Harry's feet hit solid ground; his knees buckled a little and the golden wizard's head fell with a resounding clunk to the floor. He looked around and saw that he had arrived in Dumbledore's office.

Everything seemed to have repaired itself during the Headmasters absence. The delicate silver instruments stood once more on the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses were snoozing in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of the picture. Harry looked through the window. There was a cool line of pale green along the horizon: dawn was approaching.

The silence and the stillness, broken only by the occasional grunt or snuffle of a sleeping portrait, was unbearable to him. If his surroundings could have reflected the feelings inside him, the pictures would have been screaming in pain. He walked around the quiet, beautiful office, breathing quickly, trying not to think. But he had to think ... there was no escape ...

It was his fault Sirius had died; it was all his fault. If he, Harry, had not been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick, if he had not been so convinced that what he had seen in his dream was real, if he had only opened his mind to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on Harry's love of playing the hero ...

It was unbearable, he would not think about it, he could not stand it ... there was a terrible hollow inside him he did not want to feel or examine, a dark hole where Sirius had been, where Sirius had vanished; he did not want to have to be alone with that great, silent space, he could not stand it—

A picture behind him gave a particularly loud grunting snore, and a cool voice said, ‘Ah ... Harry Potter ...’

Phineas Nigellus gave a long yawn, stretching his arms as he surveyed Harry out of shrewd, narrow eyes.

‘And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning?’ said Phineas eventually. ‘This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful Headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me ...’ He gave another shuddering yawn. ‘Another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?’

Harry could not speak. Phineas Nigellus did not know that Sirius was dead, but Harry could not tell him. To say it aloud would be to make it final, absolute, irretrievable.

A few more of the portraits had stirred now. Terror of being interrogated made Harry stride across the room and seize the doorknob.

It would not turn. He was shut in.

‘I hope this means,’ said the corpulent, red-nosed wizard who hung on the wall behind the Headmasters desk, ‘that Dumbledore will soon be back among us?’

Harry turned. The wizard was surveying him with great interest. Harry nodded. He tugged again on the doorknob behind his back, but it remained immovable.

‘Oh good,’ said the wizard. ‘It has been very dull without him, very dull indeed.’

He settled himself on the throne-like chair on which he had been painted and smiled benignly upon Harry.

‘Dumbledore thinks very highly of you, as I am sure you know,’ he said comfortably. ‘Oh yes. Holds you in great esteem.’

The guilt filling the whole of Harry's chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite, now writhed and squirmed. Harry could not stand this, he could not stand being himself any more ... he had never felt more trapped inside his own head and body, never wished so intensely that he could be somebody, anybody else ...

The empty fireplace burst into emerald green flame, making Harry leap away from the door, staring at the man spinning inside the grate. As Dumbledore's tall form unfolded itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerked awake, many of them giving cries of welcome.

‘Thank you,’ said Dumbledore softly.

He did not look at Harry at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood.

‘Well, Harry,’ said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, ‘you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events.’

Harry tried to say, ‘Good,’ but no sound came out. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him of the amount of damage he had caused, and although Dumbledore was for once looking at him directly, and although his expression was kindly rather than accusatory, Harry could not bear to meet his eyes.

‘Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little time in St. Mungos, but it seems she will make a full recovery.’

Harry contented himself with nodding at the carpet, which was growing lighter as the sky outside grew paler. He was sure all the: portraits around the room were listening closely to every word Dumbledore spoke, wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been, and why there had been injuries.

‘I know how you're feeling, Harry,’ said Dumbledore very quietly.

‘No, you don't,’ said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him; Dumbledore knew nothing about his feelings.

‘You see, Dumbledore?’ said Phineas Nigellus slyly. ‘Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own—’

‘That's enough, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore.

Harry turned his back on Dumbledore and stared determinedly out of the window. He could see the Quidditch stadium in the distance. Sirius had appeared there once, disguised as the shaggy black dog, so he could watch Harry play ... he had probably come to see whether Harry was as good as James had been ... Harry had never asked him ...

‘There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,’ said Dumbledore's voice. ‘On the contrary ... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.’

Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words.

‘My greatest strength, is it?’ said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. ‘You haven't got a clue ... you don't know ...’

‘What don't I know?’ asked Dumbledore calmly.

It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage.

‘I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?’

‘Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human—’

‘THEN—I—DON'T —WANT—TO—BE—HUMAN!’ Harry roared, and he seized the delicate silver instrument from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room; it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces against the wall. Several of the pictures let out yells of anger and fright, and the portrait of Armando Dippet said, ‘Really!’

‘I DON'T CARE!’ Harry yelled at them, snatching up a lunascope and throwing it into the fireplace. ‘I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE—’

He seized the table on which the silver instrument had stood and threw that, too. It broke apart on the floor and the legs rolled in different directions.

‘You do care,’ said Dumbledore. He had not flinched or made a single move to stop Harry demolishing his office. His expression was calm, almost detached. ‘You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.’

‘I—DON'T!’ Harry screamed, so loudly that he felt his throat might tear, and for a second he wanted to rush at Dumbledore and break him, too; shatter that calm old face, shake him, hurt him, make him feel some tiny part of the horror inside himself.

‘Oh, yes, you do,’ said Dumbledore, still more calmly. ‘You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care.’

‘YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!’ Harry roared. ‘YOU—STANDING THERE—YOU—’

But words were no longer enough, smashing things was no more help; he wanted to run, he wanted to keep running and never look back, he wanted to be somewhere he could not see the clear blue eyes staring at him, that hatefully calm old face. He turned on his heel and ran to the door, seized the doorknob again and wrenched at it.

But the door would not open.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

‘Let me out,’ he said. He was shaking from head to foot.

‘No,’ said Dumbledore simply.

For a few seconds they stared at each other.

‘Let me out,’ Harry said again.

‘No,’ Dumbledore repeated.

‘If you don't— if you keep me in here—if you don't let me—’

‘By all means continue destroying my possessions,’ said Dumbledore serenely. ‘I daresay I have too many.’

He walked around his desk and sat down behind it, watching Harry.

‘Let me out,’ Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore's.

‘Not until I have had my say,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Do you—do you think I want to—do you think I give a—I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!’ Harry roared. ‘I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!’

‘You will,’ said Dumbledore steadily. ‘Because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it.’

‘What are you talking—?’

‘It is my fault that Sirius died,’ said Dumbledore clearly. ‘Or should I say, almost entirely my fault—I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone.’

Harry was still standing with his hand on the doorknob but was unaware of it. He was gazing at Dumbledore, hardly breathing, listening yet barely understanding what he was hearing.

‘Please sit down,’ said Dumbledore. It was not an order, it was a request.

Harry hesitated, then walked slowly across the room now littered with silver cogs and fragments of wood, and took the seat facing Dumbledore's desk.

‘Am I to understand,’ said Phineas Nigellus slowly from Harry's left, ‘that my great-great-grandson—the last of the Blacks—is dead?’

‘Yes, Phineas,’ said Dumbledore.

‘I don't believe it,’ said Phineas brusquely.

Harry turned his head in time to see Phineas marching out of his portrait and knew that he had gone to visit his other painting in Grimmauld Place. He would walk, perhaps, from portrait to portrait, calling for Sirius through the house ...

‘Harry, I owe you an explanation,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young ... and I seem to have forgotten, lately ...’

The sun was rising properly now; there was a rim of dazzling orange visible over the mountains and the sky above it was colourless and bright. The light fell upon Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his lace.

‘I guessed, fifteen years ago,’ said Dumbledore, ‘when I saw the scar on your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.’

‘You've told me this before, Professor,’ said Harry bluntly. He did not care about being rude. He did not care about anything very much any more.

‘Yes,’ said Dumbledore apologetically. ‘Yes, but you see—it is necessary to start with your scar. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion.’

‘I know,’ said Harry wearily.

‘And this ability of yours—to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused—has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers.’

Harry did not bother to nod. He knew all of this already.

