Disclaimer: If I could own Edward, he would change the name and drop the stalker. For Harry. But, sadly, not this time.
III. Truth
Edward glanced at the angle of the sun, and then down at the snow white feather clutched in his marble hand. His fingers caressed the soft, silk-thin vanes, so very careful not to crush it with his supernatural strength. His body trembled slightly, and he fought not to pace the length of his empty bedroom. Inactivity was for the best; there were no more possessions for him to exorcise his fury on.
The sleek leather couch—an unnecessary creature comfort—was long gone now, a pile of stuffing and woodchips at the bottom of the front lawn. His music collection fared no better, the once-treasured records crushed and scattered across the floor. As he watched, blank-faced, another piece of shredded cardboard covering fluttered out the gaping hole in his broken window.
Esme had offered to clean up the mess, but Edward told her—very quietly, painfully—to leave him alone. And she did. They were all gone—the Cullens. Each of them had offered to stay, offered their sympathy, apologies, excuses—Edward wanted none of it. They didn't understand why he was so upset. They thought he should feel grateful—for life, for love, for second chances.
Edward only wanted the truth.
And it arrived on the wings of a magnificent scarlet phoenix, a creature that not even vampires could comprehend existing. So much of their worldly experience seemed trite in comparison, if immortal phoenixes roamed actually the skies. And phoenixes were not soulless monsters, feeding on the living for a selfish continuity. No, they survived on magic.
Magic.
The word made Edward shiver with longing.
For as long as Edward could remember, something had always been missing from the core of his being. He felt unfulfilled and empty, soulless, meaningless, and all-around disconnected from the world he lived in. His human memories were so hazy, and his vampire ones were forcefully suppressed. Carlisle said that he shouldn't torment himself with past mistakes. Alice said to focus on a happy future with the silent-minded human girl.
And for a while, Edward had tried. He tried so hard to live by Carlisle's convictions and Alice's advice. He attended school with the other "children," pretended that their mockery of a human lifestyle was worth something, and surrounded himself with a protective shell of brooding solitude. His siblings, of course, considered him dark and moody and self-absorbed. He needed a hobby, they said. Edward took up the piano. Then he needed a mate. Edward avoided all females vampires like the plague, and let them think it was his old-fashioned sensibilities at work. But Edward just couldn't connect to them. Something inside of him hinted at other options or choices already made. Bella had seemed like the final solution. There was a girl whose very blood sang to him, whose quiet mind consumed his every thought, and successfully blocked out the alarming images that came to him every now and then—images of every thought Edward had ever witnessed, but quite a few that seemed strangely familiar.
—a bearded man smiling with pride—a homely woman with soft eyes and hugs—friendly teenage faces—dark hair and winter kisses—yellow blurs and stone walls—blue skies and wind beneath his feet—grassy hills and a towering forest—smoke and brambles and darkness—red sparks and a golden cup—stars and grave markers—frightened green eyes and green light—burning and blindness—
The images seemed like nonsense to Edward; the byproduct of an overactive imagination and too many movie nights with Emmett. He tried to ignore them and focus on Bella; loving her, protecting her, keeping her. It wasn't easy, and Edward had only Alice's visions as reassurance that he wasn't making a colossal mistake. But she saw their meadow, his family's happiness, and—unfortunately—Bella's transformation. That should have delighted him, his soul mate strong and beautiful and eternally his. Instead, it made him cringe and take two steps back.
In the midst of his romantic confusion, Edward couldn't help but turn to something simpler, like the loose ends of his extra memories. After the incident with James, where Bella's presence in his life could have killed her, Edward forced himself to become distant. He decided to guard Bella's dreams from outside her bedroom, rather than in it. And on the first clear, rainless night, he took to searching the sky—for what he didn't know. But then he spotted it: a white owl, pale and swift like a ghost. It carried something long and fat—a rat—but it almost looked like a scroll in the moonlight—
The dam broke, and the memories—once fleeting snippets—flooded in and drowned out everything else.
Edward started tapping on brick walls and staring at paintings. He purchased broomsticks that piled up in the shed, and developed a sudden interest in eating muddy frogs. He raided Carlisle's study for books in Latin, and asked Jasper to whittle down a holly branch. His family became disturbed by his behavior, Bella crushed by his sudden disinterest, and Alice found that she could no longer see his future. Edward, however, was oblivious to those around him as his appetite diminished, and his eyes grew dark with hunger. When he attempted to crawl into the lit fireplace with a handful of beach sand, Carlisle could no longer keep silent.
He told Edward the truth. About a seventeen-year-old boy, and a night of ill-fortune and misfired curses. About prophecies, the greater good, and manipulative old men. About debts and promises. About his father, his mother, and a selfless boy with too many burdens. About wizards and magic and memories.
About Obliviation.
Edward stared down again at the feather in his hand. A part of him wanted to forget the lengthy explanation that it came with—to accept Carlisle's duplicity as an act of care, and return to his family, to his Bella. Another part of Edward—the part that remembered—wanted to fling the object away in horror and grab onto the walls, the floor, the broken furniture—anything sturdy. A greater part—of someone who wasn't Edward at all—gathered his resolve and gripped the small portkey tighter. The sun finally disappeared beneath the forest line, and somewhere downstairs an old clock chimed the seventh hour.
The world blurred, and Edward felt a sharp pull just behind his navel. The feather burned hot against his palm, but letting go was no longer an option.
Edward landed with a heavy thump on navy carpet, knees bending automatically to absorb the shock. He glanced around, his senses on full alert in the new environment. The room was small but spacious, a Headmaster's office cluttered with various trinkets and paintings. A familiar phoenix trilled gently from its golden perch, and Edward felt a comforting warmth seep into his frozen heart. Seated behind the wide, claw-footed desk, an elderly man in dark robes waited patiently for his attention. The vampire felt a flash of befuddled recognition as he stood there, caught by piercing emerald eyes.
"Harry…?" Edward whispered unsurely.
A genuine smile twitched behind the wizard's salt and pepper beard. He chuckled slightly and gestured to an open chair. "It's good to see you again, Cedric. Welcome back."
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