Hello, never written an HP nor Twilight fanfic. Quite honestly, I'm not even a fan of Twilight. I am, however, a fan of Edward and Harry. So, this presents a bit of a problem. Forgive any plot errors I'm working off of sparknotes for the majority of the Twilight scenes (which is practically half of this story) and I'm trying to keep this as Cannon as possible. It will be mostlyHP cannon but obviously not Twilight (hence, Bella).
we were too afraid to go to sleep,
we were too afraid to fall asleep,
i promised you,
with wings of feathers and glue.
x. suis la lune.
Harry awoke to the sound of Ron grumbling from beside him, and he blearily opened his eyes. Only to snap them shut, as rays of sunbeams poured from the open window. If only he excepted the Hat's proposal and went to Slytherin…he'd never have to deal with ridiculously bright mornings again, and, for that matter, light in general. But perhaps it wasn't an entirely good deal. He'd also have to room with Draco Malfoy, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and other annoying Slytherins. And that would do nothing for his mood at all.
"Wish we were back in the Burrow," Harry groaned to an equally homesick Ron. Gryffindor tower was up to par with the Weasley household, but only on weekends. The fact that school started much too early only dampened Harry's spirit and made him wish even more fervently for his bed at the burrow.
"Blimey mate…did we always wake up this early or am I just imagining it?"
Harry responded with a groan that could be translated equally into, "Marrgghhhh," or, "Dunno," depending on the transgression of the one's hearing.
He was thinking more and more about what this year would bring. Snape as the defense against the dark arts teacher made him want to hurl, while, at least this year he wouldn't have a one hundred percent chance of failing potions. Or…he wouldn't have, if he had taken it.
However, Professor Slughorn didn't seem to be a perfect teacher either, from what he disclosed from their first meeting.
And more importantly, Malfoy was up to something. Regardless of both Hermione and Ron's skepticism of his allegiance with the Dark Lord, Harry was near sure of it. There was something going on at Borgin and Burkes, he knew it.
But he put the thoughts aside, and instead, got dressed along with Ron, who seemed to be under the effects of a jelly-leg jinx, do to his inability to move a few paces away from the comfort of his bed.
The two made their way down into the Great Hall, where they found Hermione, picking at her food while buried in a book.
Harry explains to her what he overheard in the train from Malfoy and his goons.
"I don't know, Harry." She put her book down to watch him skeptically. "I doubt Malfoy could be a…you know…"
"Death Eater." Ron filled in for her, noting how she drifted off.
Harry shook his head vehemently. "He said that he was moving on to 'better things'. What else could that mean?"
"I'm sure there are a lot of things he could be talking about." Hermione insisted, before pulling out her time table. "I think we have bigger issues to worry about. For example, what will Hagrid say when he realizes that none of us took his class?"
The two continued to converse as Harry took a sip of his pumpkin juice, before catching a glimpse of snowy white owl fluttering down from the enchanted ceiling.
Hedwig dropped the letter onto his plate, and Harry deftly caught it before it could reach the eggs.
The owl then doubled back, and Harry grabbed a bit of bacon for a treat.
"What's that?" Hermione leaned in closer, taking note of the script.
Harry shrugged, opening it.
"From Dumbledore." He frowned, eyes darting to the head table, where Dumbledore didn't seem to be doing much out of the ordinary, the professor by his side twittering on about something and he seemed to genuinely listen.
"Is it about…" Hermione's eyes darted about. "The prophecy?" She whispered quietly.
Harry shook his head. "He wants me to meet him before classes. Its apparently a safety concern."
Hermione furrowed his brows, and Ron stopped his fast-paced inhaling of food to watch Harry with something akin to worry.
"Safety?" Ron echoed. "Hogwarts is the safest place to be!"
Hermione, who would usually at this point burst into a tirade about Hogwarts; A History, and its immaculate shields and defenses, stayed quiet.
Ron noted her silence, and hedged. "Well, I mean… no one can get pasted the wards. Right, Mione?"
The brunette only sighed. "If Dumbledore has reason to be cautious, I'm inclined to believe him."
Harry wanted to groan aloud. Dumbledore wasn't always right! In fact, the boy who lived was already annoyed at the older man for a number of reasons. The largest being the fact that the Headmaster hadn't thought it imperative to tell Harry that, he was going to have to die or kill Voldemort. The latter of which didn't seem plausible with his lack of skill.
