat, and he now rose completely, moving around to Harry’s side.

Snape only stared, not bothering to hide his concern. Not concern for me, Harry knew through his muddied state. No, never concern for me…concern that Voldemort’s taking me over…

“Just now, Harry?” asked Dumbledore, neatly sidestepping the broken glass and kneeling next to his chair. “You had a vision just now?”

“No…” Harry shook his head to clear it. He needed to think. Or he needed to stop thinking so many things at once. “Before. In my dreams.” He turned to the headmaster then, urgency in his voice, “Before, professor, in my dream! The other me handed me a snitch, and I had forgotten, but it came back just now – the snitch swirled, all these colors, and you appeared, and I saw you say just what you said, the bit about the sugar plums, and the wink, and the toast! I saw it before it happened!”

Snape leaned forward in his seat. “It is common enough to comment on pudding, Potter. You had received some that very night, had you not?”

Harry nodded, his mind still racing despite his attempts to slow it down.

“Well, there you have it,” Snape returned crisply. “Put the two together, and it is not at all difficult to imagine that you –”

“But I saw you, too!” Harry interrupted to point out, feeling the beginnings of desperation set in. Would they refuse to believe him? He knew what he saw!

Snape was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“The second dream! When I asked for proof, remember? Remember I told you I asked for proof? And all he did was give me a snitch, and it changed colors, like before, and this time you appeared, and you said the bit about the cabbages and the beetle stew, and you crossed your arms just so! I didn’t know it then, but he was giving me proof! He was giving me glimpses of the future so I’d believe him! The visions – they’re real, don’t you see?”

He watched his professors exchange a look during his speech, and what he saw didn’t encourage him. “You don’t believe me!” He stood, stepping over the glass on the floor so that he’d have room to pace. “It’s true! I swear! How could I have seen exactly what you were both saying…and in the same conversation, too!”

“Harry,” Dumbledore began soothingly, “We believe that you believe your visions to be true. Please understand…we cannot put absolute faith in the infallibility of these dreams based on one conversation about sugar plum pudding.”

Harry paced faster, and he was ashamed to feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. They had to believe him. They just had to!

They had to, because, to tell the truth…Harry was scared. He didn’t know what was going on, or what to believe, and he couldn’t handle this one alone. He needed his professors. He needed Dumbledore…and…he needed Snape too, though he couldn’t have explained why if asked. He just did.

“Harry, please sit. You’ll wear a hole in your own feet if you continue on with your pacing. We’ll talk this through. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I swear to you.”

Tell Dumbledore…tell Dumbledore. The words were repeating over and over through Harry’s mind. Other Harry had told him to tell Dumbledore something. What was it? What was he supposed to tell him?

“Potter, sit down,” came a surprisingly gentle voice. Harry stopped. He’d heard that voice before. Well, of course he had; it was Snape’s. But he was shocked by the distinct thought that he’d heard that gentleness in his voice before. Not awake – not ever awake. In a dream, maybe? But he couldn’t pinpoint it.

His head was hurting, and his feet were hurting. So he heeded the comforting and strange tone of the familiar voice and sat down.

Tell Dumbledore…tell Dumbledore…

And all at once, it hit him.

The prophecy!

He raised his head, looking into Dumbledore’s eyes to say what he needed to say. He forced himself to speak calmly and deliberately, “Professor, you have to listen to me. In my dream, he gave me a message to tell you. He told me there was another prophecy, one made after Voldemort gave me this scar. He said you didn’t show it to me because you knew it wasn’t about me; it was about someone else.”

As soon as Harry said those words, he knew that it was true. Dumbledore’s face betrayed it. As good as he was at hiding his emotions when needed, the headmaster could not have expected for Harry to say what he had said. His eyes betrayed his shock. And, as unsettling as it was to see, Harry also saw a tinge of fear.

He continued, more confident now that he knew his dream self had been right. “He said to tell you about him – about the Other Harry. And he said to tell you that he’d seen the future unfold, and to let the prophecy run its course. And he said…he said you’d be able to explain the rest.” He was breathless by the end, but he nonetheless held his breath to see how Dumbledore would respond.

