Massacre

July 14th

Two days later and Harry's plan to stay inside was helped along by a minor bug he'd managed to catch. Of course he wasn't allowed to have any of the cold n flu tablets his Aunt kept in a locked drawer in her room so a minor bug was making him pretty miserable.

He muddled through his homework as best he could, more for the worry that his neighbours were vampires than for his grade. He'd wracked his aching brain for any signs beyond 'yellow eyes' and had eventually remembered something he'd brushed off before.

The Cullens all dressed like it was much colder than it was. So, either they felt the cold more or… they wanted to cover as much skin as possible? He'd checked his Monster book and all but the Striga strain of vampires were cold-blooded which meant they'd be cold to the touch - which Emmett had been, the first time they'd met. Of course, it had also been raining and Harry had been hot from working so that didn't necessarily mean anything. But… had his skin maybe been harder than it should have? He hadn't really thought anything of it at the time - it was cold and wet and Emmett was a big beefy guy. He hadn't really been paying attention but… maybe?

He hadn't noticed anything the first time he'd met Rosalie except that she'd pulled him to his feet easily - and with a very dainty grip. He'd been freezing that time, his skin numb, so he had no idea if hers had been cold or hard. Her umbrella had also made perfect sense but the next time he'd seen her… he'd passed it off as fashion but what if it hadn't been? Emmett always wore a hoodie and the hood was always up. That time outside the train station, Edward had been wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora. But, the time before…

Merlin, he was such a Muggle sometimes. He'd seen Edward's exposed skin glittering in the light rain a few days before, seen it and dismissed it. A proper Wizard, like Ron or Malfoy, would probably just know instantly.

…Okay, maybe not Ron. And Lavender had once spent a month charming her eyelids to glitter until Professor Snape set them a potion which reacted badly to it as a lesson to the rest of them about the dangers of vanity so maybe not even a proper Wizard's first thought would be 'vampire'. Still.

He set his hot head down into cold hands and asked himself if he was sure. If he wasn't maybe making a mountain out of a molehill. Maybe yellow eyes were just a… genetic quirk. And some of them being a bit red-brown was… something totally explainable. And Emmett's eyes getting more yellow than ruddy brown over the past two weeks was just his imagination.

He groaned and tugged at his hair.

Okay. Okay. Whether they were vampires or not… it didn't really matter. If they were and were planning on eating him (which seemed kind of silly if, judging by Rosalie and Mrs Cullen's eyes, they normally didn't eat humans) they could have done so plenty of times before. And if they were waiting for some reason? Waiting maybe for his expected 'illness' to be able to explain away his death?

Well… so what? If it came down to dying by vampire or dying by Voldemort, he'd pick the vampires any day of the week - and he'd die with his middle finger sticking up just in case Snake Face came looking for him after.

And if they weren't planning to kill him, if the ruddy-red of their eyes was indicative of a slip-up, then there were most definitely things he could do to help not tempt them into slipping again. He'd been right that there were potions designed to make humans smell unappetising to all manner of predators - from regular wolves all the way up to dragons - and actually had the ingredients for two of them in his leftover potion kit.

And if he was totally off base? One of the potions didn't affect his bodily scent at all so he could take it and carry on like normal, nobody the wiser to his paranoia.

He coughed, sudden and hard, his lungs prickling with pain and his head throbbing in reaction.

Arrrrrgh! What he wouldn't give for a pepper-up potion!

Actually…

He sat up and glanced at the window. Aunt Petunia had shut him up in his room with a large bottle of water and a bucket, not wanting him to spread his germs around but he had snuck out before… he could do it again. Could just head into town, walk a little, buy some drugs and hey presto - flu gone.

He grinned a little, excitement stirring. He could even stop off at a grocery store or something, get himself some decent food to hide in his room. Maybe a comic book or a magazine, something fun, something just for him. He'd been shopping with Rosalie before but that had been for clothes - this was different. This was for himself. This was a more powerful kind of freedom.

This was more than worth a little effort.

He layered up in his new clothes, a soft tank under a t-shirt under a button-up. He dithered over his zipper-heavy jacket before deciding that between the summer heat and his current layers, even a flu wouldn't make him cold enough for that.

He dug up his remaining Muggle money, tucked it securely in his back pocket then, limbs and joints sparking with pain, clambered out his open window and dropped as quietly as he could to the ground.

He set off. Two blocks down he passed the same woman Dudley had been harassing a couple of days before. With dark, curly hair and sky-blue eyes she was undeniably pretty - especially since she lit up at the sight of him and held out a tray.

