Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter world. Shame really.
I stand by the doorway of the dormitory watching silently.
He sleeps peacefully this evening. The nightmares that usually plague his rest are, for once, absent and I am thankful. It is a welcome change from the nights when he has lain sobbing in my arms, witness to yet another glimpse of mass murder and destruction.
The year has been hard on Harry in so many ways. The ministry in a cowardly act of defiance have refused to believe Lord Voldemort has returned. They have grown too used to the comforts of their lives, of the money and power that it brings. They do not have the courage to accept the possibility of sacrificing it all in the face of war. So they choose instead to make a 15 year old boy the subject of ridicule and mockery amongst the wizarding community. Their actions remind me of how cruel adults, and politicians in particular, can be in order to get their way. Yet even as I think this, I am forced to remind myself that I am no better. In fact, I conclude sadly, I am probably the worst culprit of all.
For if it isn't Voldemort, or Cedric, or Umbridge that torture Harry day and night, he has had to face the repercussions of the lifetime of neglect and loneliness that I have subjected him to. And yet despite this, if given the choice, I know I would not have changed my decision to leave him in the protection of those awful muggles all those years ago. I wonder sometimes whether this makes me a monster. I wonder too what Harry thinks of me these days.
I have seen the way the students who once adored him, now taunt him as he walks by. What truly breaks my heart though, is the way in which Harry reacts to this. It is obvious from his demeanour that he gave up fighting them long ago and has chosen instead to accept their loathing quietly, perhaps even believing himself to be deserving of it. Another trait borne from his life at Privet Drive.
But as much as I blame the muggles for this, I know I am far more culpable.
Lord Voldemort has a special gift of destroying his enemies by using them against each other. I know that if he discovered our bond, he would undoubtedly try to use Harry as a means to spy on me, in a way that would have devastating consequences for the poor boy.
And so I have distanced myself from him, ignored his attempts to gain my attention, and in those moments where we have been forced to meet, I have refused to even look him in the eye.
That thought alone sends a crushing wave of guilt through my body. I do not want to do this to Harry; Merlin knows the poor boy has suffered enough. But there is some truth in the saying 'the right path is not always the easiest', and this, by no means, is easy. My behaviour towards him this year has been a necessary evil, something to be borne by him in order to survive. But lately I have come to realise that by doing so, I may have hurt Harry far more deeply than Lord Voldemort ever could.
A memory of a conversation overheard not long ago between Harry and Hermione surfaces in my mind.
"Harry you have to tell someone."
"Leave it out Hermione, I said I'm fine."
"You're not fine Harry! Your scar pains are getting worse, you barely eat anymore, and Ron tells me you're having trouble sleeping lately."
"Yeah well Ron can mind his own business!"
"I'm serious Harry, you need to talk to someone. Tell Dumbledore."
"No"
"Why not?"
"......... I....I don't think he wants me to talk to him right now Hermione"
"What are you talking about? This is Dumbledore; he'll listen to anything you have to say."
"Not anymore. The way he's been acting lately.... I can't explain it......it's like he's disappointed in me or something."
"Harry, that's ridiculous."
"No.....you don't understand. I think he's angry at me, you know.....for everything that's happened to him since Cedric died. I mean I guess it's sort of my fault he got kicked off the Wizengamot and everything, because he believed my version of the events."
If I had been anybody else, I would have stepped in, there and then, looked Harry in the eye and done everything in my power to make him understand that none of this was his fault. That the last thing I could feel was anger or disappointment towards him. That I had come to love him as a father might love his only son.
But I wasn't anybody else. I was Albus Dumbledore, and I cursed myself for knowing better. For having the strength to distance myself from him, for sacrificing any chance of a relationship with him, in order to keep him alive.
That is why I am here tonight. For it is only here, beneath the veil of a thousand stars, that I am free to show him the sort of love and affection he has long been deserving of. It is my only chance to be a father to him, and if I cannot comfort him during the day, at least I can protect him from his demons at night.
Demons that seem to be re-emerging.
Harry's face twitches slightly and he lets out a small whimper, signs of a fast approaching nightmare. My feet carry me forwards until I am settled on the edge of his bed.
It has become a compulsion of late, sitting here every night, sometimes doing little more than stroking his hair. But it goes some way towards filling that aching emptiness within me, and Harry too I think.
He lets out another whimper followed by a sob, and I pass a thumb across his forehead in a soothing motion as a few tears leak from his eyes.
"Hush now my little one" I whisper gently, but Harry is inconsolable.
"Sirius, Sirius I'm sorry!" he sobs.
"Harry, wake up, it is only a dream my boy."
"Sirius! Please don't leave me!"
"Harry!"
Luckily I thought to place a silencing charm around his bed, or half of the dormitory would have been awake by now. I grasp him by the shoulders and begin to shake him firmly.
He gasps suddenly, emerald eyes flying open. I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze as his eyes dart around the darkened room in fear, but Harry is oblivious to my attention, still caught somewhere between the dream world and reality. He lets out a low moan and buries his head into his hands, pulling at his hair.
I pull him into my arms and this time he doesn't resist, letting his head drop against my shoulder.
"Shhh, it's over now Harry, you're completely safe here."
Harry lies motionless in my arms, and for a moment I am convinced he has fallen back to sleep. But after a few minutes he speaks.
"Professor?" It is not a question, but rather his own delayed confirmation of my presence.
A silence stretches between us, but it is not an uncomfortable one. I have long since learnt that being able to sit in silence reflects the strength of a relationship. Only those who are truly comfortable with one another are able to sit without speaking.
Eventually he breaks it.
"Why are you crying?"
I smile softly as his hand reaches up to trace the lone tear coursing down my face. But his question remains unanswered, for there is no simple reply I can give him. The tears are of inexpressible happiness and joy that always fills me when I hold him. Tears of profound sadness in knowing I will always have to leave him before the sun rises. They are tears of regret for all the choices I have had to make to keep him alive, and of fear for all that he will have to go through in the future.
I capture his hand in my own and squeeze in gently, just as he is overcome by a large yawn. I lay Harry back down carefully against the pillows, passing a hand through his raven locks.
"Go to sleep my little one."
His eyes are sleep filled and barely open now.
"I don't want you to leave" he whispers with such a childlike innocence, that I feel my heart clench in response and the deepest love course through my veins. I am stoic person by nature, keeping my thoughts and feelings closely guarded. But Harry has the ability to do this to me. To release this whirlwind of emotions inside and open me up in a way quite unlike anyone I have ever met.
I lean forward slightly and press a gentle kiss over his famous scar, letting my own forehead rest against his.
"I will never leave you Harry" I reply, but by this time he is already asleep, chest rising and falling gently.
I lay down beside him, drawing him into my arms once more, and feel surge of affection as he unconsciously snuggles closer, burying his head within the generous folds of my robe.
Most of the time, when Harry has barely been awake, he does not remember my visits come the morning. But on nights like this I have to be cautious. I cannot let Harry believe our interactions to be more than a dream for fear that Voldemort will to. And so with a heavy heart I reach for the wand stowed within my robes.
The spell is no more than a whispered word. Perhaps a part of me hopes that by doing so, its effect will be reduced. That maybe tomorrow his mind will not be so completely eradicated of these precious moments that we share together.
But I know better.
Tomorrow he will wake with no recollection of the night's events. He will continue with quidditch and lessons, and all that his young life entails. And tomorrow I will be here again. I will whisper the same words I have today, the same words I have whispered a thousand nights before this, and the same words I will whisper a thousand nights after it.
For it is my only redemption from this endless remorse.
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