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 30 – Forging Memories
Whoever was attempting to break into Harry's mind was, this time, somewhat more cautious in comparison to Snape, who had run over nonexisting, mental walls like a rampaging herd of Hippogriffs. Nevertheless, it clearly showed Harry that the clumsily, sneaking fool was in no way concerned to get caught. He would have felt insulted that the bastard thought Harry Potter so absolutely blind to this invasion would it not right fit into his plans.
Even after long hours thinking about his different options Harry really could come up with only two possible ways to act. He could either let him know what he was capable of, throwing the idiot out right now, or he took part in the game – convincingly – and managed to make him believe that Harry was just as clueless as everyone else.
Naturally, Harry would have preferred to give nothing away at all. He would have liked to show what exactly he thought of this constant meddling, too. Firstly though, Harry overcame his sudden instinct to throw whoever was spying on him unceremoniously out of his mind only a second after the thought crystallized. Secondly, it was far too early in the year to let anyone know anything more than Harry had already revealed; if the Gryffindor had his way Dumbledore would stay unaware of Harry's Occlumency abilities for a long time to come. Harry could in no way let on that he had caught up on the old coot's scheming; and although Dumbledore managed to look suspiciously inconspicuous it did in no way delude Harry of what was going on. Harry had merely hoped that after all this talk about trust he would get around this part of their conversation. Shoving his disappointment far away into the dark back of his head, Harry assessed the difficulty he was meeting now.
The problem with forged memories was quite obvious. Whenever Harry talked about something he automatically thought about it at the same time – or at least he should think about the same thing. Dumbledore was – in his own words – a master in Legilimency. He would be cautious not to delve too deep, lest Harry became aware of his presence. The old man would stay right at the surface where he had entered Harry's mind and where the more eligible memories would come forward on its own the moment he directed their conversation to the point where Harry would talk about this missing week. It meant, should Harry raise his shields completely and play his forged memories without keeping track of the real conversation, Dumbledore would soon find something wrong when Harry suddenly thought about roasting bacon for the Dursleys while he talked animatedly about a possible kidnapping by Voldemort. It would not go over well; but Harry must not think about this summer – not about this one crucial week. He had to bring his words into line with his thoughts and memories.
Harry had taken his time to make some preparations for just this one occurrence. In apparently random glimpses into his mind Harry would have to dig out some true or at least partly true memories of the recent summer. He could not have prepared the memories beforehand as he did neither know the topics Dumbledore would address, nor did he know the way in which he would do so. Harry would be hard pressed to concentrate to keep his memories – real and forged ones – from overlapping. He had no problems to keep someone out of his mind or to lie the blue out of the sky, but to lead someone around and make him believe that the sky was green while he actually saw that it was blue was a bit more stressful, especially if that someone must not become aware that he was led around.
The outer layers of Harry's mind had been arranged like a maze with only one way for an uninitiated, intruding presence to follow. Whoever got lost here would find neither beginning nor end if Harry did not want them to leave the trap he had so meticulously built. The beginning of his one way maze, where every turn led onto the same path, held easy stuff and built up gradually to the more heavy. That was necessary to make the Legilimens think he actually managed the feat to dig through Harry's memory on his own. The best thing was that an intruder would never become aware of this deception when Harry did not outright tell them. It gave Harry the necessary confidence to stay quietly in his seat and to play the old fool's game, because he knew that he was quite capable to trap anyone in his mind forever – maybe he could put Dumbledore together with Tom. Perhaps this would bring the stupid snake face to quieten down, so that Harry could concentrate on Dumbledore's newest attempt of manipulation.
Harry's lips twitched barely visible. It would be great to see the codger's face when the old manipulator found himself manipulated into confinement with the former Dark Lord. He had certainly lots of history with little Tom that needed to be cleared up. Of course, for Harry it would be even more taxing to keep his barrier up when another magical presence took residence within his mind; but perhaps Tom appreciated the company. Had it been anyone's head but his own Harry would say to go with it and to try out how it worked, but so he sobered up quickly. For this part of the conversation he had to keep his thoughts from drifting for whatever reason as everything else could very easily fire back at him; so Harry looked quite seriously towards the headmaster, waiting for the old man to open the next round of their match.