"Free sample?" She smiled cutely. "Tiny tarts! Pinky eclairs! Neat to eat and full of flavour!"

Harry lifted a hand, smiling politely even as his stomach rolled.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?" The woman called after him, a slight edge to her voice. "We've got chocolate bread, fresh baked! Or, something light? Delicious buttery croissants, perfect for settling an early-morning stomach!"

He glanced back at that, tempted. Anything that settled his nausea would be welcome.

"Well.." He relented, stepping back. The woman beamed, teeth shining in an almost gaunt face. A flurry of movement later and a warm croissant was tucked into a paper bag - the same style as the doughnuts Edward had given him - and handed over.

"Thank you." Harry said politely, then - feeling he should at least pretend to be a potential paying customer - asked;

"Where's your new shop?"

The woman paused for a split second, smile and all.

"Oh, uh, it's not decided yet." She shrugged her shoulders a little, sheepish. "We're looking at a few places and depending on the interest we get… well, you know."

"…Right." Harry agreed, skin prickling suddenly. "Well," He lifted the bag. "Thanks. Bye."

"Goodbye."

He took a bite as he walked away. She hadn't been lying, it was light and it did seem to settle his stomach a little. Nice.

Massacre

Albus sighed as he walked down the street to where his new professor - though the man didn't know it yet - was hiding. This would have been a little easier with Harry, true, but mostly he'd just wanted the chance to have a bit of time with the boy, to mend their fences. Hopefully, respecting his wishes and allowing him to stay at Privet drive would aid that. It had been a very long time since he'd been Harry's age, he sometimes struggled to remember just how someone his age would think and behave - although he did remember a time or two of 'cutting off one's nose to spite one's face' himself. It could well be that Harry didn't actually want to stay, but refusing to leave was the only way the poor lad could exert any control in his life right now. Even his OWLs had been intercepted for his own safety.

He nodded to himself. He'd be sure to write again and offer an open-ended invitation, perhaps even to come to Hogwarts. Harry had a grim enough future ahead of him that he well deserved what small allowances one meddling old man could give.

Massacre

Getting extra Muggle money from the Goblins had been the best decision of his life, Harry decided, as he paged through some magazines at the newsagent across the road from the chemist. He'd bought a bottle of water along with some pills and knocked them back immediately. Already, not even twenty minutes later, he was starting to feel better. He had a snickers bar in his back pocket, £80 in the front right and was paging through a Playstation magazine to see what all the fuss was about. Dudley got every new game machine as soon as it came out of course, whooping and tantrums in tow, but he'd never actually seen much of it himself. The way Emmett talked about them though, they sounded kinda cool - especially this new cd-based machine. He could even afford to buy one himself if he wanted - although he'd have to get a tv to go with it and Merlin knew Dudley would steal or break it just as soon as he could.

Pity. This Crash Bandicoot game looked pretty cool…

He put the magazine back onto the rack. Nah. He couldn't bring any machines to Hogwarts without frying them and he couldn't leave any behind without losing them to his family, so he just wouldn't get one at all.

Maybe after-

He snorted, annoyed with himself. Right, maybe after Hogwarts. After Voldemort did everyone a favour and settled for becoming a DADA teacher instead of world domination.

He wandered the rows, eyes sliding over car magazines and picked up one on oil painting, flipping aimlessly before his eyes caught on a plastic-wrapped magazine featuring a brunette wearing nothing but a strategically placed arm. Hmmm.

"Hey!" The man at the counter barked. "You gonna buy something or what?"

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered under his breath, dumping the magazine and grabbing a can of lemonade on the way to the register. A suspicious glare and exchange of change later and he left the store. The sunlight outside spiked his headache and he winced. He needed some sunglasses… and oh look, a Specsavers. Handy.

He wandered in.

Massacre

Rosalie rolled over on her bed, magazine abandoned on the floor. She could hear next door's clock ticking, the downstairs fake grandfather and the three upstairs alarm clocks. Mr Next Door was at work and Mrs Next Door was doing her best to entice an uncomfortable plumber to plumb her own set of pipes and God she was this close to killing them both just for a scrap of peace and quiet.

The noise was starting to get to her.

They'd never lived so close to humans, not in the entire time she'd been part of the Cullen coven and now she fully understood why. It wasn't about the temptation to eat them, it was the torture of their inability to be still. Even asleep, their organs churned and gurgled. Their tvs blared, microwaves beeped, fridges stuttered and hummed, phones shrilled, lips smacked, teeth ground and it. Never. Stopped.

