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 28 – Tea Talk

It was clear that Harry would not say anything else on the matter of his godfather, Sirius Black; but neither of those present broke the silence, which pressed down heavily on them. Harry simply waited what Dumbledore would come up with; and the headmaster seemed to decide how to begin. The oppressing moment seemed longer than it truly was. Harry thought that the old codger would probably want to make sure that he really was swallowed up in his guilt. Harry bit the inside of his cheeks. He wanted to get out of here. He had waited long enough.

"What did you want to talk about, sir?" Harry tried to look as grateful as somehow possible. That was a truly hard feat to accomplish as he did not feel grateful at all. The Gryffindor was far from trusting his headmaster ever again.

"Would you want a cup of tea, Harry?" Blinking suspiciously, Harry nodded and watched while the headmaster poured him a cup, and another for himself. Harry nearly turned around to ask Snape if he wanted some – just to rile him up a bit more. The man's patience seemed to wear thin; and, apparently, the headmaster had completely forgotten his silent watcher (or he only wanted Harry to forget him).

"Thanks, sir." Harry took the cup with a smile. It was good to have something to keep his hands occupied with when he was forbidden to throttle the old twinkler.

The manipulative bastard was always smiling his way through his deliberate deceptions. At first, he always tried the back door, never mind that he would have probably been invited (at some point in the past) had the old man – figuratively – knocked on the front door. Harry smiled back shakily. The headmaster would not manage to make him feel guilty enough to tell him his soul's deepest secrets. Sly bastard. Dumbledore certainly would have done well in Slytherin, though hopefully not as well as Harry. It did not really matter – Harry knew him a bit better now; and it seemed that Harry had more Slytherin in him than anything else – for now, at least.

Harry wondered why they still upheld the sorting if it was all a farce. It really did not say much about the working of one's mind. It would be easier to just pick some names and sort the new students in evenly matched classes like the Muggles did, then everyone would at least have the same point to start off from – more or less (when said student was not accompanied by a hateful, heavily overweight cousin).

"What was there that you wanted to talk about, sir?" Questioningly, Harry looked up to his headmaster with guilty eyes, hiding whatever feelings he had. A change of topic was appropriate, and they had still some matters to discuss. Now, what wormed the old man the most? What would he want to talk about foremost?

"Well." The headmaster waited for Harry to take a sip from his tea before he cleared his throat to get the boy's attention. Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Let's begin with what Professor Snape told me yesterday." He looked imploringly at Harry as if waiting for the boy to fall to pieces with guilt and a conscience that had to weigh on him.

"What did he tell? I didn't do anything." Harry rose to defend himself, throwing a wary glance at the black robed man, who seemed to nearly disappear in the little shadow he had found in the corner.

"Professor Snape did not accuse you of anything." Harry felt the twitch in the bond as surely as he heard the barely audible grunt when Dumbledore said that. "Professor Snape merely said you had an interesting encounter in Diagon Alley, Harry."

Oh! The Red Robes? Harry sat back. Now that was a matter he was interested in himself. He knew next to nothing about them, save that they seemed to be in par with old Tom. Somehow. It would be helpful if Dumbledore told him what he knew about them, though the chances for that were the same as the possibility of being struck by lightning at a clear summer's day.

Harry thought about the way he wanted to go on. He had made the experience that if you seem to be knowledgeable people will begin to think you are; and they might talk about things in your presence (when they let you stay), because they believe you know already. It would not make sense to try hiding knowledge you are already acquainted with. This way, if Harry played his cards right, he would gather a lot more information than they thought he possibly could from just listening to them. Although, if that worked with Snape and Dumbledore was something for the betting pool, but perhaps he could learn something from all this while time passed by.

"Would you tell me how you ended up there?" Dumbledore looked very much like Harry thought a grandfather would look at a grandchild that had accidentally stepped on his dentures – an then jumped on it, thinking it was fun to hear the crunching noise.

