The next few weeks back at school had been some of the longest of Harry's life. His sudden and prolonged absence easily explained by a family emergency back home, his first day back had started off amusingly as his classmates were shocked into silence at his return. Unsurprisingly, it quickly turned irritating, especially once he found out that everyone knew he had been the guy who escaped from the hospital all those months ago. He had been inundated with questions, people only subsiding when Harry started to be flanked by one or two Cullens between classes. Without prompt they had become Harry's bodyguards, something that would normally annoy him but not in this case; he knew that the pestering by his classmates would have been far more irritating.

They had all fallen into a routine; Edward would pick up Bella and Harry on the way to school, sometimes even picking up Harry first so he could sit in the front. The three of them would sit together at lunch, or else with the rest of the Cullens, conversation passing freely between them. There were no more glares sent across the cafeteria or harsh whispers spread behind backs; the seven of them got along amicably, even Rosalie on occasion was found to smile at a joke shared. Eventually even the rest of the school lost interest in their new group.

Harry, meanwhile, felt like he was just coasting through, getting buffeted by life as it pushed him along. He had been practising his magic at home, but none of it felt right. His conversations with Edward flowed, but he found himself forcing them to continue. Things were going so much better than before, but at the same time things were stagnating. He didn't sleep, his exhaustion a constant part of him. He ate well, and he even exercised, slowly rebuilding the weight he had lost in his absence. But he still wasn't healthy.

He knew what the problem was. It was all mental. He wasn't right in the head and he didn't know how he could fix it. Bella and Edward had both tried talking to him, and he had tried to discuss things with them both, but it never helped. If anything it just made him want to draw deeper back into his shell. It was the thought of Teddy and all he wanted to go back for that kept him from deteriorating further.

'He wasn't your bloody psychiatrist,' Harry repeated to himself for the hundredth time. Because it was true; Carlisle hadn't be a psychiatrist. But, no matter how much Harry tried to deny it, he had been a friend. Carlisle's three hundred years on earth had opened his eyes to so many types of pain and suffering, but also healing. Once Harry had finally gotten over himself and his initial bitterness, he had found himself feeling better after his Wednesday meetings with the man. Even if Harry had said next to nothing, the weight on his shoulders always seemed a little less on the way home.

He'd given him a whole week; Harry hadn't bothered going to Carlisle's office his first Wednesday back, not seeing the point after the cold reception he'd received only four days earlier. His resolve had weakened a week later, or maybe he'd forgotten just how ashamed Carlisle had looked that day, and he'd tried to visit him. Of course, Harry knew he could never forget the disappointment and shame that Carlisle had looked at him with, but in a moment of weakness Harry tried to pretend it hadn't been so bad.

When he'd arrived at the hospital last Wednesday, he'd begun to take the familiar route to Carlisle's office. Before he'd even rounded the last corner, Harry had come across the man in the hallway, briefcase in hand and coat on his back.

"Oh," the man had said, doing a good job at pretending he hadn't sensed Harry's arrival minutes earlier. "I'm headed home now, Harry. Now's not the best time," and he'd continued on past without even waiting for a response.

'He's a busy man,' Harry had thought desperately. 'I can't expect him to always find time for me.'

He was furious at himself over how weak he was being, letting Carlisle control his life like this. He hadn't told Bella or Edward that he had gone to the hospital that day, but he could tell that Edward had known. His feelings had only been confirmed when Edward confronted him two days later.

"It isn't your fault, Harry," Edward had begged him to believe. "There's just some things that Carlisle needs to come to terms with before he can help you."

"I don't need his help," Harry had insisted. "I'm doing fine on my own."

Harry had known it was a lie. So had Edward. Of course neither of them had voiced the fact. They went on for the next week ignoring the times Harry would grow silent or when he'd fail to stifle his tenth yawn of the lunch hour. Edward and Bella watched on worryingly, offering their support when they could but knowing they weren't what Harry needed.