‘More recently,’ said Dumbledore, ‘I became concerned that Voldemort might realise that this connection between you exists. Sure enough, there came a time when you entered so far into his mind and thoughts that he sensed your presence. I am speaking, of course, of the night when you witnessed the attack on Mr. Weasley.’

‘Yeah, Snape told me,’ Harry muttered.

‘Professor Snape, Harry,’ Dumbledore corrected him quietly. ‘But did you not wonder why it was not I who explained this to you? Why I did not teach you Occlumency? Why I had not so much as looked at you for months?’

Harry looked up. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired.

‘Yeah,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Yeah, I wondered.’

‘You see,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realised that our relationship was—or had ever been—closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes ...’

Harry remembered the feeling that a dormant snake had risen in him, ready to strike, in those moments when he and Dumbledore had made eye-contact.

‘Voldemort's aim in possessing you, as he demonstrated tonight, would not have been my destruction. It would have been yours. He hoped, when he possessed you briefly a short while ago, that I would sacrifice you in the hope of killing him. So you see, I have been trying, in distancing myself from you, to protect you, Harry. An old man s mistake ...’

He sighed deeply. Harry was letting the words wash over him. He would have been so interested to know all this a few months ago, but now it was meaningless compared to the gaping chasm inside him that was the loss of Sirius; none of it mattered ...

‘Sirius told me you felt Voldemort awake inside you the very night that you had the vision of Arthur Weasley's attack. I knew at once that my worst fears were correct: Voldemort had realised he could use you. In an attempt to arm you against Voldemort's assaults on your mind, I arranged Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.’

He paused. Harry watched the sunlight, which was sliding slowly across the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk, illuminate a silver ink pot and a handsome scarlet quill. Harry could tell that the portraits all around them were awake and listening raptly to Dumbledore's explanation; he could hear the occasional rustle of robes, the slight clearing of a throat. Phineas Nigellus had still not returned ...

‘Professor Snape discovered,’ Dumbledore resumed, ‘that you had been dreaming about the door to the Department of Mysteries for months. Voldemort, of course, had been obsessed with the possibility of hearing the prophecy ever since he regained his body; and as he dwelled on the door, so did you, though you did not know what it meant.

‘And then you saw Rookwood, who worked in the Department of Mysteries before his arrest, telling Voldemort what we had known all along—that the prophecies held in the Ministry of Magic are heavily protected. Only the people to whom they refer can lift them from the shelves without suffering madness: in this case, either Voldemort himself would have to enter the Ministry of Magic, and risk revealing himself at last—or else you would have to take it for him. It became a matter of even greater urgency that you should master Occlumency.’

‘But I didn't,’ muttered Harry. He said it aloud to try and ease the dead weight of guilt inside him: a confession must surely relieve some of the terrible pressure squeezing his heart. ‘I didn't practise, I didn't bother, I could've stopped myself having those dreams, Hermione kept telling me to do it, if I had he'd never have been able to show me where to go, and—Sirius wouldn't—Sirius wouldn't—’

Something was erupting inside Harry's head: a need to justify himself, to explain—

‘I tried to check he'd really taken Sirius, I went to Umbridge's office, I spoke to Kreacher in the fire and he said Sirius wasn't there, he said he'd gone!’

‘Kreacher lied,’ said Dumbledore calmly. ‘You are not his master, he could lie to you without even needing to punish himself. Kreacher intended you to go to the Ministry of Magic.’

‘He—he sent me on purpose?’

‘Oh yes. Kreacher, I am afraid, has been serving more than one master for months.’

‘How?’ said Harry blankly. ‘He hasn't been out of Grimmauld Place for years.’

‘Kreacher seized his opportunity shortly before Christmas,’ said Dumbledore, ‘when Sirius, apparently, shouted at him to “get out". He took Sirius at his word, and interpreted this as an order to leave the house. He went to the only Black family member for whom he had any respect left ... Black's cousin Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix and wife of Lucius Malfoy.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Harry said. His heart was beating very fast. He felt sick. He remembered worrying about Kreacher's odd absence over Christmas, remembered him turning up again in the attic ...

‘Kreacher told me last night,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You see, when you gave Professor Snape that cryptic warning, he realised that you had had a vision of Sirius trapped in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. He, like you, attempted to contact Sirius at once. I should explain that members of the Order of the Phoenix have more reliable methods of communicating than the fire in Dolores Umbridge's office. Professor Snape found that Sirius was alive and safe in Grimmauld Place.

‘When, however, you did not return from your trip into the Forest with Dolores Umbridge, Professor Snape grew worried that you still believed Sirius to be a captive of Lord Voldemort's. He alerted certain Order members at once.’

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and continued, ‘Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were at Headquarters when he made contact. All agreed to go to your aid at once. Professor Snape requested that Sirius remain behind, as he needed somebody to remain at Headquarters to tell me what had happened, for I was due there at any moment. In the meantime he, Professor Snape, intended to search the Forest for you.

‘But Sirius did not wish to remain behind while the others went to search for you. He delegated to Kreacher the task of telling me what had happened. And so it was that when I arrived in Grimmauld Place shortly after they had all left for the Ministry, it was the elf who told me—laughing fit to burst—where Sirius had gone.’

‘He was laughing?’ said Harry in a hollow voice.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You see, Kreacher was not able to betray us totally. He is not Secret Keeper for the Order, he could not give the Malfoy's our whereabouts, or tell them any of the Order's confidential plans that he had been forbidden to reveal. He was bound by the enchantments of his kind, which is to say that he could not disobey a direct order from his master, Sirius. But he gave Narcissa information of the sort that is very valuable to Voldemort, yet must have seemed much too trivial for Sirius to think of banning him from repeating it.’

‘Like what?’ said Harry.

‘Like the fact that the person Sirius cared most about in the world was you,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘Like the fact that you were coming to regard Sirius as a mixture of father and brother. Voldemort knew already, of course, that Sirius was in the Order, and that you knew where he was—but Kreacher's information made him realise that the one person for whom you would go to any lengths to rescue was Sirius Black.’

Harry's lips were cold and numb.

‘So ... when I asked Kreacher if Sirius was there last night ...’

‘The Malfoy's— undoubtedly on Voldemort's instructions—had told him he must find a way of keeping Sirius out of the way once you had seen the vision of Sirius being tortured. Then, if you decided to check whether Sirius was at home or not, Kreacher would be able to pretend he was not. Kreacher injured Buckbeak the hippogriff yesterday, and, at the moment when you made your appearance in the fire, Sirius was upstairs tending to him.’

There seemed to be very little air in Harry's lungs; his breathing was quick and shallow.

‘And Kreacher told you all this ... and laughed?’ he croaked.

‘He did not wish to tell me,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But I am a sufficiently accomplished Legilimens myself to know when I am being lied to and I—persuaded him—to tell me the full story, before I left for the Department of Mysteries.’

‘And,’ whispered Harry, his hands curled in cold fists on his knees, ‘and Hermione kept telling us to be nice to him—’

‘She was quite right, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I warned Sirius when we adopted twelve Grimmauld Place as our Headquarters that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. I also told him that Kreacher could be dangerous to us. I do not think Sirius took me very seriously, or that he ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's—’

‘Don't you blame —don't you—talk—about Sirius like—’ Harry's breath was constricted, he could not get the words out properly; but the rage that had subsided briefly flared in him again: he would not let Dumbledore criticise Sirius. ‘Kreacher's a lying—foul—he deserved—’

‘Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Yes, he is to be pitied. His existence has been as miserable as your friend Dobby's. He was forced to do Sirius's bidding, because Sirius was the last of the family to which he was enslaved, but he felt no true loyalty to him. And whatever Kreacher's faults, it must be admitted that Sirius did nothing to make Kreacher's lot easier—’

‘DON'T TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT!’ Harry yelled.

He was on his feet again, furious, ready to fly at Dumbledore, who had plainly not understood Sirius at all, how brave he was, how much he had suffered ...

