Harry Potter and the Summer's Secret

Prologue - Guilty Reminiscence

With a look at the closed door, Harry scoffed. He did not need to know what his uncle would do when he insisted in going to Hogwarts. Vernon Dursley was not a nice man, and he certainly did not want to give his nephew what he most desired.

It was a balm for Harry's soul to know that Ron and Hermione, at least, would notice his absence when Harry did not emerge at the feast. They would talk to one of the professors, who, in turn, would hopefully inform the headmaster and get him out of here.

Harry sighed deeply and dropped himself down on his squeaking bed. He simply had to wait till somebody came to take him to school. Until then, he had to abide his only living family. Certainly Dumbledore would not leave him here, would he?

Another sigh escaped his throat, and he began to count prime numbers to distract himself from the tight knot that was rapidly forming in his stomach.

Shaking his head, Harry smiled when his owl sat down on his shoulder, hooting reassuringly and nibbling his ear lobe. He could always trust her to pull him out of dark thoughts.

"I know, Hedwig," he whispered and stroked her feathers. Harry loved his owl. "It doesn't change anything to brood, and you're right, it's still a long way until September." Sometimes, he thought, the bird was the only one who truly understood him.

Sometimes Harry thought it woeful to have to count a bird among his best friends, but most of the time he was just glad to have her. The beautiful snowy owl hooted affectionately and flew off to the small water dish in her cage.

Actually, Harry was not allowed to let her out at any time, but he thought it was enough that one of them was locked up day in and day out.

Harry turned and went to the window. Outside it was a really nice day. The sun was shining brightly and the sky was practically glowing in an unnatural, intense blue. The few children playing on the street seemed happy. Harry could hear them laughing, and it made his heart twist with sadness to know that other people lived their lives without knowing how lucky they were.

Often in his early childhood Harry had wished to be one of them, although he had always felt too far away, too old to really belong to them. And now?

He had seen far too much. Harry did not even want to be there on the street. None of them could even come close to understanding him.

Without even realizing, his eyes lost their focus and memories appeared out of the fog; his head was wrapped up in this moment.

Minutes later Harry shook his head to clear his mind, but now tears were running down his cheeks and his body trembled slightly, but not from cold. Suppressing a heart-aching sob, Harry wiped off the treacherous moisture.

The whole week since the beginning of vacation, Harry had not left his room but for a short walk to the bathroom twice a day. He felt empty and numb, as if somebody had pushed him over the edge - and now he kept falling deeper into a bottomless abyss of doom.

It was not the frequent death predictions he got from his divinations professor for four years or the fact that he was The-Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived, which left him in a state of uneasiness and perturbation.

It was not the yelling and humiliation he got from his Muggle relatives or the claustrophobic condition of the cupboard he used to live in whenever his so-called uncle wanted to get rid of him and his freakishness; it was not the events of the Triwizard Tournament, that had culminated in his duel against the Dark Lord himself and poor Cedric's death.

Harry could not have known that the damned cup would take him and Cedric right to the ugly faced bastard. He had just wanted the tournament to be fair. It was absolutely not his fault.

Another matter was the death of his godfather. That was - at least partly - Harry's fault, though, even that was not reason enough for his restlessness and his inability to find a moment of peace.

It was neither his nightmares nor his panting awakenings in the middle of the night, not always sure if he simply had had a dream or was being visited by Voldemort.

The only cause he could come up with was plain and simple frustration, with a tiny little bit of boredom and a huge amount of anger.

With a deep breath, Harry ran a hand over his messy dark strands and dropped down on the only excuse for a chair in his room. He needed something new.

He wanted to get rid of Tom Riddle and his consorts for good.

He did not want to spend his whole life hunting or being hunted and being scared over whether the wizard stood around the corner, waiting for him and his friends.

Harry was bored of his fear of a madman.

He was bored out of his mind, out of his whole being.

Harry was by no means suicidal; at least he did not believe he was.

He just needed a change.

Urgently.

Harry would have to think of something to end it for once and for all.