She understood why they were there (Edward) and how the pollution that was the only thing protecting the humans from her family's fragile control was also hiding their tracks but the crush of closeness, the crowded streets and the unending background noise was pressing in on her more and more with every passing second. Jasper tried to help but his imposed calm was an uphill battle when the cause of her stress was wearing upon them all.

Emmett had ordered in reams of soundproofing insulation and stapled or glued them to every wall in the house, and she was grateful, but it just wasn't enough. Esme was looking into soundproof windows, either to replace their current windows or as an attachment, as well as sound-dampening curtains but even if they worked well it'd still make this tiny little house a cage of confinement in the midst a food source they craved. Every step outside the door was a risk. Every delivery of offal and blood to their doorstep was a chance for someone catching on that they didn't just like home-made haggis, of rumours spreading that would draw attention to them - possibly lethal attention.

She cared for her family, though none so much as Emmett, but this enforced closeness was wearing thin. As a human, she'd been known for her coldness. These days, they called it 'introversion'. She needed her space but there wasn't any.

Even Emmett was keeping his distance these days, stepping lightly around her and testing the waters whenever he opened a conversation. It wasn't fair to him and she disliked herself for it even as she was grateful to him for doing it.

The plumber left. Mrs Next Door, unsuccessful, switched on her hand-held vibrator. Rosalie snarled and rolled to her feet.

She was getting out. Just a few hours, maybe a day or two. She'd find the nearest bit of wild land and just go, even if she had to walk the whole damn way.

Edward met her in the living room, holding out a handbag already containing a thermos of blood. The bag completely clashed with her outfit but it was a nice gesture - ignoring the fact that it meant that he'd been listening to her thoughts. She took it with a nod and stalked out.

A brightly-dressed woman handing out pastries startled badly as she passed her on the street. Humans might be ignorant, but they weren't dumb. They - or their oft-ignored instincts - knew when a person wasn't moving right, wasn't human, even if they didn't know what to do about it.

She grit her teeth but forced herself to slow down, to be less of a predator. You never knew just which slip up might be the one that brought death down on them all.

Massacre

"Well, it's a good thing you came in today." The white-coated woman smiled. "Under 16s get free tests, no questions asked. Although, if you'd like a voucher to help pay for any glasses, I'm afraid we will need your parent's health-care card."

"That's alright." Harry shrugged, sitting where he was gestured to. "I have some money. It's not worth going all the way home for it." Never mind that his Aunt probably wouldn't hand it over without a semi-subtle threat or two.

"Honestly, I just came in to get some sunglasses."

"Well, it's good to get a fresh check every year or two, especially whilst it's free." The optician mused, pulling over and nudging into place a hanging machine he barely recognised from the one and only test he'd had back in Primary school.

The woman ran him through a series of "Better? Or worse?" tests with professional smoothness before taking photos of the inside of his eyes (or just his retina, but still pretty cool) and testing their pressure.

"Hmmm. Actually not too bad." She flashed him a smile, shiny green beads at the end of her tiny tight braids clicking together as she moved. "No offence, but when I saw your glasses, I figured you'd be half-blind. Kicking the retro style, huh?"

"Uh, not by choice." He admitted. "But I probably can't afford some new prescription glasses."

"Well, if you can afford some sunnies, you can probably afford some new glasses. We stock a certain amount of common prescriptions - let me see if we have yours, ok? In the mean time, go ahead and look around." She opened the door for him and followed him out, calling to someone named Carol before vanishing into a back room.

He browsed, Carol chattering happily about the shape of his face and his colouring and what kind of clothing did he normally wear and was he thinking about different styles for different seasons and-

Merlin.

"Good news!" The eye-doctor whose name he'd forgotten came out with a thin folder. "We not only have your prescription in stock but we also have it in reactions, if you're interested?"

"Reactions?"

"Oh, uh, they're like normal glasses but they automatically self-tint when it gets bright. No need to change when you go outside or carry an extra set. Pretty cool." She handed him a flyer showing a smiling blonde woman wearing a pair of glasses as she walked outside, one clear and one tinted.

"Yeah." Harry agreed, actually wanting something more mirrored and sleek - but the only set he'd found when browsing had a price tag upward of £250.

"It's £45 by itself, or you can buy a normal set in any of these frames" she swept her arm over one wall "over £65 and get a reaction pair free."

He opened his mouth to say no thanks, just the £45 pair, when his eyes caught on a selection of frameless glasses. From giant, thick black frames to none at all… yeah, that might be nice.

"I have… £75. Can I afford any of those?" He pointed. The optician frowned but Carol bustled forward.