The room was silent for several long moments before Snape finally questioned incredulously, “It’s not true, of course, Albus? The sheer impossibility of it being true…”

“It is true,” confirmed Dumbledore, rising to his feet and vanishing the broken glass with a flick of his wand before walking deliberately back to his own seat. He said nothing, simply thinking behind unfocused eyes.

“B-but that’s impossible!” Snape protested. “He could not have known…I did not even know!”

“I did, though!” Harry insisted, as if he hadn’t already proved that he did. “I saw it in my dream! Do you believe me now?”

Snape looked at him as if he had gone mad. “Are you suggesting that you are a Seer, Potter? You cannot possibly be! Not only are the vast majority of them frauds, you’ve never shown a smidgen of the sheer power or talent that a true Seer would be required to possess!”

“Just because you only see me in Potions!” Harry shot back defensively. “I’m good at Defense! Best in my year, in fact! But you don’t bother to note that, do you?”

“I note what I see, Potter. And what I see is an arrogant child who has blown up a few too many cauldrons in my classroom –”

“I’m not –”

“Stop,” Dumbledore interrupted, not loudly, but it had the desired effect. Both Snape and Harry recognized the power behind that softly spoken word and fell silent. The headmaster looked between the two younger wizards, studying each in turn. At least Harry could tell that he wasn’t the only one being made uncomfortable by the scrutiny. Snape shifted under the man’s gaze.

“Both of you will listen to me, and listen well,” Dumbledore said in the same low, powerful voice. Harry felt that after hearing him speak in that simultaneously caring and dangerous tone, he wouldn’t have been able to interrupt if he’d tried.

“Harry,” Dumbledore began, eyes focused solely on him, “your history with Professor Snape has not been one filled with affection or understanding, to say the least. However, while you are under Professor Snape’s authority, you will speak to him with respect, whether you feel it or not.”  Dumbledore’s eyes began to blaze, and Harry leaned as far back into his chair as he could manage. “Please remember that he has taken on the challenging responsibility of seeing to your welfare this summer. He did, in fact, risk his own life earlier this summer in the pursuit of seeing to your safety. That, if nothing else, should command your respect, if not your trust.”

Harry lowered his head. What Dumbledore said was true. Snape had saved his life…on more than one occasion. It didn’t make the man any easier to deal with, but...it did make Harry feel properly ashamed to hear Dumbledore put it all out on the table like that.

“And Severus,” Dumbledore turned to Snape, “You were wrong about Harry’s home life. You, yourself, have admitted as much to me. Might it not be possible that there is yet more about Harry that you may have been mistaken in believing? Do consider it. And whether or not you do, in fact, discover Harry to be the decent human being I know him to be, consider acting the part of responsible adult.”

Snape didn’t look at all close to an apology, but he certainly looked as if he knew not to provoke the headmaster by arguing. “Certainly, headmaster,” he murmured, putting on his familiar inscrutable mask.

Dumbledore’s furious gaze swept over them once more before softening. “The both of you have such potential, you know. If you could only put aside your differences, you could learn so much from each other.”

Neither Harry nor Snape made any comment in response, but then, they didn’t need to. Dumbledore sighed. “One can only try.” His fury left as quickly as it had come, though he was not quite done speaking his mind. “Promise me at least that you will not inflict too much harm on each other before I arrive next. If not for the people that you care about, at least for the value you both have to the war effort?”

Harry glanced at Snape. He felt like saying, if he will, I will, but…that seemed a little childish under the circumstances. So instead, he issued a mumbled and contrite, “yes, sir.”

“Severus?” Dumbledore prodded.

“I will if he will,” Snape responded with a smirk.

“Severus,” Dumbledore scolded, and Harry felt strangely torn between anger and laughter, of all things.

“Of course, Albus,” Snape drawled reassuringly. “I fully intend to ensure that Mr. Potter arrives at Hogwarts unscathed for the upcoming school year.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

“Professor?” Harry ventured hesitantly before Dumbledore could veer them into another direction of conversation.

“Yes, Harry?”

“So…um, back to…what…what about my dreams? Do you think I’m a…Seer?” He had a hard time forming the word, his own experience with Seers being limited to Trelawney’s strange mix of phony death predictions and two true visions.