"What happened during this summer is the last thing we still need to speak about, Harry." The old man twinkled above his spectacles as he watched Harry rubbing his face with both hands. "Although, if you are not feeling up to it we can stop for now and meet again tomorrow, after you have had some hours of rest. What do you say?"
"I don't think tomorrow will find me in a better mood to come up here." Harry reserved a fleeting glance for Snape. "Or that someone else finds me in the right mood to follow after I found myself guided here today so very nicely." Harry sighed and watched Snape stepping gingerly back into the deserted corner, his left arm clutched tightly as if he could prevent Harry from knowing what he hid under his robe's sleeve.
"Just go on, sir." Harry ignored the Potions Master along with the suspiciously quiet bond and leaned back to give the headmaster his full attention. He felt the exhaustion creeping up in his bones.
"Very well, Harry." Dumbledore nodded, his gaze once again meeting Snape's before he pierced Harry with his mad twinkle. "Ms.Granger and Mr.Weasley mentioned to you what went on during the summer, I assume?" The gaze that met his eyes told Harry that he better had to agree with him.
"Er… yes, sir." Harry looked doubtful, his haggard expression did not change. "Hermione said you believe I… vanished from Privet Drive."
"You don't believe it, Harry?" Harry frowned distractedly, mutely shaking his head.
"I don't remember much, sir." Frowning, Harry thought about the time Dumbledore talked about. He remembered Vernon locking him into his room. Harry had done his homework during the day long imprisonment before he had been left out do prepare dinner for relatives who thought themselves starving. He could simply not remember an encounter with Death Eaters or Voldemort himself. Nothing strange had happened; and, of course, the Gryffindor was completely unaware of those barely noticeable moments of grey nothingness that played out between his summer memories of the Dursleys, left for overly eager watchers to make whatever they wanted out of it to draw their own – hopefully wrong – conclusions. Harry grimaced when he found himself at the receiving end of two adamant gazes and sighed mutely as if caught in a lie.
"Well, honestly, sir, I don't remember anything of Death Eaters." Managing to look as if that too was his fault was not easy, because Harry was foremost occupied to project the right memories and to keep in mind what he told them. He would probably need to take notes as soon as he could to remember all of his lies and half-truths. Certainly, Harry would need to recount his story more than once as the year went on.
"Sir?" Harry had only showed some things of what an oblivious Gryffindor thought had occurred during the time in question. It should be enough to point out that Harry was still very much in the dark about everything that happened during the summer; it should make sure to get across that he did not like that fact. Hopefully, Dumbledore could rest more easily with this knowledge. The old coot would certainly feel better as long as he could keep telling himself that Harry was not nearly as independent as he wanted to be; that the boy still needed his knowledge and wisdom to get through his life. Harry had no difficulty to let the headmaster think that he held the trump card very safely hidden in his meddling, gnarled hands.
"Just go on, Harry." Dumbledore twinkled merrily. Putting a suffering expression on his face, Harry blinked, guilt and insecurity reflected in his eyes. Only then he got back to what he wanted to say with a heavy sigh.
"Until Hermione told me that everyone had been searching for me," Harry explained and shifted in his seat, "I thought I had been with the Dursleys for the whole time." He shrugged noncommittally. "I mean, I was surprised when Professor Lupin and Moody showed up. I didn't know they thought I had been gone – I mean, that I was gone – for a whole week. I was angry with them for showing up only for a security check when it was my birthday."
"What do you believe happened?" Finally, the old man remembered the pouch with lemon drops and took another one, watched it thoughtfully and popped it into his mouth after a moment of silent admiration.
"Nothing." Shrugging, the boy glanced hesitatingly at his cup. He would have liked to take it back. He gazed up determinedly. "Should not I be the first one to know where I was? I tell you, sir, I was at Privet Drive for the whole time. I don't know why you think I wasn't. Why should I lie to you about something like that? Can't the wards show you that I never went past them? I couldn't be gone without them knowing, could I?"
"No, Harry, you're right. You couldn't have passed them without them realizing it." The twinkle in eyes seemed to darken. "Harry, they did sound an alarm when you left the premises they were set up to protect."