"Well, we do have one on sale - last season's stock." She picked it up and showed it to him, tugging off the price tag as she did - but not fast enough for him not to see that it was actually £95. He met her eyes and, caught, she shrugged.

"It has been sitting around for over a year." She said, as much to the optician as him. "It's the last one and we could use the display space-"

The optician sighed, shook her head and finally quirked a smile at them both.

"Fine, I didn't see anything. Put it through as damaged though, okay?" She turned to Harry.

"So, interested?"

How could he say no?

"Sure. Thank you."

"Excellent. I'll go fit your lenses to their new frames, then. Carol, pass me- thanks. And which frames of these for the reaction? This one? Okay, got it. Carol will ring you up." She took his chosen frames and went out the back again. Carol went back to chattering as Harry blankly handed over almost all of his remaining money. Crap. Did he have enough for a train ticket back into London? It had cost over a tenner last time.

Oh wait. He huffed and shook his head at himself. He needed to think more like a Wizard, even in the summer. He had an invisibility cloak. Anytime he was alone, he could go anywhere he wanted for free.

He blinked, received his change and nodded absently to whatever Carol was saying as his brain then made the link between cloak, free travel and anywhere.

He really could go anywhere. Sneak onto the train that ran under the channel, slip past border security and go see the Eiffel Tower - or Euro Disney. Catch a plane overseas or even just explore closer to home - he could use his cloak to see what the vaults of Muggle banks looked like and what went on inside office buildings, get private self-guided tours of the National Art Gallery or the Tower of London…

He accepted his new pairs of glasses and slipped on the auto-tinting ones, barely noticing that the world was just a bit crisper than it had been with his old set. He thanked both women and left the store, his glasses steadily darkening as he went.

He could… (He felt kind of bad even just thinking about it. Bad, and a little excited.)

He could steal. Shoplift. Undetectable, not anything too big or from little stores that couldn't handle the loss or anything that could be traced, but… he could.

One little christmas gift, his father's cloak, could be all he needed to never go hungry again. To never need again, to never worry about whether Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would let him inside before it got too cold, to never have to go without something he wanted because either he was a freak who didn't deserve anything or he was spending an inheritance that had to last in a world where the pricing for things never seemed to make sense.

It was a heady daydream and it kept him entertained most of the way home. He circled around the areas he knew Dudley and his gang liked to hang out in this time of day and, after a while, let the daydream fade to concentrate on his new glasses instead.

They were good. He liked them. The frameless more than the self-tinting ones but both were better than his old glasses and, more importantly, everything really was sharper. He hadn't even realised his old glasses weren't quite right until now. It was nice. Heh, quidditch was going to be bloody awesome…

"Oh! Hello again!"

He looked up, recognising the voice.

"Oh, hi." He greeted the streetseller. "Still going?"

"All day." The woman replied. "You too, I see."

"Uh. Yeah." He dropped his eyes to her cart. It was quaintly old-fashioned with large wheels and wooden inserts instead of brakes. It must have a warmer installed though, because the tray she pulled from one of its drawers wafted warmth and delicious smells.

"Peppermint slice? Peanut brittle?"

Harry raised a hand. "No, thank you, really. I'm sure it's better off being given to people who haven't tried it yet."

"Oh no, I insist. You can try something new and tell everyone you know about how great it was!"

"Yeah, but…" He rubbed his head. "Didn't you say you haven't actually found a place to set up yet? And…" He cast a quick look over the wagon. "I don't even know what the name of your business is."

The woman shrugged, a bit sheepishly.

"We're trying to generate some good will before we take the jump and do anything formal. To be honest, we haven't even decided on a name yet. Why not take a bit to eat, give it some thought and let me know if you have any ideas next time I see you?"

Only able to refuse so many times before it became impolite, he gave up and took a slice. Maybe he might feel like it later.

"How will I find you?" He asked, planning to avoid wherever she next set up shop. There was being a dedicated salesperson and then there was just being pushy.

The woman winked.

"Oh, I'll find you. Have a good day, now."

"Y-yeah, thanks. You too."

He left. Thankfully, his house was only half a block away if he cut through a pedestrian path. 'I'll find you' - Was that stalking? Or- or flirting? Maybe he should start carrying his invisibility cloak around at all times… Unless it was flirting. She wasn't bad looking, really. A bit skinny, but creamy-skinned with shiny hair and all the right shapely bits…

He grinned a little, ducking his head to hide it as he headed inside. Aunt Petunia - scrubbing the downstairs bathroom by the smell of the bleach - shouted a reminder to wipe his feet but otherwise ignored him. Wrinkling his nose at the chemical smell, familiar from all the times she'd made him clean with it, he ditched the slice into the kitchen bin and headed upstairs.