Harry glanced at his tea cup and took a sip to buy time. What the red robed wizards had done in Diagon Alley he did not know; although, after he had gotten free from that spell it seemed as if they had wanted to trap… someone with their mumble jumble. Harry would not take bets on who they wanted to find, but he would feel much better if he knew for sure. More important was what they had done in summer during the ritual, or why they had been there in the first place – Harry did not know nor truly remember. It was hard to concentrate on other things than what was threatening one's immediate life. When he had first seen them out of the corner of his eye – Harry was certain it had been them – he had been very much in pain and occupied to somehow fight off Voldemort. Harry sighed and sipped his tea until he finally felt Snape growing palpably impatient (no question through the bond).

"My uncle needed to go to a meeting." Harry started his little tale. "He got me there early so that I wouldn't miss the train." Harry gave a fleeting glance backwards. What had the Potions Master told? This was a part Harry did not like – relying on other people's predictability. He was certain that Snape had kept some information to himself. The man was just too paranoid to give away all ammunition he had gained. What Harry did not know was what information the man had kept to himself. Harry bit his lip and took another sip of his rapidly cooling tea before looking up at the expectantly waiting headmaster.

"Yep, that is how I ended up there." Harry blinked and leaned back. It was a minute of silence when Dumbledore glanced at him imploringly. Obviously, the old man wanted to know a bit more. Harry shrugged serenely and gave in with a little suffering sigh for good measure.

"I thought that it was a bit early, too, sir. But uncle Vernon really needed to get to his appointment in time." Two could play stupid. Calmly, Harry took another small sip from his tea. He did not like tea very much, but it was as good an opportunity to keep busy and blind to the man's questions as anything else he could come up with. And another sip.

"I doubt my uncle reached his office in time, though." Harry nodded sadly. One could not recognize how much he had to fight to keep the 'uncle' indifferent to suspiciously listening ears.

"He really hurried off." Another, smaller sip; and Dumbledore held up a hand to stop Harry's less than informative rambling. Harry suppressed a smile behind his cup.

"Sir?" He frowned. Harry could practically hear the git of Potions professor seething – he needed no bond for that.

"The wizards you met, Harry." Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh and bit his lemon drop to pieces. "Tell me about the wizards, would you?"

"Oh, of course." Harry smiled and traced the rim of the cup. "I was just wandering around when I saw one of them. I followed him into this odd alley way. I had really nothing better to do and he was more interesting than the other people in Diagon Alley." Harry gave his account and shrugged, his forehead furrowed thoughtfully. "He kept glancing back and things. I thought he'd be a Death Eater in disguise or so. Anyway, he met with the other odd guys, who looked just like him." Regretfully, Harry shook his head. "I could not understand what they were talking about, so I hid behind some barrels and watched." With a heavy sigh Harry told the avidly listening headmaster how his Gryffindor bravery had made itself known; and how he wanted to get closer to listen to them and to figure out what they were plotting.

Harry kept it to the bare facts. He said nothing about a spell hitting him, about the need to go over to them to do what they did; nothing of him seeing magic and feeling its surge and its hunger for power and life. It would certainly not be in Snape's side of the story, so there was no need for Harry to bring it up – not when he wanted to keep his abilities to himself.

Grimacing, Harry remembered the moment when Snape had… rescued him. He really would like to rile that bat up even more. Darkly glancing towards the Potions Master – the arrogant bastard seemed still mostly bored, but Harry knew differently (for a minute curiosity overrode the hate he felt) – Harry shrugged carelessly before he spoke again, petulantly and sure of himself.

"I was still hearing nothing but a murmur when… Snape," Harry sneered right along with his Potions professor, "barged into me and gave away my position." Harry pulled a face as if nothing else could be expected. "Well, the wizards saw us, so… Professor Snape," Harry changed his address on Dumbledore's silly request, "run away to hide and nearly threw me off my feet, because he didn't let go of me, and I almost stumbled about his stupid robe." Harry nodded to himself, glancing at his cup. "He run really fast, too."

