A/N- Hi once again! Just to let you know, this is a bit of an angsty chapter. For all the people who are getting a bit bored of that, I just wanted to say that this story isn't going to be all doom and gloom (I have some excellent ideas lined up for Snape and Umbridge that should be hilarious if I can pull them off) so please stick with it. Also, for some reason, I found this chapter really difficult to write so it might not be one of my best. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise probably doesn't belong to me. Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. The song lyrics belong to the people who wrote them.

Chapter 10: Deepest Desires

I'm so tired of being here,

Suppressed by all my childish fears.

And if you have to leave,

I wish that you would just leave.

Your presence still lingers here,

And it won't leave me alone.

These wounds won't seem to heal,

This pain is just too real,

There's just too much that time cannot erase.

'My Immortal', Evanescence

Harry crept through the dark, empty corridors of Hogwarts as quietly and as quickly as possible, clinging to his invisibility cloak as he shivered in the early morning cold. He hoped that it still covered him entirely despite the fact that he had grown a lot in the last few years. Even though he knew no one would be awake this early, he was still careful to be as silent as possible as he paced aimlessly through the school, wearing nothing but his ratty, hand-me down pyjamas. He did not want anyone to find him; not like this.

Harry was walking with speed but no actually purpose, his bare feet padding almost silently against the cold stone floor of the vacant corridor. Having woken up after a particularly horrific, but not unusual, nightmare, Harry knew that he wouldn't get anymore sleep tonight, and he couldn't stand being in the dormitory for another second. He felt constricted there; trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him. Walking helped him to clear his mind of the horrible images that had filled his consciousness only an hour ago; Cedric's deadened eyes, his mother's scream, Sirius falling through the veil...

Stop, Harry told himself desperately. Don't think about that!

But as he wandered along the seventh floor corridor, his mind would simply not obey him and the images continued to parade torturously through his mind. At the Dursley's, whenever he had had a nightmare this summer, he had simply paced around his room until his mind had gone mercifully blank and he was able to push the memories away.

Since his talk with Dumbledore, however, Harry had been thinking almost incessantly about his childhood; the pain, the loneliness, the starvation for nothing more than a kind word every now and then, and the fact that it had always been denied him. But worst of all, this led to other thoughts, and now Harry found that he couldn't stop thinking, with a great deal of bitterness, about how much better his life would have been had it not been for Voldemort; the life he could, and should, have had.

Voldemort had taken everything from him before Harry had even had a chance to appreciate what he had to lose, but the worst thing he had done was to ensure that Harry simply had no future until the Dark Lord was dead.

Harry's mind screamed with the injustice of it! How he envied Ron and Hermione. They didn't know how lucky they were to have someone they could count on no matter what; they had family, something he had craved his entire life, but had always been denied. At the moment, Harry would do anything to see his parents once more. He wanted nothing more than to see Sirius smile again so that he could replace the horrifying image of his death with a memory that was more positive; that he wanted to remember.

Harry stopped abruptly, pulled from his thoughts as he noticed the wall in front of him begin to change of its own accord. A door appeared from the middle of the stone and Harry, unlike most students at Hogwarts, knew what it was; it was the Room of Requirement, and it was opening up for him.

Harry stared at the newly formed door, as fear and shock seemed to root him to the spot. Only one thing entered his mind: What did I ask for?

But before that thought had even fully formed, he knew exactly what he had wanted and what he had been unknowingly been asking for, just before the door had appeared.

He had wanted to see Sirius again, and he had craved one last chance to see his parents.

Did he dare hope? He knew, as Dumbledore had once told him, that no spell could bring back the dead, but Harry was also certain that Hogwarts held magic that even the Professor couldn't understand. Was it possible...?

Harry walked over to the door, oblivious to the fact that his invisibility cloak had slipped off him, falling, unnoticed by Harry, to the floor. He lifted a shaking hand to the newly formed door handle, and pale with hope and anticipation, he opened the door and crept inside.

"Hello?" Harry asked the darkened room he had found himself in. He squinted around desperately, his heart beating wildly in his chest as he searched for his greatest wish, his deepest desire. He wished he could see; the darkness in the room constricted his sight and raised his anticipation so much that Harry was almost unable to take a breath. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than light appeared, although Harry couldn't see the source. He didn't notice, nor did he care, that the light appeared from nowhere. All he could focus on was what the Room of Requirement had provided for him.

