The Potter Twins and the Order of the Phoenix {5}

40. The Chosen

"Be careful what a dream may bring, a revolution is a simple thing" ~ The Neva Flows, The Original Broadway Cast of Anastasia

My feet hit the solid ground; my knees buckle a little and the golden wizard's head falls with a resounding clunk to the floor. I look around and see that we've arrived at Dumbledore's office.

Everything seems to have repaired itself during the Headmasters absence. The delicate silver instruments stand once more on the spindle-legged tables, puffing and whirring serenely. The portraits of the headmasters and headmistresses are in their frames, heads lolling back in armchairs or against the edge of the picture. I look through the window. There's a cool line of pale green along the horizon: dawn is approaching.

The silence and the stillness, broken only by the occasional grunt of a sleeping portrait or the shuffling of feet, is unbearable to me. If my surroundings could reflect the feelings inside me, the pictures would be screaming in pain. Harry begins walking around the office almost helplessly, whilst Dad sits down almost instantly, rubbing his chest with a pained expression. I didn't have time to worry about him when he collapsed, but now the panic is setting in. Why did he start having chest pains at the precise moment she died. I glance back out the window, trying not to think...but there's no escaping my thoughts.

There is a cool line of pale green along the horizon: dawn is approaching. Soon everyone will wake up, completely unaware of what happened in the Department of Mysteries.

It's our fault Tay died; it's all our fault. If we hadn't been stupid enough to fall for Voldemort's trick if we weren't so convinced that what we saw was real if we had only opened our minds to the possibility that Voldemort was, as Hermione had said, banking on our love of playing the hero...

It's unbearable, I can't stand to think about it; there is a terrible hollow inside me I do not want to feel or examine, a dark hole where Tay had been, where Tay has vanished.

I take a seat beside Dad, too emotionally and physically drained. I vaguely hear Harry cross the room and try to leave, only to return seconds later. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus has a brief conversation with him, which I take no part in.

The guilt filling the whole of my chest like some monstrous, weighty parasite, now writhes and squirms. I can't stand this, I can't stand being me anymore...I've never felt so trapped inside my own head, never wished so intensely to be somebody else...

The blood stains on Harry's white shirt seem to glow in my peripheral vision...is that Tay's blood?

The empty fireplace bursts into emerald green flame, making Harry leap away from the door and Dad and I jump. As Dumbledore's tall form unfolds itself from the fire, the wizards and witches on the surrounding walls jerk awake, many of them giving cries of welcome.

"Thank you," says Dumbledore softly.

He does not look at Harry and me at first, but walks over to the perch beside the door and withdraws, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he places gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stands.

"Well," says Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, "you will be pleased to hear that no more of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events."

Except for Tay.

It seems as if Dumbledore is reminding us of the damage we've caused, reminding us that our blunders cost the life of a sixteen-year-old girl. I can't bear to meet Dumbledore's gaze in the fear that his expression is accusatory.