"But…" Harry shook his head, disbelief written all over his face. "I didn't! I really didn't leave the Dursleys! You told me how important it was that I stayed with them." At a loss of anything else to say Harry shook his head. His hands trembled slightly when he clasped them together and tried to gather enough spit to moisten his throat. "I can't tell you differently."
Although, what Harry could tell him – of course he would not do so voluntarily – was that he had left the wards on his own. Even before he had somehow gotten all of that new magic from Voldemort or wherever else, Harry had somehow known what to do, though it had been a bit more messy and painful than when he had called the wards upon himself. He had felt similar as to the time when he made a balloon out of his stupid, bickering aunt. Harry had not known what he had done; and there had been no choice for him but to let the wards snap back when he was safely away. It had not destroyed the wards, but it shook their pattern tremendously. However, Harry was not so crazy that he had planned to land himself with Voldemort. Harry shook those thoughts away. It could be fatal to think of something like that when he sat in front of the headmaster under tight scrutiny.
"Is something the matter, Harry?" Dumbledore looked down the crooked nose of his in that irritatingly patronizing way, thinking everyone just had to tell him their deepest secret, because he was such a nice, understanding, grandfatherly type of an old and wise one.
Harry pulled up the corners of his mouth, not caring if this one came across wrong – it was supposed to. Then he blinked and smiled when the stupid expression on the old coot's face changed to something more bearable, though Harry could not say what he thought.
"No, sir." Frowning, the Gryffindor shook his head. "Just thinking." Harry should be able to feel something of what was going on in that grizzled head of his. During his practice with Vernon it had certainly worked. Why not with Dumbledore?
"And about what, if I may ask, Harry?" Harry gazed thoughtfully at the old man. If Dumbledore was invading his mind, Harry should get some feedback, even if it was only a tingle of his magic that let him know their energy was mingling at some point. Harry's eyes narrowed as he met the innocent ones of the headmaster and his back straightened. Just who the hell was invading his mind? Harry would have liked to see the old man's lap dog to reassure him that his doubts were unfounded. Harry could not feel anything through the mark's bond; it felt as if Snape consciously kept his emotions at bay, as if he knew that Harry could read them in some way.
"I'm just… not sure anymore, sir." Harry suppressed a sneer. As if Dumbledore would stop asking when Harry did not want him to. He sighed and turned his attention towards his lap to gather his thoughts. Everything rested on the fact that Dumbledore was the one who to observe his memories. Harry did not know what conclusions Snape would draw. It was a gamble he did not like to take. However, Harry could not change the way he had started. He could only hope that Snape told whatever he found without mentioning his suspicions.
Firstly though, Harry needed to test his theory. Sending his senses to where the bond should be, Harry concentrated and found the point where it bound him together with Snape and all the other Death Eaters. Harry could not differ between one and the other. It would be bad luck for Snape if all his colleagues saw this memory, but there was no other way to make sure who was watching.
"Do you think a Pensieve might help, headmaster?" Questioningly, Harry looked up. The moment he asked about the Pensieve, Harry took his concentration to the one memory he knew Snape did not like in the least; it would bring forward emotions the git could not possibly suppress.
"No, I don't believe it would, Harry. A Pensieve can only show existing memories, not memories that should exist." Dumbledore seemed for once truly sorry, but that might be because he had to pass over a chance to take an unveiled peek into Harry's memories.
"I understand, sir." Harry smiled, though his eyes narrowed even more. Did he think him stupid? The bond was back with fury, but the first emotion was gone as fast as it had appeared; he would have missed it had he not been waiting for something. There was curiosity, puzzlement and disbelieve instead of hate. It was not what Harry wanted; and at the same time the greasy git kept digging for more information within Harry Potter's mind. At least, it showed that Snape could do Legilimency without ripping Harry's mind apart, though he still trampled around without any caution. Obviously, Snape did not think much of Harry's abilities to detect his… spying.
Harry was lucky that Tom had not caught on, yet. The guy was not known to keep his temper in check. He certainly would not react in any way positive; or he would try to make himself known to Snape if he still thought the man was spying for him and not for the other side.
