Summary: Harry Potter did his duty, he killed the Dark Lord. When he was nineteen he found a lover in Carlisle Cullen, when he was twenty his duty tore them apart, at twenty-seven he was turned. Now, more than a hundred years later, he's found him again. CCHP.

Pairings: Carlisle/Harry, Edward/Bella, Emmett/Rosalie, Jasper/Alice.

Warnings: Slash, swearing, violence, vampire's biting during sex (very mild blood play, nothing graphic)

Authors note: I know I should finish my other fic's before I begin a new one, but I love Twilight, and I couldn't help myself. But remember! I won't abandon DP or TWTTIN! PS The Harry Potter series takes place in the early 1800's in this timeline. The intro is while its only Carlisle, Edward hasn't been turned yet!


Harry could remember the first time he had seen him, silent and alone. He was beautiful; his hair was a golden blonde, combed back away from his stunning features. His eyes were the rich bronze that came from his kind feeding on animals—eyes alight with fire and passion. He was clothed in a pair of plane black dress pants and a deep blue button-up shirt. He was beautiful, and Harry couldn't help but stare.

Their meeting had been an accident. Harry was in France, training with a Dark Arts master, trying to find the key to killing Voldemort once and for all. Carlisle, well, Harry wasn't sure why he was there—he had never gotten a clear answer, and he never pushed for one. It was late, nearing eleven o'clock at night, and Harry was sitting in a small clearing in the Troncais forest, thirty minute's from his masters' home. He was relaxing against a thick tree, with his eyes closed and his mind reshaping itself after the long day of memorizing spells. He had felt someone coming closer but, assuming it was his master or one of his masters many servants, Harry hadn't paid any attention.

It was only once he felt the presence pause before him that he opened his eyes and found himself mesmerized. It was clear to Harry that the man before him was a vampire. At nineteen years old he had come face to face with many of the kind. He tensed initially, but there was something about the man before him that made him relax, almost involuntarily. A very cautious introduction began their… relationship, little did they know.


It was two weeks later that Harry had become accustomed to meeting the other in 'their' clearing. They never really said much, but there hadn't been a need. Harry would meditate, or occasionally bring a book. Carlisle seemed content to just sit with him. It was the first day that they had actual contact. It was a warm day, slightly muggy, and he was wearing lose fitting pants and a somewhat tight, sleeveless white shirt. Carlisle was, as always, dressed in nice, business type clothing. Carlisle had taken to leaning back against the groove a an oak, and in a spur of the moment decision Harry had relaxed back to lay his head in the much older man's lap. Carlisle had looked down, not with anger or any other negative emotion, but with fondness and joy. From that day forward their relationship had progressed into much more.


A month after that first touch, Carlisle took Harry back with him to his villa. It wasn't huge, but it was two stories, with two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, kitchen, library, and a study. The outside was a weathered white, with large windows and a balcony coming from the master bedroom. There was a small driveway that came off a seldom used, out of the way road that wound through the forest. Large trees obscured the view of most of the house, and all windows facing the road were constantly blocked. The back of the house, which opened into the forest, was home to Carlisle's room and study. The windows were always open, and he took great pleasure in the freedom he could experience within his sanctuary.

That was the first night they spent together. The air was filled with soft moans and light caresses, whimpers and pleas. Time passed slowly and sweetly, and both would have been happy to stay in the moment forever. Harry fell asleep, sated and exhausted, in the arms of his lover. Carlisle held him tightly throughout the night, humming to the human every time he stirred. He relished in the feeling of holding his mate, and couldn't believe that fate had brought them together after being alone for two-hundred years.


It was almost a year later when the unthinkable happened. Harry knew his time in France was coming to an end. The death eater attacks had become more and more frequent, and his training with his master was almost completed. He hadn't broached the subject with his lover yet—he wasn't sure how. Harry had never been happier than when he was with Carlisle, even just sitting beside him made him happy. They had become closer over the year they were together. Though Harry hadn't told the vampire about the wizarding world, or the war that was going on, he had the feeling that Carlisle knew; something that only made him happier when the older man didn't try to pry.

Harry was sitting with is master for lunch when one of his servants knocked on the door. It wasn't exactly common, but it wasn't bizarre enough for Harry to get nervous. The man spoke rapidly into his masters' ear, to quite for Harry to hear what was being said. When his master looked searchingly at him while the man was still talking to him, Harry began to get a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. A scant few seconds later the man left the room, and his master stood up and gestured for his apprentice to follow him.

