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 33 – Shirking Duty
Harry swallowed and pushed his plate away to find enough space to put his elbow on the table. His head was growing heavy and it would take another hour for Ron to finish the mountain he had loaded upon his plate. After a moment of wishing that Ron might eat a little bit faster, Harry looked around and found finally the person he had asked himself where she had landed.
Blinking, Harry winked back at the girl who sat between Seamus' cousins, brightly grinning, with the doll she had cried about safely tucked away under her left arm. Seeing her laughing with Para and Oonagh Harry wondered whether some of her new housemates made fun of her or if it bothered her if they did. Even if others might hide an old teddy bear in their beds for dark nights when homesickness slammed down, she was the only student he knew that carried her favourite toy around like a lifeline. She seemed happy enough in Hufflepuff. Hopefully spite was not part of a Hufflepuff's personality. It was quite different with the Slytherins, though.
"You know, Ron." Harry interrupted the redhead's stuffing marathon. "I bet you get a lot to do this year."
"Huh?" Ron glanced at Hermione and swallowed before he spoke. "What are you talking about?"
"Your task." Harry pointed towards the girl. "When the snakes realize the doll she's carrying around, you'll get something to do."
"I'll set Ginny on her." Ron grinned darkly. "After all, it's her boyfriend's sister, not mine. Maybe then she'll let that stupid Muggle go if that Sinje comes crying every day."
"Ron!" Hermione looked scandalized.
"What? I'm not good with little kids, and I'm even worse with girls." He gazed down the table were Ginny sat with her friends. "I don't like that Muggle. He's always going gooey and puppy eyed."
"I didn't notice that you're so set against Ginny and … Tore, was it?" Harry was truly surprised. Ron had seemed alright with it when he told them in the train. He thought it had been their mother who did not want Ginny to get a boyfriend (no matter if he was Muggle or wizard).
"Yeah," Ron mumbled his mouth full with mashed … something and swallowed, "and no. I'm not, not really anyway. It's just … she's fifteen."
"So? It's not that long ago since you were fifteen too. What's the matter?"
"I'd be happier if she'd gone on with Dean. He's here at least."
"So you can have an eye on him?" Harry grinned. "You should be glad. She could meet Dean in a dark corner after curfew." Harry was immune to Ron's dark look. "She can't meet the Muggle until the holidays arrive. I doubt that he'll find a way to even get to Hogsmeade without an ounce of magic in him."
"Oh, you're right, mate." Ron blinked. "Thanks." His grin went from one ear to the other. He winked at Ginny, his fork still in a tight grip, when he caught her gaze. Visibly relaxed, he got himself another helping.
"Are you satisfied now?" Harry smirked behind his hand.
"Yeah. Now I'm even more hungry." Ron said it and stuffed himself with a roasted banana with hot pumpkin sauce. It was sweet and spicy – Harry had tried it once – and it made Harry's stomach grumble disapprovingly.
"Hu mow mhat me hu humowow?"
"What?" Harry blinked.
"That's disgusting, Ron." Hermione pulled a face.
"I asked if you know what we can do tomorrow."
"Why? What happens? I've not missed some anniversary or some such thing, have I?" Harry glanced at Hermione, but the girl was just as clueless as he and shrugged noncommittally.
"It's the weekend, mate. We've hardly any homework. It makes it so much harder to find enough interesting things to spend the time, don't you think? Still, I like it when the school year starts with a weekend. But what are we going to do as we can't yet go to Hogsmeade?" Ron sighed, suffering with indecision.
"Well…" Harry crossed his hands behind his head and watched the sky, grey and dark, the same as the whole day, only now it did not feel so … vivid and taxing. Just a moment's peace would be nice tomorrow, before he began his search and tested his limits.
"I'm going into the library," Hermione announced, full of energy. "I want to get those books the Professor recommended before all the Ravenclaws get their hands onto them." Her eyes glinted secretively. "I want to look up some other things too."
"Great." Ron groaned and turned hopefully. "Harry?"
"I think," Harry shrugged apologetically, "that I'll take Hermione's idea." He put his chin back into his hand, waiting for the temper to show after Ron managed to close his mouth.
"What? Why? Are you sick?"
"I'm not sick -" Not to mention his headache - "but I've missed the first day of classes and I don't want to fall behind. It will pile up and I'll have to study even more later on."
"That's stupid, Harry." Ron's gaze turned to his dessert disappointedly and not with the least bit of understanding. "You can just say that the headmaster needed to talk to you. It's not a good reason to study on the first weekend in school. We should explore, set up some traps for Malfoy and visit Hagrid. He asked how you're doing, by the way."