Pleased with himself, Harry winced inwardly when the hate flared up to new heights. The bond was burning with intensity of the feelings sent through. It was a little miracle – certainly only due to the headmaster's presence – that Snape managed to stay in his corner and did not jump at Harry's throat just then. Harry glanced at the dark robed man, his head tilted thoughtfully. Maybe he should keep away from the dungeons for the next few days. Harry made a notice in his head to keep at least two of his friends with him whenever he felt the need to visit there.

"Well." Dumbledore gazed silently at Harry – his eyes twinkling merrily at his Potions Master for an instant – and popped a new lemon drop into his mouth. Stroking his beard, he seemed to be deep in thought. "The end differs a bit from what Professor Snape told me, Harry." Although, he seemed quite amused about Harry's account, nevertheless.

Harry blinked and shrugged innocently. He had nothing to hide. Even if Harry was angry at him, the Gryffindor hated that Potions git. It could not be wrong to remind them of this small fact, lest it escaped their notice (it was a thing Harry relied on). Harry glared at the spiteful man forcefully, knowing he would get no reaction out of him; though the feeling of hot burning hate he got through the mark increased dramatically and it made Harry smile (if a bit pained).

"No doubt about that, sir." Harry was still glancing at the Potions Master. It was interesting to see how the emotions he could feel through the bond were displayed – or rather repressed – on the man's sullen expression. It could not be healthy; and it would not be long until he lost it. The git would be hard pressed to stay an – apparently – unbiased observer. Too bad. Why should Harry be the only one feeling uncomfortable during their little meeting, though.

Harry shifted in his seat, trying in vain to find a way to release the waves of negative emotions that tried to swallow him up. The first signs of a massive headache were creeping up in his temples. When Harry really attended this stupid Potions lessons (he did not doubt that he would) he needed to find a way to stop the bond from working.

To think that Voldemort had objected himself to the bond's torture voluntarily, not only with one Death Eater but with all of them, should tell how crazy that snake faced bastard really was. It was disturbing to know what his Potions Master felt; and the more heated the emotions were the harder it was to keep his own. No wonder Voldemort was such a vile thing when he got constantly bombarded with countless, twisted emotions of sick muck suckers like Malfoy and Lestrange… not to forget Snape. There had to be a way to stop it.

Harry jerked around when he heard his name mentioned. Again, his thoughts had drifted, but this time he seemed to have missed something important. Harry glanced cautiously at Dumbledore. The old man was, for once, staring intently at the Potions Master. Harry followed the headmasters gaze. The hate through the bond was biting, but Harry's lips twitched. He had wondered when the git would stick his oar in their little tea talk session. It seemed he had done so already.

"…You should ask Potter, headmaster." The man sneered contemptuously just when Harry's attention snapped back to them. "The… boy seems to know more about them than he lets on." The words imbecile and twit were not said but still very much audible; Harry did not care.

Harry's mind was doing somersaults as he quickly tried to figure out what the git was talking about; and when he had – figured it out that was – Harry took another sip of tea to hide his smile. Finally. It seemed their conversation had reached the next stage.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's aged head bend towards him, his expression solemn as he questioned the boy. "Is Professor Snape right?"

"What do you mean, sir?" Harry looked confused at the headmaster. "I've never seen them before."

"The vision, Potter." Snape bit out, clearly at the end of his patience.

Harry blinked as if caught off guard. Here it was. Snape getting back at him – or trying to. Greasy bastard thought to outwit him. It seemed Harry had been right; the vengeful man could not keep his mouth shut when his pride and abilities were belittled – by a Potter no less. Or did he think that Dumbledore would get more information out of an obviously brain dead Gryffindor than he had? He was really a git. Harry's eyes flashed when he leaned back, reassured that what they were trying to make him talk about was nothing of importance, and making certain they knew that he thought so.

"Oh, that one." Harry groaned seemingly bored. "I didn't know what they were then. The vision was an old one." Harry glared at the Potions Master. "As I told… him already." Harry grit his teeth. He had to crane his neck to look at the man. If Snape had to have his say could he not at least have the decency to come forward, so that Harry could see both of them at once, without getting stiff? Grumbling, he turned back to the headmaster. "Really. I did not have another since."

