As the bell rang through the school corridors on Wednesday afternoon, Harry couldn't help give a relieved sigh along with the other students in his class. Today marked three whole weeks since he had started high school. Only two more days until another peaceful weekend away from his classmates. True they weren't bothering him anymore, leaving him alone to his own devices as he desired, but it was still tiring having to show it didn't bother him. Because it didn't bother him. It definitely didn't bother him.
The only person who spoke to him was Bella. He had been doing what the Chief had asked; every Monday and Thursday after school, as well as Saturday morning, Harry had gone to the Swans' house for study help with Bella. There had been quite a few arguments, all of which had sparked from Harry's anger and annoyance. In fact these arguments started as early as their second session, two days after the icy finish to the first.
"Hey Harry," Bella began, somewhat cautiously Harry thought. "Why do you hate the Cullens so much?"
"Um, last time I checked that was none of your business," Harry growled. How dare she assume he would suddenly reveal all his secrets now she was helping him?
"Sorry," she said, somewhat icily, "I didn't realise it was a state secret. I've never seen anyone look at them with as much loathing as you do," she continued.
"If we don't drop this conversation right now they won't be the only ones I glare at with loathing," he threatened.
Harry walked out of the main building into the carpark, gazing briefly at the family that had made his blood boil that day. What did Bella care if he didn't like the Cullens? No one spoke to them, it wasn't as if Harry was the only person hating a group of the nicest and friendliest people in school. They hadn't bothered to try and befriend him either, a small mercy in Harry's opinion. Although he figured that was probably due to them still following the instructions of their interfering father. The doctor had come by Harry's house again, two days after the argument with Bella, when Harry had purposely failed to turn up at the hospital again, but receiving the same cold treatment as the previous week, he had left empty handed once more.
Walking slowly across the carpark and out onto the main road, Harry thought back on some of his other sessions with Bella. Things had actually started to make more sense in class. He just wished it was easier talking to Bella; having a past such as his own made small talk very difficult.
"What was your school in England like?" Bella had asked on a Thursday afternoon.
"Well," Harry began, drawing out the word as long as he could. "It was an old boarding school." That was safe information to give, right?
"Cool," Bella said. "Is boarding school fun? I imagine it could be difficult to get any privacy sometimes."
"You have no idea."
"What were your favourite subjects?"
'Oh I really liked making things fly and transforming objects.'
"Well I liked sports, I guess," he said carefully.
"I've always been terrible at sports," Bella admitted. "Just never had the coordination I suppose."
"Maybe you'll stumble across something you're good at one day. Like an accident." Harry couldn't help but smile.
The weather had cooled a lot over the past few weeks. Harry picked up his speed a bit to keep himself warm. Most days Bella either drove him to her house for their study sessions or else drove him home, but she couldn't today. Something about going out with some of the other girls; they had left immediately after school. Still, Harry didn't mind. It gave him time to think.
After the first few disastrous lessons, he had made a valiant effort to control his anger. Bella didn't have to help him, she was doing it because she was a nice person. It wasn't fair to direct his bitterness with the world at her. She had even bought tea especially for him to have during their meetings. While supressing his anger had been difficult, it had definitely made things more peaceable.
"Am I allowed to ask about the Cullens yet?" Bella asked casually during their fourth session.
Harry sighed sadly.
"You wouldn't understand."
"But –"
"How do you do this question?"
The defeated and dejected mood had lasted over a week, seeping into everything he did. During his last meeting with Doctor Cullen, Harry couldn't even muster the energy to get angry with the man.
"Come in," Harry had called, his voice muffled by the cushion his face was squished into. Cullen of course had no trouble hearing him and came inside. Harry didn't give him a chance to start talking.
"Look Doctor Cullen, I'm really not in the mood to be psychoanalysed today." Harry had even turned to look at the doctor, knowing how pathetic and miserable he looked.
"Is there anything I can do?" Cullen's ever present concern.
"No thanks. I'll be alright. I always am."
What was the point, he'd figured. It didn't even make him feel better anymore getting angry at Cullen like that. Like everything else these days, it just left him feeling empty and alone. The only time he didn't feel like this was when he was studying with Bella. No matter how hard he tried not to be too friendly, he found himself answering her questions about home or telling her about himself. It was disconcerting.