Chapter 1 - Birthday Incidents

"Tell me, Potter, what did you do during the last days?" Moody's false eye rolled into the back of his head, but when Harry glanced around him, he saw nothing but the wall. Maybe the Dursleys were sitting on the other side, plotting his demise.

"What?" Harry looked from one to the other, not knowing why they were in his bedroom wearing expressions like they believed him dead.

"Just tell us, Harry." Lupin smiled anxiously, trying to appear reassuring and failing miserably.

"I did my homework," Harry started hesitantly, "a few chores for the Dursleys." His eyes strayed from one to the other, definitely not happy with their strange behaviour.

"What chores?" Moody rasped, searching for something Harry did not know and the boy flinched back unconsciously at the harsh words. Confused about the adults' demeanour, Harry finally shrugged his shoulders and frowned.

"Washing the dishes, weeding the garden, painting the shed, things like that. Why?" When the wizards looked at each other imploringly, Harry sat up straight.

"Could someone please tell me what's going on?" His brows furrowed and his fists clenched hidden in his trouser pockets. His temper was plainly showing and he did not seem any less angry than the last time any of the men had seen the boy.

Again an exchange of glances before Lupin smiled helplessly. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"My birthday?" For a second Harry looked dazed and he let himself being diverted for a moment. With all that was happening he had forgotten the date for real. A fast peek at his clock told him that he had been sixteen for nearly four hours.

"You didn't forget your birthday, Harry?" Lupin tapped on his shoulder, a good-natured smile on his face. "We just came to congratulate you and to see how you were doing, Harry." The latter was said with a suspicious glimpse directed at the old Auror, who eyed the boy with vigilance.

"Wait a moment." Harry's eyes widened in realization. "You came to my birthday? Now? It's not even four in the morning!" He would have stood if his room had given him enough space for that with two other occupants practically on top of him.

"And you couldn't have waited until a decent time of the day?"

"That wouldn't have been much of a surprise, Potter," Moody said grumpily, his false eye following a green flash of something through the corridor.

"Oh, believe me," Harry threw in with seldom displayed sarcasm, "it certainly would've been one, nevertheless." He glowered darkly and crossed his arms over his chest, determined to push his point across if nothing else.

"It would've been more convincing, too." A fervent glint in his eyes should tell them that their story did not hold much credibility with him. And concerning Harry and his rapidly dropping mood, the talk or interrogation or whatever they thought they were doing, was definitely over, though; he himself would like to have some answers. Harry gave them the benefit of the doubt, since they should know better now, and asked bluntly.

"What, for Merlin's sake, is really going on?"

Silence pressed down on them and just when Lupin opened his mouth after a long estimating glance at Harry, Tonks' voice happily cried from the outside, interrupting the oppressing tension with untruthful sincerity and Harry saw her green hair flash in the darkness, before he turned back to Lupin, who looked oddly relieved at being rescued from another lie.

Tonks' "We just didn't want to wake the Muggles" didn't particularly contribute to Harry's mood at all, but obviously it was all the explanation he was going to get for now, so Harry nodded with a grim look and his "Yeah, as if" was murmured quietly under his breath.

Oddly disappointed, Harry leaned back.

More secrets.

"For none of my birthdays I got a surprise visit from anyone of you." Harry watched them attentively through narrowed eyes. "What - now - is different from then?" He eyed them with open, innocent curiosity.

"It's really just a check for security, Harry." Lupin tried a different approach. "Nothing to worry about."

Harry acknowledged Lupin's treacherousness with a short shake of his head. The last of his father's friends had just left him. At least the man had enough decency to look decidedly uncomfortable, although that didn't change anything. Harry was still being lied to.

"That's it?" Harry inquired calmly, making sure Lupin was aware of his last chance. He nodded when no forthcoming explanation was given and tried to suppress the astonishingly deep hurt he felt burning in his chest.

When they did not trust him, Harry would gladly return the favor. They would soon realize that Harry could hold his own. What could happen would happen; and what must be done, Harry would do.

While looking them up and down, Harry contemplated his possibilities. He had a few paths outlined, how he could manage what needed to be done.

