Okay, it's been a long time. I'm not sure if this has any readers left. Please let me know what you think… And remember, I've not read the Twilight books, so please don't expect this to be particularly canon! Hope you like…

Chapter 3: Plans

Edward sat besides his sister as she, with little attention, drove them home. He ignored the patterns she drew on his thigh - cold swirls of comfort he refused to accept.

'He smelt...' He paused to grasp for the right word. 'Incredible.'

Jasper's snide thought of '…you mean edible?' earned a quick and surprisingly vicious growl.

Alice, eyes snapping quickly between brothers to ascertain guilt, tutted at the blond. 'Jasper!' she scolded, with a brief twitch of her nose, before turning her attention back to the darker of the two males. 'I overheard some of the humans chattering about him today, about Harry.'

Edward felt his lips twitch. Harry. No doubt his sister had already taken the young foreigner to her heart, still and cold as it was. He tilted his head, an admission of his interest.

'They say he lives with his uncle out in the woods. That the uncle is some sort of chemist. Wants a bit of peace and quiet after a messy divorce in England.'

Edward frowned. 'That's all?'

'He doesn't have a girlfriend.' Two vampires turned to look at their lighter-haired sibling. Jasper shrugged, a hint of a smile pulling at his cheeks. 'I listen,' he chuckled by way of explanation.

'Of course you do, darling,' Alice said with a joyful expression as she pulled into the driveway of the Cullen residence. 'And you're going to keep listening. We all are. Right, Edward?'

Though he wouldn't give his sister the satisfaction, in his mind, he agreed that yes, he would be listening. Watching too.

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Harry had walked, slowly and silently, back to the large stone cottage he shared with his surly former potions master deep in the woods. The day had been a trial, a painful reminder of what he'd lost to the war. The short, but horrendously destructive war which had torn through his delicately structured life in the wizarding world. Jess and Mike and the others were… nice. Jessica was sometimes nasty without intent, Mike forceful of opinion, but they were all normal teenagers nonetheless, happy and uncomplicated. It certainly made a change to be immersed in their lives, to be back amongst non-magical children, trying to recall the science and maths he had allowed to fall unheeded from his mind. It remained though, somewhere in the back. Childhood classes of elementary algebra, multiplication tables, Bunsen burners and schoolboy French filtered back throughout the day – simple academics that his magical lessons had made no demands upon.

The world, after all, did go on. His six year absence, no matter how it may have hurt him, could never rob him of his non-magical roots. It was reassuring.

He entered the cottage, letting his bag slide to the floor of the entrance hall. A grand staircase swept upwards, but before he could fully entertain the idea of crawling into bed with his new history text, his lover came barrelling towards him from the side-room he had allocated for his craft. Shoved into the wall, strong hands clamped over his collarbone, Harry felt more than heard the words that were shouted.

With herculean effort, he wrenched himself out of the older man's grip, placing flat palms against the wider chest and extending his arms, clawing back a sense of personal space. 'Severus,' he began, but was immediately overcome by the tirade of abuse that spilled from the man's mouth. In desperation, the boy reached up, his hands clinging to broad shoulders, and his mouth swiftly clamping to its match, formerly screwed up in anger. This he could do, he thought, with only slight disappointment. He pressed himself into the taller man's body, let one hand drift down a muscled, but tautly held chest. Sex was easy, so much easier than a conversation, than thinking properly about what he was doing, what he had lost. A strong grip crushed his wrist without warning and he was again slammed backwards.

He hoped he didn't let the fear he felt flash across his face – he knew that Severus didn't really want to hurt him – but knew he had failed when the other man's expression softened, regret setting into his features like rot into the hull of a boat.

'Where,' the voice was rough, scratchy, and warmed some place in the teen. 'Where were you?' Their eyes met, properly, for the first time in days. 'I woke up and you… I thought…'

'I'd left,' Harry whispered, completing the sentence. He felt uncomfortable. This… this relationship, this unholy union, or whatever it was, was not founded on conversation. The opposite. He let out a soft bark of laughter, mindful of his lover's darkening eyes. 'I just needed… I need to… start. Just start…' He trailed off and held the stare of the other. 'I enrolled at the school.'

The response was slow, bitten out. 'You did what?'

Harry considered his answer carefully. 'It isn't healthy. I can't just… I need to rejoin the world. I need to do something with my life.' He looked down, knowing that the next words would no doubt be scoffed at. 'I want to make Hermione proud.'

As expected, there was some sense of warped amusement in the response. 'The world? Some ridiculous muggle school?'

Harry felt his temper flare briefly. 'This is my world.' As soon as he said it he realised it was true. 'I was raised a muggle, as you say. I will always, in my heart, be muggle.' He hissed the word, still foreign in a way, despite six years. 'If you…' he calmed slowly and fought to find the right words. '…want me… you have to accept that I may never return to the wizarding world. Maybe I don't have a home anywhere, but I certainly don't have one there. Not now. Maybe I never did…' Again he trailed off, aware of the boundaries the conversation was crossing.

'I…' The potion maker also seemed to be struggling. Harry turned away, scooping up his fallen bag, his loot of textbooks, and began to climb the stairs. 'Maybe-' He turned back as the older man continued, still leant up against the wall, eyes raised to meet his own green gaze. 'I could start selling herbal remedies. There's a local tribe… werewolves of a kind. I've been wanting to work with them to find new variants on my Wolfsbane recipe. Perhaps work towards a cure.'

Harry felt his heart flutter. Werewolves.

'Have you… have there been any letters?'

He saw Severus fight a sneer, as he walked forward and climbed 'til their faces were level. Dark eyes settled on the juncture of his chin and neck and a heavy hand slid from his shoulder to settle upon his upper arm. Severus leaned in, and, not stroking or nuzzling – for Severus Snape, Harry reminded himself, would never stroke nor nuzzle – planted there a surprisingly soft kiss. 'The werewolf doesn't want you, child,' he whispered softly. 'Forget him.'

The small something within Harry that had begun to heal that day, broke softly into pieces once more. A hand raised his chin, and he kissed back without thought. 'Let's go to bed.'

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Severus was not a vain man, not a simpleton. He knew that the boy, the beautiful child, would not want him forever. Even in his sleep he turned away. He had seemed disconnected as Severus made love to him that evening. Not that he ever seemed… The older man didn't want to consider their physical relationship too deeply. He was, after all, not without feelings of guilt. He would approach the wolves. And he would get to the bottom of the boy's mental state, his hidden past. It grated on his nerves, itched at the back of his mind every time Harry submitted to his anger, melted into cold words. He would get to the bottom of it, but not tonight.