Dumbledore drew a hand across his forehead to rub his temple, then proceeded slowly. “There are a great many fraudulent Seers in this world, Harry. There are only a small number of wizards or witches who can genuinely claim to see the future. I have only met a small handful, myself.” He paused, deep in thought, and studied him for a long moment. “Of the Seers I have been so fortunate to meet, and of the others I have heard tell or read accounts, I have never heard of a Seer experiencing visions quite such as yours.”

Harry felt his heart sink in disappointment. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted Dumbledore to say he was a Seer, but he did really want to know what was going on.

“You claim to have met a vision of yourself,” Dumbledore continued, “and this vision of yourself claimed to be a part of yourself?”

Harry nodded, remembering more. “He said he was the part of me that I’d only see in dreams, ‘cause when I’m awake, I’m too distracted. He said he was the part of me who could see the future…”

“And did he comment that you may become aware of him during your waking hours at any point in time?”

“Um…” Harry tried to remember if Other Harry had said anything like that… “Uh, yeah.” It was amazing, now that he remembered the bit about the prophecy, how much was rushing back to him. It was like…maybe a part of himself has been holding the memories for him, so he’d be able to recall them. “He said that someday I’d be fully aware, but not yet. He said I wasn’t ready, because I’m…not all the way grown up yet.” Harry couldn’t bring himself to call himself a child, like his dream version had done. Six was a child, not sixteen.

Dumbledore didn’t say anything for a few moments, his eyes alight with understanding.

Harry didn’t dare break the silence, but Snape didn’t have any such reservations. He impatiently gestured for the headmaster to continue. “You know something. Suspense is not desired, nor appreciated, Albus.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, deep in thought, “My personal experience with Seers is not vast, as I have just explained to you, Harry. But I should also note that I have never personally encountered an underage witch or wizard with the gift. There are always exceptions to the rule, of course, but from my humble observations, it seems that most Seers have come by their abilities whilst in their majority. Those who have acquired the gift young have usually done so under extraordinary circumstances...and after manifesting astonishing capabilities in other areas.”

“But…there are exceptions?” Harry asked.

“There are nearly always exceptions to commonly held rules, Harry. That is what keeps us on our toes. Of course,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes betraying a hint of excitement, “we cannot know precisely the nature of these dreams with so little to go on. However, if they do at some point prove you to be a Seer, I could venture a guess at why you have experienced them in such a way.”

Harry endured another moment of infuriating silence before asking impatiently, “Well, what’s the reason, then?”

“He is a child, still…” Snape spoke without waiting for the headmaster, working it out on his own. “If he truly does possess the talent, he is perhaps not ready for the gift to manifest itself.”

Harry managed to stop himself from denying the ‘child’ comment, and Dumbledore nodded before explaining, “You see, Harry, Seers are thought to possess an Inner Eye from birth. That Inner Eye is said to lay dormant until the witch or wizard is emotionally and magically mature enough for it to fully manifest itself into their consciousness. Needless to say, it is also theorized that there are many would-be Seers out there who never have and never will reach the point of development necessary in order to discover or to be fully aware of their gifts.”

“Oh. That’s, um…really confusing. Even if it sort of makes sense.” Harry wrinkled his brow. “So…you do think I’m a Seer, then? That my, er…Inner Eye is…manifesting itself?”

“Hardly,” Snape again broke in. “This is not the way in which an ‘Inner Eye’ manifests itself, Potter. What the headmaster is getting at is the possibility that your Inner Eye has discovered a need for you to come to a realization of your abilities far beyond the time when you will be fully prepared to deal with them. It may be, in fact,” he added smugly, “telling you that you are not yet mature or powerful enough to handle it.”

“Then why show itself to me at all? Why the theatrics?”

“Perhaps it has seen something too important to ignore,” came Dumbledore’s simple answer. “Perhaps in light of the importance of sharing its message with you, that inner part of yourself has found a way to guide you through it.”

Harry could barely process it all. “So my…that part of me…is trying to make it easy on me? Show me what to do with these visions? Because it doesn’t think I can handle them on my own?”

“That is my supposition, yes.”