‘What about Snape?’ Harry spat. ‘You're not talking about him, are you? When I told him Voldemort had Sirius he just sneered at me as usual—’

‘Harry you know Professor Snape had no choice but to pretend not to take you seriously in front of Dolores Umbridge,’ said Dumbledore steadily, ‘but as I have explained, he informed the Order as soon as possible about what you had said. It was he who deduced where you had gone when you did not return from the Forest. It was he, too, who gave Professor Umbridge fake Veritaserum when she was attempting to force you to tell her Sirius's whereabouts.’

Harry disregarded this; he felt a savage pleasure in blaming Snape, it seemed to be easing his own sense of dreadful guilt, and he wanted to hear Dumbledore agree with him.

‘Snape—Snape g —goaded Sirius about staying in the house—he made out Sirius was a coward— ’

‘Sirius was much too old and clever to have allowed such feeble taunts to hurt him,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Snape stopped giving me Occlumency lessons!’ Harry snarled. ‘He threw me out of his office!’

‘I am aware of it,’ said Dumbledore heavily. ‘I have already said that it was a mistake for me not to teach you myself, though I was sure, at the time, that nothing could have been more dangerous than to open your mind even further to Voldemort while in my presence—’

‘Snape made it worse, my scar always hurt worse after lessons with him—’ Harry remembered Ron's thoughts on the subject and plunged on ‘—how do you know he wasn't trying to soften me up for Voldemort, make it easier for him to get inside my— ’

‘I trust Severus Snape,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘But I forgot—another old man's mistake— that some wounds run too deep for the healing. I thought Professor Snape could overcome his feelings about your father—I was wrong.’

‘But that's OK, is it?’ yelled Harry, ignoring the scandalised faces and disapproving mutterings of the portraits on the walls. ‘It's OK for Snape to hate my dad, but it's not OK for Sirius to hate Kreacher?’

‘Sirius did not hate Kreacher,’ said Dumbledore. ‘He regarded him as a servant unworthy of much interest or notice. Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike ... the fountain we destroyed tonight told a lie. We wizards have mistreated and abused our fellows for too long, and we are now reaping our reward.’

‘SO SIRIUS DESERVED WHAT HE GOT, DID HE?’ Harry yelled.

‘I did not say that, nor will you ever hear me say it,’ Dumbledore replied quietly. ‘Sirius was not a cruel man, he was kind to house-elves in general. He had no love for Kreacher, because Kreacher was a living reminder of the home Sirius had hated.’

‘Yeah, he did hate it!’ said Harry, his voice cracking, turning his back on Dumbledore and walking away. The sun was bright inside the room now and the eyes of all the portraits followed him as he walked, without realising what he was doing, without seeing the office at all. ‘You made him stay shut up in that house and he hated it, that's why he wanted to get out last night—’

‘I was trying to keep Sirius alive,’ said Dumbledore quietly.

‘People don't like being locked up!’ Harry said furiously, rounding on him. ‘You did it to me all last summer—’

Dumbledore closed his eyes and buried his face in his long-fingered hands. Harry watched him, but this uncharacteristic sign of exhaustion, or sadness, or whatever it was from Dumbledore, did not soften him. On the contrary, he felt even angrier that Dumbledore was showing signs of weakness. He had no business being weak when Harry wanted to rage and storm at him.

Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.

‘It is time,’ he said, ‘for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me—to do whatever you like— when I have finished. I will not stop you.’

Harry glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Dumbledore and waited.

Dumbledore stared for a moment at the sunlit grounds outside the window, then looked back at Harry and said, ‘Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well—not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.’

He paused. Harry said nothing.

‘You might ask— and with good reason—why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as a son.

‘My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but I realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters—and many of them are almost as terrible as he—were still at large, angry, desperate and violent. And I had to make my decision, too, with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone for ever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure, too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

‘I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

‘But I knew, too, where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated—to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.’

‘She doesn't love me,’ said Harry at once. ‘She doesn't give a damn—’

‘But she took you,’ Dumbledore cut across him. ‘She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.’

‘I still don't— ’

‘While you can still call home the place where your mother's blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, whilst you are there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.’

‘Wait,’ said Harry. ‘Wait a moment.’

He sat up straighter in his chair, staring at Dumbledore.

‘You sent that Howler. You told her to remember—it was your voice—’

‘I thought,’ said Dumbledore, inclining his head slightly, ‘that she might need reminding of the pact she had sealed by taking you. I suspected the Dementor attack might have awoken her to the dangers of having you as a surrogate son.’

‘It did,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Well—my uncle more than her. He wanted to chuck me out, but after the Howler came she—she said I had to stay.’

He stared at the floor for a moment, then said, ‘But what's this got to do with—’

He could not say Sirius's name.

‘Five years ago, then,’ continued Dumbledore, as though he had not paused in his story, ‘you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

‘And then ... well, you will remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you and sooner—much sooner—than I had anticipated, you found yourself face to face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did more. You delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a man's fight. I was ... prouder of you than I can say.

‘Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine,’ said Dumbledore. ‘An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the hospital wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort.’

‘I don't understand what you're saying,’ said Harry.

‘Don't you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing, why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?’

Harry nodded.

‘Ought I to have told you then?’

Harry stared into the blue eyes and said nothing, but his heart was racing again.

‘You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No ... perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to answer you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.

‘I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day ... you were too young, much too young.

‘And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced; once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again, however, why Voldemort had left that mark on you. We discussed your scar, oh yes ... we came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

‘Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, to have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in myself to spoil that night of triumph ...

‘Do you see, Harry? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid.’

‘I don't—’

‘I cared about you too much,’ said Dumbledore simply. ‘I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

‘Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have—and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined—not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

‘We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Harry. I knew the time must come soon ...

‘But you came out of the maze last year, having watched Cedric Diggory die, having escaped death so narrowly yourself ... and I did not tell you, though I knew, now Voldemort had returned, I must do it soon. And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school and I could not bring myself to add another—the greatest one of all.’

Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not speak.

‘I still don't understand.’

‘Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a child because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, and particularly since your extraordinary escape from him last year, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.’

The sun had risen fully now: Dumbledore's office was bathed in it. The glass case in which the sword of Godric Gryffindor resided gleamed white and opaque, the fragments of the instruments Harry had thrown to the floor glistened like raindrops, and behind him, the baby Fawkes made soft chirruping noises in his nest of ashes.

‘The prophecy's smashed,’ Harry said blankly. ‘I was pulling Neville up those benches in the— the room where the archway was, and I ripped his robes and it fell ...’

‘The thing that smashed was merely the record of the prophecy kept by the Department of Mysteries. But the prophecy was made to somebody, and that person has the means of recalling it perfectly.’

‘Who heard it?’ asked Harry, though he thought he knew the answer already.

‘I did,’ said Dumbledore. ‘On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.’

Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges, in which Harry had seen his father tormenting Snape. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use 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 him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...’

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.

The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.

‘Professor Dumbledore?’ Harry said very quietly, for Dumbledore, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. ‘It ... did that mean ... what did that mean?’

‘It meant,’ said Dumbledore, ‘that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.’

Harry felt as though something was closing in on him. His breathing seemed difficult again.

‘It means—me?’

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.

‘The odd thing, Harry,’ he said softly, ‘is that it may not have meant you at all. Sybill's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.’

‘But then ... but then, why was it my name on the prophecy and not Neville's?’

‘The official record was re-labelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sybill was referring.’

‘Then—it might not be me?’ said Harry.

‘I am afraid,’ said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, ‘that there is no doubt that it is you.’

‘But you said— Neville was born at the end of July, too—and his mum and dad—’

‘You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort ... Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal.And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse.’

‘But he might have chosen wrong!’ said Harry. ‘He might have marked the wrong person!’

‘He chose the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And notice this, Harry: he chose, not the pure-blood (which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing) but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far— something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved.’

‘Why did he do it, then?’ said Harry, who felt numb and cold. ‘Why did he try and kill me as a baby? He should have waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then—’

‘That might, indeed, have been the more practical course,’ said Dumbledore, ‘except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head inn, which Sybill chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientele than the Three Broomsticks. As you and your friends found out to your cost, and I to mine that night, it is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sybill Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My—our—one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building.’

‘So he only heard —?’

