Title: Harry Potter and the Summer's Secret

Author: Japhu

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 27 – Gambit's Opening

It was the first good look Harry got at his OWL results. All in all they were not that bad, despite sleeping and whatever else had been going on at that time. What dropped into his line of view, though, was his really low Potions grade; and the first thought that popped into his head was that he would not need to memorize that five pages full of stupid potions, after all. However, Harry had thought he would have made it at least a bit better. Furrowing his brow, Harry tried to remember if he had been disturbed during that exam, too. So much had happened since then, Harry could not even remember if he had truly tried to get the required grade or not. Lastly though, it did not matter. He doubted that anyone would get him into Snape's NEWTs class with that ugly 'P' on his record. That explained probably why McGonagall had wanted to talk to him. She must really feel guilty to have let him down after she all but promised to get him into that class.

It seemed that he would not attend Potions after all. Lucky him. It solved two problems at the same time (one which he had not known he had until that stone box interfered). Firstly, Harry would not need to bear Snape baiting him overly much; secondly, Harry could stay away from Snape until he had that bond under control and could stop these infuriating emotions he got continuously shoved into his head.

This damned bond between them was not comfortable at all, now that he almost always got something through it. It was downright irritating when he was near that man, and in class he would certainly have to stay in hearing range. Although, Harry could not say for certain that it was always Snape who send that emotional baggage. He nearly found the uncontrollable magic the castle had taken away from him the better end of the bargain. To imagine that he got emotions from all the Death Eaters who crawled on this Earth was… not a nice thought. However, for once he was really grateful that his luck worked in his favor. To know that the bond was one sided helped immensely to keep his equilibrium. Of course, there had been that little incident with Tom in Diagon Alley – which Snape had witnessed; and the time when Hogwarts meddled with his magic and made Tom panic – which Snape had witnessed, too. Stupid nosy bastard. Stupid castle. Stupid him for always getting into those situations.

Still being the angry Gryffindor, Harry shrugged insolently when the old man questioned him on his Potions grade. "I had another bad day, sir." He bit out, clearly remembering when he had last been in this office. "I had a lot of those last year." When Dumbledore's face darkened and his twinkle dimmed Harry sighed and looked guiltily up to his headmaster.

"I guess I was just too nervous to think straight during the exam." Harry muttered apologetically. "So much depended on it." Dejectedly, his shoulders drooped and he crumbled the edge of the parchment. "I really thought I had done better." It might go against his pride to get a 'P' in an exam he had truly learned for (if he had), but that happened sometimes in real life. He could not always be lucky.

"I am truly sorry, Harry." Dumbledore said, his twinkle back full force; and Harry ignored the snort coming from the corner and the spiteful glee that reached him through the bond. "But you won't be able to attend Potions in NEWTs level class."

"Yes, sir. I understand." Harry said glumly and frowned. He did not like the old man's choice of words in that matter. "It would not be fair to the other students." He shrugged, putting on his brave Gryffindor front. "I'm sure I'll find other things to do after school. I'll just have to look, now, when I can't become an Auror anymore." He did not have time for that greasy git anyway – at least not to be yelled at. Save a few prepared meetings, Harry would be far better off to keep as far away from that man as possible – of course, only after he had made the man sniff those things out that Harry was comfortable with, nothing that mattered for his future, though.

Harry shook his head. He could not let his thoughts wander. Mentally, he hit himself. Back to attending classes – or not attending. It was not really a drama. Maybe it would have been last year, but now? At least, Harry would not get as much detentions as before. More time to research was always favorable. Harry had thought about it during the night. What he should do if – against everything – he actually made it into the class. That, of course, solved the problem quite easily, to which he still had not found another reasonable solution.

"Ah!" Dumbledore twinkled and shook his head. "That is not necessarily right, Harry."

"What?" the boy questioned cautiously. It should be done now, Dumbledore should get to the next topic.

"You can still become an Auror." Dumbledore smiled merrily, obviously satisfied how things developed. "You can take the required NEWTs in a study group – or course – at the Wizarding University. When you take the average Potions class you should be very well prepared for that. It will not take longer than half a year to catch up if you put yourself to work."

His gaze firmly fixed on his OWL results, Harry did not dare to look up. He was certain that Dumbledore thought himself a genius; Snape had not seen that coming – he could not have known beforehand, because Harry knew he deciphered the bond quite right. The git did not seem so gleeful anymore, though even more spiteful. Average Potions? Harry fumed silently. He did not think so.

