He pushed open the handsome oak door, and walked hesitantly in. Dumbledore was

sat at his desk and looked up as Harry walked in. He smiled a smile that warmed his

face, but did not hide the lines etched into it. He was very old, Harry thought as he

surveyed the kind face, he looked older, but still.

"Harry!" he said, his smile still in place. He stood up slowly, and pointed to

the chair opposite his desk. Harry walked over and sat down, still wondering why he was there. Dumbledore was staring at him as he sat down in his chair, and Harry knew this, but didn't look up. Harry always had the impression that Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes could see further than just his appearance; he felt that they looked into his very soul. Finally, Harry looked up and looked into those soulful eyes.
"You wanted to see me, Professor." He said expectantly. Dumbledore smiled once more and entwined his fingers.
"Yes, Harry." He answered lightly. There was something strange about his voice, as though he was holding something back. Dumbledore stared into the bright green eyes of the boy in front of him and thought to himself; why? Why had this boy been put through so many nightmares? Why was he still here to tell the tale? Why had he suffered so much? Sadness rushed through Dumbledore as he looked at Harry; he had no one, Harry had no one to love him and care for him when he needed them most, his mother and father gone, Sirius gone.the Dursleys were more his prison guards than his relatives.
"Firstly, I wanted to ask you how you were." He said kindly but with firmness detectable. Harry didn't know what to say. How did he feel? There wasn't one word in the dictionary that described how he felt right now. Such a sadness and helplessness he had never felt before had swooped over him since Sirius' death. His soul felt so heavy, he was sure that it would break in two sometime soon. And more, much more, he felt anger; as though pure venom was poisoning his mind, he felt anger stronger than any he had ever known. Voldemort, he snarled to himself. Lord Voldemort. He was the one who had ripped all the happiness from Harry's life; he was the one who had caused Harry so much pain and anguish; he was the one who was destined to kill Harry, or be murdered by Harry in the end. It was all set. It was written in the stars.
"Fine." Said Harry, telling such a lie that he didn't know whether it was clear or not. Dumbledore stared at Harry for a moment, then he looked down at the floor, and spoke.
"I know how you suffer, Harry." He said, in a low, sad voice. He returned his gaze to Harry.
"I have seen you suffer ever since you were found on your aunt and uncle's doorstep fifteen years ago. You have shown bravery and courage beyond anyone's expectations of you, and still you suffer day, by day. How are you coping with Sirius' death, Harry?" he asked, concern showing in every line of his face. Harry looked at the floor. How do you think? He retorted angrily to himself.
"I'm dealing with it." Harry said quietly. He certainly was not dealing with it; he was drowning in it. Dumbledore sighed.
"I know there is nothing I can say to comfort you." He said sympathetically.
"But I can say that I know that Sirius would not want you to dwell over him, Harry. He was very important to you, and you were also very important to him. He broke out of Azkaban to protect you, and he died protecting you; he would not want to see you like this." Dumbledore's words seemed to clear Harry's head slightly, and he nodded. The tingling, burning sensation was back in his throat as he tried to talk.
"Its just - its just that I miss him." Harry croaked, now aware of his slowly misting eyes. He quickly raised a hand to his face and wiped his eyes. Dumbledore was looking at him as if he was a lost child. Harry did feel lost. He had never felt more lost or lonely in his whole life.
"So do all who lose someone close to them." Dumbledore soothed.
"But try to remember Harry, the dead we have loved will never truly leave us, and I am sure that Sirius, who made such a great impact on your life, will never truly leave you." Harry felt very grateful to Dumbledore, for the words he had just said had lifted his heavy soul up a little. He smiled weakly and replied,
"Yeah, you're right." He was so right. At this moment, Dumbledore rose from his chair and walked over to a shelf beside the window, where rays of the early sun were beginning to haze through the window and bathe Dumbledore's desk in golden light. Dumbledore had picked up what looked like a small chest made of fine willow. It had delicate and magnificent patterns along the sides, and looked mysterious as it shone for a brief moment in the sunlight, as Dumbledore walked back to his desk.
He laid the strange chest in front of Harry, and sat down.
"Now, Harry," he said.
"The main reason I have summoned you to my office this morning." He placed thin hands upon the chest, and looked up at Harry. There was a silence. Harry wondered if Dumbledore expected him to recognize the chest, or say something about it.
"Er," he said stupidly, still wondering what on earth the chest was, and still eager to know the answer.
"Professor Dumbledore, what is that?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as he smiled. He turned the chest to face him, and undid the latch, opening the chest. He turned it towards Harry, and Harry leant forward and looked into the chest. A photograph of two wizards, smiling and laughing, lay on the top of an assortment objects. Harry recognized the two happy faces in the picture immediately; the man on the right was tall and had a mop of untidy jet-black hair and hazel eyes. He looked young; Harry thought as he gazed at the laughing, happy face of his father, maybe he was in his twenties. On the left he saw the handsome, charming face of Sirius, young and healthy, and without the dead look Azkaban had given him.
Harry picked the photo up with trembling fingers and smiled; he smiled as he had not done in months. For the first time since Sirius had died, he felt that he was accepting that he had really died, and it felt warm looking down at the laughing face of his godfather, arm around his father. He looked back into the chest and realised that all these things must be Sirius' belongings. He looked up at Dumbledore, who looked very happy at Harry's smiling face.
"Are these Sirius' things?" he asked.
"Yes." Said Dumbledore, then, leaning forward, he spoke again, in a more grave voice,
"As Sirius' closest relative, they have been left to you, and I am sure Sirius would have wanted you to have them. I expect you shall want to have a look through them. I have not looked at them myself. They are yours, Harry, I am just sorry Sirius isn't here to give them to give them to you himself." he sighed sadly. Then, he stood up, picked up the chest, and walked over to where Harry was sitting. Harry stood up. Dumbledore passed him the chest, and Harry took it. He looked at it for a moment then looked back at Dumbledore.
"Thanks." he said, smiling. Dumbledore looked for a moment as though he was going to hug Harry. But he laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and said softly,
"Sirius was very proud of you, Harry. He considered you to be the most important thing in the world to him. Keep that smile on your face, and you'll feel better soon." His blue eyes twinkled, and Harry understood. He walked over to the door, and then turned.
"Thanks again..for everything." Harry left, holding the chest under his arm. Little did he know that that chest he was carrying held secrets from long ago that had been hidden, and forgotten. Little did he know that the past was slowly creeping up on him.