The one path, which seemed to open up in front of him on its own, was his least favourite: the one he had thought of as his emergency plan, a backup if everything else failed. It was, nevertheless, manageable with a lot of planning and caution on his side.

Harry sighed deeply and ignored the different sets of eyes that suddenly turned towards him, quizzically asking silently after his problems.

"All right," Harry began, "you don't want to tell me - I won't ask -" though it would have been nice if they had learned something from the last year's experience- "thus no need to lie." He held up his hand to forestall their possible objections.

"But now that you are sure I'm quite healthy, I'd like to get a bit more sleep, if you please, before I need to get up again in a few hours." Harry raised his brow in silent demand and lay back on his bed. He closed his eyes, blissfully relishing in the dumbfounded expressions both men displayed, silently slipping under the thin blanket.

Harry stretched languidly in an obvious attempt to ignore his guests, while listening avidly to every rustle of cloth and every creaking board, aware of the adults' incredulous stares at being dismissed that easily. And as predicted, Moody growled darkly in his throat.

"Now, Potter, show some - !" Moody rasped, angry, until Lupin gestured for the old Auror to let it go. The boy, he thought, seemed unusually indifferent toward them and their reason for coming here. He showed no signs of apprehension or guilt, like at the end of the school year. He did not even ask, though; he obviously did not believe them. The change was alarming.

Harry did not mind. He chose to express his opinion with a simple yawn. Without opening his eyes he curled up comfortably on his lumpy mattress.

I'm just a boy, Harry thought almost lazily, just an ordinary, sulking teenage boy, who is angry at his elders. Just a boy enjoying an idle moment of dreaming, before starting an equally ordinary day without dark lords or highly annoying order members.

"I will not allow -!" Moody barked, only to be interrupted by Tonks.

"Let him be, Alastor," she said sweetly, calling the Auror off of Harry's case. Not that he could have done something. Harry caressed this thought and his lips twitched. Moody could not possibly feel insulted?

He was amazed at himself, how much he enjoyed riling them up at this moment, although with some certainty Harry could foretell it would not last long, as he surely would have a talk with the headmaster about all of this at one point in the future.

Yet, Harry did not know what he was to do then. Not sure what the headmaster would come up with in the mad head of his, Harry had thought of two possible outcomes should he tell the old man what all of them so desperately wanted to know.

Either Dumbledore would do nothing but to watch, for there was nothing he could honestly do and keep a clean conscience at the same time; or he would ship Harry off to Azkaban for safekeeping at the first offered opportunity.

After his own lifelong experience with him, Harry would credit the headmaster with everything except cold-blooded murder, but Harry did not put the idea itself past him, as it was likely that Dumbledore would send his own assassin - probably his much-loved Potions Master - for a task like that to keep his gnarled old hands clean to pop lemon drops into his mouth.

His friends were a problem, too. Whether to tell Hermione and Ron or only one of them he would have to think further about. They were his friends, of course, but to tell them was a risk Harry had to be sure he could control the consequences of.

Until now they more or less had done everything together. This time, things were different. Everything had already happened. Only the last step still had to be taken care of, the step in which neither of them could play a part.

If Harry only told Hermione, she surely would keep it secret from Ron when Harry promised to tell him in his own time, but after cocooning herself up in the library for a week Hermione certainly would urge him to confide in Dumbledore. This time Harry was not sure he could persuade her otherwise when he said he did not want the man privy to his knowledge. It was highly possible that she would go to the crazy coot without his consent when she saw one of her best friends' lives at stake and thought it for the best.

And Ron? Well, Harry doubted the boy would get jealous. Ron would have to be raving mad to want what Harry had now, so he would keep his temper in check and help him without an argument. But could he trust him enough to not mention it to anyone, even Hermione, who was too perceptive for her own good, or Dumbledore, if asked to his office?

The old twinkler had a way with people who were not called Harry Potter. Everyone did what he bade them and took everything he said for infallible truth. Not even the adults looked through his schemes; most of them did not even question him. All of them together thought they knew better, just because they had a few more candles on their birthday cakes.

