Author's Note:

I would like to let you all know that all these wonderful reviews are read, appreciated and loved. I always love a good ego boost 

BTW, I may accept a previous challenged made in a one-shot but I have plans for this story *evil grin*

Here goes chapter three duckies:

Chapter 3 - Strange Coincidence

The car rumbled into the gravelled driveway, its tyres gripping the wet pebbles. Pulling into the waiting garage, Carlisle took a moment to look over the outside of this gothic mansion in the middle of one of the richest areas in London. The pebbles led over a little bridge, which would bring one to the front door. The whole house was surrounded by a diverted stream, which seemed to appear from the depths of the hill, giving the effect of an island apart from the rest of the oppressive world. The gardens of the grounds stretched for a mile around, closed off by an intricate weaving of walls, climbing vines and hedgerows. There was a soft slope leading the foot to the back of the garden, where the plants had been allowed to run wild and free across the hill and into the park. Untamed trees hung their branches over the walls, tickled by the brambles at their roots, gnarling into the shape of creeping fingers in the winter air. It was as if the house had been uprooted from Carlisle's mind, an image of weathered and brutal outcrop, which housed, in Carlisle's mind at least, the beauty and terror of Wuthering Heights on the moors, battling against the winds of time and tide. Rosalie knew how to pick a good house.

Entering the house one was bombarded with light, dazzling chandeliers hanging from the main room, walls of a light cream colour. A complete contradiction to the outside, within was almost warm, for Carlisle anyway, and spacious. Large sofas sat around a large plasma screen television. Carlisle wandered from room to room, each room a different vibe than the last. Finally, he came to a halt outside a door within which was a distinct smell of aging leather. Carlisle smiled as he entered the enormous library. Books lined every wall, towering over his head into the darkness at the very top of the high ceiling. A ladder leading straight to the seat of heaven above wheeled around the room as Carlisle perused every title, tripping over the light fantastic of every foreign text, every classic, every original print of literature he could possibly possess. In the far corner was a large, leather armchair, above which perched an art deco lamp. 'Well done Edward', Carlisle thought lazily as he pulled a selection of books from the dizzy heights above and placed them carefully on the small table beside the armchair.

As he finished his personal tour of the mansion he sighed at the echoed loneliness, his eyes now a darker shade of gold. He would need to hunt soon; he was beginning to feel the thirst, but not yet. He chose a bedroom and started packing away his things, idly pondering over what would be going on back in Forks. He felt a twinge as he thought over what he left behind, Edward and his other children would be alone for a long time, especially without him. Not only had Esme gone, leaving Carlisle alone and distraught, but Bella and Renesmee had left Edward too. What would be the boys focus while all were away? Carlisle shook the swirling thoughts from his mind, he could not bear to think of the possibility of never seeing them all again. His ever-growing family had separated, but he could rest safe in the knowledge that some day, who knew when, they would all return together. As he settled into the smooth leather, he allowed his mind to wander ideally through the house, finding in this tranquillity to closest motion to sleep that his kind could create.

*

As if waking from a dream, Harry snapped up his head and gasped. The man had walked around the house, looking from room to room for something he did not seem to find. Looking for someone, he felt. There was a sadness so deep within him that Harry could barely hold in the tears he felt stinging behind his glasses. Hagrid and Olympe looked at him, worry riddled across their face.

" 'Arry, what is the matter? You seem agitated?"

Olympe, refilling his cup of tea as she spoke, patted his shoulder lovingly, looking into his face with her big, motherly eyes. Her baby bump seemed to make the harshness he had seen in her face after her work with the giants during the war seemed to have faded with the oncoming presence within her. Even the harsh cut across her cheek from where one of the giants who still aligned with Voldemort had scratched her across the face, seemed to have faded away from the pink blush of her skin. Her beaming smile shook Harry back into the present.

"Oh! Sorry Olympe, I for some reason must have fallen asleep. It's the jet lag. You were saying?"

" 'Lympe was just saying that, all things consid'rin', we'd like to call the baby 'Arry if it's a boy, if you're a'right with that, 'Arry?"

"Of course, I am deeply honoured, thank you!"

Harry got up and ran over to Hagrid, remembering the first embrace he and his half-giant friend had shared. Now, even though he was a grown man, he still could be enveloped in Hagrid's beard, a place that still felt safe to him.

Both Hagrid and Olympe sniffed loudly, their faces shining with happiness and relief.

On the drive back to Grimmauld Place, Harry readdressed the daydream earlier. The man from the airport was haunting his thoughts. Parking the motorcycle, he padded up to the front door, smelling the familiar nourishing smell of Kreacher's cooking. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed a home cooked wizarding meal. Not that he had hated the food abroad, but a glass of butterbeer and a slice of house elf cooking sounded amazing. The old house slid from its magical hiding place and settled, allowing Harry to step over the threshold and into his godfather's old house.

"Will the master be eating tonight? Kreacher has made his favourite," Kreacher beamed appealingly. He had certainly been awaiting his master's return veraciously, having been 'helping' the Weasley's for the past three years. He may have changed his opinion about the master's company for the sake of his master, and the master's friends who had kept the master alive were always high in Kreacher's esteem, but he did not like serving anyone except Master Harry. Now, on his return, his bliss was more than evident. The house was light and airy rather than dark and oppressive, the smell of home cooking and the warmth of a crackling fire being welcome homecoming gifts from the elf. Harry also knew this was in aid of someone else who could not be here. Kreacher knew of the house elf Dobby who Master Harry had cared so much for and, though his heart was not as great as Dobby's, Kreacher understood how a good house elf may affect his master and wished only to ease any pain for the master on his return to his old Master Sirius' house.

"Thank you Kreacher, I would love some food. And a glass of cold Butterbeer if there is any going?"

"Kreacher will bring the Master some refreshments!" With a pop Kreacher disapparated, leaving Harry in front of the roaring fire in a chair which had previously been the seat of Sirius Black. Harry starred for a long time into the flames, recounting his dream. The man was sitting, starring into space too. Strange coincidence that both were sitting the same way now. Harry shuddered. 'This cannot be a predatorily attachment, it is too sporadic'. Harry settled into the high back chair and nestled into the old Sirius smell, which, even now, ghosted the seat and wrapped him in a loving embrace.

Now the man was on the move again, this time in a leafy part of a forest. The sun was occasionally glinting off his alabaster skin, sending shocking bursts of rainbow into the otherwise dark glade. The man, now almost bestial, was hunting for something in the wood. From far away the smell of fresh meat washed over from him and he crouched, preparing to pounce. Before he has time to spring on his kill there is a rumbling noise, suddenly the man is pushed to the ground, a strange creature sitting on his chest and growling. The man rolls out of the creatures paws and hisses viciously. His face is now in full vie and behind him the black gates of a park Harry can almost recognise, but not quite. The man was in London, in a park…

There is a scatter as a few Red Deer run across the path behind but the man seems not to notice. The sun is now fully hitting the man, who shines like a diamond in the sunlight, which seems to shatter like glass around his glorious face. The other creature steps out from the shadows, but only enough for its muzzle to be seen. They both prepare to attack, crouching again in line to spring at each other. The wolf lets out a blood-curdling howl…