‘He heard only the beginning, the part foretelling the birth of a boy in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you, and marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not—’

‘But I don't!’ said Harry, in a strangled voice. ‘I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or—or kill them —’

‘There is a room in the Department of Mysteries,’ interrupted Dumbledore, ‘that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.’

Harry closed his eyes. If he had not gone to save Sirius, Sirius would not have died ... More to stave off the moment when he would have to think of Sirius again, Harry asked, without caring much about the answer, ‘The end of the prophecy ... it was something about ... neither can live ...’

‘... while the other survives,’ said Dumbledore.

‘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.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Somewhere far beyond the office walls, Harry could hear the sound of voices, students heading down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast, perhaps. It seemed impossible that there could be people in the world who still desired food, who laughed, who neither knew nor cared that Sirius Black was gone for ever. Sirius seemed a million miles away already; even now a part of Harry still believed that if he had only pulled back that veil, he would have found Sirius looking back at him, greeting him, perhaps, with his laugh like a bark ...

‘I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry,’ said Dumbledore hesitantly. ‘You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess ... that I rather thought ... you had enough responsibility to be going on with.’

Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore's face into his long silver beard.

哈利的脚触到实地，他的膝盖轻微弯曲着而金巫师的头跌落在地上。他四下巡视发现自己到了丹伯多的办公室。 校长不在的时候所有一切都已经修复如初，那个精致的银色仪器重新放到了纺垂型腿的桌子上, 静静地在烟雾中旋转着，校长们的肖像在画框中打着盹，他们的头或是后垂到扶手椅上或者是依靠在画框边沿。哈利向窗外望去，远处的天边呈现出绿色分界线：黎明正在到来。安静，只有肖像们睡梦中偶尔的呼噜声打破的这种安静，对于他来说无法承受，如果环境能够发射出他的内心感受的话，肖像们应该会痛苦的尖叫。他在这安静、美丽的办公室内漫步着，急迫的呼吸，试着什么也不想。然而他必须想……无法逃避…… 因为他的错误使希利斯死了；全都是他的错。如果他，哈利，不这么愚蠢的落入伏地魔的轨迹，如果他不是那么确信他梦中见到的事情是真实发生的，如果他听荷米恩的劝告考虑伏地魔了解了哈利喜欢做英雄的可能性……

　　无法承受，他无法想象这些，他无法承受忍受这些……他内心中有一个可怕的不想感到或检查的洞，一个关于希利斯的黑洞，希利斯在那儿消失了；他不想呆在那个沉重且安静的地方，他无法忍受……

　　他旁边的一幅肖像发出一声巨大的鼾声，冷冷的说，“阿……哈利·波特……”

　　费涅斯·尼古拉斯大了一个长长的哈欠，当他看到哈利时展开了双臂，眯着双眼。

　　“什么事情这么早把你带来了呢？”，尼古拉斯说，“这间屋子对除正确的校长之外的人是保密的，或者是登不多尔送你来的？哦，不要告诉我……”，他又打了一个打哈欠，“另一个关于我那无用的孙子的消息？”

　　哈利无法说话。非涅斯·尼古拉斯还不知道希利斯已经死了，而哈利无法告诉他，高声说出它毕将导致最终的，绝对的绝路。

　　更多的肖像骚动起来，被审问的恐惧使哈利穿过房间抓住门把手。

　　无法转动，他被关在屋里了。

　　“我希望这意味着”， 校长桌子上一个肥胖的红鼻子巫师说，“丹伯多很快就回到我们中间了？” 哈利转身，那个巫师很感兴趣的看着他。哈利点点头，他再次用力拉身后的门把手,然而仍旧无法转动。

　　“好极了”，那个巫师说，“他不在很无聊，事实上非常之无聊。”

　　他坐在一个君王似的椅子上，善良的微笑着看着哈利，“丹伯多对你评价很高，我想你知道”，他舒服地说，“是的，他非常尊重你。”

　　哈利胸中那巨大的内疚感现在如寄生虫一般蠕动起来，他已经不再是自己了……从未有过的感觉更深地捕获了他的身心，从没有这样强烈希望他最好是其他什么人，任何其他人……

　　空荡荡的壁炉突然闪现出绿色的火焰，哈利从门口快速离开，他盯着炉火中出现的男人。丹伯多高大的身影走了出来，四周墙上的巫师（画像）们立刻醒来，其中很多人高声欢迎着。

　　“谢谢”，丹伯多柔和的说。

　　他起初并没有看哈利，只是走到门边的高架旁，从礼服内兜里掏出弗克斯（凤凰）那细小、丑陋、没有羽毛的身体并轻轻地放到本来弗克斯停放的架子边的灰烬上。

　　“好吧，哈利”，丹伯多终于从小凤凰边离开，“你会感到很高兴你的所有同伴中昨夜事件中没人持续受到伤害。”

　　哈利试着说“好”但却没有发出任何声音，对他来说似乎丹伯多在提醒他自己带来的伤害，而且尽管丹伯多一度直接看着他，尽管他的神情很温和而没有任何指控的味道， 哈利仍旧无法忍受与他的视线相接。 “珀弗瑞夫人会修复所有人”，丹伯多说，“纳菲达拉·坦克可能需要在圣·蒙戈医院住一段时间，但看上去她会恢复如初。”

　　哈利满足的朝地毯点着头，由于外面的天空渐渐变亮地毯看上去也清晰了很多。他确信屋子里的所有巫师都仔细听着丹伯多说的每一个字，疑惑丹伯多和哈利去了什么地方，还有为什么会有人受伤。

　　“我了解你的感受，哈利”，丹伯多平静的说。

　　“不，你不了解”，哈利猛然高声说到，内心中的烈火爆发了，丹伯多一点儿也不了解他的感受。

　　“你知道，丹伯多？”，非涅斯·尼古拉斯悄悄地说，“不要试图去了解学生，他们恨这个。他们更希望哪怕是悲剧性的误解，在自怜中打滚，把自己闷在心里。”

　　“够了，尼古拉斯”，丹伯多说。

　　哈利转过身，背对着丹伯多，看着窗外。他可以看到远方的奎第奇球场。希利斯曾经变形成一条黑狗到那儿看哈利打球……大概是想要来看看哈利是不是打得和它的父亲一样好……哈利还没来得及问过……

　　“不必感到内疚，哈利”，丹伯多说，“相反……感守这种悲伤的事实正是你的最大力量。”

　　哈利感到胸中的火焰席卷着， 在恐惧的空虚中燃烧着，使他充满想要伤害显得平静地说着空洞的话的丹伯多的愿望。 “我最大的力量吗？”,他看着奎地奇球场却视而不见，声音颤抖着，“你不明白……你不知道……”

　　“我不知道什么？丹伯多平静地问。

　　太多了，哈利转身，暴躁地颤栗着。

　　“我现在不想谈论自己的感受，好吗？”

　　“哈利，经受这些保证你成为一个男人！这种痛苦是成为人地一部分……”

　　“那么，我不想做人！”，哈利咆哮着，抓起旁边的银色仪器扔出去，仪器撞到墙上变成碎片落到地上，一些肖像惊怒地叫起来，阿莫多……迪派特的肖像说，“真的！”

　　“我不在意！”，哈利对他们大吼，抓起一个用亮镜并把它扔到火炉里，“我受够了，我看够了，我想出去，我想一切结束，我只想一切都结束，我不再关心他……”

　　他抓起那张摆放银色仪器的桌子并扔出去，桌子跌落在地上，桌子腿散向各个方向。

　　“你确实关心，”丹伯多说，他没有畏缩，没有一点举动来阻止哈利破坏他的房间，他的神情仍旧那么平静，甚至是有些冷漠。“你非常关心以至于由于这种痛苦你甚至想要死。”

　　“我不是！”，哈利尖叫，如此大声以至于他感到自己的喉咙可能撕裂，一段时间他甚至想要冲向丹伯多并攻击他，打碎他那张平静的脸，伤害他，使他内心感到少许的恐慌。

　　“是的，你是”，邓多不儿更加平静，“你现在失去了你的母亲，你的父亲，还有你所知道的父亲的所有隐秘的东西，你当然关心！”