“Oh. I, uh…have to think about all that, I guess,” Harry offered. “Ugh, I have a headache,” he added with a groan as he sunk into his chair. From the smirk he saw cross Snape’s face, Harry just knew the professor had been about to make some snarky comment about how taxing it was for Harry’s minuscule brain to think so much in one day. But he hadn’t said it, no doubt due to not wanting another tongue lashing from the headmaster.

“I am leaving you with quite a bit to think about, I believe,” Dumbledore said slowly, “but then, you have given me quite a bit to think about as well. An amazing turn of events, this. Truly amazing…”

“Yeah…but, professor?” Harry’s head really did hurt from this never ending talk of dreams and Seers, but that didn’t matter in light of something he really, really wanted to know. “What about the prophecy? You said…you said it was real?”

Dumbledore sighed, but his eyes didn’t meet Harry’s; they searched out Snape’s instead. “I don’t suppose there is any point in belaboring under the pretense that this prophecy will go unheard…not now that two more wizards are aware of its existence.” He pulled his eyes away from Snape and rose, gliding thoughtfully over to the fireplace. He grasped a handful of floo powder before turning round to address his Potions professor, “Severus, I must fetch something from my office. Might I ask you to answer any further questions for Harry until I return?”

“Certainly, headmaster,” Snape softly replied, and Dumbledore left the drawing room in a whirl of green floo powder and a shouted location of the headmaster’s office, Hogwarts.

Silence descended upon the room, and when neither wizard made a move to break the silence, Harry finally figured that Snape didn’t intend to acknowledge his presence at all. It was strange actually, Harry reflected, how he wasn’t even angry about it this time. He couldn’t really seem to hate the professor right then – not with his usual malice, anyway. And it wasn’t because things had really changed between the two of them. It was just…Harry had so much else to think about, hatred didn’t stand out at the forefront of his mind in terms of importance.

Left with only his headache and an ever-lingering curiosity, he swept a cursory glance over his professor before clearing his throat to carefully question, “So, all that talk about Inner Eyes and Seers and my dreams…do you think that’s what it is, professor?”

Snape didn’t answer right away, and from the glimmer in his eyes when he heard the question directed at himself, Harry figured he was surprised that he’d been consulted. Well, Harry reflected, he was surprised at himself, too. But even if he wasn’t sure why, he wanted to know what Snape thought of the whole thing.

Maybe it was Snape’s surprise that caused him to answer so candidly, or maybe it was the practice he’d had in answering Harry’s questions during their Q&A sessions, as Harry had taken to thinking of them. Whatever the reason, he responded without malice, even though his words could have suggested otherwise, “I do not…disagree with the headmaster, though I personally have never seen evidence that you have the aptitude for one of the most intricate of abilities to master. However,” he added, looking Harry directly in the eye, “I do believe that these visions cannot go unmonitored. Until we have more evidence in hand, there remains the possibility that the Dark Lord is, in fact, behind them.”

Harry nodded, sighing at the forthright answer. Though he was becoming more and more certain that these dreams weren’t anything to do with Voldemort, he was learning little by little that it never hurt to be careful.

Yes, he decided. He’d be careful. He wanted to believe in these dreams, but “I’ll be careful,” he promised aloud. “I’ll be careful what I believe, and I’ll report any more dreams as soon as I have them.”

“Immediately,” Snape added authoritatively.

“Um, yeah…” Harry thought for a minute, really not wanting to ask this question, but seeing the necessity for it. “About that. Not that I’m planning on having more visions or dreams, but…if I do, and seeing as Professor Dumbledore made me promise tell you about it…day or night… Um, see…well, I don’t exactly know where your room is, professor.”

Snape crossed his arms, and as the beginnings of a sneer showed on the professor’s face, Harry figured he must have overstepped some invisible boundary. Snape had been pretty calm…almost nice, even, in helping Harry figure out his visions…but apparently disclosing the location of his private sleeping quarters was too much to ask.

“If you should have need of me during the night,” Snape sneered slightly, “You have only to call for your dear, devoted house-elf to summon me.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry managed not to flush. He supposed he should have thought of that.