However, students were already beginning to file out of the Hall, and Harry followed suit, Ron and Hermione tagging along behind him.
"You're going to see him?" Hermione brushed back her hair as she asked.
Harry sighed. "Probably don't have much of a choice in the matter."
The gargoyle glared at him imperiously, guarding the stairs to the headmaster's office as he stood in front of them. Hermione and Ron went off to get their schedules checked from Mcgonagall, leaving Harry to meander his way to Dumbledore's office himself.
"Acid pops." He said as clearly as he could, and the gargoyle allowed him entrance.
"My boy, come in, come in."
Harry stepped inside the cluttered office, and Fawkes twittered to him from his post.
"You asked to see me, Headmaster?" He spoke, wondering what new 'safety concerns' Dumbledore could be talking about.
"Its come to my attention that the halls of Hogwarts are…" Dumbledore had a vague way of speaking that made Harry want to believe every word he was speaking, and Harry hastily pulled himself back. He was no longer a first year that believed everything the revered man said. "Compromised this year."
"Compromised?" Harry echoed. "What do you mean?"
"The safety of Hogwarts is always at the first and foremost of my mind," Dumbledore explained. "However, as you know, your safety is at an entirely higher standard. For reasons that, you already know."
"The prophecy." Harry nodded. He didn't like it, but he understood now that his safety was a much higher concern now that it has been disclosed that it is only him that can destroy the Dark Lord.
"Yes." Dumbledore agreed. "That is why, for this year, I am going to allow you to live outside of the castle, and floo to school every morning—
"Outside the castle!" Harry interrupted, angered. "But professor, Hogwarts' wards are impeccable! Nothing can go through them! Isn't it safer if I stay here?"
"Your right, Hogwarts' wards are perfection. However, I'm afraid the problem does not rely outside of Hogwarts, but rather, what is in."
"What is in?" Harry whispered with dawning realization. "But professor, you can't possibly mean…"
The headmaster only sighed, and Harry didn't know what to say for a few moments.
Harry blinked, the information digesting. "Oh…" He said slowly, and felt embarrassed that the professor had been talking to him as if he was a slow and dimwitted child—which, was rather true considering how he had acted.
"I see." He sighed, knowing it was near impossible to argue with the headmaster, especially about his safety. "Where will I be staying, professor?"
Albus' eyes twinkled, as he hummed, "Somewhere very safe, my dear boy."
Harry watched him with doubtfully, but said nothing else. As he was dismissed, he immediately followed the path to where the Gryffindors were lined up, and Mcgonagall seemed swamped with all the first years and their ridiculous questions like "how do I get here?" and, "whose that?". The halls would definitely be crowded this year, with idiotic first years spewing moronic garbage, as usual. Were they that bad when they were first years?
He found Hermione and Ron a little bit over the midpoint of the line, and scurried to their side before someone could accuse him of cutting.
Hermione was huffing in disdain, while Ron was abashedly grinning.
Harry decided he wouldn't ask.
When it was their turn, his already abysmal mood took a nose dive.
"You wish to be an Auror, correct, Mr. Potter?" Mcgonagall asked him sharply, as she studied his time table.
Sending a furtive and helpless glance to Hermione (said prefect only sniffed at him and turned away) he gulped and nodded.
"May I ask why you're no longer continuing potions?" Her voice was curt, but her eyes flashed with concern.
Harry scratched the back of his head. "Well, uh, I didn't think my OWLs score was acceptable enough." He explained to her.
"Well Mr. Potter, you seem to be in luck. Professor Slughorn's requirements are lower then Professor Snape," And with an air that reminded Harry sorely of Mrs. Weasley when one of her kids—mainly Fred and George—did something and she felt the need to scold, Mcgonagall scribbled onto his timetable. "Now, that's better."
Harry gaped at her, and he could hear Ron next to him choke.
He sputtered, and words tried to form out of his crestfallen face. "You're joking…"
"Certainly not, Mr. Potter." She looked at him, confused.
"B-But," He struggled for an excuse. "I don't have any supplies! Or ingredients! Or a book, even!"
Mcgonagall only smiled benignly, and Harry felt as if she may have known his resistance to the subject, and merrily made him continue it anyway. "Those can easily be borrowed."
