Disclaimer: Not mine, never was.
Harry stared at the Headmaster. He was so angry he couldn't think. It was hot and burning and it nearly consumed him. Then it changed. He felt the rage clouding his mind drain away - leaving him hyper-aware of his surroundings. He could see every hair in Dumbledore's vast beard, the pathetic hand-dog expression on the old man's face. Harry knew he was still absolutely furious, but instead of uncontrolled feeling he was left with an absolute certainty. He fingered his wand. It would be so easy to cast the killing curse right now.
It would work, he was certain of that.
He stared hard at his Headmaster for a while. To his amusement, the hundred-and-fifty-odd-year-old man shuffled in his chair like a scolded toddler.
"Show me your left arm." Harry said, ignoring all pretense of politeness.
Dumbledore jumped, surprised by his students tone. "What?" He asked, genuinely bewildered.
"Your left arm. Show it to me." Harry commanded.
Hesitantly, Dumbledore raised his arm. "Roll up your sleeve."
Wincing, the Headmaster complied. Harry stared at the wrinkled, unmarked skin.
"I thought not." He said after a few moments.
"Then why did you..." Albus asked.
"Tell me, Headmaster, why was it that Voldemort wanted me to go to the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore was confused by the sudden shift in topics. "I already told you that - he needed you to get the prophecy. Only those named can handle the sphere."
Harry stared through Albus for a long minute. The Headmaster found himself fidgeting under the boy's eyes.
"You damned fool," Harry said with finality. "You damned dark fool. There were two names on that sphere. Mine, and yours." Harry let out a barking laugh, devoid of any real humor. "Voldemort couldn't get the sphere because the prophecy was never about him in the first place."
Dumbledore drew in a hissing breath in shock. "How... how can you say that?"
"It's simple. The prophecy-sphere had two names. Therefore the question of who the Dark Lord mentioned is pretty damn simple to figure out. I, obviously, am the one born as the 'seventh month dies'." His eyes bore deeply into Albus'. "You are the Dark Lord spoken about."
Harry's accusation rocked Albus to the core. "How do you figure that?" He asked sadly.
"Well, considering the number of detentions my father served, it's pretty simple to piece together the thrice-defied part. I'm sure that my mother probably did the same, after she graduated." Harry said in an entirely too calm voice. Albus couldn't help but nod. "Marking as an equal? Well, Albus, who was it who let the Wizarding world know to label me the 'boy-who-lived'? It wasn't Sirius, that's for damned sure. In fact, I can only think of one person who would have told them - especially about my scare. You delivered me to the Dursley's soon after the attack, yes?" Albus nodded. "And you told the story of Voldemort's defeat at the hands of a mere baby. Thus marking me, the defeater of that times' Dark Lord, your equal."
"How does that mark you as my equal?" Albus asked with equal parts curiosity, dismissal and dread.
Harry let out another short chuckled. "Because you, oh great vanquisher of Grindelwald, are the defeater of your generation's Dark Lord. Two heroes, both of whom 'saved the world'."
Dumbledore felt the blood drain from his face. The boy's observations made a certain horrible sense.
Harry plowed forward, seemingly oblivious to his Headmaster's growing anguish. "Now, the 'neither can live while the other survives' part is equally simple. My entire life has been orchestrated misery - with you as the conductor. You already admitted that you knew the Dursleys would mistreat me. You ensured that I would be awkward and socially incapable of dealing with entering Hogwarts by sending Hagrid rather than another professor. And my first friend... well, second friend seeing as how I do consider Hagrid a friend, and a good man. Did you have a hand in that as well? Why did the Weasleys show up on the Muggle side of the platform - just in time to help out a poor lost orphan?"
Albus blanched. "I might have suggested that Arthur take a look at the muggle part of the platform that day..."
Harry kept staring at Dumbledore with unfeeling eyes. "Indeed. And so you ensured that my closest friend was a boy who, in the end, I knew that I couldn't fully trust - who puts himself before others as well. Was that happy coincidence, or prudent planning?"