And so another dreary Wednesday arrived, the drizzling rain falling steadily. The trio walked out of the school at the end of the day, Harry slightly behind the other two. Bella's hand was tucked firmly in Edward's.

That had been another recent development. Harry suspected it had started earlier than he'd become aware of it and that they'd been putting their kindling relationship aside until Harry settled back into school. Now that he was as settled as he could get in the current circumstances, Edward and Bella would show the occasional signs of their relationship: a lingering hand on her waist, holding hands between classes, or just sending each other dopey looks over the lunch table. It didn't bother Harry as much now Bella knew what Edward was; in fact, he was pleased to have something so normal happening around him. Occasionally, though, it reminded him of the brief relationship he'd had with Ginny; on these days he felt the need to look away when they were with each other.

They piled into Edward's Volvo and headed to Bella's house; she was always dropped home first as she lived the closest to the school. Edward had begun to join Bella and Harry's tutoring sessions which would alternate between their two houses. They never went to the Cullens' house. With the two of them helping him, Harry found himself quickly caught up on the two weeks he'd missed and back on top of his schoolwork. He couldn't help but feel a bit of pride when he thought about it.

When they pulled up at Bella's house, she turned around in her seat to look at Harry.

"You should come to mine for Thanksgiving this weekend," she told him happily. "I'm cooking for Charlie and me but there'll be way too much food for just the two of us."

"Uh," Harry stuttered, "do you think that's a good idea?" Harry had been trying to avoid the Chief as best as he could since returning to Forks, not because of his original misgivings with the man, but because he didn't want to face the questions. Bella had told him about how the wards around his house had both intrigued and concerned her father, and she had warned Harry that he was looking for any opportunity to ask him about them.

"I'll talk to him and try and get him to leave you alone. If it looks like it'll be bad I'll protect you, don't worry," she grinned at him.

"Does it matter that I don't really know what Thanksgiving is?" He'd heard of it, sure, but he'd never celebrated it before.

Bella shook her head, "Of course not! Just turn up with an empty stomach." She smiled brightly at him, her eyes silently begging him to say yes.

"Sure," Harry agreed, partly because he felt he couldn't say no, but also partly because it actually sounded like a nice thing to do.

Bella beamed at him. She opened her door, gave Edward a quick kiss – Harry suddenly found the upholstery in his seat fascinating – and hopped out, giving them both a wave as she ran to the warmth of her house.

"Right then, to the Potter abode," Edward announced pompously, just like he did every day. Harry didn't even give his customary eye roll; he was thinking too hard.

"Can you take me to the hospital instead?" He asked quietly. Some people might follow up this request by asking if Harry was alright and what he needed a doctor for. Given the day, Edward knew otherwise.

"You don't have to keep doing it like this, Harry," he tried. Harry could tell a well thought out argument was coming. "He'll come around eventually. I've tried talking to him but he's adamant at the moment."

"I'm not expecting anything, don't worry," he responded bluntly. "I just… don't worry. Just take me there. Please." Harry was not up to arguing. He had to try just once more. He promised himself this would be the last time.

Edward sighed and turned left to head towards the hospital instead of right towards Harry's house. He parked the Volvo in the visitor carpark where he let Harry out. Harry could feel his eyes on him the whole way to the entrance.

He walked towards the office, half expecting to cross paths with the doctor around every corner. But he made it all the way to the door without coming across anyone. Harry knocked on the door and waited, but he knew there was no one inside; there was no light shining under the door. He made his way back to the front desk, asking the receptionist if Carlisle were possibly in a surgery.

"Oh, sorry sweetie but he's gone home for the day not feeling too good. Just left about twenty minutes ago." She looked at him closely as Harry felt his throat tighten. "Did you have an appointment?"

"N-no," he managed to stammer out. "Just a visitor. Thanks." He quickly turned around and hurried out the door, taking a sharp turn to take himself away from the main entrance.

'He knew I was coming,' his thoughts betraying the painful truth. 'He left early so he wouldn't have to face me.'