Harry wallowed in his depression while Hermione only huffed at him, the prefect having once again taken an inordinate amount of classes that made her timetable look like a mass of black lines. Ron joined Harry in his depression after Mcgonagall dismissed his futile attempts at backing out of potions, which only worsened the overall mood of the three considering their first class was DADA. This would usually cheer them up, except a certain hook-nosed professor was now teaching it. Said professor also had a personal vendetta against Harry Potter.
Of course, one class period later Harry had already earned himself a detention for Saturday night.
"Good Merlin, Harry." Hermione sighed. "Already a detention and its only the first day! Who knows how many more you'll get…"
"He was edging me on, Mione." Harry protested in vain; Hermione had already swatted his puppy dog eyes away. "You saw him! Right Ron?"
Ron, now tuning into the conversation, nodded vigorously. "Completely, mate. The guys crazy, its like he was destined to hate you or something. The way he was sneering at you when we were practicing those nonverbal spells and all."
"Oh both of you." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Professor Snape is a teacher, the fact of which you two seem to forget easily. He wouldn't stoop to such childish immaturity. Unlike some people." She shot them a look.
Ron and Harry only smiled innocently.
Far, far away past the Atlantic Ocean, Forks Washington experienced a typical lugubrious ashen sky, clouds wallowing and looking ready to spit torrents of rain, a substantial tumult which never really ended, just as no one really knew when it had begun. The house in the middle of the forest, or perhaps it wasn't a particularly pleasing way to put it, as the house was really something more of a mansion, with its steel empires and glass walls, lay undeterred by the weather.
Alice opened her eyes with a jolted start, and immediately donned a jacket and began to walk to the door in hurried paces.
Edward, who had been reading a book—rather, flipping through the pages dully—noted her sudden near frighten paced, and ran up to match her stride.
"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, noting her frazzled look.
She gulped air, as if not knowing how to put it in words. Her thoughts were a jumbled bunch of whispers and pictures, most of which he couldn't decipher. Silent images ran past him, eyes opening--green, green, green--and a scar like a thunderbolt, a lipless mouth sounding out words and suddenly those eyes weren't green, but red like the blood sunsets, and his head was pounding and he was clutching the back of his head with vertigo. As they walked out into the mist that clung to their skin and clothing, he could make out a blurry picture of a house, and a terribly strong feeling emitting from it. No…perhaps not a feeling, but something that almost physically weighed him down with its strength, but the house appeared normal. Like, an aura almost.
"Alice?" He questioned tentatively, as his sister leapt into the trees with inhuman force.
"I saw something," She admitted quietly, shrubbery blurred swathes of color around them. "I'm not sure what, though. I just have to see…"
She trailed off, and he didn't think she'd want him prying anymore. Instead he opted to follow her, as she swerved about through the canopy of trees like she knew exactly what she was doing. Knowing Alice, she had probably seen the path in a vision. Possibly the same vision that had startled her into rushing out of the house to an unknown destination.
She dropped to the ground suddenly, and he gave a yelp of surprise as he backtracked to fall onto the mossy earth behind her.
Sunbeams made their way out of the darkened sky, the crepuscular rays bright and creating sheens of light that freckled the ground.
The house in front of them was exceedingly normal.
Like most houses in Forks, there weren't many neighbors around, and the fact that there wasn't a house in a mile or so radius wasn't abnormal. What was unusual was the man pattering about the front porch, muttering strange things that neither could hear from the distance. If they were in a closer range, and not far off the property almost three fourths an acre away, they would have also seen the old man's stick, or rather, wand.
Noting that Alice seemed frozen, as if replaying the scene from her vision, Edward took the moment to scan the old man's mind.
Eerily, it was silent.
Edward furrowed his brows. That had never happened before.
"I can't read his mind." He told his sister, who only nodded.
The two watched, crouched in the shadows of speckled light from the green canopy above them, as a woman exited the house, and spoke to the elder man. The man rubbed his beard, which was long and white, as was his hair, and replied to her. He carried himself with a strange, vague sort of way. Almost omniscient. Edward was about to careen from over the brambles that shrouded them before the man's head snapped to their location.
Edward held a breath he didn't know he had taken as the man's eyes zeroed in on him, like a hawk from miles above sighting prey. It was near frightening, how easily he had seen them.