He had some potential vampires to prepare for.

Massacre

By nightfall he was feeling lousy again but he'd made a lot of progress. There was a potion that would completely neutralise his scent that he had the ingredients for, although it had to be slathered on to every scrap of his skin and left to sink in for at least an hour in order to work. Not only did this mean he had to stand around his room in the nuddy (and not touching anything), but the potion's effect only lasted for as long as he took soaking it in. He had maybe enough ingredients for two batches, or two full-body applications of an hour each.

It would mask his bodily scent completely - but not his breath. It also wouldn't mask the scent of his blood, if he spilled it, or the sound of it rushing through his veins.

So.

The second option he had the ingredients for was a bit simpler. It changed nothing but the scent of his blood. Like spraying air freshener in a car, it overpowered the natural with artificial. It would only be noticeable if he bled and the effects of just one dose faded slowly over four months. It also didn't affect the sound of his blood though, of course.

"It's not exactly a hard choice, is it?" He observed to a curious Hedwig, sat on his shoulder and watching him work. "If they deliberately try to eat me, I'll smell like - cheese, maybe? D'you think that's off-putting enough? I don't want to drop a dirty sock in the mix, I have to drink it after all."

Hedwig hooted, wisely.

"Yeah. It takes longer to make but I can leave it simmering over night. Have it ready some time tomorrow morning." He stood, Hedwig still hitching a lift, and opened his trunk. He pulled out a jar of powdered asphodel and wrinkled his nose. Half-liquid and half full of squirming things, it was well past its use-by date.

"Lucky we don't need that." He murmured, placing it carefully to the side. Who knew how you were supposed to safely dispose of old potions ingredients? A small cardboard box rattled as he lifted it out of the way - he hadn't thought he'd had any bezoars left after all the poison antidotes he'd botched in fourth year.

"I bet Neville slipped some extras in." He tossed it to the side. "He's always doing stuff like that after he's melted someone's cauldron." Hedwig made a chirring noise of agreement as Harry finally unearthed the ingredients he was looking for.

"Okay, mistletoe leaves… no spotting, look fine. Dragonfly thorax, fine. Urgh, dragonfly livers, not fine. Grab me the book, would you?"

Hedwig did so, dragging it through the air from his desk to his bed with a lot of loud flapping. Harry flicked through to the right potion.

"Yeah, I thought so. Looks like I can replace it with dragon liver, just in much smaller amounts. Where is-oh, here we go. Yeah, that looks… fine. I suppose. What do you think?"

Hedwig turned her head upside down.

"Yes, well, that's not really helpful, is it? I can't remember what it looked like before anyway. We never did actually use this in class. Let's see… baneberry stem, fluxweed - better not forget that, dandelion root, salt annnnnd I can grab an onion downstairs for the juice. Right then."

He left the trunk open and just moved what he needed to his desk. It was too early for another dose of Muggle medicine, according to the box, but Merlin his head was killing him and his guts had moved from a slow, nauseating ache to intermittent sharp jabs of pain.

He took the next dose early. He needed to be clear-headed to brew this, at least to start, so he took a shower to give the drugs time to kick in and then got stuck into it.

"I wonder if I can get extra credit for this?" He wondered. Hedwig removed her head from under her wing, glared at him, and put it back. Grinning, he took the hint and shut up.

Massacre

Rosalie lay back in a field, full moon in the sky above her. If you didn't mind the persistent damp (and she was a vampire, moisture was preferable to dust), England really was very lovely. If only it weren't full of humans, it might just be close to paradise for the vegan vampire.

A scream cut through the air and she snarled aloud. All animal sounds nearby abruptly quieted.

Well, except for the foxes. Cute though they may be, if this island ever fell under her control, the first thing she'd do would be to hunt the insanely noisy creatures to extinction. She'd already eaten three tonight, you'd think the rest would shut up.

Still, aside from the giant noisy rodents… it was nice. She could feel her emotional walls resealing, her stability recovering. She might even head back home in the morning, tempting though it was to just vanish into the woods. She knew her presence made Esme and Carlisle (and more importantly, Emmett) feel a little better about hiding amongst humans. She'd proven she could resist the call of blood already. Not that resisting had helped her stop her blood-crazed siblings. Their loss of control had been disgusting - and terrifying. It was just so messy, so bestial.

The loss of control, the effortless subduing and taking of what her siblings had wanted… it had reminded her so strongly of the night she had been subdued, effortlessly beaten and taken from her anything her attackers had wanted.

