Title: Harry Potter and the Summer's Secret
Author: Japhu
Beta Reader: Nagi
Pairing: HPSS
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and his world and don't make any money with it.
Summary: For one week in summer Harry disappears without trace. When he comes back he claims to have no memory. But something happened and it changed him. It remains to be seen if for the better or the worse. (will be HPSS)
Category: action/adventure/angst
Feedback: highly appreciated
Chapter 3 – Living Again
A week had come and gone since the excitement at his birthday, and slowly Harry became accustomed to the changes his body had gone through.
He was lucky to have had the foresight to get rid of all evidence of his absence just an instant before Moody had stormed his room as if to take down a gang of drug dealers. Even if Harry's strength had been drained to nothing in physical and emotional exhaustion, he had to commend himself to a good show.
After the wizards had left, he had not been able to sleep. One thought chased the next and the dreams of Voldemort, alternating between promises of anything he could possibly wish for and threats to the lives of everyone he had ever loved, left him staggering and breathless.
The few days locked up with Voldemort in his hideout had been beneficial in one point that already had stood the test. The experience, although he did not want to repeat it ever again, had been everything Harry needed to get a hold on his occlumency skills, although he could not say whether his method was the official procedure or if it was born out of necessity to stay alive.
Naturally, Harry was not naive or desperate enough to ask one of the two persons who could possibly answer that question to his satisfaction.
His ability was better kept secret for as long as possible, for he had to use everything he could to stay ahead of everyone else. Also, Harry did not think he had gotten every loophole there was. Snape surely would find a way to fool him if Harry took his invincibility for granted.
After all, Snape had fooled even Voldemort, something not many could pride themselves with. Sooner or later Harry would have to heed Hermione's advice and save time to visit the library when he got back to Hogwarts.
For the first few days after his return Harry had to fight fervently to keep up his shields at any time, for the temptation to go with the dark lord's suggestions were strongest.
Eventually, Harry had roused himself and worked on his mental shields with all his might until he believed himself able to know when Tom tried something naughty. Then the day came when his hideous excuse of an uncle remembered his freakish nephew's existence and came rolling in with high speed to drag him out of his sheets.
It seemed that Harry's time for recuperation and grieving was over if his uncle had anything to say about these matters as the boy was shoved through the bathroom door emphatically, given short shrift by his uncle.
When the first drops of water touched his feverish skin, Harry felt himself suck in a sharp breath. He was not one to normally favour ice-cold showers, but the little warm water his uncle allowed would not heat the fluid much more, so Harry forewent that decision and just used the cold water to at least lose the last remnants of the former lord's visit, whose presence echoed through his veins nauseously.
It took only minutes for him to adjust, and Harry held his head high into the spraying wetness and indulged in a moment of silent joy, for he still was breathing and thinking and very much alive. Harry leaned on the cool wall of the shower stall and let his body go limp, unbending his cramped muscles, while thinking what he should do with the rest of his summer.
The matter of killing dark lords had to be put behind for now, because he did not have the resources to further his plan and secondly he wanted to be selfish for once in his life. Surely he wanted to get rid of Voldemort, too, but what everyone else had to say to that matter did not cause him nightmares.
For all Harry cared they could go and sit on a tack. It was not Harry's sole purpose to free them from their bogeyman, but, he admitted with a heavy heart, it was the most important one. Nobody would save him from his fate; each the wizards and witches around the world were busy feeling tremendous relief for not being the one chosen to deal with the evil wizard until one of them died. They had missed the opportunity to disabuse Harry from the notion that he had to follow his destiny's path on the shortest route possible. Nobody had mentioned that he couldn't look for something pleasant while doing so.
It was already too late for any actions to try to prevent the inevitable in any case. Harry had chosen his path and now had to follow it until the very end, but some fun would be good for his self-esteem. Surely they did not want him to hide behind their backs when he went into the ring - not that their backs were wide enough for hiding behind. He laughed at the irony. They did not know that Harry had already won the first round.
Surely in their fight for control Harry just had been lucky to maintain the bond to his body, whereas Voldemort had had to leave the one he occupied to have a chance at taking over Harry's after he had finished ripping his soul to shreds. At least, that was what he had planned on doing after getting his claw-like hands on him.