　　“你不知道我的感觉！”，哈利大喊，“你站在这儿，你……”

　　然而语言已不够，打碎东西也毫无帮助，他想要跑开，再也不想回头，他想要到一个再也看不到面前这双注视着他的明亮的蓝色眼睛的地方，还有那张可恨的平静的老脸。他转身冲向门，抓住门把手并努力扭转它。

　　门仍旧无法被打来。

　　哈利回身面对丹伯多。

　　“让我出去”，他说，从头到脚颤抖不止。

　　“不”，丹伯多简单的说。

　　他们彼此对视了一段时间。

　　“让我出去”，哈利再说。

　　“不”，丹伯多重复。

　　“如果你不……如果你继续把我关在这儿……如果你不让我……”

　　“随便继续破坏我的房间”，丹伯多说，“我敢说我有太多了。”

　　他走向自己的椅子坐下来，之后看着哈利。

　　“让我出去”，哈利再次说，语气很冷甚至象丹伯多一样平静。

　　“直到听我说完”，丹伯多说

　　“你……你以为我想……你想我给……我不关心你想说的事！”，哈利咆哮，“不想听你说的任何事！”

　　“你会的”,丹伯多平静的说，“因为你并不象你应该的那样生气我，如果你真的想要攻击我，象我知道你差点那样做的那次，我会完完全全的知道。”

　　“你说什么……”

　　“希利斯的死是我的错误”，丹伯多说，“或者我该说，差不多全是我的错误……我不该如此高傲的相信自己处理所有事情的能力。希利斯是一个勇敢、聪明、热血的男人，那样的人不会满足于他们确信同伴处于危险时自己仍旧坐在屋子里，然而，假如我先公开告诉你的话，你将不会相信对于你来说今夜去神秘事务部是确实急迫的，哈利，我其实应该那样，你应该早点知道伏地魔很早以前就想引诱你去神秘事务部，那样今夜你就不会中计前往了，希里斯也就不用跟着去了，过失在我，仅仅在于我一个人。”

　　哈利仍旧站在门边，手仍旧扶在把手上，但他已经无法意识到这些了。他凝视着丹伯多，几乎无法呼吸，几乎无法理解自己听到的话。

　　“请坐”，丹伯多说。这不是命令，这是请求。

　　哈利犹豫片刻，之后慢慢走过一片杂乱的房间，坐到面对丹伯多的椅子上。

　　“我是否可以这样理解”，非涅斯·尼古拉斯在哈利的左边慢慢说，“我的小孙子，布莱克家族最后的一员，已经死了？”

　　“是的，非涅斯”，丹伯多说。

　　“我无法相信”，非涅斯直率的说。

　　哈利转身，看到菲涅斯离开了它的画框，知道他肯定是去拜访格里墨德家（希里斯老家，凤凰令总部）的他的另一幅画象去了，可能他在家里的所有画框中漫步，呼唤希里斯的名字。

　　“哈利，我欠你一个解释”，丹伯多说，“一个有关老人的错误的说明。因为我现在发现我其实应该早些这样做，事实上却没有，因而对你非常抱歉，这个错误是由于年老造成的，你不会了解老年人的感受和想法，但是老人若忘记了他们也曾经年轻却是犯罪……而我恰恰是忘记了”

　　太阳此刻正在升起，山峰被勾上了一圈明显的橙色边沿，上面的天空则颜色渐少只是越发地明亮起来。光芒照射到丹伯多，照到他银白色的眉毛和胡须，照到他脸上深深的皱纹。

　　“我猜想，十五年前”，丹伯多说，“当我看到你额头上的伤痕时，我猜这是你和伏地魔之间的一种纽带。”

　　“你以前告诉过我这些，教授！”，哈利坦率的说，他不介意显得粗鲁，他不再介意任何事情。

　　“是的”，丹伯多道歉，“是的，可是你看，必须从你的伤疤开始说起。明显的，当你重返魔法社会后，我的猜测被证明是对的，当伏地魔接近你或是他情绪激动的时候，你的伤疤给你预警。”

　　“我知道”，哈利厌倦的说。

　　“这是你的能力—探测伏地魔的存在，即使是他伪装起来，并且当他情绪激动的时候可以知道他的想法。当伏地魔取回他的身体并恢复魔力之后，这就越来越明显。”

　　哈利厌倦点头，这些他早就知道。

　　“最近”，丹伯多说，“我开始担心伏地魔可能它与你之间存在这种联系，很显然，你多次进入他的思想使其可以注意到这点，当然，我想说的就是那夜你目睹魏斯利先生受到攻击的那次。”

　　“嗯，斯内普告诉我了，”，哈利低语。

　　“斯内普教授，哈利”，丹伯多纠正他，“你是否想过为什么直到现在我才象你解释这些？为什么我不亲自教你心灵防卫术？为什么我数月都不去看你呢？”

　　哈利望过去，他可以看出现在丹伯多有些悲伤和疲倦。

　　“是的”，哈利低语，“我想过。”

　　“你知道”，丹伯多接着说，“我相信不用多久伏地魔就会试图进入你的内心，操作并误导你的思维，我不能再给他这样做的激励，我想象如果他知道你我之间的关系不仅仅是校长和学生，他将抓住机会通过你探测我。我担心他对你的用法，他可能尝试用来控制你的可能性，我想有一天或者当我们过于接近的时候伏地魔会控制你并使用你的想法是正确的。我想我在你的眼中看到了他的影子……”

　　哈利记起那天当他与丹伯多的视线想遇时他感到一条睡眠中的蛇似乎从内心中升起、准备好攻击的感觉，“伏地魔支配你的目标，就象他今夜演示的那样，并不会带来我的毁灭，但是将会带给你毁灭。他希望，简单控制你一段时间时，我会牺牲你以试图消灭他，所以你看，我试图与你保持距离来保护你，哈利，一个老人的错误……”

　　他深深地叹息。哈利让这些话语流淌而过，如果一个月前听到这些他会非常感兴趣，然而现在与内心中因为希利斯的死带来的裂痕相比这显得毫无意义，一定也不重要……

　　“希利斯告诉我当你梦到阿瑟·威斯利先生遭到攻击的那夜你感到伏地魔从你内心中醒来了，我立刻就想到我的担心是正确的，伏地魔已经认识到他可以利用你，为了避免你被伏地魔操控，我安排了斯内普教授的心灵防卫课。”

　　他暂停下来，哈利看着在丹伯多精致桌子上缓缓流动的阳光，阳光照亮银色的墨水瓶和红色的羽毛笔。哈利知道他们身边的所有肖像都清醒的倾听着丹伯多的解说，他可以听到礼服偶尔发出的摩擦声，轻轻的咳嗽声。

　　菲涅斯·尼古拉斯仍旧没有回来……

　　“斯内普教授发现”，丹伯多接着说，“你曾经梦到神秘事务部的房门。当然，伏地魔重新获得声体后已经听到过那个预言，所以他知道那扇门，所以你也知道了，尽管你并不知道这究竟意味着什么。”

　　“接着，你看到了被捕前在神秘事务部工作的卢克伍德告诉伏地魔之前我们都知道的事情，即是魔法部预言球的保护非常严格，只有那些具体所指的人才可以从架子上不用忍受疯狂地拿起它们，这样，或者伏地魔冒着暴露的危险亲自进入魔法部，或者是你替他去拿。这样你必须学会心灵防卫术就显得尤其紧迫了。”

　　“可是我没学会”，哈利抱怨道。他说地尽量大声以试着释放出心中沉重的内疚，坦白明显减轻了他心中可怕的压力，“我没有练习，我不耐烦，我应该让自己不再做那些梦，就象荷米恩劝告我的那样，假如我没有梦到我该去哪里，希利斯也就不会……希利斯也就不会……”

