Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

A/N – Well hello again! I must say, I loved all your reviews after the last chapter – they were so lovely and they gave me a lot to think about. In fact, once again I've tried to cover some of your very well-reasoned points about Dumbledore in this chapter. There's a lot of introspection in this, and it is quite heavy reading as chapters go, but hopefully you'll indulge me a little bit. The good stuff is on it's way, I promise! Enjoy!

~Strength in Weakness~

The Godfather

As he sat in the large ornate chair behind his desk, absent-mindedly stroking a quiet and still Fawkes, for once Albus Dumbledore looked every single one of his hundred and eleven years. He felt it too, he thought to himself as he sighed, deeply and without relief, finally allowing his mind to process the utter confusion of the last few weeks, as well as the revelations that had come up as a result of it. The guilt was almost all-consuming, and it was all he could do hold it back, to stop it from gaining a hold within him.

He had spent so much of his life trying to be the leader of the light, though, and sometimes the pressure that came hand in hand with the position became simply too much. Albus Dumbledore felt conflicted and helpless, and truth be told, he had never had as little confidence in his decisions than he did at this point in his life.

To have all those people depending on your decisions was almost unbearable at times. The intense pressure of knowing that if one mistake was made, if just one plan failed, then the cost would likely be fatal, possibly affecting hundreds, if not thousands of lives. Severus was right; Albus knew that due to his position - both in the war, and in their world in general - his mistakes did tend to have correspondingly greater consequences…

It was worse, in a way, that so many of their world, and even those within the Order, thought that he was unbeatable; that he was infallible. He, like Severus, knew that he wasn't. The mistakes he had made with Harry were a prime example of that, and sometimes it was hard to live up to the high expectations of those who depended on him, when he was only human himself.

But then, if he didn't do it who else would be able to step up and take his place? It was a burden that Albus gladly undertook, if only because he wouldn't want anyone else to have to struggle with it.

Albus felt sadness well up in him, mixing with the river of guilt running through his mind. Because, amongst his other mistakes, he had failed to account for just how much of that burden Harry would have to share. He had known that the boy would be special, and that he would undoubtedly play an important part in the war, but he hadn't – not even in his wildest nightmares – ever thought that Harry would have to bear so much of their troubled world's burdens whilst he was still a child. And Harry was still a child. Even now, after everything he had been though already, that fact was undeniable.

A child who had achieved so much in his short life, Dumbledore reminded himself with a heavy heart. Not only had he accomplished more than even his parents had in the fight against Voldemort, but he had done so facing challenges that no one could ever truly understand.

Abuse. Torment. Torture.

Dumbledore sighed deeply again, but even he could do nothing to prevent a single tear from leaking out of his eye and traversing down the contours of his face.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't still overwhelmingly furious over what had been revealed regarding the Dursleys' treatment of Harry, but even righteous anger did little to assuage the guilt he felt. He had been the one to leave Harry; it was his fault and his fault alone.

At the time it had felt like the only option, but now he finally knew what a grave mistake it had been. His intentions, as good as they had been at the time, did not justify the fact that he had unknowingly condemned an innocent boy, newly orphaned, to what it now appeared to have been fourteen very difficult years. It was a mistake that seemed to have cost Harry Potter his childhood.

And what an easy mistake it had been to make. The war had only just been won, and many Death Eaters were still at large, some even more dangerous after Voldemort's downfall because they had had nothing left to lose. Albus had still been in the wartime frame of mind, where he could only think in terms of casualties and survivors. When looking at Harry Potter's situation, he had only wanted to prevent another casualty. And so he had placed all his, and Harry's, hopes in the blood wards that he had been able to establish at the Dursley residence.

That Harry may have not been happy there, sadly had not crossed his mind at the time, nor had it crossed his mind much in the ten years that had followed that fateful day. The boy had been from Voldemort and his followers there, and that was all that had seemed to matter at the time.