There had been a time in the not too distant past when Harry could not have cared less about Carlisle's opinion of him. A time when it was the doctor who had tried to seek out Harry, only to be turned away week after week. Harry hadn't deserved the man's kindness and yet he had been given it every week. And then, just like every good thing in his life, Harry had ruined it by unleashing his problems onto the man, scaring him away for good. How could a natural killer who had never killed a man accept someone like Harry – a real killer?

The tears had started to fall without him even realising, mixing with the rain that was already soaking him through. He felt tainted; dirty with the filth that was his past. It made sense, he supposed, that he should be left alone to suffer. He would have been alone in Azkaban too.

Harry didn't look up at the footsteps which approached him; he knew whose they were. Putting up an umbrella to cover them both, Edward sat down beside him in the mud.

"You'll ruin those expensive clothes Alice bought you," Harry tried to joke.

"Ah, gives her an excuse to buy more, doesn't it?" Edward replied gently. "It's okay to be upset, you know? I am."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean you're upset?"

"I'm upset because I don't like seeing one of my good friends so miserable," he replied. "What makes it even worse is knowing that it's my father that's causing my friend's pain." Edward looked out into the carpark, and Harry watched the emotions flicker across his face. He could almost see Edward's golden eyes darkening as his anger bubbled.

"I'll be alright, Edward," Harry said, trying to calm Edward down. "I always am."

"Let me take you home." Edward stood, offering Harry a hand. As they trudged back to the Volvo together, Harry felt as though something had shifted between them, something important. He was thinking so hard he didn't even notice the towels Edward had delicately placed on top of the seats in his car.

Harry let his head bounce painfully against the window, the pain reminding him that he could still feel. He needed to snap out of this pathetic misery; he was letting Carlisle control his life without even being a part of it and it was weakening him. Perhaps it would be best for Harry to try and take a more active approach in his own healing. Like most things, Harry had found, it was best to deal with problems alone.

He waved a solemn goodbye to Edward, both scared and curious about what he would do when he saw Carlisle at home. Harry went inside and did the only thing he could think of doing.

"Accio Hermione's bag."

It was time for him to face his fears. As the bag zoomed down the stairs and into the living room, Harry sat himself on the floor and steeled himself. He had been too scared to do this before now; heck, he was still too scared to do it. But he knew that in order to face the future he had to be able to face the past; he needed to be able to face their memories.

With trembling hands he unfastened the latch and looked into the bag. He could see nothing but darkness, the floor of the bag too deep thanks to the extension charm that had been placed on it. Harry took a deep breath, and plunged his arm into the bag.

Reaching right down to the bottom, Harry's hand came up against numerous books. He began to pull some of them out, with each one an old memory would come. He found Hogwarts: A History, Hermione's exasperation at her friends never reading it bringing a sad smile to Harry's face. Next came the Tales of Beedle the Bard, the sign of the Deathly Hallows staring at him from the first page. Even The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore was still there, Harry shivering at the memory of that terrifying night in Godric's Hollow. There were many other books, old school textbooks like Hermione's old Ancient Runes books that Harry had never read. Perhaps some of them he could use to fill his bookshelves upstairs.

"Get a grip, Potter," Harry mumbled to himself, "this isn't that bad." But he knew he'd only scratched the surface.

Next that came out were all their clothes. His throat tightened painfully at Ron's too small Chudley Canons pyjamas. In his mind Harry saw Ron's bare ankles, always visible beneath the same clothes he had worn for so many years. Harry knew Ron had always been touchy about his family's lack of money compared with Harry's lavish fortune; Harry hadn't thought before, but he guessed that even just seeing Harry in robes the right length would have reminded Ron every day.

Looking through his own clothes it was mostly plain jeans and shirts, all of which he had numerous replacements now anyway. He moved them into a pile to be thrown out. Harry made sure to pull out all his Weasley jumpers and fold them neatly. Remembering the love of the woman who had made them, the first tear rolled down his cheek.