"If what I've heard is true, then I would have been able to point you to Voldemort's hideout." It was really unfortunate that Harry had lost his memory. He did not glance away when Dumbledore scrutinized him a moment longer above his halfmoon shaped glasses before the old man smiled begninly, glancing fleetingly towards the Potions Master, who still stood silently observing right next to the door.
"It's all right, Harry. We know were his hideout is – was. The magical outburst we talked about earlier had its origin right were we assume Voldemort's main base had been."
"Had been? Then he's gone now?" Harry looked hopeful while inwardly he was fuming. It really was not the headmaster doing the dirty work, Harry realized and bit the inside of his cheeks until he drew blood. It was the Potions Master at his back, trying to enter his mind, who was getting mud on his hands. Did Dumbledore think Harry Potter totally gullible? Did he think that he could give Snape a slap on the hand when Harry took him to task and send the git to the dungeons as if Dumbledore had nothing to do with it? Why did not anyone ever ask? Why did they always try to look behind what was none of their business? Did not anyone trust him enough to take his word for what was? There had been a time when he would have told everything freely, though that time had passed now; and it was their fault.
"I don't believe he's gone, Harry." Dumbledore frowned at him in his grandfatherly manner. "Are you sure that you didn't have any more visions?"
"I am, sir." Harry nodded reflexively. "Not for a long time." He did not want to mention the Red Robes again, lest he was called forth to tell his story again and again to make certain he had not left out important details. It really could go wrong.
Biting his lips to keep himself from letting his anger out, Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and concentrated to stay with his outward appearance intact. It was stupid that he had not thought about the possibility before. Why had the manipulative bastard allowed his lap dog to stay when it clearly did not concern him, save the stupid mark on his left arm.
Harry's thoughts did somersaults as he was trying to come up with some memories he could use on Snape when his earlier question whether or not Tom had tried to break free with all of his strength was answered emphatically an with a burst of pain that made his eyes pop out of his head.
Why of all the possible times did this stupid, disgusting soul of a would-be immortal choose now to get in a panic? Harry could not let on – not now when he was nearly through with this idiotic conversation – that more than his memory was amiss. Stupid thing!
Harry was quite certain that Snape could not find Tom as long as he was rummaging around in his set up mind-maze; and there was no way that he could get out of it. The git tried to be discreet, but he moved around in a way that made obvious he did not truly see any reason for caution. The problem was now that Tom did not make the whole matter easier for Harry to keep track of Snape and any forged or real memories. The way Tom pressed forward was doubtlessly created to draw the attention of anyone only halfway adept in Legilimency.
Snape, his lips tightly pressed together, stood even more rigid than before. He held his arms crossed behind his back – his hands had to be clenched to fists to suppress a more visible reaction to how Tom's attack effected him. For once, Harry did not feel hate but pain that added very nicely to his own. He was glad to notice, though, that what Snape felt was not anywhere remotely close to what he had imagined it to be. But then, during the feast had happened more than just Tom, and in Diagon Alley Harry still had to deal with the out of control magic.
Harry swore. He should have kept his thoughts warded not only against anyone who forced their way in, but to those who tried to force their way out, too. The barrier was only good to hold an embodied soul, not a soul's thoughts or powerful bursts of core magic. It was not too far away that if Harry could catch some random thoughts of Tom, the snake face was able to do the same. Harry grit his teeth and concentrated to stay calm – on the outside.
Harry could not suppress a slight tremor, knowing – feeling through the mark – that Snape got a backlash, because the emotions were suddenly much more cautious, questioning and suspicious. A nearly overwhelming pang of cursed knives was evident. It was as if Snape was taking a deep breath to prevent himself from cringing when the pain surged through the bond – no real emotion – pain (not as bad as Harry felt, but bad enough; and no summons).
Blood pulsing in his veins, Harry grimaced with suppressed anger. His magic did not work when he thought about what he was doing (or wanted to do). It seemed a thing where the Gryffindor attitude of act first and think later seemed to be appropriate; and the magic that had been brimming with force since the moment the Gryffindor boy had felt Tom's presence for the first time during this talk, held in place with Harry's will only, was freed of its bounds and surged towards the oppressing wall of power that tried to run down Harry's magical defenses. But not now!