However, even though he had placed enormous faith and effort in the blood wards, he had not been able to simply force the boy onto the Dursleys; his conscience had simply not allowed him to do so. When he had left Harry on the doorstep all those years ago, without meeting the Dursleys himself, it had been to ensure that they would not refuse him so easily, the importance of the blood wards already influencing his decisions even at this early stage. But he had, however, left the Dursleys with a way out, should they decide that they simply could not take the boy; he had left instructions on the letter young Harry had been found with, detailing how to contact him if the burden did indeed prove too great. He had told himself that he would work out alternative arrangements then, if it became necessary.

Albus had hoped, however, that in leaving Petunia with Harry, a bond of sorts would develop between them and she would not feel the need nor desire to send him back. When he heard no word from her in the following years, Albus had assumed that such a bond had been created and so he did not check on Harry, thinking that it would only disturb a happy, loving family. It was a grave mistake, an old man's mistake. It was an assumption that was turning into one of the greatest regrets of the esteemed Headmaster's long life.

He had never checked up on Harry himself. He had never made certain his belief that Petunia and her family had cared for Harry, nor that Harry was happy with them. His failure to do an action that now seemed so obvious, so simple, had cost a young boy his childhood.

And Albus was certain about that. He didn't believe, as perhaps some of the Order seemed to hope, that this had been an isolated incident. He had heard enough over the years to know that Harry's home life was less than perfect, and Severus' hints had only reiterated what he should have already realised. Had Hagrid not mentioned the fact that he had found Harry sleeping on the floor when he had taken Harry his letter? Even Hagrid, so unwilling to see the worst in people, had expressed concerns over Harry's life there, and yet he, Albus, had dismissed them.

Albus had been reluctant even then to send Harry back, but he had convinced himself that the blood wards were too important. Harry's fight for the Philosopher's Stone at the end of his first year had proven that. His mother's protection had saved his life, and had ultimately justified Dumbledore's decision to leave Harry at his Aunt's, essentially eradicating all his reservations about it. The protection was worth it, he had convinced himself.

Over the next few years, it was this justification – and the admittedly weak excuse offered by the fact that the Dursleys had not taken the out he had offered in his original letter - that allowed Dumbledore to dismiss the other warning signs that came from Harry's life at the Dursleys'. Had Molly and Arthur Weasley not told him that Harry had needed 'rescuing' by their sons in the summer after his first year? Had they not reported Harry as being extremely thin and malnourished after that particular stay at Privet Drive? And had he not run away after the incident with his Aunt Marge, the summer after his second year? Was it simply in anger that Harry had run away from home, or had it been fear as well?

Only last summer, had Albus himself not been forced to intervene when it appeared that Vernon was about the kick the boy out?

The guilt almost overwhelming, and his only comfort - and how little comfort it was - was that no one else had seen this either. After the boy's first year, Molly and Arthur had come to him with suspicions about Harry's home-life, but nothing more. Had they know he was being abused, hurt, Dumbledore knew that they would have gone to rescue him themselves, damn the consequences to the blood wards. Harry's teachers, too, even Madam Pomfrey, had only ever mentioned their concerns in passing; noting the strange medical history, or the fact that Harry never seemed to want to leave Hogwarts at the end of the school year. They had never come to him with any explicit concerns, and although he knew it was no excuse, it did go some way to explaining why he – who some described as the greatest wizard of the age – had not put it all together sooner.

Because, Harry had, intentionally or not, made the signs very easy to miss. He really was a remarkable child, and had turned into a remarkable young man. Albus had always known that the Dursleys' own child, Dudley, had been treated more favourably that Harry; Arabella had told him that much. She had never been able to get as close to the Dursleys as he would have liked, and had certainly seen no signs of any outright abuse. The most she had ever witnessed was neglect, but even these concerns were mostly dismissed when Harry first arrived at Hogwarts.

Because Albus, having been a teacher for most of his life, had seen many cases of child neglect, or even abuse, and Harry simply did not – even now, with the truth revealed - act like he would have expected a child in that situation to act. He had long ago convinced himself, therefore, that Arabella must be exaggerating, that the concerns shared by teachers and Weasleys alike were over-reactions born out of a series of misunderstandings. That it can't have been that bad, if Harry himself seemed fine. Happy even. No one, by looking at the person he had been, and had become, could have guessed what Harry's home life had been. What it was now.