"I'm sure Hagrid won't mind if we go to him another time." Ron snorted and Harry looked at the head table. The half giant was not there. Dumbledore and Snape were, though; and Snape was watching the Gryffindor table with that dark, assessing look he used to intimidate the students.
There had been times when that look worked very well with Harry. This year it was already different, though. Harry recalled that when Snape had stepped into the office right behind him, positioning himself next to the door after he had escorted him so very politely to the office, Harry was barely able to refrain from looking back at him reproachfully, not in the least intimidated. Now, taking a cautious glance towards the forbidding, staring man, Harry thought that Snape really underestimated him if he thought that Harry Potter would take a detour towards the other end of the castle as soon as he stepped away from the door (even for Harry, that would have been too obvious an attempt in avoiding the headmaster and his questions), or that he would be prevented from going anywhere he liked if he truly wanted to only because the bastard stood in the way. Whatever the reason, Harry did not like that the git had been invited to linger about.
Dumbledore was not easy to play at and neither was Snape. That both had been present during the whole talk made it harder to deal with each of them separately in the future. It would be great if the library held a book about the inner workings of a crazy old man's mind with some additional chapters on how to deal with vengeful spies.
There had been a moment when Dumbledore had seemed surprised, right after Harry had stepped into the office. Cautiously, Harry glanced at the old man. Nothing showed that the man was anything but disgustingly cheerful as he chattered away with McGonagall. That had been the only really strange look he had caught so far, but earlier Harry had dismissed it easily, not furthering that thought when he needed to survive that talk at first, because one way or another Dumbledore always looked strangely at him, so it was really nothing out of the ordinary. Now though, it seemed as if Dumbledore had made a decision the moment Harry entered his office, one to determine how to deal with him further – and it caught Harry slightly off guard.
It did not help anything; the meeting would have gone much better if Harry knew what Dumbledore thought or had made of the talk, what he expected or wanted. The whole ordeal had not gone as it was supposed to, but it had not been a total failure either. After all, he had managed to come out with his secrets intact; he had not yet been shoved off towards Azkaban. What could he want more? He had to make some compromises. It was the headmaster, after all. Of course, Harry could tell that the man was suspicious. In these times, in his position, it was not healthy not to be; Harry understood that. He just wanted to be left alone. He hoped with all his might that he had enough time to prepare and research everything he needed for real before Dumbledore caught on and began to meddle even more than he would be able to do now.
"You're looking as if you want to throw your food at them," Ron whispered, following his gaze questioningly.
"This idea has merit." Harry grinned, inwardly sighing heavily when Ron blinked at him hopefully.
"Are you serious?" He glanced cautiously towards Hermione. "With this studying bit? I doubt she'll even realize that you're there and help us with our homework anyway."
"Well…" Harry scratched his head.
"Oh, come on, mate. You can't do that! You're the only one to save me from a day of boredom. You can always … study," he pulled a face, "after dinner or so."
"I think about it, okay? Ask me again tomorrow." Harry opted to ignore his sometimes stupid best friend from then on and glanced down the table. Naturally he ended where the teachers were putting their heads together. He got a good look at Snape watching him with something akin to puzzlement. Whatever was going on in that greasy head, Harry would have to deal with it at some point in the future. Curious, he turned to his friend.
"By the way, Hermione, how was Potions?"
"You mean because Professor Snape was with Dumbledore?" Hermione followed his look before she shrugged indifferently. "The head boy sat watch and we read the first five chapters in the book. For next week we have to write an essay about it." She smiled. "He said that Professor Snape will give us a quiz in the next lesson."
"Hn." Harry frowned, suppressing the urge to rub his temples.
"Are you angry because Professor Snape was listening in or because the headmaster didn't tell you what happened?" Hermione glanced at the head table. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you wait for Dumbledore and ask him after dinner? Some time he has to tell you if you're sleeping in front of his office."
"Why not? I'm not some fan of him waiting for an autograph." Harry bared his teeth. "I mean, Hermione, I asked him repeatedly; I don't want to beg on my knees before he tells me what's going on. If he wants me to do anything he'll have to say it, and he has to explain exactly why and what and everything else. Understood?"
"Yes, of course," she said calmly. "That's still no reason to bite off my head."
"Let's just stop," Harry mumbled sullenly. "I don't need you pestering me even more. Are you ready with that?" He turned to Ron. "Then let's get out of here." Without waiting for a reply, Harry stood up and climbed out from the bench. He was tired of having to repeat himself.