A small whimper made its way past Harry's tightly clenched teeth.
"Is everything all right, Harry?"
"Just… a headache, sir." Harry managed to say, acutely aware of the weighing glance; though he did not look up, sitting bend forward, head in his hands, his fists pressed against his closed eyes, and concentrated on deep and regular breaths.
"Severus?" Dumbledore's voice echoed the old man's doubts; and after a hesitating glare towards the boy, which Harry took no notice of, the Potions Master answered, thoughtfully keeping his words to the bare facts.
"The Dark Mark, headmaster." Snape's voice had an edge for the first words, but then it sounded only gruff. "However, it's not a summoning. I don't have the slightest doubt that the Dark Lord has to be alive, though."
"Harry? Is it your scar that hurts?"
"No, sir." Harry shook his head. "It tingles a bit, but I don't think it has something to do with my headache. That's a normal one, sir. I know the difference." Harry was barely believing that he had managed to keep his secrets. That stupid, arrogant lord had nearly messed up everything. A last time his magic lashed out mercilessly – that is to say it lashed inwards – so Tom knew what he had nearly cost him.
"So he's indeed alive." Dumbledore gazed searchingly at Harry, who still had his head bend down and his eyes closed.
Finally, Harry looked up and turned to meet the Potions Master's narrowed gaze with wide eyes and open mouth. For a moment, time seemed to stop before Snape sneered and Harry could breath again, knowing for sure now that Snape could not follow the bond to its origin… what a surprise that would be.
"Why would you think he wasn't?" The boy frowned.
"It was a question that came to mind as Voldemort has vanished without a trace and not even his most trusted Death Eaters know where he could be to this hour." The headmaster did not leave the boy out of his gaze, but all expression Harry showed was silent questions Dumbledore could not begin to answer.
"Oh." Was all that Harry had to say to that matter, before he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in an attempt to relax.
"What happens know? I mean when it's right what you said I've lost my… that I have lost my memories." Harry gazed at the old man as if reaching for his last line of safety. The old man actually looked worried. It was certainly an improvement from the meddling old fool. Harry led his head hang in apparent defeat, concentrating to keep track of everything he said to Dumbledore; concentrating on keeping Tom quiet; concentrating to lead Snape away from anything interesting. Harry felt the ache in his head explode behind his forehead.
"Can't you tell me what happened?" Harry needed to get out of here as soon as possible. He felt the walls closing in on him.
"As I don't know where you have been, I can't tell you anything, Harry, though do not worry, I'm sure your memory will come back, when you're ready." Dumbledore shook his head.
"Oh! You think?" Harry asked thoughtfully, an innocent expression on his face. He was sure that Dumbledore could at least make a good guess. He had indicated already where he thought Harry had been. Why could he not say so clearly for a stupid, slightly naïve Gryffindor boy to understand? The dull, thumbing pain made itself comfortable in his head. Merlin! Would they ever come to an end!
"If you really can't remember there is nothing I can do, Harry." He gazed at him thoughtfully. "You don't remember anything?"
"I told you already, sir!" Harry took a deep breath. It was time to speed up this conversation and clenched his fists, still desperately urging Tom back into the dark corner of his mind. "I can't remember what you want me to tell you. I told you! I don't know what more you want from me. I don't know anything. I didn't have anymore visions. Do you think I know where Voldemort is? That I'm suicidal and go running off to him, so he can kill me even faster than he would do otherwise? I don't know were he is! I don't know where I was during that week all of you are hushing about, either! I just don't know!" Harry's breath was gone and he deflated slightly, but only until he took another breath.
"I wouldn't even know the bit I do if Hermione had not told me in the train. Not even Lupin told me what was going on! All three of them just stood in my room mumbling that it was about nothing; then it was my birthday, and suddenly it was a security check!" As false as his anger truly was, to hold it up as long and under so much pressure was exhausting. Although, Harry had to stay afoot. He realized how easy it was to get carried away and to really tell what was going through his head.
