Edward watched the young man break into his house. He saw his thin fingers pry at the broken wood and pull away a slice large enough to squeeze through. From his hiding place, away from the blazing Italian sun now pouring through the broken door, Edward watched first a slim leg clad in denim and then an arm, bare and pale, slide their way through and into his home. His sanctuary. He considered attack. How easy it would be to flash to the door, grab the arm or leg and frighten the boy into leaving but as he watched more of the young man emerge from the sunlight into the cool gloom what he saw changed his mind.
The young man was not tall by Edward's standards. His dark shock of hair hung over his eyes and he pushed it back absentmindedly. He wore glasses and now he took them off to wipe them on his black t shirt. As he did so he glanced around the room he had entered. Edward caught the beam from the startling green eyes as they took in their surroundings but the young man didn't see him. Maybe he was really short sighted Edward thought. Maybe his eyes had not adjusted to the dark inside the house. The intruder seemed to pause and think for a moment and then he pulled from inside his jacket a thin piece of wood. He muttered something to himself, Edward did not catch the word but it might have been Latin. A delicate light began to glow from the tip of the long stick, which the boy held as though it was a candle. With this meagre light the young man lead himself into the room at the front of the house. Edward followed.
Harry felt better once he had some light. He had been careful about using magic since he'd left England. He wanted to be a real boy, experience things he'd never encounter at Hogwarts. That didn't have to mean blundering dangerously about in the dark because he hadn't brought a torch. But he could have easily commanded the door to open to him but he had wanted to use his hands to get inside. It was too easy to use magic all the time. To make life too easy and safe. He felt alive, excited and he could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest and feel the zip and thrum of adrenaline through his body. Here he was, on his own, following this strange feeling which had been drawing him irrevocably to this beautiful, decaying old house.
The door to the room he'd seen through the window was ajar slightly and as Harry brushed against it he could feel the resistance in the rusting hinges. It was stuck between open and closed. As though whoever had left the place all those years ago had left in a hurry. The room was just as he had seen from the dirty window but now he could see a box and a small machine on the other side of the expensive stereo. On closer inspection Harry decided the machine was an electricity generator and this theory seemed to be borne out by its connection to the computer and the stereo equipment. The box contained CDs.
Edward watched the young man squeeze through into his room. He saw him move quickly to the generator, still holding his stick candle aloft. Edward could see that, although the light came from the tip of the wooden stick, the stick itself did not seem to burn away or diminish. Very odd, he thought to himself. It was this thought that made him decide to wait before revealing himself to the young man. He was now picking up Edward's CDs, turning them over with his long fingers, examining the cases. Edward watched those brilliant green eyes scan the covers and watched with amusement as the red lips smiled at what he had found. The young man moved to the stereo and switched it on. After a moment he found the CD controls and inserted a disc. Music swelled from the speakers and the young man jumped in spite of himself. Edward gave a low chuckle.
Harry hadn't expected the CD to play so loudly. The classical music crashed from the speakers and he jumped involuntarily and looked around anxiously. Surely if the owner of these things were nearby they would hear the music and rush in to confront their intruder? He stood and flexed his wand ready to make a move. But the house was still. Almost too still, as though it was watching him with unseen eyes. Harry shook his head and turned back to the stereo. The haunting music took full advantage of this quiet room and filled it with the delicate notes of a piano. Harry checked the CD cover. 'Debussy'. It wasn't something he'd heard before but the music moved around him like familiar arms around a lover. Gentle but with power. He closed his eyes.
'Clair de Lune' filled the bare room. Edward felt his body stiffen as the memories came flooding back. The smell of Bella, her voice and how she had held this very CD in her hands the time he's been brave enough to take her to his house. Edward had thought he would never play this music again and now this strange boy had chosen this track at random and brought all Edward's painful memories back to him. Then the young man stretched back his head and stood with his eyes closed. Edward's eyes were drawn to his long pale neck, to the thin blue veins that fluttered over his eyelids, to the slim white hands that dropped the thin piece of wood to the floor as the music clearly took hold of him. Edward saw the first tear well beneath the boy's lids. Gathering like a brilliant liquid diamond it ran down his cheek, leaving a shining path down from his eye, down the smooth cheek, down his throat and into the neckline of his t shirt. Edward wanted to follow the tear drop with his fingers, with his lips. What was happening to him? He shook his head silently. How had his thoughts of Bella, the girl he had been convinced was his mate been overtaken by this strange feeling for this even stranger boy? Edward felt out with his mind to hear the boy's thoughts. Nothing. Not a whisper or even the sense of shield that there had been with Bella. But clearly the music had moved the young man and Edward guiltily watched again the tears make their way down into the forbidden hollow of the white collar bone. Edward's nostrils flared slightly, taking in the scent of the young man. This boy did not smell like prey but he was delicious in another way entirely. Salty from his tears and sweat in the hot Italian sun and sweet in way that made Edward's throat constrict and his mouth dry up. Edward found himself drawn to the pale skin and the way that the boy's hair fell over one of his eyebrows as he held himself still, feeling the music. He felt himself compelled to move, to reveal his hiding to the boy, to have those green eyes fall upon him, to be drawn into the young man's secret world. He didn't understand. He had decided to leave Bella because of her age. How could he expect her to understand him, all he had seen, all he had felt and this boy seemed of the same age as Bella. His eyes were without creases and his face smooth and hairless. And yet the boy carried with him such a sense of knowing, of ages long lost and secrets hidden for longer than Edward had himself been alive. He was intriguing and compelling. And Edward longed to touch him.