　　什么东西在哈利头脑中爆发了，需要替自己辩护，需要解释……

　　“我尽量验证他是不是真的抓住了希利斯，我去了安柏芝教授的办公室，通过炉火与克里奇（希利斯家的精灵）谈了话，他告诉我希利斯不在而且说他已经去了！”

　　“克里奇说了慌”，丹伯多平静地说，“你并不是它的主人，他不用惩罚自己就可以对你撒谎，克里奇希望你去魔法部。”

　　“他……他故意让我去？”

　　“是的，恐怕克里奇数月来就不服侍一个主人了。”

　　“怎么可能？”，哈利茫然地说，“他好几年没离开过格里墨德了。”

　　“圣诞节前不久克里奇找到了机会”，邓多不尔说，“当希利斯表面上对他说‘出去！’的时候，他故意曲解了希利斯的话，假装这是让他离开房间的命令，他去了另一个他更加尊敬的布莱克家族成员那里—希利斯的堂妹纳希雅，贝拉赛斯的妹妹，同时也是卢希思·麦非伊的妻子。”

　　“你怎么会知道这些？”，哈利说，他的心跳得很快，他感到不舒服。他记起圣诞节时对克里奇缺席的担心，记起了他在阁楼里的重新出现。

　　“克里奇昨夜告诉我的”，丹伯多说，“你知道，当你给了斯内普教授警告之后，他体会到你梦到西利斯被抓到了神秘事务部，他，象你一样，立刻试着和希利斯联络，我解释一下凤凰令组织成员之间有比安柏芝房间中的炉火更为安全可靠的联络手段，斯内普发现希利斯仍然安全地活着，就在格里墨德家里。”

　　“当时，你还没有和安柏芝教授从禁林回来，斯内普教授担心你仍旧相信希利斯被伏地魔抓获，他立刻通知了相应的组织成员。”

　　丹伯多长叹一声接着说，“当他联络的时候，阿拉斯·穆迪，奈发达拉·坦克，金斯利·杀克波特和卢末斯·卢平都在总部，所有人都同意立刻去援助你。寺内普教授建议希利斯呆在家里以便有人能够告诉我发生的事情，因为我可能随时去那里。同时，寺内普教授自己准备返回禁林找你们。”

　　“可是希利斯不同意呆在家里看着其他人去找你。他命令克里奇告诉我发生的事情，他们去魔法部之后不久我到了总部，那个精灵就我告诉了我—边说边笑—希利斯去了哪里。”

　　“他笑？”，哈利说，声音空洞。

　　“是的”，哈利说，“你知道，克利奇部总是出卖我们，他对凤凰令组织来说不是一个守密者，他没有告诉麦非伊总部的地址，没有告诉他任何禁止他说出的机密计划，他受自己的种族制约，不能够违背来自主人的直接命令，然而他确实给了那希卡对于伏地魔来说非常重要的情报。可能有些事情对于希利斯来说一遍遍明确禁止他显得过于琐碎了。”

　　“就象是？”，哈利说。

　　“就象是这个世界上希利斯最关系的人就是你”，丹伯多冷静地说，“就象是你将希利斯当作是自己的父亲和兄长一样。当然，伏地魔早就知道了希利斯是凤凰令组织的成员，而且你知道他在哪里—可是克利奇的情报使他认识到这个世界上你无论多远都会去援助的就是希利斯·布莱克。”

　　哈利的双唇冰冷而麻木。

　　“所以……当我昨夜问克里奇希利斯去了哪儿……”

　　“麦非伊—无疑是伏地魔的指示—告诉他当你梦到希利斯被伏地魔拷打的时候必须想办法让希利斯离开，然后，如果你决定察看希利斯是否在家的时候，克里奇即可假称他不在，当你在炉火中出现的同时，其实希利斯就在楼上。”

　　哈利几乎窒息了，他呼吸急促。

　　“克里奇告诉你这些……而且大笑？”，他发着牢骚。

　　“她不想告诉我”，丹伯多说，“然而有人对我说谎时我会知道—我说服了他—在我离开前去神秘事务部之前告诉了我完整的故事。”

　　“而且”，哈利小声说，双手在膝盖上握成拳头，“而且荷米恩还告诉我们要对他好一些……”

　　“她很正确，哈利”，丹伯多说，“当我们把那里作为总部的时候我警告过希利斯必须要对克里奇仁慈且尊重。我没想到希利斯没有太拿我的话当回事，或者是他把克里奇当成了人一样敏锐的生物……”

　　“不要责备—难道你是在说希利斯—”，哈利压抑住呼吸，他找不到合适的词汇， 愤怒之火在胸中燃烧，“克里奇撒谎—真恶心—他应该……” “克里奇怎样是由巫师决定的，哈利”，丹伯多说，“是的，它很可怜，他的存在就象你的朋友多比一样可怜，他被强制听从希利斯的命令，因为希利斯是他所服侍的家族中的最后一员，但他对希利斯没有真正的忠诚，无论克里奇有什么错误，都必须承认希利斯没有做出任何使其安逸的事。”

　　“不要这样说希利斯！”，哈利大吼。

　　他再度站起，准备好冲向一点也不了希利斯的丹伯多，他多勇敢，他的遭遇多惨……

　　“斯内普呢？”，哈利唾弃着说，“你还没有说他呢，是吧？当我告诉他伏地魔抓住希利斯时他还象往常一样嘲笑我……”

　　“哈利，你知道斯内普教授只能在安柏芝面前必须假装表现出对你的无动于衷”，丹伯多说，“然而正像我解释的那样，当你告诉他这件时后他立刻就通知了凤凰令组织成员。当你没有从禁林返回时正是他推测出你的去向，也正是他，当安柏芝教授想要强制你说出希利斯的事情时误导了她。”

　　哈利对此无动于衷，对于责备斯内普他感到很满意，看上去这似乎部分减轻了他自己那可憎地内疚感，同时他希望邓多不尔赞成自己。

　　“斯内普……斯内普……刺激希利斯说仅仅呆在屋子里是一种懦弱……”

　　“希利斯足够年长聪明应该足以能够忍受这样小小的嘲弄”，丹伯多说。

　　“斯内普停止教我心灵防卫课！”，哈利怒吼，“他把我扔出了办公室！”

　　“我清楚”，丹伯多重重的说，“我已经说过，尽管那时我认为在我面前讲你的心灵完全开放给伏地魔是最危险的事情，没有亲自教你仍旧是我的错误。”

　　“斯内普搞得更糟了，我的伤疤课后经常痛得更厉害。”，哈利记起罗恩对于这门课的评价，“你如何知道斯内普不是试着降低我的防卫水平以方便伏地魔更容易进入呢……”

　　“我相信希威斯·死内普”，丹伯多简单的说，“但由于另一个年老的错误我忘记了有些伤痕过深而难以愈合。我本想斯内普教授可以克服他关于你父亲的伤痛，然而我错了。”

　　“这没错？是吗？”，哈利吼叫，不理肖像们的不赞成低语和震惊的表情，“斯内普恨我父亲没有错，希利斯恨克里奇就错了？！”

　　“希利斯没有恨克里奇”，丹伯多说，“他只是把他当作一个不值得任何注意的仆人。冷漠与毫不关心常常比直接的不喜欢更……今夜事件源于一个谎言，我们巫师太长时间以来漠视我们的从人了，现在我们受到了报复。”

　　“所以说希利斯罪有应得，是吗？！”，哈利大喊。

　　“我没这么说，你也从没听我这么说过”，丹伯多冷静地回答。“希利斯不是一个残酷的人，他通常对仆人很亲切。他不喜欢克里奇仅仅是因为克里奇生活在他憎恨的房子里。”

　　“是的，他很它！”，哈利迅速说，转身背对丹伯多并离开。现在屋子里的光线已经很亮了，墙上所有巫师都注视着他的走动。不理解到底在干什么，一点也没有注意到屋子里的变化，“你让他呆在他不喜欢的屋子里，这就是他昨夜之所以出去的原因……”

　　“我努力保证希利斯的生命”，丹伯多冷静地说。

　　“人们不喜欢被关起来！”，哈利急躁地说，攻击他，“可你之前的夏天一直这样对我……”