"They were worried about you, Harry." The headmaster interrupted his flow of words. "And the way you spoke to them hurt them very much, especially Remus Lupin." He watched Harry as though the boy should drop to the ground with guilt. Heaven forbid Harry Potter hurt anyone, even if he only said the truth! Harry halfway raised his arm for a very tactless Muggle gesture, but his professors would not understand. You had to tell them what you wanted, otherwise they would leave you running in circles.
"Oh, stuff them! They could have told me what was going on! They didn't even bother to think of something convincing! As if I would believe everything!"
A snort at his back made Harry jerk around. He could not have prevented it even if he wanted to, but very well, if Snape thought he was left out of the conversation and needed to bring himself into it more tightly, Harry would help him with that.
Harry's eyes blazed in fury. It was hard to say whether his outburst was faked or not. Harry still knew what he did, though. He was well aware that the greasy bastard had not stopped fishing for information. Snape still had him under a mild form of Legilimency – strong enough to get glimpses into his mind if Harry did not know or pay attention to what he did – so that the bastard would possibly know when Harry lied, but that was not necessary, was it? There was enough shit under his shoe to safe a bit for Snape. Harry was just not certain if he wanted to enter the terrain a Gryffindor would rush into – to hell with the consequences. He would still have to live with that man in the future; and suddenly those 'only four' lessons did not sound as inconspicuous as before.
With a last breath, Harry took a harder grip around Tom, though it seemed as if the idiot had quieted down considerably. Probably he had finally caught on that Harry did not care for other people to know who was listening in.
Harry whirled around and came upon Snape like a storm. "I don't care if you have Dumbledore himself for a father or if your mother is drinking tea with Voldemort, but don't you dare to ever belittle, insult or humiliate me again for my beliefs and opinions, if you are the one swearing fealty to everyone who sticks a wand into your face." Harry's words were relatively harmless, apart from the fact that he nearly screamed them into his professor's face. It were the memories within the boy's mind that suddenly bombarded him which made the Potions Master pale – a real feat that was as he had looked like chalk to begin with – and out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Dumbledore frowning above his half moon shaped glasses, though not at him – at Snape. Harry had stepped into something new; he had not wanted to. Or had he?
Harry had the suspicion that his old headmaster – although, he might believe it – did not get often under Snape's skin. Harry managed it quite regularly. More than once during the conversation the git had nearly lost his calm exterior. Probably though, Harry managed it only because he was a Potter. Snape had never been able to keep his calm when one just mentioned his father's name. It was certainly a weakness Harry needed to explore, though it was Harry's weakness to; but recognizing and accepting it as a weakness was the first step to overcome it. He was one step further than Snape. Without paying any more attention to Snape, Harry turned back to his headmaster.
"If you do nothing else – believe me, sir." Harry's eyes narrowed in anticipation. He wanted this farce to end. Jerking back to the git when he glimpsed him opening his mouth, though his gaze was still directed at the old man, Harry's eyes mirrored the hate perfectly.
"Whatever else you have to say, Snape, I won't listen." Harry bit out and to make obvious that he did not intend to acknowledge his professor's mere existence furthermore he added in an afterthought a sharp: "Headmaster!"
It took a moment for Dumbledore to gather his thoughts. Then the old man sighed as though his burden had gotten bigger. Harry's eyes narrowed. How dared he to make him feel guilty again? He wanted to get out. Fighting on three fronts at the same time was too much, even for Harry Potter.
"I understand, that you are angry, Harry."
"No." His eyes still displaying heated emotions, Harry spoke with more calm, although still forcefully, and leaned back in that too soft chair. "With all respect, sir, you don't have a glimmer of understanding, or you wouldn't do what you did - and what you are obviously still doing." And to not make Dumbledore think he knew that he had Snape legilimize him, Harry furthered: "I don't like it when people make me talk when I don't want to, sir!" He took the liberty to spit the 'sir' out with a hate only Voldemort had encountered before; and it was as if he had hit the old man in his face. Ha! It had an even better effect than calling him 'coot' where he could listen. Emotion was what got to Dumbledore – heartfelt, pure emotion. It was only for an instant as they silently assessed each other before Dumbledore smiled pleasantly and held out his stupid pouch of sweets.
"A lemon drop, Harry?" If that was Dumbledore's way to apologize, Harry did not care much. The bastard deserved a good hit for what he was doing. Harry did not dare to look back at Snape. He did not want to give himself away in the last moment.