Albus knew his face was white as a ghosts. "I... may have had some influence on that."
Harry smirked. It was a hateful thing. "Hermione... she threw you for a loop. That's why you let her have the Time-Turner my third year, wasn't it?" He continued on, not letting Dumbledore answer. "You forced her to lie to me, to break my trust, and dangled her second weakness right in front of her to do so. It didn't work, so you let the Firebolt get delivered, didn't you. Don't bother lying, there's no way you don't carefully screen every owl that delivers a package too me. There's simply too many easily delivered threats to do otherwise. You knew I'd never gotten something so fantastic before, and so you used her first weakness - trusting you - against her. It almost worked," Harry admitted, "except she's a pretty exceptional girl."
Harry paused for a moment, to allow Albus to deny his claims. He took the old man's silence as confirmation. "I thought as much. You were bothered by how close we got during the Tri-Wizard tournament. Yes, she served her purpose keeping me in the running long enough to be delivered to your weapon of choice, but after that you needed to drive another wedge between us. Hence why you cut of communication over the summer, and encouraged her to spend time with the Weasleys while I was locked away. You knew how much that would hurt me. Then, as the final blow, you made Ron prefect instead of me. It had nothing to do with 'having too much on my plate'. It was another way of keeping me from having people I can truly trust and rely on."
Harry coughed. "I'm sure Sirius' death wasn't in your plans, but you've certainly capitalized on it as a way to hurt me."
"Harry, no!" Albus protested.
"Yes!" Harry replied with vehemence. "Nine times yes! I just saw my hope of freedom and family die, and not three hours afterwards you have the utter gall to insinuate it was my fault!"
As suddenly as it came, the emotion left Harry's voice. "Snape is another weapon against me. You know how he acts. You probably encourage it. The Occlumency lessons were an excellent touch. Once more you cause me pain and humiliation, while denying me any real tools to defend myself from Voldemort."
"Harry, that was never my intention," Albus pleaded.
"Bollocks," Harry said. "We've established how your survival keeps me from living any sort of a life. The opposite, I'm sure, is just as true. You've spent the last fifteen years plotting and planning and worrying about the prophecy - probably so much that there's just no joy left in anything you do." Harry smirked. "I'm sure the burden of guilt you felt about leaving me with the Dursleys hasn't helped."
Albus nodded, tears streaming down his wizened cheeks. Even if the boy was wrong about the prophecy, the words tore his heart to shreds. He hadn't lied, he loved the boy, and hearing his own doubts relayed back at him with such cold precision felt hurt as much as his sister's death. "...but what of Voldemort," Albus asked, grasping for some flaw in Harry's analysis of the prophecy.
Harry shook his head at the old man's question. "He's another one of your weapons, Dumbledore. No more, no less. You let him become what he is today. You could have stopped him, or at least tried to cut out the pure-blooded cancer that infests this society. You had the political power, the allies. Instead you chose to hide behind this desk - and failing to do your duty as a Headmaster at that."
Albus shook his head. "How can you say that?"
"Simple. You've had two generations to run this school, and countless students. During that time you could have put a stop to the hatred and bigotry. Instead, you sat on your golden throne and pretended that nothing was wrong. You did it during my parents' time, and you've done it now. Riddle was, is, and always will be, your failure."
"The question is: Is he your failure, or your greatest success? Your 'guiding hand' in my life makes me wonder if you did such a thing during his own."
Harry stood suddenly, drawing his wand. Albus jerked back into his chair in horror.
"So, Dumbledore, shall we duel? Shall we finish this sick game? The prophecy was never about Riddle, so anybody can end his threat. Let's be done with this, here and now."
Albus stared into Harry's eyes, hoping desperately for some clue, some hint how he could make things better between them. Instead, he saw nothing but acceptance of Harry's death, or his own.
"Bow!" Harry commanded.