She hadn't been able to look Emmett in the eye for days after they'd left the country, desperate not to see another man when she looked at him.

She knew he was trying, though. And although he stuck to the diet of animals more for her and their family than his own personal beliefs, she also knew he felt guilty over the killing of so many almost-children. She also knew it was one of the reasons he had fixated on Harry, even if he didn't. They both liked the human, true, but there had been many lonely teens before him - some with much more tragic lives or abusive families. There had been many who would have benefited from a little kindness and friendship over the years, but who had been ignored in part to minimise temptation (such troubled youths were so easily 'vanished') and in part to protect their family from any kind of scrutiny.

Coming from the Forks Massacre, though… they were all struggling with the aftermath. Carlisle worked as much as possible, trying to save lives where his decision to live amongst humans had cost so many. Esme lived in fear of her children slipping again, the ambient pollution not always enough to disguise the scent of a fallen toddler's bleeding palms. Jasper shut himself away and didn't speak, so he'd have no reason to breathe - all but ignoring his wife. Alice ghosted through the house, occupying herself with books and games and mail-order shopping (delivered to the hospital), trying to bolster everyone's mood even as she 'looked' obsessively any time someone left, desperate not to miss something again. She also hadn't dared step outside yet - and the isolation was wearing on her.

And Edward… she ripped up some grass, the fresh scent of it calming her somewhat.

Edward was doing what Edward did best. Brooding. Not apologising. Oh, and still trying to find what his siblings and sire had, despite shunning the one woman who'd displayed an active interest in him. She and Alice had wondered (very quietly) if he might be homosexual - and had been verbally roasted when their sulking brother caught wind of their thoughts. But now, with him sniffing around the boy she and Emmett had taken under their wings… she couldn't help but wonder. Maybe they'd been right, all this time.

Or, maybe Edward was just an idiot, seeing the peace they were finding with Harry and blindly trying to get a piece of it.

Yeah. Probably that.

Massacre

July 15th

"Oh Merlin, I'm dying." Harry moaned, eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and potion fumes in equal parts. Hedwig was long gone, out the window at the first rolling cloud of stench. In hindsight, maybe the Potions Classroom really did have a use other than being oppressive. He certainly didn't remember any potion fumes lingering the way this one was. The fumes weren't marked as dangerous to inhale though, so he'd stuck around as it simmered, trying and failing to sleep.

At least it was finally daylight. Another hour and he could bottle the potion.

After banging on his door to complain about the smell, Vernon took Petunia and Dudley out for the day with a threat for the stink to be gone by the time they got back. After he bottled the potion, he might just go downstairs and catch up on his sleep in his old cupboard...

Time passed. He popped some more Muggle pills, stumbled to the bathroom to throw them right back up and then tried again, grabbing some oft-ignored fruit from the kitchen to help them stay down. It was bad enough to be sick but a sleepless night on top of it had made it so much worse. Every single bone in his body felt brittle and tender, his nose ached, his temples throbbed and his guts felt twisted and bloated. He'd already looked through his books for some sort of magical pick-me-up but didn't have the right ingredients for a pepper-up potion or anything else. Healing potions apparently required a lot more fresh ingredients than others.

He was more than miserable enough to just go to Diagon Alley and buy something. He was tired of being sick and it was only getting worse. He'd suffered through sickness before Hogwarts but damn it all he was a Wizard! He had a right to use magical remedies! If the Order were still watching his house, he could ask one of them to get one for him - but his fight with Dumbledore and Voldemort going public had seen them recalled. (And yeah, maybe he was regretting not accepting the offer to leave early now, but it was only because he was sick so shut up.)

The problem was, he was pretty sure he was actually too sick to travel. One of the reasons his Uncle hadn't given him too much crap this morning was because they'd heard him throwing up in the night and knew he was sick - but of course, that just meant they'd left so they didn't catch anything, removing his chance at bargaining for a lift into town.

He could try calling the Knight Bus…

His stomach turned over at the thought.

Okay, no. The last thing he needed was a front-page picture in the Prophet of The Boy Who Puked All Over The Knight Bus.

He groaned, trying and failing to rub away the tension in his scalp.

No. He was too far away to reasonably make it. He might see if he could find croissant-lady though… anything that settled his stomach would be good right now.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was close-enough to finish the potion. He doused the flame, poured the result into six vials and labelled them, went to the bathroom, threw up, brushed his teeth and left the house.

Halfway down the street he realised he should probably have changed his clothes before he left. Judging by the poisonous looks he got from a few 'upstanding neighbours', he probably looked like he'd been doing drugs all night. Plus, they stank of potion fumes.

