94 Diagon Alley

    Let's talk later. said Dumbledore softly. "One...two...three..."

    Harry felt a familiar sense of a hook jerking behind his belly button. The shiny wooden floor disappeared under his feet; the main hall, Fudge and Dumbledore were gone, and he was flying forward in a whirlwind of color and sound...

    Harry's feet landed on solid ground; knees bent slightly, and the golden wizard's head fell to the floor with a thud. He looked around and found himself in Dumbledore's office.

    Everything here seems to have repaired itself during the days when the principal was gone. The fine silverware stood again on the slender-legged table, whirling quietly, puffing smoke. Portraits of old school principals and headmistresses are dozing, either lounging their heads on armchairs or leaning against the borders of the portraits. Harry looked out the window, and there was an elegant gray-green in the sky: dawn was slowly approaching.

    The office was silent, nothing moved, only the occasional snoring or sniffling of a sleeping portrait would break the silence. Harry couldn't bear such an environment. If only everything around him could reflect his inner feelings, if only these portraits could cry out in pain. He was walking around this quiet, beautiful office, trying not to think about anything, but then he had to think... there was no way to escape... Sirius was dead, it was his fault, it was all his fault. If he, Harry, hadn't been foolish enough to be deceived by Voldemort's tricks, if he had not been firmly convinced that what he saw in the dream was real, if he had only thought a little about what Hermione had said, Voldemort may be using his passion to be a hero... It's unbearable, he doesn't want to think about it, he can't bear it... There's a terrifying hole in him, and it's in this dark hole where Sirius once existed He didn't want to feel it, he didn't want to think about it; he didn't want to be alone in such a large, quiet space, he couldn't stand it—a portrait made a loud noise behind him snorted, then said in a nonchalant tone, "Ah... Harry Potter..."

    Phineas Nigellus stared at Harry with those sly slit eyes as he stretched his long yawn.

    "What are you doing here so early in the morning?" Phineas said, "This office is off-limits to all but the legitimate headmaster. Did Dumbledore send you here? Oh? Don't tell me..." He yawned again, shaking. "Another piece of news about my useless great-great-grandson?"

    Harry couldn't say a word. Phineas didn't know that Sirius was dead yet, but Harry couldn't tell him. If you say it out loud, it will bring this matter to an end, completely irreversible.

     Several more portraits come to life. Afraid of being questioned by them, Harry strode across the room, grabbing the doorknob. But the door didn't open. He was locked in the house. "I hope that means..." said a fat, red-nosed wizard, hanging on the wall behind the Headmaster's desk, "Dumbledore will be back among us soon?" Harry turned Turning away, the wizard looked at Harry with interest. Harry nodded. He twisted the doorknob behind his back again, but the door still didn't open. "Oh, that's great," said the wizard, "it's so boring without him, so boring." He sat on a throne-like chair, smiling affectionately above Harry's head, This portrait was painted by him sitting on this chair. "Dumbledore thinks highly of you, and I think you know that," he said leisurely. "Oh, of course, I have a lot of respect for you too."

    Harry's heart was full of guilt, like some huge, heavy parasite tumbling and wriggling. Harry couldn't stand it, he couldn't face being Harry anymore... He had never been so trapped in his own body and mind as he was now, never had he ever wished so strongly that he was someone else, anyone else... Emerald green flames burst out of the empty fireplace, and Harry jumped from the door in fright, staring at the swirls of figures in the fireplace. When Dumbledore's tall figure emerged from the flames, the wizards, men and women on the surrounding walls suddenly awoke, and many of them burst into cheers.

    "Thank you!" said Dumbledore softly.

    He did not go to see Harry right away, but went to the perch by the door, took a young, ugly, featherless Fox from the inside pocket of his robe, Placed lightly on a plate with fine ashes under a gilded perch, where the adult Fox usually stays.

    "Oh, Harry," Dumbledore finally said to Harry, walking away from the young phoenix, "you'll be glad to hear that, your classmates, No one is going to suffer long-term pain because of what happened last night."

    Harry wanted to say "yes" but he didn't. It seemed to him that Dumbledore was reminding him how much he had done. Although Dumbledore's eyes were only looking directly at him this time, and his attitude was gentle and kind, and he was by no means blaming himself, Harry still couldn't bear to meet his gaze.

    "Mrs. Pomfrey is treating them," Dumbledore said, "Nymphadora Tonks may need to spend a little more time at St. Mungo's, but it seems she He will recover soon."

    Harry noticed that he hadn't mentioned Sirius' name, which made his last wisp of hope dissipated like leaves in the wind. Only nodded at the carpet, which became brighter and brighter as the sky gradually became brighter outside. He was sure all the portraits in the room were listening to every word Dumbledore said and wondering where Dumbledore and Harry had been and why anyone was hurt.

    "I know how you're feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore in a low voice.

    "No, you don't know." Harry said suddenly and forcefully. Intense anger leaped to his heart; Dumbledore had no idea what he was feeling.

    "You see, Dumbledore?" Phineas Nigellus said slyly, don't try to understand the minds of the students. They hate doing it. They would rather be misunderstood sadly, feel sorry for themselves, and suffer..."

    "Enough, Phineas," said Dumbledore.

    Harry turned away, with his back to Dumbledore, his eyes fixedly staring out the window. He could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance. Sirius was there once as a shaggy black dog to watch Harry play...he probably came to see if Harry was as good as James...Harry never asked him …

    "There's nothing to be ashamed of in your heart, Harry," said Dumbledore. "On the contrary... the fact that you feel this pain is what makes you the strongest. ."

    Harry felt the raging rage licking his insides, burning in the terrifying void, filling him with a desire to hurt Dumbledore, just because he said that so casually No pain in the ass.

    "I'm the strongest, isn't it?" said Harry, his voice shaking, his eyes still fixed on the Quidditch pitch outside the window, but he turned a blind eye, "You don't understand at all …You do not know…"

    "I don't know what?" asked Dumbledore calmly. unacceptable.

    Harry turned around, shaking with anger. "I don't want to discuss my feelings, okay?"

    "Harry, suffering like you proves you're still human! Such suffering is part of human nature—"

    "The-I-don't-want-have-humanity!" Harry roared, "I've had enough, I've seen enough, I'm going to get rid of it. I'm going to end it all, I don't care anymore—"

    "You do care," said Dumbledore. He didn't budge, his expression was still calm, almost detached. "You care so much about how you feel, it's just dying of pain."

    "I-no!" Harry screamed so loudly that he felt like his throat was about to rip. In a flash, he really wanted to rush to Dumbledore, beat him hard, destroy his calm old face, and let him feel a little fear in his heart.

     Dumbledore went around behind the table, sat down and looked at Harry.

    "Let me out," Harry said, his voice as cold as Dumbledore's.

    "Wait till I finish," said Dumbledore.

    "You—you thought I would care—I don't care what you're going to say!" Harry roared. "I don't want to hear a word of what you have to say!"

    "Listen," said Dumbledore firmly, "because you're mad at me, but not as much as you should be. If you're going to attack me, I know you It's going to be done soon, and I'd be more than happy to let you do it."

    "What are you talking about—?"

    "The Sirius thing is my fault," said Dumbledore clearly, "or almost my fault if I may say so—I'm not arrogant enough to think Take full responsibility. Sirius is a brave, witty, energetic man, and people like this are in