A/N: So this is a bit different than anything I've ever done before. First of all, it's all about Dumbledore and his extra skin of secrets, and second, it's extremely depressing. Of course, I still managed to work a little L/J in there! I hope everyone enjoys it! R&R!

When I Look At You

From the moment he saw those eyes, he knew they would haunt his memories forever. Every time he looked into those eyes an overwhelming pang of guilt nearly took his breath. It was guilt because of the aching familiarity of them, and the knowledge that it had been his that they left the earth.

But what could he say? What could he do? He could not sit there and watch him with those eyes—eyes that had seen horrible things—and not do something.

Harry, I killed your parents. But he couldn't hear himself saying that. It's my fault your parents are dead. There was no way he could do it. The words wouldn't come.

He turned his back on the boy sitting across from him. He could feel the intense green-eyed stare boring into his back.

The sound of chair legs scraping against the hard floor.

He didn't look. He knew what he would see when he looked into those perfectly copied pair of green pools.

He's not ready to know yet, but he would be next year. And so the man went back to his desk, consoled with the idea of telling him next year, when he would be ready.

The next time they sat together alone I his office, a journal mangled beyond repair set between them, along with the Sorting Hat, and the Sword of Gryffindor.

Having just killed a portion of Tom Riddle's soul, stabbing a Basilisk, and saving a young girl's life, he must be ready to know.

Again, he opened his mouth to speak the words that would surely make the boy hate him... The words died upon his lips.

He looked so you, so confused, and scared. After all he had gone through, he should be tough and strong, but instead it looked as if one word would break him.

Perhaps it was just an excuse. Even so, he decided that the boy was simply too young to comprehend such a complex matter. Next year he would be thirteen, finally a teenager, and it would be easier for him to take in. Next year he would be more mature. Next year...

The memories and the subsequent quilt were stronger, fresher this time. And it was all because of one man, one escape, and one failed attempt at murder. Sirius Black was back and supposedly searching for Harry.

One look at the dull, gray eyes and long unkempt black hair was all it took to bring all those memories back to the surface.

The image of four brilliant, talented boys walking the halls, popped into his head. It was so clear, so sharp it was as if he had dived headfirst into the stone Pensieve that sat on his desk. Two of the boys in the memory stood out, but it was the tall, messy-haired one that commanded his attention. The boy's gaze was focused dreamily on a girl a few meters away. She was a redhead with bottle green eyes...

Then the memory changed and the man was looking at two shiny gold badges. One was emblazoned with the words "Head Girl" and the other, "Head Boy". The badges went into separate envelopes, and were attached to an owl. They were to be sent to the homes of Lily Evans and James Potter...

How could he possible tell the boy that it was he who had forced his parents together? How could he say that it was his fault that Lily and James were dead?

Was there a way to do that?

He was only fourteen years old and a champion in the Triwizard Tournament.

It seemed impossible, deadly, but yet, he knew that if anyone could do it, he could. But he couldn't know a horrible truth about the death of his own parents?

And then the truth comes out.

Voldemort is back. His dearest student was nearly massacred, and his teacher had been a Death Eater. But still all he could worry about were those green eyes. Everything else seemed totally insignificant.

It was both easier and more difficult to distance himself from the boy with the green eyes and messy black hair.

Easier because he didn't have to look at him every single day and feel the insuppressible surge of guilt rise up again. He didn't have to see the morose look in the very back of his eyes. He didn't have to be reminded of the fact that the boy didn't have parents because of him. Selfish as it may be, it was also very true.

It was harder because he was followed by confused, angry, beseeching stares. He wanted so badly to reach out to the boy and tell him everything, answer his question, and explain. But he couldn't. He had to turn his back on the green eyes, round wire-rimmed glasses, and hair that always stood up in the back.

And it tore him to pieces.

Bad things were going to happen. He could feel it. And he sensed that the boy knew it, too. Somehow he had to tell him everything before it was too later. That was the only thing that mattered.

And for once, the guilt was pushed to the back of his mind. It was no longer the second most important thing on his mind. Now it was fifth, but compared to the others, it was a relatively minor issue.

It was with a very small sliver of a grim sense of hope that he hooked arms with the boy and set off to erase of those top five things off his list, to set the defeat of Voldemort in motion.

Everything was for nothing. The last year was wasted and it was all his fault.

He left Harry with nothing except a sword he couldn't use, a snitch, some children's stories he hoped the trio would be able to decode, and a cigarette lighter that collects light.

It was all based on chance.

Why hadn't he been able to tell Harry the truth, to lay everything out for him, plain and clear? Why hadn't he let his guard down and let him in? For once, he wished he could break his protective shell of secrets and lies. It only caused pain.

And he hadn't even gotten to tell him the truth about his parents. But this was different. There was no next year. There never would be again.

He felt so useless, sitting on a wall behind his desk, framed in mahogany. He wanted to be the one saving lives, and defeating the Dark Lord. But that task had been left to the 17-year-old green-eyed boy sitting in front of him.

It really was over now. He couldn't believe it. Tears rolled down his face.

"Dear boy, I'm so sorry," he said. It was time to tell him the truth. There was nothing in his way now.

Harry paused, and turned slightly towards the man in the portrait. "For what, sir?" He didn't wait for the man's answer. He followed his two friends to the door. Ron and Hermione disappeared; Harry turned again to the frame.

"Voldemort killed my parents, sir, not you. The years they spent together were the happiest of their lives. And that's because of you." His green eyes stared into blue, unwavering and totally serious. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Too overcome with gratitude to speak, the man smiled at Harry and nodded.

"Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore."

For the first time in years, the guilt seemed nonexistent. It was no longer pushed to the back of his mind, lurking there, waiting for the right time to pop back up again. It was gone, and in its place was a sense of fulfillment.

He had succeeded.

A/N: So what did you all think? I know, I know. It was pretty sad. I just felt like there was something else behind Dumbledore, and I wanted to go for it. Don't be afraid to review and tell me what you thought! Constructive criticism is highly welcomed! Thank you soooo much!

Stay tuned for my new L/J multi-chaptered fic. Coming soon...

Love,

Livelier