He was quiet, yes, but he was also confident. He did not shy away from those in charge, quite the opposite in fact; instead he stood up to them if it became necessary. He was always polite, and he had grown into a mature and respectful young man.

But even as he thought this, he saw the symptoms that he should have seen all those years ago. What could have been seen as independence and initiative now looked more and more like a distinct lack of trust in adults. In almost all the dangerous situations he had been in, he had never asked a teacher for help; was this because he had been taught at an early age not to expect help from those in charge of his welfare?

What was once seen as bravery in life-threatening situations was now more recognisable as a lack of regard for his own life. Had it been drilled into him that his life didn't matter? Albus was tormented by such thoughts now. Harry had always been secretive, had held his thoughts and feelings close to his chest. Dumbledore doubted if even Harry's friends knew the true extent of his life at the Dursleys' any more than the rest of them did.

It was no excuse, Dumbledore told himself angrily. Harry, because of his importance to the Wizarding World, and to many of the individuals in it, had been closely watched. How could no one have noticed anything beyond mere suspicions until now?

Severus had noticed. The Potions Master had a list of regrets longer than even Dumbledore's, but he had put them aside, had miraculously moved beyond his closely held desire for revenge against James Potter's bullying, and he had noticed.

It was incredible; the change that had occurred in his Potions Professor over the last few weeks. He doubted if even Severus realised how different he seemed to the outside world. The change was minute to those who did not know him well, but Albus had seen Severus at his worst, and he had never expected the Potions Master to ever move beyond his childhood grievances and his guilt.

And yet, in the last few weeks, he had.

Harry Potter was a special young man; even in spite of his rash and often volatile nature, Harry still had a humbleness and modesty within him that automatically attracted people to him.

Dumbledore doubted if even Harry knew how much power he held over others, but if one looked closely enough it was impossible to fail to notice his leadership qualities. It was not just Ron and Hermione that would follow him into battle.

Even Severus had apparently been converted, Albus thought with a hint of pride overtaking his melancholy.

It wasn't simply Harry's 'Boy who lived' status that attracted people to him either; it was the fact that Harry would never give up no matter what happened and no matter how much he got hurt in the process. He would give up his life in order to save the life of another, even if it was for someone he didn't like. He would sacrifice himself in order to do the right thing.

Albus felt intensely saddened by the fact that a teenager could ever understand this, but at the same time he couldn't help but admire the boy. He had been through so much and yet still he never gave up; Albus knew that Harry would fight to the very end, even if he was currently experiencing something the wizened old Headmaster couldn't even comprehend. He epitomised the very thing that they were all fighting for.

Hope.

Sometimes Dumbledore wondered how Tom Riddle could continue to underestimate Harry. In a way though, he rather thought they had all been a little guilty of that.

"No!"

Harry woke with a jolt, his sheets falling from his body as he jerked upwards, his breath catching in his throat as his heart pounded loudly in his chest. Seconds passed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hospital wing, but the images perpetuated by his nightmare continued to roll around his mind, and it was all he could do not to throw up right there in his bed. Snape, almost dying in an attempt to rescue Harry, the fear that he had led Death-eaters to his Godfather's door, the all-consuming terror when he had realised that his aunt and uncle had finally reached end of their rope with him…

Harry clenched his fists tightly under the covers, but it did nothing to stop the tremors that still ravaged his body. He just wanted the memories to go away. He just wanted it to end...

"Harry?"

Harry jerked slightly at the voice, wiping quickly at his eyes to get rid of the few tears that had been able to escape.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Finally the voice registered, and Harry snapped his head around to look at the newcomer, confusion clear on his face despite the distress still there. Harry squinted in the darkness, not quite believing the man was actually standing there. It didn't make sense...

"Sirius?" he asked hoarsely, brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you of course," Sirius replied lightly, although even in the darkness, Harry could see the concern coming from the man. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

"I'm fine," Harry muttered quickly.

Sirius didn't say anything in reply, but it was clear by the look on his face that his godfather didn't believe him. Harry didn't blame him for that either; he knew he looked terrible. Harry allowed his gaze to drop as shamed filled him as if coming from his very soul. He didn't want Sirius to see him like this. He didn't want the man to think he was weak, even though all he wanted to do at the moment was curl up under the covers and never come out.