He was looking directly into the eyes of his parents, their sadness palpable in their expressions. He looked to their left and gazed longingly into the face of his Godfather, who at this moment looked as if he had never even heard of Azkaban, let alone had spent twelve years there; his expression was carefree, the lines on his face which had been so prevalent when Harry had known him in life, were absent now.

With difficulty, he tore himself away from the faces he had craved to see, hoping to understand how this could have happened; how his greatest wish had been granted. Deep down he knew that it was too could to be true, that they couldn't possibly be here alive, when in one way or another he had witnessed each of their deaths in vivid detail. To his complete devastation, when Harry studied the now lit room in more detail, he realised that his instincts were right.

In front of him, holding up the images of the lost family that he had gazed at hungrily, only a moment ago, was the Mirror of Erised.

Harry snapped his eyes shut as quickly as if he had seen the shadow of a Basilisk, his heart beating furiously beneath his thin pyjama top.

No! His mind cried as he fought hard to control his shock, no, no, no, no, no!

His breath was coming out in gasps and he knew that his reflection in the mirror in front of him would have been deathly pale, had he been able to find the courage to open his eyes to see it.

All his previous hope came crashing down painfully as he realised what the room had done. He had unknowingly asked for his deepest desire, and Hogwarts had provided it. He had hoped, when the room had appeared, that the impossible had been achieved, that he would no longer be alone. He now realised, however, with an ache in his heart that he knew would never go away, that it was a just a dream; a childish fantasy, that even the magic of Hogwarts couldn't make real.

Tears prickled at his eyes, but he wiped at them angrily. It was stupid, he thought, that he had ever believed that it would be possible for them to return. His eyes were still tightly closed, but he knew that no matter how much it would hurt to see them now, he would not be able to refrain from looking at their faces much longer.

The power that this mirror had had over him when he had first been confronted with its special qualities at only eleven years old had been frightening, a fact he had only realised once he had been eventually brought to his senses. If Professor Dumbledore had not found him, had not explained the dangers that the mirror held, then Harry was certain that he would have wasted away his life staring into its depths.

Now, as he opened his eyes, nearly five years after that harrowing experience, he knew that the mirror would have no less hold over him now than it had had then.

Once again he was presented with the images of his parents and Godfather, and this time he took more time to examine them, not wanting to miss a single thing. It was different to seeing their faces in pictures, Harry noted. In Wizarding photographs, although the subjects moved, there was no real life in them. They were simply moments in a life, captured on film, that were replaying on the paper; nothing more. They contained memories, not reality. The Mirror of Erised was different, however. Now, Harry observed as his mother looked longingly into his eyes, their green depths conveying so much love that Harry felt his heart ache with grief. His father was waving at him, not excitedly, but almost tentatively as if he was afraid that Harry would disappear any minute.

Harry reluctantly dragged his eyes away from them to examine his Godfather, and found that, just as he had wanted, Sirius was smiling at Harry, his eyes sparkling as he gazed into Harry's eyes just as hungrily as Harry was staring back.

"Sirius..." whispered Harry as he walked slowly over to the glass and placed a shaking hand to the cold surface. His Godfather mirrored his movements, and Harry watched as their hands connected, separated only by the mirror. Separated by reality, Harry realised.

"NO!" Harry cried suddenly and he immediately pulled his hand away as if the surface had suddenly become white hot. "You're dead! You're all...dead..."

His breath hitched as he looked wildly into the worried expressions on the images of the three people in front of him.

But they could not comfort him.

With a dawning understanding that threatened to devastate him as easily as if he was watching their deaths once again, he realised that they could not hug him, hold him or tell him that everything would be alright. They could not help him now, because they were not real.

Anger rose up in Harry, and suddenly he wanted to destroy the mirror, and demolish the image that was only tempting him with a life that he knew would never come true. To his right, Harry saw a sledge hammer appear, and it seemed that the room had granted his wish once again.

