Title: Harry Potter and the Summer's Secret
Beta Reader: Nagi
Pairing: HPSSRating: 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)
Feedback: highly appreciated
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.
Harry would have to think of something to end it for once and for all.