Author:innocentimp
Summary: Harry Potter went to live with Carlisle Cullen and his family when he was 7, then to Hogwarts when he was 11. Now he's 20, the war with Voldemort is over and due to misunderstandings and manipulations he's not seen or heard from his adoptive family in years. This is his journey home.
Pairings: EC/HP
Warnings: Slash and all that entails. Don't complain.
Note: As this is only a writing exercise for me, I have no beta. All mistakes are mine. Also, no promises for an update tomorrow. I'm pulling extremely long days at work and may not get a chance to write.
Thanks for all the reviews!
The rain against the skylights provided soothing, ambient noise and the moonlight filtering into the room painted the still unfamiliar space in soft blues and grays. The lack of snoring dormmates and the comfort of a real bed, (he'd had to make do with an expandable cot on the run), made this the most comfortable placed Harry'd been in a long time. He supposed his bedroom in the suite of rooms he'd shared with Charlie had been comfortable enough, but impersonal. He'd never wanted to spend time there and he had never felt welcomed by it at the end of the day. His bedroom in Forks was all of that.
So why am I having so much trouble sleeping?
Harry rolled onto his back and watched the rain slip down the glass of the skylight. For lack of a better idea he measured his breathing, concentrating on nothing else but the sound of his breath and the beat of his heart until his body melded bonelessly against the mattress.
Still wide awake he gave in and allowed his mind to run in circles, hoping it'd wear itself out.
He'd been home for four days and every night, except the first, he'd lay here awake, finally falling asleep near dawn then waking again just after breakfast. It would have been less frustrating had he not found himself napping during the day like a small child. He'd survived on this much sleep for longer periods in the past. He just couldn't seem to now.
On the plus side, he hadn't had a nightmare. Yet. On the down side, it probably wouldn't have mattered if he had. A few years ago the thought of waking the entire house with one of his dreams would have been enough to keep him up at night. It would have upset Carlisle and Esme, Jasper would have felt compelled to try and calm him down, and Harry wasn't sure how good his occlumency was in the transition between sleep and wakefulness so he'd have worried about what Edward might have glimpsed. Not so much an issue now. If there was any one branch of magic he'd gotten good at manipulating over the last couple of years, it was silencing charms. He'd figured out the second night home how to cast a localized silencing charm around himself that allowed sound in and let vital signs out. His family would definitely feel compelled to check on him if they suddenly couldn't hear his heartbeat or the sound of his breathing as they passed his room. So that wasn't what was keeping him up.
Harry let his eyes fall shut.
Who am I kidding? I know what's keeping me up.
Falling back into the pattern of life with his family had been easier than he'd thought it'd be. He weathered Esme's mothering which he didn't expect to let up any time soon. He played video games with Emmett; let him win occasionally for Rosalie. He watched movies with Jasper and Alice; he didn't even complain when she ruined the endings. And every day he spent a few hours reading in the study while Carlisle sorted through paperwork. In all that time, he'd seen Edward twice.
The family was quick to make excuses for him. He was hunting. Volunteering as a tutor over the summer. Driving. Composing. On and on until the words were just a distant, hollow echo.
What no one was willing to admit, and what Harry knew beyond a doubt, was that Edward was avoiding him.
Well, most of the time.
Right on schedule, the door to his bedroom whispered open. If he held true to his pattern, his visitor would remain in the corner, between the door and the bathroom wall, well away from the windows and the skylight. At first Harry had thought it was Esme, she'd checked on him a lot when he was a kid. Or Carlisle, who'd made an extra effort to be available lately. But as the nights dragged on his heart had acknowledged what his mind had avoided. The only time Edward could stand to be around him was when he thought he was lost to sleep.
Well, no more.
"There's a chair you know. More comfortable than the corner," Harry said quietly.
Nothing. Just the soothing sound of rain on glass.
"Are you really just going to stand there in the dark not breathing?"
No answer. Just the vague sensation of something watching him in the nothingness. But he knew Edward was there. Knew it down to his bones. The three weeks he'd spent as Voldemort's guest had heightened certain skill sets. Sensing when he wasn't alone in the dark was one of them. Surprising him in the dark had been one of his tormentors' favorite games. But he'd always known when they were there, always sensed them. And they'd been strangers to him. This was Edward.
It turned his stomach that he'd drawn any sort of parallel between Edward and those men.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked, throat tight. He refused to voice the, 'are you mad at me?' He wasn't a little boy anymore.
No answer. Just the quiet snick of his door and the gentle tap of rain on glass.
When he finally fell asleep, silent apparitions plagued his dreams.
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It took a long time before Harry fell asleep again. Edward had been surprised to realize he'd been awake when he'd entered the room. Even more surprised when Harry'd spoken to him, tried to force him to admit he was there. He hadn't of course, hard to speak when you're holding your breath. He hadn't been able to stand it, standing in the corner, holding his breath while Harry spoke to him. He'd had to leave. So now here he was, laying against the top of the roof next to the skylight to Harry's room, listening to his breathing even out as he finally slipped into sleep.
He should probably have stayed inside, or gone hunting, or gone for a drive. Any of the things he did during the day to distract himself. Instead, he'd crawled out here, next to Harry's skylight, and allowed the rain to soak his clothes and plaster his hair to his face and neck.