He took the heavy hammer in his hands, weighing it up as he looked once more at the image that had been conjured by the dangerous object that had taunted him so many years ago. They were scared, he noticed, but Harry also saw a hint of understanding in their expressions. No matter how much he had wanted to see that understanding, however, he knew that they were merely reflections; ghosts of a past that had been cruelly taken from him, never to be returned.

Guilt, horror and grief rose up in him, and with a cry of anguish, Harry raised the hammer high and swung it down, smashing it straight into the centre of the mirror as hard as he could. His own reflection shattered, and the surface exploded in a rain of glass, smattering Harry with shards. Harry didn't try to protect himself, nor did he care when he was cut by some of the larger pieces.

Harry stood unmoving as he stared at the shattered mirror, his breathing hitched again as grief overloaded his senses. The images of his parents and Godfather were shattered into oblivion, and Harry was alone in the room once more, surrounded by the broken glass of a dream that he could never have.

Professor Dumbledore had awoken unusually early that morning, tortured throughout the night with images of a younger Harry cowering in fear, asking him for help, and begging Albus to protect him. In the nightmares, Albus had just stood by and watched, his mind preventing him from doing anything to help.

He had done nothing as Vernon Dursley took a swing at the unhealthily skinny boy, even as his mind screamed out in fury at the action. He had watched passively, but with intense horror, as blood began to stream out of the child's nose. In the nightmare, even as powerful as he was, he had not stopped the child from being hurt.

During one particularly bad nightmare, in which Dumbledore was forced to watch as a very young Harry had tried unsuccessfully to defend himself against his Uncle, the young boy had turned to the horrified Headmaster, his face still bloodied up. His large green eyes had looked impossibly sad, as he said, "Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you help me?"

Now, fully awake, on his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Albus Dumbledore still didn't know. For, in truth, the nightmare was no dream; it was the reality of Harry's life. For years, Harry had been crying out for help and protection, and Albus had never provided it. Harry had grown into a fine young man, but he had done so alone, and a part of Albus grieved for the child that they had all lost when, in their stupidity and ignorance, they had refused to see the truth.

Dumbledore remembered, with no small amount of pride, the conversation he had had with Harry yesterday. The boy still continued to surprise him with his courage and maturity. When he had finally admitted to the horrors that he had faced at the hands of his relatives, Harry had been brave and strong, even though it was clearly a subject that still affected him a great deal. And when the worst was revealed, instead of searching for comfort from the Professor, as perhaps should have been expected, Harry had comforted Albus instead, had reassured him that everything would be alright. The wise words that had come out of the teenager's mouth had been so surprising that Albus had been momentarily speechless, but what was even more shocking was the way in which their roles had reversed yesterday. When had Harry turned into this young man, wise far beyond his years?

Lost in his thoughts, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, fully expecting to be the first one to arrive. He was surprised, therefore to see the unmistakable figure of Harry, sitting at the large table in the centre of the room, his head lying in his arms.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore, but the teenager made no movement to suggest that he had heard. More concerned now, Dumbledore strode quickly over to Harry, finally getting close enough to see that Harry was dressed in ratty pyjamas and that blood and cuts seemed to cover his arms. Relief flooded through Albus when he realised that the cuts did not appear to be self inflicted, but worry could not escape him as he wondered what on Earth had caused them.

What had happened?

"Harry?" Dumbledore repeated, and this time he was rewarded when Harry's head began to rise. Dumbledore was greeted with the sight of those same unique green eyes that had haunted his dreams last night, and for a moment Albus was silent as he saw Harry become more aware of his surroundings. The teenager's eyes darted around the room quickly, before they eventually fell upon his Professor. Although covered somewhat by the large round glasses on his face, they were obviously ringed in red, and surrounded by huge black bags.

It was clear to Albus, that he wasn't the only one who had had an uneasy night.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, although it was obvious to both of them that he wasn't.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied quietly, studiously avoiding eye contact with the Headmaster. Harry didn't mention the Mirror of Erised; he didn't even want to think about that at the moment.

"Nightmares?" asked Dumbledore sympathetically, and Harry nodded, too emotionally drained to deny it.

"I suffer from quite a few myself on occasion," Dumbledore said casually, and Harry looked at him surprised that his Headmaster had made the admission.