Empty potions bottles of Dittany and Polyjuice came out next, all joining Harry's old clothes in the rubbish pile. He was thankful that someone, perhaps Kingsley, had removed Phineas Nigellus' portrait; it would be a nightmare having him on the wall.

The last substantial item Harry found was his old rucksack. Holding it in his hands, he gasped as he remembered his final night at the Dursleys' and what he knew to be in this bag. Letting out a shaky breath, Harry undid the drawstring and tipped out its contents. His breath hitched slightly at the influx of memories.

He had just about forgotten what he had packed on that night that was now well over a year ago. His few possessions that were most important to him were all he had been able to bring along. He fingered the pile of letters in his hand which he knew to span all the way from third year. He recognised Ron's messy scrawl and Hermione's neat script, as well as the odd letter from Ginny or another of his friends. The ones from Sirius were far fewer, only having two years in which to gather them, making them just that much more precious.

His old potions kit looked the worst for wear of all his possessions; he could see that the ingredients had all mixed together making one big mess. Some ingredients he could pick out like the snake fangs and the fairy wings, but he knew most of it would be useless now. He grimaced at what Snape would have said had he been able to see the mess.

There were a few more books as well, some of Harry's actual favourites as well as textbooks. Quidditch Through the Ages was one he'd definitely be putting on his bookshelves. One book that Harry knew to be unlike the rest was what made him the most nervous. It was his old photo album from Hagrid.

It wasn't the thought of seeing his parents in the photos that Harry was scared about. It was the other photos that he knew to be inside. Without him knowing, his friends had nicked the album from his trunk towards the end of sixth year, and with the help of Colin Creevey they had filled in many more pages with photos of Harry's time at Hogwarts. He had only looked through them once on the day they had given it back to him and hadn't looked at them since. He was still slightly embarrassed at remembering how emotional he'd been when Ron and Hermione had presented it to him.

Harry's last memories of both of his friends were terrible and had plagued his nightmares since arriving in Forks. How he so desperately wanted to open this album and fill his mind with the happier times! But a part of him felt as though it would be an insult to their memory, like he would be trivialising their sacrifice. Perhaps he'd just look through the original photos.

A familiar knock on the door interrupted Harry's turning of the first page. He hadn't heard that knock on his front door since his earlier days in Forks, but he wouldn't easily forget it. Harry felt his heart speed up as the significance of the moment dawned on him. What was he doing here?

"Come in," Harry croaked. He listened from where he sat on the floor to the front door open and close. Soft footsteps made their way down the hall and into the living room bringing Carlisle Cullen to stand in the doorway. Harry watched as the man's eyes flickered uncertainly between the objects that were covering the floor and Harry himself, as though unsure where to look.

"Hello, Harry," he said simply. Harry didn't respond at first; all he could do was stare at the man who had caused him so much mental strain recently. He found himself not knowing how he wanted this encounter to go.

"I think you and I need to talk about some things."

"Why now?" Harry asked him. He couldn't help the bitterness that laced his words. "Did Edward finally get to you?"

Carlisle smiled briefly, "Edward has been a far better friend to you of late than I have. He was the one who worked out how to find you and the importance of such a task. I have recently been… blinded." The pained look had returned, the same one that he had worn during Harry's last visit to the Cullens' house.

"I get it, though," Harry said. "Why should you want to face me after what I've done? It's not your fault you didn't know the extent of my criminal record. It's enough to put anyone off me," he muttered as he played with a loose thread on his first ever Weasley jumper, completely oblivious to the confused look that settled on the doctor's face.

"What are you talking about, Harry?" the man asked.

"Our last meeting together when I finally told you why I'm so messed up," he clarified. "Don't bother pretending it didn't sicken you, you haven't been able to look at me without shame in your eyes ever since. As I said, I don't blame you." He still refused to look up at Carlisle, too afraid that the look of shame would have returned. He never wanted to see that expression on that face ever again.

"You think I'm ashamed of you?" The question was spoken so softly Harry almost didn't hear it. He sighed in exasperation.