"A vision!" Dumbledore's eyes blazed with… something. "When did you have a vision about those wizards, Harry?"

"It was only a few days after I arrived at Privet Drive." Harry frowned. "I'm not even sure it was a vision, sir. It could have been a dream… or a wrong one from Voldemort." He looked sadly down in his lap, the small cup of tea swaying on his clenched knees when his guilt rose up anew.

"Let that be for us to worry, Harry." The headmaster nodded reassuringly, and with clearly less patience than he wanted the boy to believe. "Just tell me about it, Harry, and then we'll decide what to do about it."

"All right." Harry shrugged after a moment's hesitation. "They were just standing in a circle, sir. They didn't do anything I could see, just standing around, waving their hands about and staring upward." He grimaced as if he felt silly to tell them about something where nothing had really happened. His other visions had always been a bit more bloody or a bit more active, at least. Hopefully – and at the same time anything but – Harry glanced brightly at his headmaster, depending on the old man to figure things out. "Do you think it was one, sir?

Contemplatively, the old man poured himself another cup of steaming hot tea. "Harry?" He offered the boy a second one.

"No, thanks." Harry held up his cup. "I still have some, sir. Could it be a real vision?" He got back to the things that mattered.

"I cannot be sure, Harry." Dumbledore shook his head, never letting drift his gaze from the boy. "Did you see the surroundings, land marks, anything that could tell you where they had been?"

"No, sir." Harry spun his tale further. "Although, it was somewhat creepy. I saw only the wizards, everything else was just dark as if they were floating in… in nothing." Harry watched the old man attentively while he told his vision, and kept this 'inner eye' of the newly grown bond on Snape as much as he could manage, because he could not actively influence it yet. Harry tried to figure out how they received his little story; but except that Snape was still suspicious and spiteful, though intrigued too, Harry could not come up with anything useful. Even though, Harry thought it was one of his easier tasks these days to take his encounter in Diagon Alley and model it to something else entirely.

For his little vision to work Harry only needed to take the Red Robes out of Diagon Alley – into something dark (certainly, if they met anywhere else it would be dark and clammy as all bad guys in novels hid where it was just that) – and let them do what they had done before – standing around. For anyone unable to see the magic at work they had done nothing else. So Harry did not mention the extraordinary way they handled their powers, only told of the circle they formed as this was something recognizable to anyone who watched.

Harry was more than certain that those Red Robes must have done a circle thing like that more often than the one or two times he had witnessed it. He seriously doubted that the wizards were a phenomenon that would simply vanish if they just waited long enough for it to happen. The Red Robes had come from somewhere and would certainly go back to wherever that was when they had accomplished what they were sent to do, but between those two they would assuredly honor the Wizarding World with one or another visit; and maybe they had done that already.

It was only logical to assume further that if anyone knew about the Red Robes Dumbledore (who was unable to stop meddling) was one of the few knowledgeable; and when the old fool was busy to manipulate the world at large Snape was most probably another one knee deep involved in this game.

In Diagon Alley the obnoxious man had reacted fast and never showed a hint of surprise. Harry would bet that the git had not seen those robed wizards for a first time that day; although, Harry quietly admitted to himself that Snape was very adept in keeping his face bare of anything that would be even remotely human; and he was a spy… and had been a Death Eater. So maybe it had been the first time and only Harry's presence prevented him from staring perplexed at a strange group of wizards doing nothing.

Harry frowned and took a very small sip of tea while Dumbledore seemed to be deep in thought about a vision that had not existed before Harry set his feet into this office. Frowning still, Harry thought back to Diagon Alley. Why had Snape pulled him back when he could see nothing but a group of admittedly conspicuous but innocent wizards doing nothing? They could have been tourists for all he knew. Then Harry remembered the red robed wizards' faces – or the place where their faces should have been. That alone with the way they rounded on them was probably enough to make someone like Snape more than a little suspicious; or he had seen them before and knew what to expect. It led all back to the beginning.