"Do you know what helps me when I have a difficult night?" asked the Headmaster, and Harry shook his head as he waited for the answer.

"Hot chocolate and a chat," Dumbledore replied cheerfully. "Shall we?"

What Harry wanted more than anything was actually a dreamless sleep potion and his bed, but he knew that Dumbledore was trying to make amends for his past mistakes, and Harry decided he would let someone try to help him for once.

"Have you ever been to the kitchens, Harry?" asked Dumbledore as they left the Great Hall, and upon glancing at Harry and seeing a very sheepish expression on the teenager's face, despite the pain that was still there, he didn't need to hear a reply to know the answer.

"My, you do get around," Dumbledore said lightly with a knowing look, his eyes twinkling wildly as they both made their way quietly through the empty corridors of Hogwarts.

They continued on in silence then. It was clear to the Headmaster that something had happened; something that had caused Harry to lose any confidence he had gained since arriving here this summer. Harry had reverted back to the state he had been immediately after Sirius' death, and Dumbledore was determined to get to the bottom of it. Yesterday, Harry had asked for his help, and the Headmaster was certainly not going to deny him now, not when he so clearly needed it.

When they finally reached the supposedly secret entrance to the kitchens, Dumbledore's previous suspicions were confirmed when Harry himself tickled the pear, before walking slowly inside.

They sat quietly at a bench, as House elves swarmed around then, each clamouring to have the honour of serving the Headmaster and the 'Great Harry Potter'. Dumbledore immediately quietened them, simply asking Winky, who was nearest to them, to bring them two hot chocolates and a plate of biscuits.

As they waited to be served, Dumbledore took a moment to observe the student sat unresponsively in front of him. Harry looked exhausted and drained, oblivious to the cuts of his arms and hands. Dumbledore knew that the emotional pain Harry was undoubtedly feeling was unlikely to be anything that could be fixed with hot chocolate, but the least he could do was heal Harry's physical wounds.

He stood up and walked over to Harry, gently lifting the teenager's arms. Harry was surprised by the action, his mind obviously elsewhere, but Dumbledore continued undeterred. He lifted his wand, and muttered a simple healing charm, nodding in satisfaction as the wounds sealed and the blood vanished from Harry's pale skin.

"What happened, my boy?" asked Dumbledore gently, placing a hand carefully on Harry's shoulder.

At that casual, and yet unexpected, display of affection, Harry completely broke down.

His emotions were already extremely close to the surface after what had occurred early this morning, and all of a sudden he found that the haunting experience of the mirror of Erised was spilling out of him now. He told the professor of his hopes of seeing his parents and Sirius, and the devastation he had felt when he realised that those hopes hadn't come true. He kept his eyes fixed on the table as he related his grief and anger at the room for what it had given him, and what it had taken away from him again.

In all the time that Harry was talking, Dumbledore's hand never left Harry's shoulder. As he had neared the end of his tale, Dumbledore had felt Harry begin to shake, obviously trying in vain to suppress his tears and grief. Dumbledore felt as if his heart was about to break yet again.

"Harry, there is no shame in what you are feeling," Dumbledore said gently, removing his hand from Harry's shoulder and bringing it to the distraught teenager's face, lifting his chin so that their eyes could meet. "As I have told you before, the fact that you feel it at all is your greatest strength."

"It's not strength! It's weakness! I'm weak!" Harry cried, shrugging away from the Professor's touch. "I should be able to get over it- it's not like it's going to change anything anyway! I was stupid to think I'd see them again. They're dead! I should just accept it and move on!"

Dumbledore looked at the boy who was rapidly losing control in front of him, and his heart cried with the injustice of it all. This boy, who had lost more than any of them, was still suffering now. Albus' mind, heart and soul urged him to help the teen who had clearly always felt as if he was alone. Dumbledore wanted to make sure that Harry knew that he was never alone, and never would be again.

"I lost my younger sister," Dumbledore told Harry after a brief pause, realising that the emotional scars that Harry was suffering from had affected him much more than any of them had realised.

Harry looked up at this, momentarily forgetting his grief, surprised that the Professor was revealing something so obviously personal and difficult to him.