"Carlisle, it's been obvious. You couldn't even look at me when I came back last week and you've avoided me ever since. I get it, I disgust you, what I've done and what I am. I didn't even have the guts to tell the rest of your family my vile secrets. So yeah, I've put two and two together. The only part I haven't worked out is why you've felt the need to come and tell me all of this in person!" His voice had steadily risen in volume as he rambled until he was almost shouting. Didn't Carlisle know how much his opinion had meant to Harry and how hard it had been to see what it had become?

Carlisle closed his eyes, a look of great pain settling on his features; Harry noticed that he too had dark circles beneath his eyes. He watched on as the man tried to gather himself no doubt, Harry thought, to confirm Harry's suspicions.

"Harry," he began quietly, "there are several things that I need to explain to you. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. If, at the end, you still wish to throw me out of your house, you may. I simply request your audience." Harry nodded, steeling himself for the worst.

"Moments after you ran from my office that day, Harry, I very nearly went after you. I knew you would be hurting and likely embarrassed at what you had told me, but foolishly I let you go, believing you would not desire my presence at that time. It meant, however, that I was unable to speak to you of what you had said.

"You now know, I believe, that Edward can read minds with the exception of Bella and yourself. Edward heard our conversation from that afternoon in my thoughts. I truly am sorry for that, Harry, but your words had been on my mind ever since and try as I might I could not block them from Edward. I told him not to confront you at school, and that I would speak to you about it soon. That was my plan until you appeared with Bella in tow that weekend.

"I was upset but not surprised that you were unwilling to look at me that day. You had revealed your darkest secrets to me and were likely suspicious I had broken your confidence in telling Edward. Had events not then transpired as they did, I would have spoken with you that morning." His eyes became pleading.

"I could never be ashamed of you, Harry. You could never disgust me, not for what you are nor for what you've done. I have regretted since that day not following you out of my office and telling you those words, now even more so knowing how much it has been hurting you. My look of shame that day was directed at nobody but myself. I feared I had pushed you too far that day in my office, a feeling that was nearly confirmed when you arrived with Bella and could not bear to look at me. I was ashamed of my own actions and the possibility that I had pushed you away from me when we had just become friends.

"If I had not been able to accept you for your past, it would have made a hypocrite of me. My family defies the nature of vampires and hunts animals, you know this, but do you truly believe we have all gone through our existence without mistakes? Without regrets?"

Harry was confused. "But you told me you'd never –"

"I have never, yes," Carlisle agreed, "but as any vampire will tell you I am the exception to every rule on vampiric nature. The rest of my family have had their fair share of mistakes, some accidental and others not so, but not one of them have I not accepted afterwards."

Harry didn't understand what Carlisle was saying. It wasn't the same!

"But like you say, that's the nature of vampires. Accidents happen and sometimes nature has to win. What I did was intentional – it was against nature. You can't compare us."

"Harry you know how old I am, yes?" Harry nodded. "Then you must be able to appreciate the number of wars I have witnessed. I never fought in any of them, not believing it was my place as an immortal to influence the world's conflicts in such a manner, but I saw what happened. I saw how it changed good people and the things that they were required to do.

"You killed Voldemort, Harry, you can't ever change that. Destiny or not, you fought for what you believed to be right and you won because of it. Yes, it meant casualties, any war does, but the one you caused was a necessary one. Have you not stopped and thought of the people who are still alive today because Voldemort is gone? You ended the life of a tyrannical monster, and in doing so you've ensured the safety of hundreds if not thousands of innocent people. You can't tell me you wish you hadn't have done it?"

No, he absolutely could not. If there was one thing he would never be guilty of, it was the people still living thanks to Voldemort's death. He shook his head firmly.

"Then don't let the thought of killing define you. You are the reason everybody else is still alive. Let that define who you are."

"But so many others are dead because of me," Harry argued. "My friends, their families: none of them would have died if Voldemort hadn't been after me."