To be in average Potions would be far worse than attending the NEWTs level class. Snape would use every opportunity to rub that 'P' in Harry's face. He could live with this – it was expected that Snape ridiculed him every time they met (for failing said class and – worse – for attending the other). Even though Harry had decided not to let himself being baited, he knew that his resolve was not endless. He was still very much human. For every person it gave that point when you had no choice but to react, when your resolve could no longer role up the hill and inevitably begun its way down to shatter when it reached the ground. Harry would reach that point very fast when Snape opened his mouth one time too often.

Their past was not set out for a peaceful future. Even in Diagon Alley Harry had been very near to say something, to do something – anything, when the git let loose his tongue. Harry did not have his emotions under as much control as he would like. The fact was very much known to him; and his fear to loose control and to blow that man and his classmates into pieces was very real. Although, in case of controlling his more passionate side, Hogwarts seemed to have helped. It was not easy to be objective of his emotions, but Harry felt more angry now than he had allowed himself to be since this fateful night in summer. It seemed to become easier to keep everything in. Maybe he could deal with Snape more often, but this was not something he wanted to test in classes.

"Average Potions, sir?" This time Harry did not bother to hide his grimace. He was sure it was expected. Yes. Dumbledore's eyes were even brighter now. Stupid old codger. Harry's lips twisted. "No pun intended, sir, but I'd rather go to that university for a whole year and skip Potions class entirely." Harry smiled lightly. Dumbledore did not like that very much, though Snape did.

"Well, I think the Potions class would be an advantage. After all, if you want to become an Auror it –"

"Yes, headmaster. I'm aware of that fact." said angry Harry from last year agitated. "I'm not required to take average Potions, am I sir?"

"No, Harry. Average Potions is not required." Dumbledore sighed. Obviously he had just realized that it would be a lot harder to get Harry to do what he wanted. "Don't you want to take average Potions, Harry?"

Harry barely suppressed his fury. It was all right when that coot tried to play a mad hat, but nobody would buy this stupidity act.

"No, sir." Harry breathed, his eyes flashing. "Actually, I do not want to take this class at all." He said with a slight tremor in his voice.

"I think you should take it all the same."

"I don't want to take that class, sir!" Harry flat out refused, not even glancing back to the Potions Master, whose face was once again – or still – an expressionless mask, but when Harry looked through the bond it was clear that he would for once agree even with a Potter (had said boy not been present to listen).

"It will still help you to become an Auror, Harry." The man popped another lemon drop into his mouth and Harry grit his teeth.

"Sir, I –"

"For a month, Harry." Dumbledore said and gestured sharply to stop Harry's tirade. "If after a month you want to quit Potions class, I'm not going to stop you."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. What now? Negotiation? Another approach to get the same thing? A month could not bring that much a difference, could it? What was Dumbledore after? Harry thought quickly, ignoring the fury he got through the bond as well as the all knowing twinkle. He suppressed a snarl. That old fool. What did he think he was doing?

"All right, sir. One month in average Potions, than I'll quit."

"If you still want too, Harry."

"Of course, sir." Harry smiled sweetly. "Only if I still want to." Bastard. What was it with Dumbledore that the old coot always stuck him together with the greasy git? What did he think he would accomplish, when he did it again and again? But it were only four lessons, one per week. He would take his emotions together and hope to get through it without major damage – like blowing a certain git into pieces right along one interfering old codger.

"I just have one condition, sir."

"You have?" Dumbledore nearly swallowed his stupid lemon drop.

"Yes, sir." Harry's face was set. He waited a moment for the drumroll to finish in his head – until the tension was palpable. "I won't take remedial potions this year – for any reason." This should set things into motion very nicely. Surprise and puzzlement reached him through the bond. Harry suppressed a tiny smile. "It did not really help last year. I don't need it anymore."

Harry shifted in his seat and began speaking as soon as the headmaster opened his mouth. "I won't go to… remedial Potions, sir." After all, Harry could not actually seem to want to have those Occlumency lessons Dumbledore would try to talk him into. One ploy for Snape, another one for Dumbledore – so that they were both occupied; and there was still his head of house to help him out if everything else failed.