"She was a troubled child," Dumbledore continued sadly, talking slowly in a bid to control his emotions that were still so painful, even after all these years. "She always favoured my brother, Aberforth, more than me, but she was a light in my life that I have not experienced since the day I lost her."

Dumbledore took a deep breath before continuing with his tale, as an enraptured Harry hung on to every word, "I was only a young man at the time, but I was foolish- far more so than you could ever be, my dear boy. I neglected her, focusing on my studies and plans, rather than caring for her as I should have."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, not with their usual mirth, but with unshed tears. He stared off into space, clearly lost in the memory.

"I loved her Harry, but when she died, I felt as if I myself would rather die than live with the pain of her loss. I blamed myself for her death, not undeservedly I might add," Dumbledore continued sadly and Harry had nothing to say to this, so clear was the guilt upon Dumbledore's face.

"I will always miss her, Harry, but the fact that she was in my life, even for the short time that I knew her, made all the pain of loss worth it. She was worth it." To Harry's upmost surprise, despite the tears that had begun the escape his Professor's light blue eyes, Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"It was, and is, love, Harry. I have never completely moved past her death, but I will never forget what joy she brought into my life as well. You must honour Sirius by remembering the love you felt for him, rather than the pain of losing him. It is no weakness, Harry, to have felt love. It is a strength far beyond anything which Voldemort could ever possess. It is the reason we fight. It is the reason we live."

Harry looked into the bright blue eyes of his Professor, still sparkling with the unshed tears that had pooled during his tale, and Harry noticed his own eyes start to become wet as he felt the emotion that was coming off Dumbledore in waves. For the first time since Sirius had died, Harry allowed himself to grieve. He put his head in his arms, protecting his face and he cried.

Dumbledore didn't move from Harry's side as the teenager wept for everything that he had been suppressing. The intensity of the emotion that was escaping from Harry at the moment suggested that it was not just his Godfather he was grieving for, and Dumbledore felt his own tears escape as he himself grieved for the life that the teenager had been denied.

The tears were quiet and the only sign of any emotion at all were Harry's shaking limbs. When he finally lifted his head, Harry's eyes were red, and his expression clearly showed embarrassment, but Dumbledore quickly made to dismiss this.

"Harry, there is no shame in finally allowing yourself to grieve," Dumbledore said kindly, patting him gently on the shoulder.

"Perhaps, you should try to get some more sleep," he continued when Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "I fear we could both use it."

Harry stood up then and made a move towards the door, clearly desperate to escape from the scene of his embarrassment. He stopped short however, and turned to face Dumbledore, the signs of emotion still clear on his face.

"Can I have some dreamless sleep potion, Sir," Harry asked quietly, reluctantly making eye contact with his Professor.

"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a small smile. "I'll have a house-elf send one up to your dormitory."

Harry walked towards the door again, but he turned around one final time to face his Professor

"Thank you, Sir," Harry said quietly, and it was clear to Dumbledore that the teenager was referring to so much more than a simple potion.

Harry left then, eager to be on his own once more. He had to admit though, that Dumbledore had been right. Although it still hurt to think of Sirius, he did feel slightly better after his somewhat embarrassing breakdown; as if something had been released from deep within him. Now, however, as exhaustion crept up on him once again, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Only an hour later, Harry awoke slowly from the deepest sleep he had had in months, trying to shrug the remnants of sleep from his consciousness. Something wasn't right though. He had taken dreamless sleep; he shouldn't be awake yet...

"- Harry, wake up..."

Someone was shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see a pale, panicking face directly above him.

"Professor Lupin? Wha-"

"Harry, you need to come with me," his old Professor interrupted.

"Why?" asked Harry, as panic flooded into him, "What's happened?"

"There's been an attack," Lupin replied.

"Where?" Harry asked with a distinct sense of foreboding, all sleepiness evaporating almost immediately.

"The Burrow."

A/N- Thanks for reading and as always, let me know what you thought of it! The next update won't be for at least a week, but hopefully it should be worth it- I've got a very action packed chapter planned, but until then, I hope you enjoyed this one, and leave me a review if you've got time!

Coming up... Chapter 11: Weasley Woe