"You look a little better," Sirius said with a slightly forced smile, waving his wand to give them more light. "Madame Pomfrey does good work."

"What are you doing here, Sirius?" interrupted Harry quietly, ignoring his godfather's words altogether. "Aren't you supposed to be at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry looked away from Sirius, hating himself for the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. He knew his godfather had visited him when he'd been unconscious – Lupin had told him that much – but apparently Dumbledore had told him that it wasn't safe for him to remain at Hogwarts, even in dog form.

"I'd rather be here," Sirius replied with a shrug, walking over to take a seat next to Harry's bed. The man sighed lightly as he sat down, resting his hand on Harry's arm with a soft pat. Harry had to make a special effort to stop himself from instinctively pulling away; he was certain that Sirius would be able to feel the tremors in his limbs but he didn't want the man to think he was weak.

"Dumbledore doesn't know you're here, does he?" Harry asked quietly, desperate to distract himself from his worries.

Sirius shrugged, a light smile touching his face for the first time. "I'm a Marauder, Harry. I don't need permission to get into Hogwarts."

Harry didn't smile. "But what if someone sees you?"

Sirius frowned. "Right now, you're more important."

"No I'm not," Harry muttered quietly, fidgeting with a loose thread on his sheets in an attempt to avoid looking Sirius in the eye.

"How can you say that, Harry?"

"It's true," Harry murmured. "I…Sirius, I can't lose you. I just can't."

"Harry…"

"I thought I'd led them to you," Harry carried on, still unable to look Sirius in the eye. "When Snape and I were on the run, Voldemort looked into my mind. He saw Grimmauld Place…"

"I know, Harry," Sirius replied calmly. "Snivellus has already given us his report."

"Don't call him that," Harry muttered almost instinctively, but then Harry realised what Sirius was saying, and is heart started to thud in his chest in panic. He swallowed deeply. "Snape…he's already talked to the Order?"

"Only briefly," Sirius replied. "Mysterious bastard keeps saying that there's another matter he needs to discuss with us, but that he needs to sort something out first. He's been holed up in his office ever since."

Harry felt relief at the fact that the Order didn't know about his home-life yet, but the feeling was short-lived when he realised that Snape was clearly preparing to keep his word and tell them himself. It wouldn't be long before they knew everything. Harry suddenly felt very sick again.

"I know what he's going to tell you all," Harry mumbled, though he wasn't entirely sure why he'd chosen to speak.

"I thought you might." Sirius sighed. "Harry, Remus told me a little about the…condition they found you in, but I wanted to hear it from you."

Sirius looked at Harry, not expectantly, but rather cautiously, as if he was scared of spooking the young Gryffindor. Harry. for his part, felt as if his throat had closed up, and it was taking an inhuman effort just to remain outwardly calm.

Sirius, though, was more perceptive than Harry had ever given him credit for, and seemed to notice Harry's struggle. "Harry, you don't have to talk if you don't want to…"

"It's not that…"

But Harry trailed off as his mind began to whir with all manner of thoughts and memories, of all the discussions he had recently had with Snape over the issue of trust.

And as he looked over at Sirius, Harry finally understood with a clarity he had been lacking in recent weeks, why it was such an issue for him at all.

The truth was, Harry didn't want to be…disappointed.

Snape had been…well, Snape had been really good to him over the last few days, but there was still a wall between them, an impasse that would never be crossed, a distance that offered Harry that little bit of protection he needed to trust the man. He didn't love Snape, so if the man did betray him, or give up on him, or if he disappointed him in any way, it wouldn't matter, not really. Because they weren't close, and so the impact of such a disappointment would be fleeting and not nearly deep enough to truly hurt. It would be a pin-prick of pain at most. Harry would recover; he would move on, and he would be able to trust again.

But his friends, his mentors, his godfather…

He could trust Snape, but trusting Sirius was ten-times harder; not because his Godfather was less trustworthy than Snape, but because any semblance of a crack in that trust would hurt Harry far more than Snape ever could.