Finally they, especially Hermione, would figure out that something else other than a simple disagreement or even Sirius' death was the reason for Harry's changed personality. Harry did not delude himself. He was not that good an actor, not that certain about what he was doing, that he could stay an angry, brooding teenager for the whole year. When they caught on that he did not only study because he wanted to burry himself in work, to drown his grief and anger and the helplessness about deck of cards fate had dealt him with, Harry would have no answer, no choice but to push back and that way end a friendship that had brought him through lots of hard times.
It was better the friendship ended earlier than later. It would be easier for them in the long run, whichever way this year ended. Either Harry would have no choice but to kill himself to prevent Voldemort from taking over, or he would do the ritual as he hoped and his friends would lose him still, not that Harry minded. Everything for the greater good. Harry scoffed and shook those morbid thoughts away. It was easy to get carried away. There was no way to be sure about anything.
Harry glanced back to see that his friends followed him, somewhat subdued. Sighing, he strode out of the great hall towards Gryffindor tower. They had better get used to him. Harry was not going to change.
His gaze locked onto the floor, Harry stepped around the corner. He just saw the dark robe in front of him, but in this moment he was already running into the person that was a good bit taller than him.
Stumbling back Harry straightened. "Oh, Professor McGonagall. I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming."
"That much I was able to notice, Mr. Potter." She hesitated a moment. "Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger. Go on your way. I have to talk to Mr. Potter for a moment."
For once his friends went without complain, but both of them threw him a look that spoke volumes. Harry was certain that they would wait just around the corner at the stairs. They were much too predictable.
"Professor?" Confused as to what he could have done wrong now, save running into his head of house, Harry gazed at his professor.
"Last year I promised you that I would get you into the NEWTs class of potions. I apologize that I wasn't able to keep that promise."
Harry smiled up at her, a hint of regret visible in his eyes. "It's all right, Professor. The headmaster gave me my lesson plan already." He sighed, still heartbroken that he had not made it in NEWTS Potions class. "I know I did badly in the Potions OWLs. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Professor McGonagall. It's my own fault for failing Professor Snape's expectations, even though I knew he only accepts … the better than average students in his class." He pulled a face but suppressed his grimace an instant later.
"Mr. Potter…." She began and stopped. Harry could not tell what she thought by the way she looked at him.
"It's not that bad, Professor. I don't have to become an … Auror." Harry sighed resignedly, looking as if his dream was going up in smoke. "I'll simply do something else. I'm sure there are lots of possibilities for me." He said and smiled bravely at his head of house. "I'm still taking average Potions, so maybe I can read up the rest I need in the library." He did not sound very convinced of himself; clearly his brave front was only for the benefit of his professor.
"I will see what I can do, Mr. Potter." Her eyes narrowed determinedly. "You will get the lessons you need in another way." Her lips twitched to a rare smile. "After all, we can't have someone with your aptitude lost to the world."
"Yes. Thank you." Gratefully Harry's smile became a bit brighter, though it diminished only a moment later.
"Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, it's just … Professor Snape doesn't like me much and… well."
"Rest assured, Mr. Potter, that I will talk to Professor Snape on this matter."
"That'd be great, Professor." Harry grinned.
The woman nodded gruffly and glanced behind the boy. "Now, Mr. Potter, I suggest you don't let your friends wait any longer. They seem to be rather impatient having to wait for you."
"Oh." Harry turned to see Ron peering around the corner. Very inconspicuous. "Yes, Professor and -" he smiled charmingly up at her- "thank you very much." Harry watched her go. It was nice to know that something was working in his favour. He rolled his eyes when Hermione and Ron came back, curiously following his gaze.
"What'd she want?" Ron asked expectantly.
"She's going to help me to become an Auror," Harry said happily.
"Oh." Ron looked warily at him and Hermione's brows rose. "That's great."
"Yep. It is." Harry grinned, his steps bouncing much more on his way up to the tower than when he had gone down to dinner.
"But how's she going to do that?" Hermione bit her lip.
"She wants to talk with Snape to get the NEWTs lesson plan and I'll do the stuff on my own." Harry ignored Hermione's wide-eyed astonishment. "I'm sure I can do that when I really want to." Not that it would really come to that.
"So that means you're going to … really study this year, huh, mate?"
"Oh, Ron." Harry patted his friend lightly on the shoulder. "We'll still have time for you to beat me in chess and I think I can leave some days out so that we can visit Malfoy and his goons to pay him back for all the years he made us watch his ferret face."
"Yeah." Ron did not sound as if he meant it wholeheartedly, though Harry was not bothered much. He would have nearly no time to keep up with Ron's expectations on how to spend time in the idlest ways, but this was just the way it had to be. Harry shrugged and bounced ahead of his friends, his steps light for once. He could make it.