He was saved from further efforts at conversation by Dumbledore’s return. The headmaster stepped out in a small cloud of swirling floo powder and soot, familiar Pensieve in hand. Harry watched with rising anticipation as the headmaster carefully set the Pensieve on the table between them and rose to his full height.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said softly, “I would like to speak with Harry alone for a few moments, if you don’t mind.”

Snape nodded, immediately rising to his feet. He didn’t look put out at the dismissal; he looked, in fact, as though he had been expecting it. Still, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what was going through the Potions master’s mind as he calmly exited the room, closing the door behind him. All Harry knew was that if he had been as much as told that he couldn’t hear the latest mysterious secret Dumledore had been keeping, he wouldn’t have taken it quite so calmly as Snape just had.

But then, working so closely with Dumbledore, Snape was probably used to accepting that secrets were being kept from him.

Dumbledore remained standing as he surveyed Harry, and after a moment, he spoke softly, as if he was relaying a child’s bedtime story and not the mysteries surrounding wars and prophecies. “I have explained to you the prophecy I heard before your birth, and I thank you for relaying to me the prophecy you yourself heard from Professor Trelawney’s own lips during your third year at Hogwarts. While I always knew that I would someday be pressed upon to explain that first prophecy to you, I need to make something absolutely clear between us, Harry…” He waited for Harry’s nod before continuing. “If I, and not you, had heard Professor Trelawney’s prediction during your third year, I would not have shared it with you.”

Harry furrowed his brow, half put out and half in general confusion. What did this have to do with another prophecy?

“I tell you, this, Harry,” continued the headmaster, “not to offend you or to dampen your spirits. I tell you this so that you may understand the important distinctions that must be made when deciding when, how, and with whom, to share information of this nature.”

“I don’t really understand what you’re getting at, headmaster,” Harry confessed.

“I shared with you the first prophecy,” Dumbledore explained patiently, “because it was about you. You had a right to know, and I knew, even when you were quite young and even when I did not want to, that someday I would relay its contents to you. The contents of the prophecy which you overheard, however, did not concern you. Knowing that Voldemort’s servant would rejoin him and assist him in his rise would have been more a matter for the Order, not for a thirteen-year old boy…particularly as you had no way of knowing for certain to which servant the prophecy referred. Do you understand?”

“This is your way of explaining why you never told me about this other prophecy,” Harry answered, growing impatient at all of the introductory talking. “Other Harry already told me that – he said you didn’t tell me about the prophecy because it wasn’t about me; it was about somebody else.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed, a sadness entering his eyes. “However…I must admit that I have not relayed the contents of this prophecy to even the individual about whom it concerns.”

“Oh.” Harry didn’t comment on that, but instead asked, “Was this prophecy made by Professor Trelawney, too?” At Dumbledore’s nod, he probed further, “And it was made to you, then?”

“No. No, this was relayed to Professor McGonagall shortly after events were starting to settle back to normal after the first war. She was caught quite unawares, I believe,” Dumbledore elaborated, a slight twinkle entering his eyes. “Although she has held rather firmly to the belief that Divination is not the most exacting of arts, despite her rather close experience with the relating of prophecy.”

“Professor McGonagall...” He grinned. The image of the straight laced professor being confronted with a prophecy-spouting Trelawney was pretty funny. “So she told you, then.”

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation. “She came to me at once with the prophecy, which I saw through use of a Pensieve. Now, granted, this prophecy, as with the one in your third year, could not compare with the thrill of triumph I experienced upon hearing the very first prophecy. The knowledge that one would soon be born with the ability to vanquish Lord Voldemort once and for all…well, nothing could quite compete with hearing tell of that firsthand, now could it?”

“I suppose not,” Harry answered out of politeness.

“I…well, perhaps we should view the prophecy before further explanations?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically, more than ready to finally have his curiosity satisfied.