But then, he turned away again, and spoke to the woman with strange purple hair. The woman made a light reply with a smile, before the two closed the door.
"I saw this, happening." Alice explained quietly. "But this was what confused me—
A loud crack, almost like a gunshot, resounded from the house.
With widened eyes, Edward raced over to the house in concern. His sister followed suit, albeit slower, as if she knew what awaited them on the other side of the door.
The vampire swung the old wooden door open in a rush, thinking to see a dead body of either a man or woman on the dusty floor.
Instead, there was nothing.
"What…?" He looked around, sniffing the air. There scent was gone, and no smell of a gunshot, which would have been the obvious conclusion. He turned to Alice for answers.
She simply shrugged. "Its like in my vision. They both disappear. I don't understand…"
"Their scents stop as well." Edward added, running a hand through tousled bronze hair. "I couldn't read either of their minds, also."
"The old man though, there was something strange about his. It was perfectly quiet. The woman's seemed to be simply obscured, while the man…it was almost like it was blocked." With darkened eyes, he added.
Alice put a finger to her chin worriedly, as she walked about the abandoned house.
In the three years they had lived in the small populace town of Forks, this house had never been bought. The previous owners had long since died. While it was an attractive house, two stories, white washed exterior with blue shutters, no one had bought it. The inside was, predictably, barren. There was no furniture, but the parlor that met them immediately from the front door looked as if it could hold lavish, regal furniture. The stairs spiraled a few paces away from the door, revealing a walk way that went from the west side to the east.
"I suppose we should tell Carlisle." Edward muttered, as he looked about the kitchen and sun room.
"We should." Alice agreed.
Later that day, Harry received a scroll from Dumbledore.
This being a both a miracle and a mood killer.
For one, it addressed the day that Harry would move all his items to his new home—the location of which hadn't yet been disclosed, much to his ire—and get accustomed to wherever Dumbledore was sending him packing too. Luckily, Saturday was also the day that Snape had scornfully assigned him detention, and Harry was delighted for a reasonable excuse to miss the date. Serves Snape right, anyhow, for giving him such a unfair detention anyway.
Of course, Harry was non-too delighted in the fact he was moving at all. He'd like nothing better then to hang out with his fellow Gryffindors in the common room like he had for the past six years, instead of having to floo to whatever horrid place Dumbledore had assigned for him. He couldn't bear to think of all the things he would miss by not being there. And more importantly, he was theQuidditch captain. How on earth would he be able to do that if immediately after classes he must floo back to his secret location? He'd have to ask Dumbledore that.
Currently in their only free period of the day, Harry and Ron were ecstatically enjoying watching first years run about like headless chickens on their way to class.
"Oh bloody hell," Ron chortled. "Did you see that one by the corner? He just rammed his face in the pillar at the sight of you."
For once, Harry was laughing about his status. The first years were wide-eyed and jaw-dropped in awe at the very sight of Harry Potter, this fact not going unnoticed by Ron, who proceeded to jeer at them all and swing an arm around Harry.
"This fame," Ron grinned lopsidedly. "I could get used to it."
Harry scoffed. "Take it, please."
A young girl almost went up to take his autograph, but the cold look Ron shot her sent the little Hufflepuff scampering away.
A couple others tried to follow suit, but Mcgonagall, who was on hall duty to help the first years make their way to classes correctly and on time.
She immediately spotted the two sixth year boys cackling in laughter, standing atop and alcove to get a better view of the moronic first years. With a huff, she successfully disentangled a young first year Ravenclaw from a heap on the floor, and pushed past the awe-inspired first years crowded among Harry and Ron.
Her look could wither mort plant life. "Mister Potter and Mister Weasley, might I ask what you two are doing?"
Ron only grinned sheepishly as both of them stuttered in unison. "U-Uh…it's a free period, so…"
Mcgonagall, nonplussed, shooed them off, blandly intoning that it was nearly time for their next class, and they oughtn't to be late. Of course, said Gryffindor Head House probably already had an inkling that being late was part of the two boys' intention.
Their free period of first-year watching was, sadly, over. The two of them made their way into the dungeons, which were abnormally cold that day.
The two of them stumbled into Slughorn's class nearly late, and the entirety of their class (which was sadly joined with the sixth year Slytherins) was already there and watching them in deadpan. Hermione crossed her arms, and Harry could read her expression to be, "how typical of those idiots". He paid it no mind though, instead explaining to Slughorn that they hadn't a cauldron, or any ingredients, or even a book.