Harry was only pulled out of his more agreeable mood when he arrived the portrait to the common room of Gryffindor. He had never much cared about the Fat Lady in his years here – save when he had wanted to see her after Sirius had practically ripped her portrait apart in third year. Now Harry found that he did not like that person very much and would not mind if Sirius came to scratch her a bit with his claws.
The nearer Harry got the louder she became, her screaming practically ear-shattering. And what she said – my, my. She knew certainly interesting words to badmouth someone she did not like.
"What happened now? What did you do to her, Harry?" Harry turned back to his friends and shrugged the frown away that Hermione directed at him.
"Nothing really. You're just behind me, aren't you? I'm wondering myself, really." Harry's lips twitched, but he was better at suppressing his grin than Ron. The redhead did not seem able to help himself and grinned like an idiot, not once looking away from the screaming banshee the Fat Lady seemed to want to change into.
"What exactly did you do to her, Harry?" Hermione observed the Fat Lady like an unknown specimen under a microscope. "I mean, she wouldn't make such a ruckus only because you … knocked, would she?" Harry snorted.
"Yeah." Ron grinned. "It sure looks as if she can't stand you, mate."
"Well…" Harry did not look particularly sorry, even if he possibly would have avoided such a scene if he had been in better shape earlier. "She's taking the little argument we had a bit hard. But she'll come around. She's a nice lady or she wouldn't be a lady at all. Aren't you?" He turned a sweet smile at the woman when she had to pause to take a breath. She spluttered in indignation but listened avidly nevertheless. Harry barely refrained himself from poking her in the stomach before he said the password and the still bickering portrait swung to the side. At least she could not get into the dormitory and he had the evening free from anything disturbing.
The remaining time before they parted for the night they spent quietly at their usual seats in front of the hearth, Hermione buried in a book (what a surprise), and Ron beating Harry very soundly at chess. Both of his friends were much more easy going when they had something other than Harry to occupy their minds. Harry did not mind to stop thinking when he set the stones so that Ron could take them.
Chess was really not Harry's forte; even if he should take all his mind to accomplish it, or try doing better, it was a lost cause with him. He might have caught a lot of knowledge from Voldemort, but chess strategies had not been among it as far as Harry could remember. Harry bit his lip and set another pawn (one of his last) forward. He just did not see the use to try to predict which way the pieces moved and when that stupid horse was near enough to beat the pawn, as Ron's was doing now.
"I think it's time to call it a night." Harry yawned when his king shook his fist at him when Ron took his only way to safety. The chess pieces did not like it very much to play on his side in this little war, though Harry found it amusing how they always muttered about his stupidity during the whole game, almost like a bunch of miniature Snapes. Of course, Harry did not tell them that he had to suppress a smile at least once per game. Their obvious dislike and the way in which they discounted his abilities were often the only things that kept him from sleeping and helped a lot to continue the game until Ron did have his own bit of success.
"Yeah." Ron grinned, his look still on the triumphantly cheering white chess pieces. "Everyone else is gone anyway," he said with a careless glance into the common room and gathered the angry likewise with the happy pieces into their box.
Then they had only to wait a moment until Hermione had put her mountain of books and parchment into a neat pile the boys went to their own dormitory with a roll of their eyes and a last "Good night" and the natural "Happy dreams" for him.
It had to be only shortly before midnight. Harry frowned. His headache was still sitting in the back of his head and some time around the evening his left shoulder had begun to sting whenever his shirt rubbed over it. Yesterday it had been nothing but a little red spot, but now, when he pulled aside the clothes, it looked as if someone had dropped hot oil onto his shoulder. The burn itself was not bigger than a knut, but the pain reached far deeper. It stung like hell now when he knew it was there.
"Urgh!" Ron stepped close to him. "Where did you get that?"
"Oh, that's a burn I got when I fried bacon for the Dursleys breakfast. Its not bad, it just looks that way," Harry said and let the cloth fall back.
"But it looks pretty bad, mate."
"Maybe, but it doesn't hurt much." Where the spell had touched him the skin was an angry red with small white blisters. That was definitely a strange and not to say slightly violent way to summon a person. He wondered if he would have been fried on the spot had the full spell hit. Harry was certain that something like that would inevitably fall under Dark Arts where the ministry was concerned. A hell of a …summoning spell that was, but certainly not of use when he wanted the one at the receiving end to be alive in the end.