Dumbledore drew out a silvery strand of memory from his head as Harry had seen him do before, and no sooner had Harry time to process that he was about to view the long-awaited second prophecy, than the ghost-like figure of Sibyll Trelawney drifted to hover half out of the Pensieve. As Harry listened, the figure spoke in the familiar harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard before:

“THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN…HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN BOUND BY TWO MASTERS…AND THE SERVANT WILL CHOOSE ONE MASTER OVER THE OTHER…AND ENEMY WILL BECOME ALLY AND ALLY WILL BECOME ENEMY…FOR THE SERVANT’S ROLE IN THE WAR IS GREAT…HE WILL GUIDE THE VICTOR AND DECEIVE THE VANQUISHED…THE DARK LORD’S SERVANT WILL BE BOUND BY TWO MASTERS…”

And as Harry watched, the figure swirled within the mist of memory before falling back to vanish into the Pensieve.

Neither wizard spoke for a moment, as Harry tried to make sense of it.

Dumbledore broke the silence, speaking in soft, hushed tones, “You can imagine Professor McGonagall’s shock and my own sorrow at hearing in plain language that Lord Voldemort had not gone forever, but would, in fact, return to resume his war of terror. I had suspected as much, of course, but even I had not truly shaken off the hope that those suspicions would be eventually proved untrue.”

He paused a moment, perhaps to allow Harry to speak, but he resumed his speech when Harry made no move to speak. “I believe the prophecy to be speaking of Severus Snape, as you may have guessed. The prophecy alludes to a servant of Voldemort who was bound by two masters during the first war. Severus, to my rather comprehensive knowledge, is the only Death Eater to legitimately and also, at the end of that war, to simultaneously have worked for the causes of both sides of light and dark.”

“What…what about Peter Pettigrew?” Harry asked through his suddenly dry throat.

Dumbledore conjured a glass of water and levitated it to Harry. “Pettigrew was not working for the side of the light, despite our misunderstanding of his alliances. He, in fact, had no ‘master,’ as it were, other than Lord Voldemort himself. He was not bound to two masters…not in the way which Severus chose to bind himself to both Lord Voldemort and to me.” Dumbledore stopped to take a sip from his own glass.

“Is that why you trust Professor Snape so much? Because you heard that prophecy say that he would ‘guide the victor’?”

Dumbledore looked reluctant to veer the conversation into that direction, but after a short pause, he relented. “That is part of it, yes. But understand, Harry. I only heard the prophecy after I had already heard his story and believed him.”

“So what was so convincing about his story, then?” Harry persisted.

“The content of that conversation always has been and always will be a matter between Professor Snape and myself, Harry. I will ask you not to question me further in that regard.” Dumbledore’s tone was rebuking, and Harry knew better than to probe further.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured. “But besides that. How do you really know which side he’s chosen? The prophecy didn’t say. Even if he is on our side now, he could still decide to switch, couldn’t he?”

Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. “As I have said before, Harry, I believe that Professor Snape is on the right side of the war. But even if he weren’t, ask yourself – in light of the prophecy, is not the wisest course of action to draw him in rather than forcing him to the other side? I am not sure if you noticed the finality of the prophecy, Harry, but while the one regarding you does not state who is to win this war, the second one unequivocally states that the side which Professor Snape chooses will have the victory.”

Dumbledore allowed Harry to absorb that, then added in soft tones, “I did not want to discuss this with you, Harry, I admit freely. I did not want to burden you, especially as I know where you believe Professor Snape’s loyalties to be. I had hoped that the both of you would come to resolve your differences on your own. I believed the prophecy meant that he would be able to guide you – you, the ‘victor’ referred to in the prophecy – and that he would be the key to unlocking your power to defeat Voldemort. I wanted it to be true to such a degree that I forced you both to work together last year instead of letting you come to an understanding on your own. My interference made matters worse, I am afraid.” Dumbledore’s eyes filled with regret, and he looked very old to Harry.

Harry didn’t know what to say. There was too much to think about. His brain was full, and his head was still hurting from trying to sort it all out. He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted to be angry at yet more secrets kept from him by the headmaster. Even if it was mostly about somebody else.

“Sir,” he began tentatively. He had started speaking but wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say. “Will… Um, you said you haven’t told Professor Snape about this prophecy. Are you going to tell him, sir?”

Dumbledore closed his eyes and brought his hands to his head, massaging his temples. He then stood and began pacing the room. “I’ve thought about it many times. Don’t think I don’t know how I may be judged for this someday, Harry. Too many secrets are a horrible part of war, but they are a vital part as well.