　　丹伯多闭上双眼将头部埋到双手中。哈里看着他，然而丹伯多的这种无情、疲惫、者悲伤或者说其他什么表情并不能使他柔和下来。相反，他对丹伯多流露出的这种软弱更加气愤。他没有理由在哈利发脾气的时候表现出软弱。

　　丹伯多放下双手，从半月形眼镜后看着哈利。

　　“是时候了”，他说，“我该告诉你几年前就应该告诉你的事情了，哈利，请坐。我将告诉你所有事情。我只要求一点耐心，我说完后你将有机会对我发火—想怎样就怎样，我将不会阻止你。”

　　哈利瞪了他一会儿，之后坐回到丹伯多对面的椅子上等待。

　　丹伯多看了一会儿窗外阳光下的大地，之后回头看着哈利接着说，“五年前你安全完整地来到霍格瓦彻学校，哈利，想我事先想的那样。你如我预料的那样受了磨难，当我把你放在你姨妈家的门口时我就知道你会，我为使你度过阴暗艰难的十年感到自责。”

　　他暂停下来，哈利什么也没说。

　　“你可能会问—有足够的理由—为什么一定要这样，为什么不能由其他巫师家庭收养你，很多巫师家庭会喜不自胜地象对待自己亲生儿子一样养育你。”

　　“我的答案是我最优先事宜是保证你的生命，你可能比其他任何人都更加不安全，但我知道，伏地魔数小时前消失了，而他的支持者，其中很多和他一样可怕，仍然在逃，并且充满疯狂与暴力。我必须决定，在未来的数年中，是否可以相信伏地魔永远走了？不。我不知道在他回来之前会过去10年，20年或是五十年，但我确信他会回来，同时我确信，象我以前那样知道在他杀死你前他不会罢手。”

　　“我知道伏地魔的知识可能比其他任何活着的巫师都要广泛，我知道当他回来后即使我最复杂强力的咒语也不可能征服他。”

　　“但我也知道，伏地魔的弱点在哪里，所以我做出了我自己的决定。你将被一个他知道但却轻视并总是低估的古老的魔法保护，当然，我说的就是，你的母亲为了保护你而死去本身，她给了你一种他意想不到的保卫方法，这些天来这个保卫方法就在你的血管中流淌。因此我决定，把你送给她的妹妹，她在世上唯一的血亲抚养。”

　　“她不爱我”，哈利立刻说，“她一点也不……”

　　“可是她抚养你”，丹伯多打断他，“她可能是勉强地、吵闹地、不愿意地，痛恨地，但是她仍旧养育了你，这样做，她解决了我附加于你身上的咒语，你的母亲的牺牲使其家族的血液成为你最强的护盾。”

　　“我仍旧不能……”

　　“当然你仍旧能够回到与你母亲同样血缘的家中，在那里你无法被伏地魔触及并伤害，他使她流光鲜血，但这种血液仍旧流淌在你和她亲生姐姐的身体内。她的血就是你的避难所，你需要每年回去一次，至今你可以称之为你的家，在那里他无法伤害你，你的姨妈直到这些，当我把你留在他家门口时，我在给他留下的信里详细解释了，她知道这些并在过去的十五年里给了你一个家。”

　　“等一等”，哈利说，“等一等。”

　　他在椅子里坐直，看着等不多尔。

　　“你寄的吼叫信，你告诉她要记得—那是你的声音。”

　　“我想”，等不多尔说，稍稍偏过头，“有必要提醒她抚养你的事实。我怀疑她会认识到象儿子一样抚养你会遇到的危险。”

　　“是的”，哈里平静的说，“我的姨父比她更甚，他想要赶我出去，可是她见到吼叫信后说我必须住在那儿。”

　　他在地板上站了一会儿，然后说，“可是这和……有什么关系……”

　　他不能说出希利斯的名字。

　　“五年前”，丹伯多接着说，没有中断他的故事，“你到了霍格瓦彻，可能并不象我想得那样高兴与有涵养，但是你健康的活着，你没有被放纵成一个小皇帝，而是与我在那样环境下希望的那样是一个平常的孩子，我的计划到那时干的不坏。”

　　“之后……你和我一样清楚记得你到校后第一年发生的事情。你很快面临对你的挑战—比我预期地更快，你发现自己直面伏地魔，你再次幸免于难，不仅如此，你推迟了他返回并获取魔力和力量。你象男人一样的战斗，我……语言无法表达我对你的骄傲。”

　　“但是我的完美计划中有一个瑕疵”，丹伯多说，“一个我知道的明显的瑕疵，可能会毁灭整个计划，然而我知道这非常重要—我的计划需要成功，我告诉自己我不能让这个瑕疵毁了这个计划，我自己来阻止它，所以我自己必须更强，之后当你与伏地魔战斗后虚弱地躺在飞翼医院的时候，我做了自己的第一个测验。”

　　“我不明白你说什么”，哈利说。

　　“你不记得曾问过我，当你躺在飞翼医院的时候，为什么伏地魔会去谋杀还是婴儿的你吗？”

　　哈利点头。

　　“我当时该告诉你吗？”

　　哈利看着面前的蓝眼睛一言不发，可是他的心中再次掀起狂飙。

　　“你还没有看出计划中的瑕疵吗？不……也许没有，如你所知，我决定不回答你，我告诉我自己，十一岁过于年轻还不能知道事实。我不想当你十一岁时就告诉你，对于那么年轻的年龄来说，这个知识太复杂了。”

　　“我应该认识到之后的危险迹象，我应该问自己为什么没有为你问我这个我知道答案而且总有一天我必须给出可怕答案的问题感到更多迷茫，我应该认识到我太为在那个特别的时候不需要告诉你答案而高兴了……你当时确实年轻，太年轻。”

　　“之后，我们就进入了你在霍个沃茨的第二年，你又一次面对即使成年巫师也难以面对的挑战，你又一次从我的噩梦中摆脱出来，你没有再问我，然而，我们讨论了伏地魔留给你的伤疤，是的，我们相当接近了那个话题，为什么我那时不告诉你所有事情呢？”

　　“在我看来，毕竟十二岁比十一岁对于接受这个答案来说仍旧是困难的，我请求你抛开我的风度，疲惫却兴奋中，我一度感到也许应该早点告诉你，为此我感到不安的痛苦煎熬，但很快我继续保持了沉默，因为你仍旧年轻，那夜我没有胜利后的感觉。”

　　“你知道吗？哈利？你知道我的计划中的瑕疵是什么吗？我落入了我预先见到过的并告诉自己可以回避且必须回避的陷阱里。”

　　“我不……”

　　“我象玩具一样的关心你”，丹伯多简单地说，“与让你知道事实相比我更关心你的快乐，与我的计划相比更关心你的平静，更多在乎你的生活而不是计划失败带来多少死亡，换句话说，我象伏地魔希望的那样愚蠢的处理。”

　　“这里有防卫吗？我不让任何其他人象我一样照看你—我比你所知道的更近地看着你—不想再给你带来比你曾经遭遇的更多的痛苦，我在乎迷茫的未来中平常人有多少会被杀害，是否那时或现在你仍旧活着，而且活得好，活得快乐，我做梦都没想过我这边有这样一个人。”

　　“我们进入了你的三年级，我远远地看着你努力驱逐食魂怪，看着你找到希利斯，了解他到底是什么样的人并搭救他，当你从魔法部手上成功夺回你的教父时我应该告诉你吗？然而那时你十三岁，我的理由仍旧部充分，你还太年轻，但你证明了自己很出色。我的内心很不安，哈利，我知道就要到时候了……”

　　“去年你进入了迷宫，看到迪格利之死，自己惊险逃生……我仍旧没有告诉你，虽然我知道，那时伏地魔已经回来了，我必须不久就做，现在，今晚，我知道你很早就准备好知道了，我已经保持这个秘密太久，因为你已经证明我可以交给你这副重担了。我的唯一陈述就是：我要你努力挑起比从这所学校里出去的所有学生，包括我在内都要重的担子—所有人当中最伟大的一个。”