It's safer this way. And easier.
His relationship with Harry had always been complicated, always careful. But it had never been painful. Not until now.
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Edward watched the little human out of the corner of his eye and decided that he was, quite simply, odd.
First, there was the suppressant that Carlisle said the headmaster had mixed into his toothpaste. He'd been in their home for nearly three weeks and Edward still couldn't get used to it. The lack of burn, the lack of thirst. It was altogether unsettling. Like looking at sandpaper and touching it only to realize it was fine silk. It twisted the mind. Harry was completely odorless to him, unpalatable in every way. He was hardly complaining, it was just strange.
Then there were the little boy's mannerisms, his way of interacting with the family. He avoided Emmett, but tolerated Jasper. He didn't seem to know what to think of Alice, but seemed to quietly understand Rosalie. He'd charmed Esme of course, though if he knew it or not Edward wasn't sure. And he always had a quiet, sweet smile for Carlisle, Edward had caught him reading in his study several times before Carlisle had returned home from the hospital. And he was always quiet. Always watchful.
Edward watched Harry climb up on a chair in the kitchen, watching as Esme made breakfast. In Edward's experience he was uncommonly quiet for a human child. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, he didn't ask thousands of questions, and he never complained that he was bored. It was bizarre. His thoughts were quiet too. He could hear them, but only surface level thoughts, never the trailing thoughts that followed them. Most of the time when he tuned into someone he heard not only the thought going through their head, but also what had formed it, what agenda pushed it, what completed it. For Harry, he had no such reference. Whatever drove his conscious thoughts and decisions was just beyond his reach. It was sort of like trying to focus on Alice as she ran passed him He'd know without a doubt it was her, but not necessarily what she wore, what color her shoes were, or how she'd styled her hair. It was, frustrating. Especially because Harry seemed to defy normal in every way.
Most of the time Edward spent around humans was exhausting. Their thoughts leapt out at him, and they almost always came down to the same things. I want this. I love him. I need that. I hate her. I, I, I, I. He wondered if people had any idea how self centered they really were. But with Harry it was rarely like that. His thoughts were simpler, more straight forward. Hungry. Tired. Frightened. Basic needs. Rare was the time Harry actually thought about wanting something.
Occasionally he'd think about wanting an extra serving at dinner, or he'd want six o'clock to come faster so that Carlisle would be home. That those were the most selfish thoughts in his head bothered Edward. Weren't children supposed to want things? Esme had taken him into town, tried to buy him books, toys and clothes, but Harry had been too silent to say anything. Edward had been able to guess from some of the observations the boy made which toys he preferred. They'd bought those, of course. But with the exception of the coloring and reading books he kept in Carlisle's office, and the stuffed bear he slept with, he'd put all of the things on the shelf in his room. And either he was the neatest seven year old on the planet, or he hadn't touched them again.
So he watched him, trying to determine what to make of this human child, his little brother.
"Ready for breakfast, Harry?" Esme asked, apron pulled snug around her waist. She placed a plate of muffins on the counter in front of and poured him a glass of milk. "Banana chocolate chip," she said, gesturing for him to help himself. "But I think maybe the chocolate melted. They're awfully dark."
"Thank you," he said completely sincere as he took a muffin and pulled his glass of milk toward him.
"Esme, you can't give him those," Edward laughed. "The chocolate didn't melt. They're burned. Look," he said, taking one of the muffins off the plate and tapping it against the counter. "They've gone hard."
"They're good!" Harry exclaimed, little shoulders hunched, muffin clutched close. His eyes flashed angrily even as his lower lip trembled.
Edward's smile slipped from his face. The little boy had been so careful to avoid confrontation over the last several weeks that he'd chose now to speak up baffled him. It was just a muffin.
"Oh, Harry, honey, you don't have to eat those. You can have cereal again," Esme said, reaching for the plate.
Then, for the first time, as Harry's eyes bored into his, his thoughts came through loud and clear.
She tried. You'll hurt her feelings.
"Look," he said, breaking off the top of the muffin. "They're still good. On the inside."
"Are you sure? I can do eggs, you liked my eggs."
"Nope. The muffins are good." He broke the top off another one and handed it to Edward, expression equal parts demand and plea.
"Oh, honey, Edward doesn't really like muffins."
"No," he agreed, pulling up a chair next to Harry. "But these look good." He took the topless muffin and bit into it under Harry's watchful gaze. When he smiled at him, nodding in approval, Edward forced himself to chew.
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Sitting in the pouring rain Edward could almost taste those muffins again. Dirt and compost. He'd had three. But anyone who could defend Esme like that was worth defending in turn. As it turned out, he'd eaten a lot of Esme's food over the next year and half. He didn't regret any of it.
Edward glanced though the skylight when he noticed Harry's breathing pick up.
He's dreaming.
He could tell by the way Harry's brow furrowed and his fists clenched the sheets that it wasn't a pleasant dream.
He forced himself to back away from the window and climb off the roof.
If it gets bad enough, Jasper will notice. Calm him down.
Edward pushed himself into a run, darting into the forest that surrounded the house. Harry wasn't seven anymore. He'd managed just fine without for years now. There was no reason that shouldn't continue.
It has to.