"That's quite alright," Slughorn smiled graciously, but it was a bit lost in the folds of fat. "Just take one from the cupboard over there." And he waved an arm in the wide vicinity of said cupboard.
Once there Ron and Harry discovered there were only two left.
One of which falling apart at the seams and seemed to have gone through many rough and turbulent years, and perhaps lost a couple important pages as well.
With a look at each other, both grabbed the higher quality book in unison.
Sadly, Ron had muscled up that year to be the Quidditch keeper, and won with a triumphant smirk. Harry only glowered.
While the two boys were off at the cupboards, Slughorn had resumed his lesson, asking the class on the potions in front of him.
Naturally, Hermione was the first to answer, hand up like a bullet. She then correctly identified the first one to be polyjuice (perhaps, because she had made it in her second year?), the second to be amortentia, which she then began to rant that it smelt different depending on a person's tastes, and then embarrassed herself by saying hers. The last of which Harry didn't catch, but arrived to hear that the prize would be Felix Felicis.
"I don't care much for the prize," He shrugged, when Ron asked him if he knew what that was.
Slughorn explained that Felix Felicis was said to be "liquid luck" before they all headed on their merry potion-making ways.
An hour later and Harry had successfully pissed off the entire class, found himself in possession of the ultimate potions brewing book in the world, and obtained a small vial of Felix Felicis, much to the anger of Malfoy (the scornful look the blond sent him was unseen by Harry) and Hermione.
"You cheated!" Hermione hissed furiously at him, and he blinked.
"I didn't cheat," He grinned. "I just, had a little bit of insight on how to brew potions better."
Hermione narrowed her eyes as she watched him clutch his potions book.
Before he could interrupt, she snatched it out of his hands.
Her eyes widened as she saw the messy margins scribbled in ink and loops of cursive handwriting. Harry protested, warning her that it was very delicate and could come apart at any moment, but she paid him no mind. At first, she'd have indignantly told him that this book was a bunch of bullocks and would ruin any potion, but the proof was right in Harry's pocket. There was no way Harry could have won the Felix Felicis and brewed a perfect Draught of the Living Dead without it being right.
"Well, who's is it, anyway?" She sniped, still outraged.
Harry only shrugged. "Dunno, it said 'Property of the Half-Blood Prince'. But who knows who that is."
"Sounds like a royal git who thinks he's a monarch" Ron inputted, and then added, "Kind of like Malfoy."
"I think its dangerous." Hermione insisted, but Harry dismissed her worries.
Saturday opened with sunny rays that seemed a bit unusual for Scotland's normally cloudy days. Especially now that the seasons were changing, and the leaves had already begun to burst with red ocher and peach orange.
He had told Ron and Hermione about what Dumbledore had insisted, and in a prevalent Hermione fashion, she agreed completely with Dumbledore's reasoning.
"He's right." She nodded fervently, much to Harry's disappointment. "The school is getting dangerous. I mean, while I think you're taking it a bit far with Malfoy, I think it's a fair assumption that some children will inevitably become Death Eaters."
Ron only grumpily sighed. "I'm going to miss you mate, it'll be hell rooming with Neville and Seamus alone."
Harry had glumly tried to smile. "Well I'll be here for classes, and I'm sure that I can sneak in a couple hours to stay at the dorm."
His trunk was already moved to his still not disclosed new house, and his bed and bedside table looked dreadfully bare without it.
He eyed Ron, who was snoring about and sleeping in as he always did. Neville was already in the shower, and had perfectly made his bed in the rather OCD way he always did. In fact, if Harry dared to open his trunk he'd see Neville's clothes folded perfectly and his Herbology books rearranged in chronological order. Seamus, on the other hand, like Ron was snoring away (Harry couldn't blame them, he'd be doing the same if not for his new predicament) and had his school trousers and shirt flopped haphazardly on the floor, his tie strewn on his bed post and the rest of his clothes in a heap on the floor next to his overflowing trunk.
Harry would miss the mundane, banal day-to-day qualities of life at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore greeted Harry with a wide smile, much too happy for Harry to digest.