"If it's not getting better in a few days I'll let Hermione magic it away, alright?" Another yawn settled this topic. "I'm going to hit the mattress." Harry shrugged of his robes. "G'night, Ron."
"Yeah, sleep tight, Harry." The redhead frowned. "But how were you frying that bacon anyway?"
"Obviously in the wrong way." Grinning, Harry pulled the hangings close and changed into his pajamas, before he fell back and stared unthinkingly at the canopy. A few moments later he grimaced. His bladder would not like to wait an entire night. Sighing, Harry pulled the hangings open and got up again.
The moment his bare feet touched the stones Harry flinched away with a surprised yelp. That was not good. Merlin! Harry had never been faster to get back onto his bed. He had not been aware of this yesterday, or was it something new? What the hell had that stupid stone box done to him? More importantly, what was it still doing? He breathed deeply, his stare transfixed to the inconspicuous ground.
"Harry?" cautiously Ron put his head out.
"Uh… sorry. I just thought I felt a …spider crawling over my feet." Harry grimaced when Ron sat up again wide-eyed, a really scared look on his face, before a frown settled in.
"But you're not afraid of spiders." He never once gave Harry more than a furtive glance; the ground with a potential spider was much more dangerous.
"Well, you can't fault me that I'm a bit cautious, and even though they're not my greatest fear that doesn't mean that I like to have them crawling up my pants." Harry set down onto his blanket, his heart still beating heavily while he took all his guts to put a foot back down onto the stone floor, consciously trying to figure out what that had been he had felt …tickling his soles. He had no better word. What had him jumping in fright, though, was something totally different.
Harry knew that the castle was there, in the back of his head. He felt its presence always like a steady buzz of different people talking just out of earshot. It was not that he understood it better now, but whatever it had done when it shielded him from his more powerful magic, the … connection between became stronger, almost tangible, when his skin came in contact with its stone.
"Go back to sleep, Ron," Harry called out to his still watching friend.
"Yeah." He mused silently. "Keep safe from any …spiders."
Harry nodded with a roll of his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief when the curtains around Ron's bed closed.
Daringly Harry reached out and touched the wall behind his four-poster. It – whatever it was – got clearer. He tilted his head. It was hard to describe. It was not like the same as when he had stepped into the castle. There was no probing, no painful searching through his mind. It almost seemed as if Hogwarts held back its … Harry was at a loss. A smile tugged at his lips. Could it be that the castle felt … happy that Harry did what he was doing now? That the castle waited for something to happen, determinedly and with hint of expectant glee? His eyes narrowed. There was a lot of certainty. Abruptly, Harry pulled his hand away. He did not need anyone else pushing him this way and without giving him a choice where he would rather go.
Despite everything, there was still this feeling as if he had finally found home. Harry had always thought of Hogwarts as his home, but now it seemed to have a foundation, something to build up on. When he put his bare feet or hands on the stone it felt more real than ever before. With a doubtful frown on his face Harry fell asleep, not certain what the next day would bring.
However, it was still in the middle of the night, not long after sleep had finally claimed even the last one in the dormitory, when Harry began to turn restlessly as if caught in a bad dream. A whimper found its way through his tightly pressed lips and his eyes glowed eerily when the power manifested itself. The magic that was still Harry's to control filled every fibre of him and did everything it could to preserve his unconscious mind; but only when Harry was aware of an attack could he actively fight against it to prevent an intruder from attacking at another point of the barrier that took part of his mind and made it a dark and dingy dungeon without doors or any other way to leave but through the wall itself.
Harry shot awake with a silent scream on his lips. The headache he had gone to sleep with impacted like a sledgehammer. Pain radiated through every cell of his body. His magic boiled deep down within him with a frightening intensity that made Harry shiver as if he was suffering a fever. Harry clenched his teeth. Tom was a devious bastard. The whole evening he had done nothing but to gather his own magic to strike back now when no one was possibly observing and Harry himself was at his weakest. Tom did not want to get caught, but he wanted to get out desperately; that much was clear.
Merlin! He could not even in his sleep get away from being who he was. Harry pressed his hands against his skull, his eyes firmly shut, and curled up tightly under his blanket.
The control about Tom's cell was wavering. Harry should have suspected something like that. The headache should have given ample time to warn him. He knew that Tom would repeatedly attempt to break out. He had known since he had that bastard within his head.
Harry had to keep the barrier up whatever else. This time though, he would have to wait for Tom to give up on his own, for Harry did not have enough strength to pin down Tom when the bastard had gathered up everything that was left to him. All he could do was strengthen the shields where Tom did his utmost to break from his confinement. Not once did Harry lessen in his concentration while he waited for the night to pass.