“When I first heard this prophecy, I didn’t even consider sharing it with Severus.” Dumbledore was still pacing, not looking anywhere in particular. Harry wondered if he remembered who he was talking to. “He was young, so young, and just out of a tormenting service to a dark master. He had lost so much… He needed to be free, not to have the burden of deciding the fate of another war on his shoulders. But most of all, I wanted his decisions to be his own, not reactions to prophecy. I decided that not telling him was for the best.

“Then Voldemort returned. I suppose I could have confided in Severus then. But by then, I…found that I had grown to care about him, you see. We had something of a rocky beginning, but over the years I have become a mentor to him. We do not always agree, but he trusts me, looks up to me. I could not bear to lose that trust. And so, perhaps selfishly, I kept silent. I…hope that he will forgive me for that.”

Dumbledore turned his gaze on Harry, his eyes asking for understanding. And Harry knew, looking into those sorrowful eyes, that the older wizard had done many questionable things in pursuit of what he considered a greater good. Things he never expected to be forgiven for. But he had done them nonetheless, because the decisions had to be made, and he was the one to make them.

Harry felt a sudden overwhelming relief that he didn’t have that responsibility on his own shoulders. He was expected by many to destroy Voldemort, a great feat, yes, but he was responsible for just that part of the war. Dumbledore felt responsible for it all, and he would likely be resented or hated by many of those he had tried to protect.

Like Harry.

He had heard enough for one night. He couldn’t think, and he couldn’t stop thinking, all at the same time. He nodded and stood up from his chair.

“I’d like to turn in now, sir… Is that alright?” Harry questioned. Both were exhausted, and Dumbledore looked a bit relieved, though at the reprieve from more talking or the fact that he hadn’t had to deal with another tantrum, Harry wasn’t sure.

“Yes, of course, Harry.” Dumbledore took a deep breath. “On your way upstairs, perhaps you would be so good as to ask Professor Snape to return to the drawing room? I believe it is time for him and me to have a long overdue conversation.”

Harry nodded, feeling a twinge of pity for the headmaster as he examined his tired face. Harry had no idea how Snape would react to being told the prophecy - the professor hated being lied to, but he also understood and respected the importance of secrets. Harry just hoped that Dumbledore didn’t have another angry, shouting wizard on his hands. He didn’t look like he could take much more of that today.

Harry turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Harry gave him a questioning look.

“Harry…whatever the secrets or problems or enmity we have known in the war, you must let me say something.” Dumbledore looked intently at him, seemingly trying to will Harry to not just hear his words, but truly consider them. “Severus knows more about the way Lord Voldemort thinks than anyone else in the Order, Harry. More, even, than his other Death Eaters. If anyone is ideal in helping you to learn how to defeat him, it is Professor Snape. I would think that even if I had never heard the prophecy.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and Harry simply nodded again, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment. He would contemplate that later, after he’d had a chance to soak everything else in.

“Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

This time when he turned to leave, Dumbledore let him go. The headmaster was standing in the same place, unmoving, as Harry closed the door behind him.

The hallway was empty, and a faint light shone from underneath the closed kitchen door. Harry barely glanced at Professor Snape as he opened the kitchen door to relay Dumbledore’s summons. That done, he made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. The thought of the Wall Watcher entered his mind, but he shoved it away. It had been one thing to spy on the two men when they were discussing Harry’s relatives and his summer fate. The conversation that was about to occur was between Dumbledore and Snape, and it didn’t feel right to eavesdrop this time.

If he’d been less overwhelmed by this, the longest of days, he might have thought to request a visit from his friends to get some of the more puzzling pieces of information he’d gleaned today off his chest. Hermione would probably have some good insights about Seers, even if Divination wasn’t her cup of tea. Harry would only need to say the word and she’d check out every book in Britain that mentioned the phrase “Inner Eye.”

But instead of dwelling on that, he gratefully collapsed onto his bed as soon as he reached his bedroom. Before the darkness of sleep claimed him, his last lingering thought was that any more thinking could most definitely wait until tomorrow.