"You don't talk about home much, do you?" Bella pointed out one Saturday morning.
Harry shrugged. "I guess I'm just happy to leave it behind me for now," he said simply.
"But you must have some good memories of home?"
Harry gave her a sad smile. "That's what makes it hard."
Finally arriving at his destination, Harry entered the front door and wondered where he was supposed to go. He had thought after that day it would be the end of it. Bella hadn't even mentioned the Cullens in their next session. But it was after the most recent meeting that Harry realised Bella hadn't been ignoring it, but rather building up to a proper chastising.
"So the Cullens…"
"Bella," Harry said, exasperated. "When are you going to let it go about them?"
"No, Harry," she replied, angrily, "when are you going to grow up?"
Harry stared at her. "Excuse me?"
Bella just grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen, placing them both in front of Harry on top of his notebook.
"What are you –"
"You're going to write down three things the Cullens have done wrong by you. If you can come up with three, I won't bring it up again, I swear." Bella stared at him with such determination that Harry floundered.
"Bella, you don't –"
"Don't you dare say I don't understand, Harry Potter," Bella demanded. God, she was scary.
Harry stared at the page in front of him, squirming uncomfortably.
"Bella, it's more what they could do than what they've done," he tried to explain.
"What does that mean!?" Bella cried. "Please, tell me." She was pleading with him.
"Well, the dad – the doctor – he's always showing up at my house demanding to speak to me," he defended half-heartedly.
"Well you were supposed to see him at the hospital," she countered. "And he's showing he cares."
"The rest of them, then," Harry tried, "they never show me anything but hostility at school!" But Bella wasn't having this either; she scoffed.
"Yeah, because you've been so warm to them, haven't you?" Bella stared at him, but Harry couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. He stared dejectedly at the blank paper.
"You can't, can you?" She said softly. "Because they haven't done anything to you. Everything they've done has been out of care and respect, but you've thrown it all back at them." Harry could feel the anger he had supressed for the last two weeks resurfacing. "Give them a chance, Harry."
Shaking his head, Harry packed his bag to leave, half an hour earlier than usual.
"You just don't understand."
But Harry hadn't been able to think of anything else since that afternoon. Even now as he walked down the twisting corridors that made his heart pound in anxiety, he could think of nothing but the truth in Bella's words. She was right, as usual. He had, in fact, gone home and sat with a notepad and pen and tried to write down three things the Cullens had done wrong, but other than the two weak excuses he had given Bella, Harry was stumped. It hurt his pride to admit that he was wrong. Not as much as the next few minutes would hurt though, he thought. It was, Harry supposed, all Bella's fault that he was now about to do what he had fought so valiantly against for the last three weeks.
Harry reached up to knock on the door in front of him, the brass name plate looking down upon him – DR C. CULLEN.
The last few weeks had been the longest of Carlisle's existence. It didn't seem to matter how he attempted to distract his mind: complicated surgeries and procedures, ethical debates with Edward, even wonderful alone time with Esme. Nothing could ease the worry for Harry Potter that had consumed Carlisle's every thought.
Three times he had now visited the boy, each time as fruitless as the last. At first he had been met with anger; this Carlisle could understand. As Harry had said, his life was being controlled far more than Carlisle presumed it ever had been before. Despite Carlisle and Charlie knowing what they did was done out of concern for the boy, they had failed in making Harry understand. And so the boy had latched onto the feeling of his life slowly being prised from his hands, leaving him grasping at what remained.
Yes, the anger Carlisle could manage. It was the new emotion that had taken Harry that he could not: heart-aching despair. Harry had given up and Carlisle's last visit had been eye-opening and terrifying. Harry hadn't once raised his voice, nor insulted his doctor, two things which Carlisle should be pleased with and mark down as significant progress. And it was progress of a kind, but a downward spiralling progress that Carlisle could only see ending in tragedy if Harry did not wake from his misery soon. He had told his family to keep as close an eye on the boy as possible without causing him further stress. It transpired that while they were not as clear as normal, Jasper was able to partially understand Harry's emotions, however Carlisle was wary to ask too much of his son. Jasper's first venture into the boy's feelings had left him shaken and deeply disturbed. He had needed three days to recover.