Oh well. He was too miserable to be embarrassed.

The early-morning sun stung his eyes and he scowled as he realised he'd grabbed his old glasses out of habit.

The street-seller wasn't at the end of the street or anywhere he could see from the intersection. He entered the park across the road, the world around him swaying, half-thinking to cut through and check the next street over when he stopped.

"Idiot." He muttered. Mrs Figg was a squib. She probably had potions, or would let him use her floo - or would go through the floo for him if he asked.

He turned around and doubled over with a cry as pain like a knife stabbed into his belly. He pried his eyes open, expecting to see a hilt sticking out or the telltale residue of spellfire but… there was nothing. He looked up and around as his blood throbbed in his ears, searching for whoever was cursing him - but there was nobody except a mother hurrying her kids away from him.

Feeling his gorge rise, he stumbled to the closest bit of leafy cover and fell to his knees. Throwing up hurt - worse than before. It burned inside, not the ache of weary muscles but the sting of open wounds.

He opened his eyes to bright red blood, mixed with bile and puddled beneath him. His teeth chattered, a trembling that spread rapidly to every part of his body. He felt weak suddenly, drained of strength and only barely managed to shove himself to the side before he collapsed. His heart pounded, the world went over-bright and sharp, his lungs strained and his mind, floaty and vague, realised that this was not normal.

He couldn't get his limbs to move, couldn't control his lungs enough to shout. He was seizing.

He was dying.

Massacre

Rosalie quickened her pace as the suburban Saturday-morning world started to stir. For once it wasn't raining and here she was without an umbrella to hide under. It was still overcast but the wind was picking up so it might not be for long. English weather was so strangeand the fact that it changed sometimes when Alice had seen something else was driving her sister crazy-

She stopped dead as a familiar sound caught her ears.
The last time she'd heard it, or something like it, she'd found Emmett's body bleeding out on the ground. It was the sound of someone dying, in pain, alone.

She ran towards it at top human speed, rounding the corner at the end of the street and into the park.

It didn't take long to find the source of the sound.

Harry was lying curled up on the ground next to a small puddle of foul-smelling blood-stained vomit. The teen himself was shaking violently and hyperventilating, lips tinged blue, eyes creased shut.

She covered the remaining distance at full speed, heedless of witnesses and dropped to her knees.
There, she hovered - uncertain of what to do.

She wanted to bring the boy to Carlisle, like she'd brought Emmett – have her father save the human she'd grown to genuinely like...

But this boy wasn't Emmett. If she convinced Carlisle to save his life, it would only be to condemn him to a life of loneliness and constant restraint – or constant murder, depending on how well he took to their personal feeding philosophy. He could become another Edward, alone for centuries or longer, sinking deeper and deeper into depression.

What right did she have to condemn him to that? To snatch him from death only to give him a life of constant loss as he watched the world change around him, seeing what was once loved and familiar fade into obscurity. Vampires couldn't even sleep to get away from it, couldn't dream, and sometimes? She'd kill to be able to. To just shut out the world and rest. To not be so tired of life and everything in it. Who was she to inflict that on him?

"R-Rosa-lie..?"

Golden eyes locked onto frightened green ones. She reached down and pulled the boy up to her chest, cradling him in an effort to give comfort, even as she knew her skin was neither warm nor soft enough to really manage it.

It occurred to her to call an ambulance, but...

Harry had already shared, in quiet spaces of secret vulnerability, that when he died he hoped it would be quick. If this was it, his terminal, incurable sickness rising up to take him, then a hospital would only drag it out. It would be better… kinder… more respectful, to let him die here. With company and privacy and dignity.

Something inside her screamed a rejection. This could not be the end. Whatever sickness he had, whatever it was he'd hidden... how could it end him now? This kind, witty, reserved, genuinely good person?

Why did it always seem like the best people suffered the most?

"S-sorry.." Harry gasped out, even as one violently shaking hand caught her shirt just below her breast and bunched it in a fist.

"It's alright." She soothed softly, stroking hair out of his eyes, a war waging within her. "Everything's going to be ok."

"D-d-don'-t.. l-leave. Pl-ease." Harry begged desperately, every muscle in his body cording with the effort to survive just one second more, his eyes wide and terrified.

He was afraid to die.

She remembered feeling that way herself. Despite the horror and abuse she'd already faced, the moment when she'd hovered over the threshold of death had still frightened her even more.

"I won't, I promise." She whispered, her eyes burning as they tried and failed to tear up. "I'm right here, sweetie. Everything's going to be fine."