"Which you had no control over," Carlisle reminded him. "You were only one year old when he marked your family and set the future for his own demise. It was his own actions that brought about so many deaths. Never blame yourself for everything that monster did, Harry. None of it is on your shoulders."

Harry desperately wanted to believe Carlisle's words. He had lost count of how many people had told him the same thing, that none of it was his fault. He knew he wouldn't have survived without his friends, but why did it have to be them who died for the cause? Why couldn't they have survived with him to support each other through this new hell that had been created? Harry knew it wouldn't have seemed quite so much like hell if they were with him.

He had a choice; either he could continue on the current road he was on, letting his guilt and his anger suck the life out of him, or he could do as Carlisle said and forgive himself. It wasn't his fault. He didn't kill his friends. He would tell himself these things every day if that's what it took for him to believe them. He wanted to climb out of this darkness. He needed to if he were to survive what was coming.

"I still haven't explained my unforgiveable behaviour since your return," Carlisle gently interrupted his thoughts. "Again, I won't blame you if you don't wish for me to have any further part in your time here, as I feel that would certainly be justified."

"What are you talking about?" Harry didn't understand what he could possibly be about to say that had the man looking so guilty.

"There are very few memories of my human life that I have left," Carlisle began bitterly. "Certainly no happy ones. My father was the head of our local church and part of his duty was to rid the world of monsters and sin, a role that fell onto me when he became too ill to continue himself. He and several other men would scour the streets of London, searching for monsters hiding among the public. Most of them I believe were innocent people simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Others, however, weren't. For instance a vampire we hunted one night became my sire, making me like him. Since then I knew that there were real monsters in the world and we truly had hunted vampires. Everybody else I believed must have been innocent humans, until I learned what you were, Harry.

"I'm sure you know and have been taught in school of the history of witch hunting. A very common practice in the sixteen hundreds in many cities around the world, including London. My father believed there were witches among us, spreading mayhem and mischief through the city. They were targeted by us in our raids. I don't know how many of them were actually witches, nor do I know how many were properly executed. All I know is that in my human life I hunted people who were like you Harry, for no reason other than that they were different. I was uncomfortable when you returned to Forks because I knew that I would be undeserving of your trust again. Truthfully I didn't know if I could face that if you came back to us."

Harry was shocked at what he was hearing, watching on as Carlisle closed his eyes, clearly overcome by memories and remorse. This is what had Carlisle keeping his distance from him? Three hundred year old guilt?

"Carlisle, I don't think any witches you hunted would have been killed. Maybe they weren't as indestructible as vampires, but there were almost no methods people used back then that were actually effective at killing witches and wizards. Besides," he added, as he was still getting no visible response out of the man, "I don't think you can really blame yourself for the attitudes of the sixteen hundreds. Arguably, that was long enough ago to have forgiven whatever was or wasn't done."

Harry mused internally over the fact that the advice he was giving Carlisle was almost identical to that which he had just received. They certainly made quite the pair.

Carlisle at last smiled ruefully and opened his eyes. "That's almost the same as what Edward said to me."

"Have you really been letting that worry you since you found out I was a wizard?" Harry asked, genuinely confused and somewhat concerned.

"I have. I didn't want to assume that you would see things the same way as Edward did. I admit I still find you unpredictable in how you will react to certain things." Harry grimaced, all too familiar with those words as well.

"Look, if I'm not allowed to blame myself for what's happened in my past, then you aren't allowed to blame yourself for what happened in yours. Deal?" Harry was pleased to see the first smile that reached Carlisle's eyes.

"Deal."

Similar to what he had felt with Edward that afternoon, Harry knew that something dramatic had just changed in his friendship with Carlisle. He dwelled on the lessening weight on his shoulders, feeling at last his return to Forks was going right.

"I was about to look through this when you arrived," he held up the album that was still in his lap. "Would you like to meet my family, Doctor Cullen?" He shifted some of his belongings aside to make room for the man to sit beside him.

Carlisle smiled. "It would be an honour, Mr Potter."