Harry took a last sip of cold tea and balanced the empty cup on his knees before he made himself known to the headmaster again. The old coot could finish plotting whatever he came up with when Harry was out of here. He could not say why, but from moment to moment he felt more… restless; as if something was here that had not been an instant before.

"Could I have a bit more now, sir?" Harry cleared his throat and handed his cup over with a bravely suffering sigh to take it back thankfully, filled to the rim with newly heated tea. He was in no way willing to give up his only excuse to think a bit longer before he had to answer the old man's questions. Although, Harry still did not like tea. Too much of it in his early years, that and water as far as Harry could remember; though, he smiled when Dumbledore filled his cup anew without question. Regretfully though, the refilling of the cup had brought the headmaster's attention back to his innocently, if a bit impatiently waiting Gryffindor student.

"Thank you, Harry, for telling me of this vision. Are you sure that it was the only one you had?" Dumbledore enquired with another of his serious twinkles above his spectacles, implying quite blatantly that Harry could not possibly be sure of it, at all.

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded eagerly. He knew from which direction the wind blew.

"It was quite an unusual one, Harry. You could have overseen another one for a simple dream." The old man smiled benignly, making a guilty Gryffindor think that he was doing just that.

"If it was one, sir." Harry piped in, frowning. "And I am sure."

"It is imperative for you to learn to occlude your mind."

"It would if Voldemort still attacked me." Harry grunt out. "But he didn't, and he doesn't anymore! Not once. So it isn't necessary." He forgot to add the respectful 'sir' in the heat of the moment, though it did not seem to bother Dumbledore much. Harry would bet that the coot was glad to have finally broken his 'shell'.

"Now, Harry, that really is not up for negotiation." The old man seemed broken-hearted – just like Snape, but for an absolutely different reason.

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded. "It really is not up for negotiation." His gaze was blazing anger as the Gryffindor held his cup tightly. "I won't go to Occlumency. I won't have it!" He grit his teeth until his jaw ached.

"Very well, we'll see, Harry." The headmaster nodded to himself, not even looking at Harry again for the moment. "There is not much we can do. Let's see if those visions have stopped as you think."

"Yes, sir." The boy breathed evenly and glanced darkly up at him. "They have!" he could not help but add angrily. Taking a long gulp of tea – it burned his tongue but woke him up for another round – Harry concentrated to do what he had shortly come to decide.

Having Dumbledore to believe him completely would be perfect, but nowhere near possible if he thought it through to the end – as he had done in the long hours of his night.

During weeks the old man had time to think of this summer and everything that happened alongside the mysteries surrounding Harry Potter. Dumbledore knew that Harry had been gone, and whatever Harry told him – maybe he even believed him – he would never truly let go of his suspicion; he would always watch and observe from the shadows, much like the Potions Master. One small mistake, a tiny slip when it mattered and Harry would not have time to wonder before he woke up in Azkaban … or somewhere else hidden away and kept safe for everyone else's sake – and his own.

Harry looked at the headmaster, sure that his face displayed open anger, guilt and now a bit of desperation. Harry felt the distant pain behind his temples rising to a dull throb as, next to the bond's awareness, he felt something else of what he had hoped would not have to be dealt with for some time. It seemed Tom and he did not quite agree in the advantage of invisibility, or the other simply had no more survival instinct than a stinking pile of rotten mud.

The important thing was that Harry could not predict the headmaster any longer, not in this… mess. The old man had made so much mistakes when it came to do the best for Harry Potter that the best for Harry Potter could very well mean Harry Potter's death – quietly arranged and with all honours a dead hero could wish for in the Wizarding World. Harry simply did not know how the old man would react, and he did not have the trust to risk everything on pure belief.

Dumbledore never let other people decide in what he marked 'important things', it were always his decisions, and always other people who had to live with the consequences. It was simply not right. Dumbledore thought himself to be infallible, and if he failed then everyone else would certainly have failed too; and this was outrageously wrong. Harry needed a backdoor, a way out in case he messed up and Dumbledore was watching and meddling.