Although he knew Sirius had done nothing to deserve it, Harry had always felt the inexplicable desire to protect himself from his godfather; to take all his actions with a pinch of salt, to never get his hopes up, to force himself not to completely trust the man; not because he deserved Harry's mistrust, but because Harry just couldn't risk it. He just didn't know how to risk it.

Harry had grown up with precisely zero adults he could trust. No one had cared for him in Little Whinging, and he had been failed by them all so many times that any further betrayal had barely even registered with him.

But, he thought, things were different now.

Harry had never had a family before. He had never had an adult who truly cared for him until Sirius. And despite everything, Harry knew that Sirius did care for him.

Harry was just scared of letting himself fall under the spell of that care, of letting himself get used to it, because there was always the possibility that something would rise up and taint it later down the line. Even a misjudged word taken out of context would have the power to break him. Sirius, he knew, would never deliberately hurt him, but he would always have the power to do so, even accidentally…

He and Snape had been at odds since the moment he had set foot in Hogwarts. So Harry wasn't worried about saying or doing anything that would make the Slytherin give up on him now. But Harry was scared, absolutely bone-weary terrified, of doing something, or saying something that would make Sirius leave him.

It was stupid, Harry knew, to allow this feeling to rule his life, to choose not to trust his godfather – the man who had given up on his revenge because Harry had asked him to spare Pettigrew's life – based on the fear that somewhere along the line, one of them would screw it up. And yet that was precisely what he had been doing. He had been protecting himself from a fall that he knew he would simply not recover from.

Everyone always seemed to talk about trust as if it was something you could build with another person, but Harry saw it more like a bungee jump. The anticipation, the hesitation, the fear, all leading up to the jump, where you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and then let go, and hope to god that the rope holds and you don't plummet to your death.

Bungee jumps were scary, Harry thought to himself as he took a shaky breath. Trust, even more so.

But Snape was right, Harry thought with a shaky breath. He wasn't alone now, and his Godfather deserved to hear about his past from him, not Snape. Maybe, as scary it was, it was time to jump…

"Harry - ?"

"I want to tell you," Harry blurted out before he lost his nerve. Damn Snape for making him think this was a good idea.

Sirius looked surprised and a little worried. "You do?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, trying not to sound as unsure as he felt. "I…trust you."

"I want to help you, kiddo," Sirius replied. "I'm here for you, okay. If you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen. If you're not ready, I'll wait until you are. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

Harry nodded, and took a deep breath, and turned to face Sirius, eyes fixed on his as he began to speak. And as he began to tell his story, right from the first memory he had of the Dursleys, Harry felt his chest lighten slightly, felt his confidence grow, because despite his fears about the opposite, Sirius wasn't leaving. Instead, Sirius was holding his hand, and he was telling him that everything would be okay, and as Harry continued to speak, Sirius was holding Harry tight to his chest and whispering to him that he would never have to go back there.

And at the end of it all, Harry didn't feel scared at all. Because, just like a bungee jump, the worst part was making the leap. After that, the rest came a little more easily. The rope held.

And he couldn't help but think that above all, maybe trust was something that had to be grown following the initial leap, not built. That it was something that had to happen naturally. Like a tree that has roots set so deeply into the grown that knocking it down is almost impossible. A tree that can take a battering, where twigs might fall, maybe even branches, but where the trunk and the roots would hold firm during any storm.

As he lay in his bed, with Sirius staunchly refusing to leave him, even to tell the Order what he knew, Harry knew that the roots were finally beginning to take shape. He wasn't alone, and now, he was finally beginning to appreciate what that meant.

Maybe Snape was right after all.

A/N – So, this is another heavy chapter, more focused on internal thoughts than anything else, but I thought it was really important not only to address Dumbledore's actions from his point of view, and to also introduce Sirius, and to finally have Harry make that move to trust someone – apart from Snape – with his secrets. I got a lot of my inspiration for this chapter from a youtube video called "Why trust is worth it" by zefrank1. Look it up if you're interested in the topic, because it certainly gave me a lot to think about, and you may enjoy it as well. And if you have a spare minute, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I love Sirius, but I wasn't completely sure about introducing him into this story, so I sincerely hope it wasn't a mistake. For now, and until the next chapter arrives, thanks for reading!