Tom Riddle had played a game without knowing which cards Harry held in his own hands, a game with unimaginably high stakes. He had underestimated Harry's will to come out of their encounter with his heart still beating. Tom had played a game without a safety net and had fallen. Harry giggled. How could Voldemort have known Harry's when Harry himself had been completely oblivious? It had not helped the dark lord to rip through his mind, searching for hidden secrets that were not there, or to resort to physical violence when Harry could not deliver what he sought.
For all rights Harry should be dancing on the bastard's grave, but the devil's flop had managed to survive once without a body; why should he not do it again? If Harry would have to move into hell with nothing but Tom Riddle's soul as luggage, he would run away with utmost surety. For Tom certainly would not have harps playing for him when he arrived.
So the fact of Tom's second flight was understandable to Harry, as he himself did not want to die just now, as he was not explicitly sure in which way he would be welcomed there. That did not mean that Harry had to stand aside for Tom to take his body. Normally Harry was not against giving presents when he had something to give away; he just did not like to share his body with Tom Riddle's soul. A teacher of his had done so a few years ago and had paid with his life.
Add to that, Harry was certain that the lying bastard was not one to share himself. Should Harry loose control just once, Harry did not doubt that the snake-faced bastard would take the chance offered and throw his soul out of his own body or worse. He could capture Harry's soul in his mind. Just as Harry was doing in that moment with Lord Voldemort's soul itself.
A cackling sound vibrated in Harry's head and a cold tremor ran through his body and forced him to take action. Right away he strengthened his shields to his utmost ability. He must not lose control; he had to keep his concentration at all times. Nothing was more important for the time being.
Abruptly thrown back into the small bathroom in Privet Drive, Harry climbed out of the shower, his mind still working on building his shields stronger and as steady as a rock. He gripped the worn out towel his uncle had ungraciously bestowed upon him and rubbed the goose bumps from his skin vigorously, trying not to think about this alien being caged in his head.
Just getting ready to leave the shower, the towel wrapped safely around his hips and his much used pitiful looking toothbrush, the hilt had broken off times ago, already packed away in his small bag, Harry, out of the corner of his eye, saw something in the mirror and jerked around, filled with dread. Adrenalin surged up and washed away all joy Harry had felt as he ripped away the towel and let it drop carelessly, his eyes never leaving his right hipbone where a glaring violet mark sat innocently on his skin as if it had been there always.
Hesitating, he looked down. It looked like the Dark Mark, Harry realized, but instead of a snake coming out of a skull's mouth it was a lightning bolt much like his scar that pierced through its grinning face and appeared to illuminate the hollow space in the skullcap. Harry swallowed heavily and covered the mark with his hand. It was not even big enough to fill the palm of his hand. With his other hand steadying him on the washbasin, Harry bent down on wobbly knees and picked up the towel to cover the mark at the first opportunity.
Then he held his hand out in front of him and frowned darkly at its quivering form, for he could not allow any weakness. He balled his hands to fists before taking a deep breath and, with determination glowing in his eyes, Harry pulled the cloth away, taking his time to fold it and put it safely on the basin's brink. Every second he got to delay was welcome. Finally, Harry turned to the new absurdity and traced the outlines of the tattoo with still trembling fingers.
If he concentrated on it he could feel a weak breeze of presence, and behind that a mass of fleeting thoughts that were not his own. Desires, hopes and anxieties flooded his mind and where gone before he could consciously acknowledge them.
With furrowed brows, Harry sank down on the plastic stool in the corner, studying the mark with growing interest, never taking his fingers away from it. With closed eyes, Harry could follow the mark's magic into the realms of other people's minds. He could barely make out different people. A father holding his child, another being amused at something; he was gone before Harry knew what the reason for the feeling had been.
When Harry worked with it, he could follow the rays of the magical energy to the bonded and he would know where any man was and what he was thinking. Harry thought that he could read at least the thoughts floating near the surface of a bonded mind, the ones one had just moments before someone decided to give them voice or to stay silent. Harry could not tell one mind from the other. He could not consciously influence whom he was following or what one was thinking, though, perhaps that could be remedied in the future. Surely Harry would be able to draw magic from everyone bonded to him through that mark.