Harry could have told them what their beliefs were worth to him. Yet, he admitted, had they at least made the effort to tell him the truth this time, he would have probably told them at least some of what had happened to him, possibly even everything.

Of course, they did not know that Harry knew very well what he had done during summer and what was being done to him. Perhaps it was a low thing to merely test them on their promises, but Harry needed to know if they were sincere about their intentions.

It was not as if the last year did not have enough secrets to last a lifetime. What did they think he would do when they did not even acknowledge the fact of his abduction? They could not even be bothered to think of a convincing lie.

Security check! Please! Harry scoffed. He was not five anymore. I won't just sit and wait until they deem me desperate enough to give me a few scraps to keep me quiet! Harry bit his lip and turned his face to the wall.

I won't! He thought with determination. And I can't. I don't have left time for that. What had happened was too much of a risk to let it go unsolved. It was too much a risk to let it become common knowledge for more than one reason.

In the end it did not matter to whom he told his secret. Whoever knew about it would try to meddle with Harry's decisions and plans. The stakes could not be calculated.

Harry was on his own, although he desperately searched for someone who might understand his motives and help him without keeping him from fulfilling his so-called destiny at the same time.

Now that Harry knew he could not rely on them to inform him of such miniscule details as his own supposed...kidnapping, he could not rely on them for anything else, and thus was truly on his own, and it hurt more than he thought it would ... or should.

They had to know that, despite their secrecy, Harry would learn everything in school at the latest. So why the effort to hide the truth?

Harry thought that if he really had lost his memory, as he had made them believe, he would get more than angry with them for keeping something of that importance - more than ever when he had to find out through a third or fourth party.

Harry did not give his trust away freely, not anymore. As they did not seem able to earn it rightly from him, they surely would not get it for nothing. For all Harry cared, they could wonder themselves dizzy about what he was up to, and he had planned to keep a low profile as long as somehow possible to not endanger his own preparations.

With all his might, Harry forced his tangled emotions back into the darkest corner of his mind were they belonged. Now was not the time to become depressed and dwell on the past. His near future did not look all that bad for now when he really took his time and thought about it.

He had a full year to live without any distractions from a dark lord, or a wizard who thought himself to be one and tried to prove it by attempting murder on The-Boy-Who-Lived. For the first time during his whole life Harry could look forward to enjoying himself and what little bit of childhood Voldemort and the Dursleys had left.

Harry knew he could do this; he had to do it, for there would never be another chance for him. Only now he had time to live, and live to the fullest. Nothing else mattered. His future did not call his interest anymore; it never really had.

All too soon the time would come to count his failures, forgotten promises and missed opportunities. Then he would weigh out on what he could have done better or worse.

Whenever Harry thought about the direction his path was leading to, he felt a twisting knot of dread in his guts and the need to vomit became almost unbearable.

With a trembling breath, Harry pulled the blanket over his head. No need to get upset, he told himself. Calm down, Harry. Just calm down. It would not help to further his plan when they saw him panicking.

Harry could still feel them in his room. The magic surrounding them extended with a low buzz and if Harry concentrated he would know instantly their strengths and weaknesses. At the moment he was satisfied with a simple eavesdropping from his side.

He could feel them huddled together, whispering in low voices, too low for him to hear anything of worth. Harry could imagine how they tried to explain away his lack of memory.

First they would run to inform Dumbledore.

"Harry." Lupin tore him away from his train of thoughts. "We understand that you're not happy, and if you don't want to talk to us, we'll go." He waited a breath's moment for Harry to begin confessing his soul's secrets.

Harry just smirked under his blanket. When they thought they could persuade him into talking by playing on his guilt they were wrong. He grunted noncommittally, a noise they could take for agreement to everything and without further ado Moody pulled an old tin out of his robe.

All three of them turned their backs to him in preparation for the Portkey and not one of them saw Harry's eyes gleaming a vibrant, dark violet.

And then they were whisked away, leaving Harry to ponder their visit and adapt his plan to the new facts. It would be difficult. Harry sighed and crossed his hands under his head.

He just hoped he could hold out long enough.