She saw something change in his eyes. He was still afraid but she had brought him at least some measure of comfort.

Then the air changed and suddenly Edward was standing over them both. Rosalie tensed sharply, reminded of the blood on the ground, traces of it lining Harry's mouth.

He was already dying - she wouldn't let Edward hurt him on top of that.

But Edward didn't move to attack. His yellow-streaked eyes fixated briefly on the dying boy before snapping up to glare at her.

"Why haven't you brought him to Carlisle?" He demanded, too quietly for Harry to hear even if the kid wasn't distracted by the agony of having his body shut down on him.

"Shut up!" She snapped, loud enough to be heard as a whisper by a human. Her cold heart spiked anew with agony. "You should know better than anyone, how what we are is a curse. Do you want him to live like you have? Alone and lonely, always looking for something and finding only decay? Trying constantly to distract yourself from the monotony of your own existence?"

Edward snarled silently at her, his eyes blackening in genuine anger.

"It won't be like that!" He snapped back. Rosalie glared at him before darting a quick look at the boy in her arms. His eyes were half-closed, his pupils dilating as his body approached its final moments.

"And why not?" She asked coldly, trying to distract herself from her own pain, even as she rubbed Harry's arm soothingly.

"Because.." Edward replied reluctantly. "He won't be alone. He'll... he'll have me."

Rosalie opened her mouth to snap that he was the last person who could offer that, considering his moody, anti-social loner ways when something clicked.

"You... love him?" She breathed, scarcely able to believe it. To believe how stupid Edward had been.

The tense nod was confirmation enough.

"You... fucking idiot!" She shouted. "Then what are you waiting for, you stupid bastard!"

She stood in one swift motion and pushed the dying boy - his body barely trembling now – into Edward's startled arms.

"Run you fucking moron!" She hissed.

She didn't need to say anything more. Edward was gone almost before she finished speaking, Harry held securely in his arms as he blurred away even to vampiric sight.

Alone now, Rosalie took several deep breaths before turning and clawing straight through a tree trunk thicker than three Emmetts put together.

"I will fucking break his face!" She hissed furiously to herself, absolutely enraged that whatever the fuck Edward's problem was, it had almost cost Harry's life.

Esme adored Harry. Emmett thought he was fun to be around. Even she liked spending time with him. That had almost been reason enough to give in to the selfish desire to to turn him herself - and claim she just lost control later.

But love... that was something so wonderful and rare that it made vampiric life more than bearable. It even excused the irresponsibility of turning a teen who would be missed in this day and age, in the middle of a crowded suburb. Love was so much rarer and precious than people would have you believe and even the Volturi had been known to seek it. To lose that, to lose the possibility of having it… even in their family, that was reason enough. Consent for the change was ideal but when the potential partner was dying, their family also had a history of not waiting for it. After all, it may be difficult to kill a vampire - but it was impossible to raise the dead.

Beating back her initial surge of fury, she calmed enough to scan for witnesses - thankfully none - and follow Edward home. Despite herself, she was excited - and then, increasingly, belatedly, worried.

Harry had never even hinted that he was interested in guys. She knew he found her attractive by the way his heart sped up when he looked at her or when she brushed against him in passing. She'd seen his eyes catching for a second on a slender pair of legs in the street, flickering away self-consciously from the cleavage of a waitress…

She'd never seen him look twice at a guy.

Vampires weren't quite so unlucky as Werewolves. They didn't imprint. She'd sensed something special about Emmett when she'd found him, something undefined that made him stand out - but which didn't guarantee anything.Emmett had grown to love her, a stroke of luck for which she was eternally grateful, and she had grown to love him. Carlisle and Esme, too, had grown to love each other through long and infrequent exposure - Carlisle's inhuman senses contributing only in that they encouraged him to persist. Alice and Jasper had a quieter closeness than any of them, more about comfort and security than love but Jasper had once told her that the only reason he'd given the crazy 'I've seen us together' Alice a chance had been because her scent had somehow been unique to every other vampire he'd ever known.

Theirs were happy stories, mostly. Theirs weren't the norm. Thinking about it now, too late, she wondered what would happen if Harry woke up another species and still wasn't interested.

Well. She supposed it was too late to worry about it now.

Massacre

No, it is not slash.

Re: English weather - I saw a report once about how England's weather was particularly difficult to predict on account of it being in the middle of five different weather-influencing systems.

I wonder if Harry's quidditch performance would actually be poorer with his new glasses? Clearer vision means there's more competing scenery and the glitter of a snitch's wings catching the light might be smaller without the 'fuzz' of slightly unfocused vision. Yeah?