The headmaster did not know it yet, but right this moment he had truly lost the last ounce of… anything, Harry Potter had still felt somewhere deep down; what a secretly lonely boy had allowed himself to feel, despite knowing better.
When Albus Dumbledore wanted to have it his way, he would get it his way. Harry set his jaw. All was fine with him. Let the old codger do what he wanted, Harry would do what he needed to. Silently, Harry cursed Tom for making everything harder than it had to be. Stupid! All of them were stupid to think that Harry Potter would not wake up one day.
The storm that raged outside seemed to have lessened in power. Without a moment to linger or thinking if what he was about to do was clever – it certainly was very fitting for a Gryffindor – Harry stormed out of the office, leaving Snape and Dumbledore in his wake; and it was only the magic around the place that prevented the door from being thrown close forcefully. He stumbled down the stairway and hurried out of the corridor as fast as he could.
Nearly running, Harry did not slow down until he reached the entrance hall. Then he bend down, his hands on his knees, and drew a deep and trembling breath. Round one of their game was over; points… maybe one for either or neither of them. Merlin, was he glad that he had come out of that office more or less unscathed.
Still breathing consciously, Harry pulled both hands through his hair. He straightened his crumbled robe and took a good look at the clock. It was already well past lunch. Everyone was off to classes again, even Neville would be now. Forcefully avoiding to think about the last hours, Harry closed his eyes an instant longer than it was necessary to blink and made his way up to the Gryffindor tower. He felt numb, unable to ascertain what he had said or should have said – or better not. In a short time everything would rush down on him.
His legs trembled when the tension slowly began to leave his body. Only stumbling he made his way through the castle. Harry would cut whatever lessons he had today. It was impossible that he could sit through them without giving away that something was wrong. Harry shuddered. He had been calm as long as he was in that damnable office, but now his reserves were used up. He was starting to think in circles. There was nothing he could do. He had laid out his cards – some of them; now he needed to wait until the others revealed what they held. It was not a calming thought, but it was what would need to happen next. He just hoped he had not given too much away – or too little.
Harry pulled himself up the stairs with the help of the banister. The way to the Gryffindor tower seemed unimaginable long. There was too much time to dwell on what he had done, too much time to doubt himself, to doubt what he had ever thought he could pull off. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Harry muttered the password barely loud enough to be heard, ignoring the still angry chatter of the woman in the portrait and made his way up to the dormitory to stop thinking. Harry knew that he had done the best he could. More importantly, Harry did not think that one of the men had gotten an idea of what he was hiding in his head.
The door of the dormitory closed when Harry leaned back against it. He drew a deep breath and sank down to the ground, trembling with tension and relief. What a mess he had gotten himself into! It was worse than ever before. How could he make it through the whole year with no one to back him up? He leaned back until his head met the wooden door with a dull thud. He was crazy to even try to get through with it. Harry closed his eyes when tears leaked out of them. It was the exhaustion catching up with him, all that adrenalin surging through his body, the relief to have it finally over and done with. Furiously, Harry rubbed his face. He would not cry, not ever. He was stronger than that. There was not enough time for him to stop on his path. He needed to go forward constantly.
The conversation was done; now he needed to start his research. He needed to find the ultimate way to kill Voldemort for real, with no possibility for him to sneak his way back. Remotely, Harry knew already what he needed – Voldemort himself had been the one to show him how it could be done. However, Harry had nothing but a vague idea of what should be the final outcome. He did not know what exactly he had to do, or how. It really was fortunate, if personally sad, that he was out of the Quidditch team. Harry would have to use all the time he could get to search for information about the ritual he had to undergo to free himself of Voldemort.
Still trembling, Harry pushed himself up, staggered weakly towards his bed, and simply fell down as soon as he was near enough to hit the mattress and not the ground. He would take a nap, and then he would go and visit Madam Pince. He could foresee that the woman would soon become his best and only friend. After all, she was the mistress of books and her kingdom was the place he planned to make his home in a short amount of time. Sighing, Harry closed his eyes. Now, if he could only forget the sacrifice that would be needed to even have a chance to complete the ritual.