While Carlisle did not stop stressing, he had been genuinely thrilled to hear that Harry had become almost friendly with the Chief's daughter. It was perhaps this, Carlisle had considered, that had prevented Harry from sliding any further down the slippery slope he was on. By his children's accounts he had warmed no further to the Cullen family, and while this disappointed Carlisle it did not surprise him. Only Harry could judge when he was ready to allow Carlisle and the others into his life as he had done with Isabella Swan. Carlisle had prayed each day and night that it would not be much longer.
So Carlisle had dragged himself through another Wednesday, the day that had become tradition to his afternoon visits to the Potter house. Frightened of what state he would find Harry in, it was with slow dread that Carlisle began to tidy his desk that afternoon. Just as he reached for the light switch to leave his office in darkness, a powerful scent almost lifted him off his feet.
Harry.
Was he hurt? Carlisle strained all of his senses, honing in on the boy who had just entered the hospital reception. He could smell no blood. Good. He could hear no tell-tale unevenness to his step that indicated an injury. Better. Why was he here?
Not having moved from the spot beside his closed office door, Carlisle listened as the footsteps he was beginning to know so well grew steadily louder. He could hear the boy's heartbeat pounding in his chest; was it being back in this hospital that caused him such fear, or was it the thought of what was lurking behind the office door that Carlisle could hear he had stopped outside.
His office.
How long they both stood there, separated by a mere pane of wood, Carlisle did not know. He could hear Harry's nervous rattling breath, blowing unevenly against the door between them. Harry would know that Carlisle knew he was there. He may have even suspected just how early his doctor had known of his presence in the hospital. Carlisle refused to open the door though. He knew it had to be Harry who initiated this meeting.
And so he did.
The boy knocked.
Letting out a slow breath, Carlisle waited a few seconds before opening the door. Harry Potter stood there no longer the perfect picture of health he had been that first day at the school, but still a far cry healthier than he had been upon arrival in Forks. Dark circles beneath his lifeless eyes stood out on his pale face. His clothes hung loosely on his small frame, showing he was still severely underfed. Trying to put his deeply concerning appearance to one side for now, Carlisle gave Harry a warm smile.
"Harry," he said, "what a lovely surprise. Come in." Carlisle moved aside allowing Harry to step in past him. He closed the door before turning around. Harry was frowning at the empty desk.
"Were you going home?" The boy asked. "I can come back if you need to go." Carlisle was pleased that he sounded less miserable than the last time the pair had spoken, but he didn't like how nervous Harry sounded.
"Well, I was actually about to come and see how you were again," Carlisle admitted.
"Oh, right." Harry said simply. Both of them sat down, one on each side of the desk. Carlisle watched Harry closely, waiting to see if the boy would speak. He did not want to race this. It was the first time Harry had sought him out and he wasn't about to pressure the boy to hurry up.
Harry meanwhile was looking anywhere except at Carlisle. The doctor watched as Harry moved his gaze from one item to the next in the office.
"What's that?" Harry asked suddenly, pointing at a framed photograph on the wall. Carlisle decided to humour him for now.
"That is a photo I took over the Grand Canyon," he explained. "In 1842." Harry raised an eyebrow at this.
"Wow." Carlisle suspected Harry hadn't wanted to be impressed, but couldn't help the reaction escape his lips.
"Harry," Carlisle began, "as much as I enjoy analysing the exquisite décor of my office, was there something you wished to discuss with me?" He watched the boy's cheeks flush brightly. Harry gave a great sigh.
"Look this isn't easy, alright?" He didn't get angry, but he squirmed uneasily in his seat. "I've never been good at trusting people. I've never understood why people think they automatically deserve kindness and trust. Life doesn't work that way. You have to earn those things. That's what I've been made to believe." Harry finally looked at Carlisle, his eyes begging for the doctor to understand.