He laughed mirthlessly when a crazy thought crossed his mind. He could drain every living Death Eater, one after the other, until they were just a bunch of squibs. He tilted his head. Harry could kill them, too. He blinked and shook away the anticipation and the temptation of power and felt a shadow of someone fall back into the darkness of his mind.
Was that what Voldemort felt through the Dark Mark's bond? If so, then Harry was wondering why that man had never found out about Snape and his spying for Dumbledore. It did not matter if Voldemort figured out about Snape's treachery now. The trapped, self-appointed lord could not do anything about it and Harry would see to the fact that the bastard would not have the possibility in the future.
With a sigh, Harry gathered his things. When he had come to terms with his being bonded to the Death Eaters through a strange form of the Dark Lord's mark, he would surely find means to use it to his advantage. Now, Harry just wanted to vanish from the face of earth. He did not want to live with that on his hip for the rest of his life. Hopefully the mark would be whisked away when Voldemort's soul perished. He would have to be careful when showering in the dormitory at Hogwarts. Probably he would shower long before any of the other boys.
With newly heightened senses, Harry left the bathroom soundlessly, tiptoed to his bedroom and looked over what he could find. Much choice of clothing was not given to him, in any case. Rags were rags, no matter what colour. With a last glance at Hedwig and the promise to come back to her with a bit of food sooner than later, Harry went down the stairs to take his daily dose of verbal punching. At least he would be left on his own for the rest of the day.
Harry took his uncle's rant without any expression of dismay, and the nagging of his aunt did not bother him in the least. He let the foul words wash over him without listening. He could not have said, what they had been on about if he had to fend for his life? It appealed to him that Dudley chose to ignore him this time around, so Harry nodded to him pleasantly and otherwise did the same.
In silent contemplation Harry left the house and walked down the street in a leisurely pace until he felt an irritating tingle sizzling through his body the moment he reached the border of the wards. Before this summer Harry had not been able to recognize them. Now he relished in his newfound ability while checking them intently.
Harry had fooled them once when he had arrived home at his birthday. He could do it again. Wary not to touch the wards physically, Harry searched for the point of concentrated energy where all of the protecting magic originated from and pushed cautiously until he felt the shields bending under the pressure of his power. It would not do to break the wards even if that would not be a problem.
Harry only had to adjust them to ignore his presence whenever he passed through. Nobody would know differently until they came to Privet Drive for themselves and checked it locally. To be aware of the faintest nuances one would need powers only Dumbledore himself called his own. Harry did not remotely consider how often the man had come here to check on Harry's well-being and his everyday problems with his relatives. Maybe he should rather count how often he hadn't come? The number would be much larger.
With great care Harry pushed and prodded, mended and bound magical energy around its previous object of attention. The wards would still recognize if he was injured in an attack, or if he left the borders of their protection range, but they would not be able to hold him in anymore, or to alert the headmaster when Harry chose to leave the surrounding streets.
Now he was ready to try his first piece of freedom. Harry thought, with a boyish grin, that a little exploration of the neighbourhood was in order.
He did not do anything out of bounds. Harry took a leisurely walk to the park, sat in the sun near the playground and dug his bare feet in the green softness of growing grass. It was the freedom of his mind he sought, and the right to decide what he wanted to do whenever, wherever or whatever he was craving for.
Sitting on a fallen tree trunk, Harry thought about the last weeks. He still felt restless and energetic, filled to the brink with magic that continually sought a release. First he had thought it linked to Voldemort, but for now the snake lord was out of his way and Harry felt even more on edge. It was, as if his body was waiting for something to happen. Could it be that he had received more of Voldemort's powers, like he had received parseltongue? After all he had this odd mark, too.
Twirling around the same thoughts fruitlessly again and again, Harry decided to draw a line under everything that had happened. With a deep breath, Harry stood up and looked around. When he did not see anything strange or important that needed an immediate resolution, Harry chose that moment to start his second childhood and to begin living again for as long and carefree as he possibly could.