Into The Light (Golden Trio Era) {2}

Destroying Dumbledore's Office

Mikayla head pounded as cameras flashed taking pictures of her and Harry with Dumbledore. Mikayla wondered if the pictures would show how broken she felt at the loss her Sirius. Dumbledore sent them to his office via Portkey, telling the reports that the pair had just been through something traumatic that they're not ready to speak about. The next thing the pair knew they were in Dumbledore's office, Mikayla was sat in a chair she didn't recall putting herself in.

Within a second, Mikayla was overwhelmed with nausea and booked it for a waste bin nearby. She vomited into it, her eyes began to tear involuntarily. Harry still did not look up, the only reaction was a light groan from a few disgusted portraits. "Ah... Harry Potter...." A voice called, Mikayla glanced upward, it was the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, he yawned, making it clear that she had woke him. "And what brings you here in the early hours of the morning? This office is supposed to be barred to all but the rightful headmaster. Or has Dumbledore sent you here? Oh, don't tell me..." he yawned again. "Another message for my worthless great-great-grandson?" Mikayla vomited again, the tears in her eyes continued, whether from grief or the vomiting. Harry did not say anything, it was clear why, a few more portraits began to stir, they yawned and stretched, the conversation enough to wake them.

Harry's chair creaked as he got to his feet and strode for the door. "I hope this means," one of the portraits began, "that Dumbledore will soon be back with us?" Harry nodded in response and tugged at the doorknob, it wasn't moving. He gave it another twist, nothing, they were locked in. "Oh good," the portrait responded. "It has been very dull without him, very dull indeed." Harry did not move from the doorway. "Dumbledore thinks very highly of you, as I am sure you know," the wizard continued, "Oh yes. Holds you in great esteem." Without warning the fireplace erupted with green flames and Dumbledore appeared when they extinguished. The rest of the portraits woke with a start and gave cries of welcome when they noticed who it was. "Thank you," Dumbledore said humbly. He walked toward the window and withdrew from his pocket a feeble, featherless baby Fawkes and returned him to his perch.

"Feeling alright, Mikayla?" His voice called, but he was not facing her. "I'm sorry, Professor," she spoke weakly. "No need to apologize," he said, giving a light flick of his wand. The contents of the bin disappeared at once. When she felt capable enough, Mikayla rose from the ground and returned to the chair she found herself in before. "You will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events." Dumbledore assured them, Mikayla gave a slight nod, but she didn't look up to see if he was watching them. "Madam Pomfrey is patching everybody up now," Still, neither of them spoke.

"I know how you are feeling," Dumbledore said with a cautious tone. He stopped his idle pacing and was facing them now. "No, you don't," answered Harry loudly, his voice made Mikayla jump. "You see, Dumbledore?" scoffed Phineas Nigellus from his frame. "Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would much rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity, stew in their own-" "That's enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore. Harry was looking out the window, the Quidditch pitch in view, he refused to look at Dumbledore. "There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," Dumbledore said. "On the contrary... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." Mikayla drew her knees up to her chest and tried to dissolve into the chair so that she may be anywhere but there. "My greatest strength, is it?" Harry's voice shook, breaking Mikayla's heart with every word he uttered, "You haven't got a clue... You don't know..." "What don't I know?" Dumbledore asked calmly, his tone perfectly symbolising a comforting hand on the shoulder, but Harry just as well shoved that hand away.

"I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?" He said, still facing the window. "Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human-" "THEN- I- DON'T- WANT- TO- BE- HUMAN!" Harry roared, he gripped one of the intricate instruments that sat on a table beside him and launched it across the room. It crashed into the stone wall and shattered causing Mikayla to flinch fearfully. She covered her head as the pieces rained down. The surrounding portraits let out protests and shouts, one let out an incredulous "Really!" "I DON'T CARE!" Harry shouted at them, he grabbed another device and threw it into the fireplace. You could hear the pain in his voice, if anything, it was more evident than the anger. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE-" Harry seized the table he emptied and threw it too. It splintered on impact. Mikayla flinched with every movement he made.

"You do care," Dumbledore said calmly, he did not try to stop Harry from demolishing his office, he didn't even seem worried about it. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it." "I- DON'T!" Harry screamed, his voice filled with anguish. Mikayla wanted to get up, grab hold of Harry, and let him know he wasn't alone in his pain but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Oh yes, you do," Dumbledore was now sitting on the edge of his desk, his hands folded peacefully in his lap. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care." "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" Harry's throat strained, his voice began to falter. "YOU- STANDING THERE- YOU-" Harry stopped short, his chest puffing. He went for the door again and yanked at the knob with all his power, it still did not open. "Let me out," Harry demanded. "No," Dumbledore responded simply. "Let me out," Harry said again after a few silent moments of them staring at one another. "No," Dumbledore repeated. "If you don't- if you keep me in here- if you don't let me-" "By all means continue destroying my possessions," Dumbledore gave a sincere shrug "I daresay I have too many." He rose from his spot on the edge of the desk and made his way to the chair behind it. "Let me out," his voice was calmer now, but he spoke coldly.

"Not until I have had my say," Dumbledore placed his hands on the desk in front of him. "Do you- do you think I want to- do you think I give a- I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'VE GOT TO SAY!" Harry's voice rose again. "I don't want to hear anything you've got to say!" "You will, because you are not nearly as angry with me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it." "What are you talking-?" "It is my fault that Sirius died," spoke Dumbledore, Mikayla lifted her head and looked at Dumbledore with surprise of his words. "Or I should say almost entirely my fault- I will not be so arrogant as to claim responsibility for the whole. Sirius was a brave, clever, and energetic man, and such men are not usually content to sit at home in hiding while they believe others to be in danger. Nevertheless, you should never have believed for an instant that there was any necessity for you to go to the Department of Mysteries tonight. If I had been open with you, Harry, as I should have been, you would have known a long time ago that Voldemort might try and lure you to the Department of Mysteries, and you would never have been tricked into going there tonight. And Sirius would not have had to come after you. That blame lies with me, and with me alone." Harry was silent, Mikayla wasn't sure if he too was staring at Dumbledore with the same expression that she was.

"Please sit down," Dumbledore said, though he was requesting Harry, not ordering him. There was silence for a moment, but Mikayla could hear footsteps on top of the shattered fragments of the devices. "Am I to understand," Phineas Nigellus said slowly, "that my great-great-grandson is dead?" "Yes, Phineas," Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I don't believe it," Phineas said tersely before leaving his portrait frame. "I owe you both an explanation," Dumbledore started, "An explanation of an old man's mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young... and I seem to have forgotten lately..." The sun was now peering in through the window, yellow and orange hues illuminated Dumbledore's face and tried to pass through Mikayla's golden hair. Some of the portraits repositioned themselves when the sunlight hit their eyes. "I guessed, fifteen years ago, Harry, when I saw the scar upon your forehead," Dumbledore's began, Mikayla shifted uncomfortably because she felt out of place for this conversation. "...what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort." "You've told me this before, Professor," Harry responded bluntly.