"I've had a rubbish life, Doctor. I didn't know what being cared for meant until I was eleven, and even now I still struggle with accepting what it actually involves. That's just who I am. It can't be helped.
"I don't trust you, Doctor Cullen. I can't trust you." Harry paused, his miserable eyes watching Carlisle closely. Even though he understood what the boy was saying, it still hurt.
"But I can't hate you either," Harry finished quietly.
"What do you mean, Harry?" Carlisle asked, confused.
"I've been spending time with Chief Swan's daughter," Harry said, his voice having lost some of the heavy emotion that had been present. "She kept pestering me about why I hated your family so much. I told her she wouldn't understand, but she didn't like that. She made me list all the terrible things you had done to me since I came to Forks." Harry stopped after this and frowned at Carlisle.
"And I couldn't," he said simply. "There wasn't anything. I tried to think of things, but Bella beat them all back with my own poor behaviour. I became angry at her then, but I haven't been able to think of anything since. She was right. She's always right."
Carlisle watched Harry very carefully. He didn't want to show any emotion that would scare or worry the boy, so he kept his face as neutral as possible. Inside, though, his mind was whirring. Bless Isabella Swan. She had managed what neither he nor the Chief had; she had opened Harry's eyes, made him understand.
"So, I suppose," Harry was shuffling awkwardly again, "I apologise."
"I…" Carlisle knew he had to be very careful about what he said. This was the most he had ever heard Harry speak, and he knew how difficult it would have been for the boy to tell Carlisle these things. He hoped that this was a sign of things to come, and that Harry did have the ability to trust. It was just a matter of proving to him that Carlisle should earn it.
"Thank-you, Harry. I understand that your past has been filled with negativity. I hope that over time you can begin to trust me, as I believe you're starting to realise I only have your best interests at heart." Carlisle paused, considering the young man sat in front of him who was staring at his knees.
"Lots of people have said that before," Harry murmured. "Most of them have ended up dead." With these words he looked up and Carlisle could see some stirrings of life in his green eyes. Something he had not seen since before Harry had disappeared from hospital.
"You've known other people who have died then? Not only your parents?" Carlisle asked softly.
Harry gave a humourless chuckle. "I couldn't begin to count, sir."
Carlisle studied Harry for a long time.
"I think you would be surprised at just how much the two of us have in common." Carlisle confessed.
How many people had Carlisle lost over the centuries? Hadn't he also made it a point of distancing himself from humans with the foresight that one day he would have to leave them behind? It was horrible to conceive that Harry had felt the need to take the same approach so early in his life, not because he would never age with them like Carlisle, but because he worried they would never be able to age with him.
Carlisle knew that he could not force himself upon Harry's future. What Harry chose to do with his life beyond school and Forks was ultimately up to him. All Carlisle could hope to do was influence the boy's life for the better while he was here, giving him the best chance at a fulfilling and happy future, something Carlisle suspected Harry had given up on long ago.
"So what happens now?" asked Harry.
"Well," Carlisle pondered. "How would you like to come visit me like this every Wednesday?"
Harry looked uncomfortable. "And do what?"
"Whatever you like," Carlisle said. "We can talk about things, or I can find some things for you to help me with." Maybe one day when Harry felt more at ease around him he could invite the boy to his house. Carlisle suspected it was still too early for Harry to even consider that suggestion yet.
"Alright," Harry said, shrugging. He stood up. "I'll see you next Wednesday then." Carlisle stood up too. He'd like to suggest Harry stay longer, but he didn't want to push his good will. It had been hard for Harry to come and speak to him like this. For now, Carlisle was happy.
He walked around his desk to open the door, then making a last minute decision, turned to offer his hand to shake with Harry. For quite a while Harry stared at it, and Carlisle could see the inner debate. Feeling slightly guilty at forcing the boy to shake hands, he began to lower it again when suddenly Harry grasped the doctor's hand in his own, giving it one firm shake before dropping it again.
"Until Wednesday," Carlisle said.
Harry nodded once, his eyes void of the emotion he had been venting. Carlisle watched as he walked out the door. Harry was most of the way down the corridor when Carlisle heard the light-hearted snipe.
"And try some hand warmers, why don't you?"