　　哈利等待，但丹伯多不再继续讲。

　　“我仍旧不明白。”

　　“伏地魔试图谋杀仍然处于婴儿时的你原因在于你出生前不久的一个预言。虽然他不知道预言的详细内容，但他知道有这么一个预言，他相信可以实现这个预言因而去杀婴儿时的你，经过失败的代价他发现他错了，所以，当他重新获得身体之后，尤其是你去年再次从他手上逃脱之后，他决心要知道预言的全部内容，这就是他回来后努力寻找的武器，如何杀死你的知识。”

　　太阳现在已经完全升起。丹伯多的房间沐浴在阳光中，存放戈兰芬多之剑的玻璃盒闪烁着白色而透明的光。哈利扔到地面上的银色仪器的碎片如水滴般闪耀，在他身边，小弗克斯在其灰烬中呢喃。

　　“预言球碎了”，哈利满然地说。“在有拱门的那个房间我拉纳威的时候它跌落了……”

　　“破碎的只是保存在神秘事务部的预言的纪录，而预言是由某人做出的，听到的人可以完美回忆它。”

　　“谁听到了？”，哈利问，尽管他想他早已知道答案了。

　　“我”，丹伯多说，“十七年一个寒冷、潮湿的夜里，在狗头酒吧的一个房间，我去那里看一个申请成为预言课教授的人，虽然这与我一向接待预言科目申请者的习惯不符，但是那个申请者，是一个非常著名的、非常天才的预言家的玄玄孙女，所以我觉得去看他更有礼貌一点，我很失望，看上去她并没有继承这种天才，我告诉她，我希望是彬彬有礼地，我认为她不适合这个职位，我转身离开。”

　　丹伯多站起身经过哈利走到弗克斯站立的高架的内阁旁边，他弯下腰，取出一个石盆，就象哈利曾在斯内普那里从中看到父亲的那个一样，丹伯多走回来，将石盆放到桌子上，之后取出魔杖对准自己的太阳穴，从中取出一些记忆并投放到石盆中，他重新坐回桌旁， 看着眼前的记忆盆银光流动，之后他再次用魔杖拨开上面的银雾，图像从中显示出来—她眼镜后边的眼睛大大的，她慢慢地旋转着，她的脚在盆里。然而当辛比尔·塞拉温尼开口讲话的时候，声音并不象她往常那样飘忽神秘，而是象哈利以前听过的那样粗糙、沙哑： “那个将消灭黑魔头的人接近了……出生于曾经三次击败他的家庭，出生于第七个月结束的时候……黑魔头将标记他为其劲敌，但他将拥有黑魔头没有的力量……而其中之一必须死于另一个之手因为其中一个生存的时候另一个就无法生存……那个拥有消灭黑魔头的力量的人出生于七月之末……

　　塞拉温你教授慢慢旋转着退回到银幕之后并慢慢消失了。

　　房间中十分安静。哈利、丹伯多和所有肖像都没有发出任何声音，即使是弗克斯也沉默无声。

　　“丹伯多教授？”，哈利冷静的说，而丹伯多，似乎仍旧陈迷在回忆中，“他意味着……他意味着什么？”

　　“它意味着”，丹伯多说，“唯一能够征服伏地魔的人出生于近十六年年的七月末，这个孩子的父母曾经三次挑战伏地魔。”

　　哈利感到什么东西接近了他，他的呼吸再度困难起来。

　　“说的是……我吗？”

　　丹伯多透过眼镜审视了他一阵。

　　“奇怪的是，哈利”，他轻柔的说，“也有可能说的根本就不是你。有两个男孩符合辛比尔的预言，他们都出生于七月，而且他们的父母都是凤凰令成员，都曾经三次从伏地魔手上逃生，其中之一当然就是你，另一个则是纳威·龙巴顿。”

　　“那么之后……为什么是我而不是纳威的名字写在预言球那里呢？”

　　“当伏地魔攻击婴儿时的你之后官方记载重新修正过了”，登不多尔说，“对于预言厅来说看上去很清楚伏地魔只去杀你，原因在于他认为你就是辛比尔预言中的那个孩子。”

　　“那么……可能不是我？”，哈利说。

　　“恐怕”，丹伯多缓缓地说，每个字看上去都相当费力，“无疑就是你。”

　　“可是你说—纳威也是七月出生的，而且他的父母……”

　　“你忘记了预言的第二段，最后一个识别那个可以消灭伏地魔的男孩的标志……伏地魔自己将其标记为自己的敌人，他也确实那样做了，哈利，他选择了你，而不是纳威。他给了你那个充满祝福与诅咒的伤疤。”

　　“可是他可能选错！”，哈利说，“他可能标记了错误的对象！”

　　“他选择看上去对他更加危险的男孩”，丹伯多说，“注意到没有，他没有选择纯血，而是象他一样的混血，当对你印下那个伤疤的时候，他没能如愿杀掉你，而是给了你力量，给了你一种未来，正是这个使你不止一次而是四次摆脱他—无论使你的父母还是纳威的父母都不曾办到。”

　　“那他为什么那样做？”，哈利感到麻木而寒冷，“为什么他要杀还是婴儿的我呢？他应该等我们长大一点看看底纳威还是我更危险一些再决定杀谁……”

　　“确实，这是一个特别的事例”，丹伯多说，“如果不是伏地魔的情报并不完整的话。狗头酒吧，辛比尔选定的那家，与三把扫帚相比很久以来靠廉价来吸引顾客。正象你和你的朋友发现的那样，我那夜也发现了这点，这并不是一个能够使你避免被窃听的地方，当然，我并不是发梦，当我去那儿见辛比尔·塞拉温尼的时候，我会听到的一些值得被窃听的事，所以在那里偷听者只听到了我们留在那里的一点点……”

　　“所以他只听到了……”

　　“他指听到了预言的开始，预言七月出生的男孩，其父母三次击败伏地魔，显然，他没有警告他的首脑对你的攻击将传递给你力量，并将你标志为其敌人。所以伏地魔不知道攻击你会令自己有风险，聪明的做法是再等一下以了解更多，他不知道你将会拥有他所没有的力量……”

　　“可是我并没有！”，哈利窒息地说，“我没有任何他没有的力量，我无法象他今晚那样战斗，我不能控制其他人或是杀死他们……”

　　“神秘事务部里有一间屋子”，丹伯多打断他，“什么时候都关闭着，里边存在着比死亡、比人类之力更加奇妙更加可怕的力量，同时，可能是诸多学科研究中最不可思议的力量。就是这种力量你拥有很多而伏地魔则一无所有。这种力量使你今夜去拯救希利斯，同样是这种力量将你从伏地魔的控制中救出来，因为他无法忍受存在于充满这种他厌恶的力量的身躯中。最后，其实并不是你关闭了你的心灵，而是你的内心本身挽救了你。”

　　哈利闭上双眼，如果他没有去搭救希利斯，希利斯就不会死……尽量避开那个可以想起希利斯的时刻，哈利问，但并不太关心答案，“预言的最后……听起来好像……我们中间只有一个人……”

　　“……一个人将会幸存”，丹伯多说。

　　“那么”，哈利从内心中深深的绝望中挖掘着词汇。

　　“那么这意味着……我们中的一个必须要杀死另一个……最后？”

　　“是的。”丹伯多回答。

　　很长一段时间，他们一言不发。哈利听到从屋外传来声音，学生们已经开始去大厅吃早餐了。难以置信这个世界上居然仍旧有人想要吃饭，仍旧能够欢笑，他们或者不知道或者无所谓希利斯已经永远的去了，希利斯似乎早已远去了上万英里，即使是现在，哈利的某部分仍旧相信他可以去掉面纱，他可以发现希利斯回过头来如狗吠般的笑着看他，祝贺他……

　　“我想我另外欠你一个解释，哈利”，丹伯多犹豫的说，“你可能想过为什么我没有任命你为级长？我必须承认……我确实那样想过……你不够可靠。”

　　哈利看着他，只见泪水从丹伯多脸上淌过，流到他银色的胡须上。

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