"Can we talk about my NEWTs now, sir? That is why you called me up." Harry requested, waving the parchment impatiently in his hand. For an instant, it seemed as if the old man would try furthering the topic of him taking remedial Potions, but than he gave in; and Harry did not doubt that they would talk about it again before he got out of this office.

"Of course, Harry." Dumbledore said, apparently, fully agreeable.

"I'd like to take Charms, Defense, Herbology and Transfiguration for NEWTs level, sir." Harry listed, never looking up from the parchment. "Care of Magical Creatures and History as average courses." It was his luck that Harry had listened to Hermione prattling on and on about which classes were required (Defense and History) and how much NEWTs courses (three) a Hogwarts' student would have to take for minimum. He really would have liked to drop Defense. Firstly, he really did not need it anymore (Tom had presented him a very wide ranged knowledge on this subject); and secondly, the peacock gave him creeps, and that did not only relate to his choice of attire. Sadly, Harry Potter would have no choice but to take Defense against the Dark Arts; and he could not take less courses than most of his classmates did; but he chose those he would have the least problems to keep up without actually having to invest time in learning.

"I'll see if I can get you into those classes, Harry. It is, after all, a bit late for choosing courses." He looked imploringly above his glasses when he took back the parchment from Harry's hand. "Why did you not read your letters, Harry? I assume they reached you."

"Er… yes, sir. They did." Shrugging uncomfortably, the boy began boring a hole into the arm rest of his seat. "I had just a lot of thinking to do, sir." Harry looked at the old man, his eyes full of pain. "I guess I was not really up to it."

"That's understandable, Harry." Dumbledore nodded, a sad something mixing with his twinkle – which increased fast to something more foreboding. Harry waited with narrowed eyes.

"There is something else I have to tell you, Harry." His eyes now wide open, Harry tried to guess what was coming now. He really would have like to read the old coot's aura. Snape's emotions were only side-tracking. Harry knew already that the man hated him to the core.

"I am sorry to say that you are still banned from Quidditch." This time Dumbledore seemed truly sorry – the satisfaction that reached Harry through the bond, though, climbed to new heights. Vicious, insensitive, old bat!

Paling, it was just a moment Harry hesitated, pain replaced by anger, before he jumped out of his chair, bumping straight in the headmaster's desk, and made the tea spill on the papers; but the Gryffindor did not care.

"What! This bitch can't get away with that! It's crazy! I didn't do anything! Flying is the only thing I…" Harry stopped his rant with a heavy sigh, blinking away the feelings that rose up in his eyes, his fists clenched and his jaw set.

"I'm very sorry, Harry, but a lifelong ban or sentence to Azkaban – anything like that – can only be lifted or altered by the minister himself." He tried to look apologetic, but Harry did not believe that anything what the old coot did (or neglected to do) happened without reasons… and his agreement.

It was the Potions Masters snorts in the background that made Harry moving; he sneered back surprisingly vicious before he let himself fall back into his padded seat, caught his breath and tried to keep calm. He still could have a ride on his broom. Being in the team would take away too much time, anyway. It was good he was not going to play anymore. It really was, but a lifelong ban… only because of that stupid bitch and a fool of a minister. Shit!

"You may of course keep the Firebolt and fly at the appointed hours at the weekends as all the other students, who are not part of the Quidditch teams."

Harry did not say anything, but his jaw clenched until his teeth ached, truly becoming angry now – and trying not to be. He could keep his Firebolt? Had that man completely gone off the rocker? Of course he would keep his Firebolt, he would keep it even if it was the only thing that could kill Voldemort. He grimaced. Probably, Harry would give it away in that case. But really! He was allowed to keep his Firebolt!

"Thank you, sir." Harry bit out politely, but did not try to hide the blazing of his eyes. He really wished that he could destroy that office once again. Stupid old coot. "I'd really like to keep the broom. It's the first thing Si… Sirius got for me… ever." The stutter at his godfather's name was not much faked when he threw the old twinkler the bait he was waiting for since Snape had so nicely accompanied Harry to his office. It was time to get to the real stuff. The men grated on his nerves and Harry did not know how long he could keep his thinking calm and a step ahead of them – even if it was only an inch or two.

Dumbledore seemed to think for a moment when he scrutinized Harry with open concern.