They went to the man's study, a room the two had spent much time in together. He dug into his desk silently, shuffling the content until he found what he was looking for. By this point Harry was feeling almost nauseous. The man pulled out a long, beautiful Athame. It had a solid obsidian hilt, with a solid quartz blade, sharp enough to slice the most delicate object, yet tough enough to withstand the hardest hit. It also had a blood stone inlayed in the hilt, his master's blood, if he wasn't mistaken.

The man sat Harry down in front of him. He gifted him the Athame, and told Harry that he had finished learning from him. His master told him that it was time for him to leave, to go finish the war, and that things were bad—bad enough that Harry couldn't stay any longer. He said that the servants were packing Harry's things as they spoke, and he would leave within the hour. Harry absorbed it all in a state of shock. He knew that the time would come when he had to leave, but he thought it would be much later. He thought he would have warning.

Harry's thoughts were focused, not on what was so bad that he had to leave so suddenly, but what his lover would think when he disappeared without a word or trace. He knew the vampire would be heartbroken, but he didn't know what to do. As soon as he was dismissed Harry apparated to his lovers villa, kilometers from his masters own home. His heart sank as he realized that Carlisle wasn't home, and knew the man was probably working—which meant he wouldn't be back until later that night. Harry made his way to what had become their bedroom, and reverentially stroked the soft linens that covered their bed. He curled up upon the bed, inhaling the mixed scents that lingered on the linens.

Harry stayed like that for a while, desperately hoping that Carlisle would come back before he had to leave for good. When it became obvious that time was about up, Harry made his way to Carlisle's study. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and sat down to write his goodbye. It was when he actually tried to write that he realized he didn't know what to say. It was impossible to explain why he left in writing, and even if he could—Carlisle deserved better. Eventually Harry only ended up writing six words.

I'm sorry.

I love you. Forever.


The war was drawn out for a further seven years before it finally ended. Losses were immense on both sides, but the light somehow managed to pull through. Voldemort was killed, but the world didn't celebrate. There wasn't a single witch or wizard who didn't feel loss at least one time during the grueling twelve year war. Entire families were lost, people were left unaccounted for… the wizarding world would feel the loss for generations.

Harry had lost almost all everyone. Hermione had died from friendly fire, in the midst of one of the larger battles fought in Diagon Alley. Ron had died defending his baby sister from a group of trolls. Ginny herself survived that battle, only to die in the next. Neville perished, taking Bellatrix Lestrange with him as he died. Seamus and Dean had been killed early on, when they were on Christmas break at Seamus' parents' home. That entire village was destroyed. Luna died from the injuries sustained during her imprisonment at Malfoy Manor. Molly and Arthur Weasley died together with Percy and Charley defending their home from an attack. The only survivors whom Harry had any connection to were Bill, Fred and George Weasley. Bill had been mauled by a werewolf, and spent the rest of his life under the pain of the curse. Fred had lost his left arm during one of the many battles fought and George bore the scars from his brief imprisonment at Riddle manor.

Harry had the worst thing happen, however. By the time he was twenty-seven, he was more than ready to join his family on the other side. After he killed Voldemort he thought he would finally have the chance. All dreams he had of seeing his loved ones again came crashing down when he was attacked, magically drained, from behind. He had felt a scene of relief, knowing he couldn't defend himself anymore and that it would all be over soon. He welcomed the sharp pain that sunk into his neck from behind, and even the pain that came with it. He was more than happy to fall into blackness.


Harry hadn't expected to wake nearly a week later, healed from his injuries, but with an overwhelming burning sensation in his throat. He was still lying in the middle of the bloody battlefield where he had fallen, strewn amongst countless other bodies. It was with despair that Harry realized what had happened, that he would never get that ending peace he so desired, that he would never see his loved ones again, that he would live on that god-forsaken earth forever.


Nearly a hundred years passed slowly. Harry had come to terms with what he had become. He watched the last three people he cared about grow older and finally pass away, one at a time. They never say him—he knew it would be easier for them to simply think he was dead then have to face what he had become. The world began to reshape itself, and over the hundred years that Harry stayed he saw the world coming back.

Once Bill, the last one to pass, was gone, Harry left for good. He no longer had any reason to stay in England. He remembered his lover from so many years before talking about America, and their plans to go together someday. Carlisle had always spoken about taking Harry around the world and showing him everything he was missing. He would have given him the world, if Harry but asked. Harry left England—resolved to find his love from so long ago. He knew that if Carlisle were gone, his life would truly become meaningless.


So, that's the intro. Please tell me what you think. Chapter one will be out soon, and Harry will find Carlisle. ALSO! I need a beta for this fic if anyone's interested. Please don't volunteer if you're not serious. I need someone who will prod me to continue and give me ideas if I get too slow. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

Pics for this fic can be found on my profile page. I have Carlisle's manor from France on there, as well as the Athame Harry received from his master.