"How do you feel about your godfather? About Sirius?" he asked quietly and Harry thought the men must hear his teeth grinding. Was that man not a nosy one? Did he never rub someone up the wrong way to know when it was impolite to question further? He should have some sense to know when he should stop. Harry smiled crookedly, hidden for curios eyes while watching the ground. To tell the old man to jump in the lake would take things a bit far for Harry's liking, though he rather liked how the thought played out in his head. He would settle for being guilty and being angry at Dumbledore for calling him upon his guilt – very angry.

"Do you think me stupid?" Harry clenched his fists. "I know very well that it's my fault." Partly, Harry thought, his eyes narrowing. Only for a part and not even most of it, the main part was all the old man's own. "There's no need to rub in, you old coot!" Harry allowed himself that little slip. He always wanted to call him that to his face. His face red with anger, Harry let his feelings run free. "Can't you keep out of my life? I don't need you meddling even more! You have done enough for me to last me for a lifetime! Thank you very much, sir, but I really don't think it's your business!" The pictures on the wall began to rattle. Something like apprehension drifted through the bond.

Suddenly, Harry deflated completely and looked up to the old man, who was calmly sucking on his lemon drop, watching him. "I'm sorry, headmaster." Harry said as meekly as he could manage. "That was uncalled for." He grimaced, but not because of what he had said. "I apologize for nearly loosing control – again. I'm sorry, sir." It was hard – really hard – to play emotions that were very much real; though, Harry refused to feel guilty for anything that happened. There was no guilt, only decisions and their consequences. Guilt was a dream. Harry sighed.

He might be a Gryffindor and – just maybe – even a bit stupid in catching on to some things, but that one fact he knew – there was no guilt to bear. Sirius had been a grown man with a flaring temper – much like Ron. He should know the consequences of rushing into things. Certainly, Harry had taken part in some really not well thought through things that ended pretty badly, but that would not happen again, and as long as Harry made sure of that he would and could live further with his godfather as a reminder that for some decisions – if right or wrong – he needed to pay a prize that did not justify the means of going through with his decision at all; though some others were well worth the prize – however high it was stocked. Harry did not really want to think about Sirius – or his death! Not now, and not until he was somewhere safe. Harry, mourning his godfather's death, was real; and it did not have a place in this conversation. Somewhere deep down he still wanted to cry for his loss, though his feelings were double-edged and would stay that way until his own death. He shook his head.

"I really don't want to destroy your office, again." Harry pulled a face. "I mean, I did not want to do it the first time. I was just… I'm sorry." He wrung his hands in his lap. Just as he needed something from them to work with, the old man would need some reactions from Harry if he wanted to gain back his… trust – or whatever.

Harry thought he played the little, guilty Gryffindor, depending on Dumbledore's good graces (despite everything) quite good. However, he could not say how the headmaster took his little outburst, because the old man was still twinkling away merrily. Perhaps though, he had bought his act. Harry could at least hope so, even as he expertly ignored the incredulous and outright revolting expression on his Potions Masters haggard face when Harry looked at him out of the corner of his eye. The bond gave only suspicion; but this here was for the headmaster's benefit, Snape would get his own in due time.

"It's alright, Harry. You have had a hard time." The boy watched his hands. "You do not have to talk about it." Harry looked up. He did not? That would be new; but, somewhere in the back of his head, he registered that Dumbledore did not disabuse him of the idea that the death of his godfather was, indeed, not his fault. Harry's eyes narrowed inadvertently.

That was his game! At first, make the fool boy loose his calm, make him feel angry with you; than turn his anger into guilt, let him feel guilty about being angry with you to begin with; and, afterwards, when the ignorant, little boy began to feel grateful for not being questioned further on his guilt – begin to question him about those things that are of real importance to you. Lastly, when the emotional unbalanced teenage boy ate himself up with the guilt to have led his godfather to his death (it had to be true when even Dumbledore seemed to think so), let the boy's own conscience work in your favour to bring down his reservations to talk about any topic – as long as he could avoid the one of his godfather. Heartless bastard! Even Snape seemed slightly appalled when the bond gave any true indication, though, Harry doubted that he would see a reaction should he turn to look at the man. Nevertheless, it gave him back some of his calm.

"Thank you, sir." Harry nodded with a painful smile. "I truly appreciate that." Glancing through the window right behind the old man, Harry took a deep breath and leaned back. Let the storm rage outside, Harry would not.