"Well, Mr. Potter, if you would…"
Harry obligingly grabbed a handful of floo powder, still unwilling to address the headmaster he was so upset with.
The boy-who-lived waited patiently for Dumbledore to tell him where he was going.
Noticing Harry's pointedly sour look, Dumbledore jolted, "Ah, yes. It's Secret House, Forks, Washington."
Harry complied, mind whirling. Forks? Washington? He was barely aware that Washington State was somewhere near California, but not as far inland as Chicago, let alone where the hell Forks might be. Why would anyone name a town after an eating utensil?
"Secret House," He began loudly, stepping into the floo. "Forks, Washington."
With a fluster of green flames, Harry was gone.
The journey took many more seconds then the split-second arrival that Harry was used to, but he supposed he should have expected it. Not only was Washington across the Atlantic Ocean, but it was also on the entire other side of America. It might be a little easier to cross via Asia, he thought to himself.
He coughed and sputtered as he tumbled into his new house, which was bare with no furnishing at all. Harry was already acquainted with the floor, which was tastefully done in white marble.
Dumbledore strode out of the floo impeccably, looking neat and composed. Harry enviously glowered from his position on the marble ground.
"Oh, Mr. Potter, how did you get there?" The professor blinked owlishly over his half-mooned spectacles.
"I wonder," Harry muttered crossly, picking himself up. "Err…professor, where are we?"
"Forks," Dumbledore smiled waspishly. "Washington."
Obviously. Harry thought sarcastically, and luckily he had mastered Occlumency to its bare minimum and Dumbledore couldn't read that.
"Now, while I suggest not leaving the house, I suppose its in every young man's nature to curiously explore one's surroundings." Dumbledore began, in a sotto voce lecture-like manner. "The house was recently warded this morning, and the location is under the Fidelius Charm. No one can know the location of the house unless you bid it, and no one can enter unless you adjust the wards, which can be done by simply thinking you want them adjusted."
Harry was quiet during his speech, unable to put his anger and annoyance into words.
"Also, I've noticed that the house has a rather…barren quality to it."
To Harry, that was an understatement.
Firstly, the décor of the house was poorly outdated. While in the Magical World it seemed normal with its seventeen-hundreds airy visage, the Muggle world would consider this absolutely out of style. Compared to his aunt's house, with carpeted flooring and flowery wallpaper, this looked Victorian in contrast. Secondly, the entire house had no furniture. Harry was sure that his trunk was somewhere around here, but he doubted there was nothing else. A thin layer of dust covered the marble flooring that tiled the entire house, and the sun room adjacent to the front parlor where the fireplace was had long floor to ceiling windows with gray, cobweb like curtains.
"—will be coming to help."
Harry whipped his head around quickly. "Sorry sir, could you repeat that?"
"I've noticed the house has a rather barren quality to it, so Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley have agreed to accompany you to Diagon Alley to shop for furniture and will be coming to help."
Harry was delighted at the thought of seeing his friends.
Looking at his bare surroundings did nothing to quell his loneliness, and Harry wasn't even dampened by the fact that Order members would certainly be tailing them.
"Oh, and, before I take my leave." Dumbledore paused in his ducking to get into the fireplace. "You godfather had written you to be the head of the House of Black in his will."
The Gryffindor blinked, the thought of Sirius sending a tight coil into his stomach.
"And he also emancipated you, therefore, you are free to do magic." Harry grinned. Now that was good news. He wished Sirius was alive so he could thank him. "I'd advise not doing too much here. It's a small town and you wouldn't want rumors flying about."
With his—dare Harry say—wise words of advice, the fireplace flared into existence, and died just as quickly, marking Dumbledore's exit.
The school year started with slow reality for Edward.
He hadn't realized that it was getting to the point where he'd once again have to attend classes, sitting through boring hours to keep up appearances of a normal family, having to deal with the whispers and rumors flying about.
Alice gave him a lift, and took off just as quickly in a whirl of her skirts and soft smelling perfume, leaving him to fend for himself. Jasper, his other male companion in the car, shared an equally contemptuous look with him, before he too eventually had to split off to his class.
The first day was wretchedly boring, with rumors spreading about the new girl, Chief Swan's daughter. He was very displeased to realize he would be spending three of his weekday mornings in the presence of Lauren Mallory, a rather fish-eyed, and fish smelling girl with a penchant for moving around uncomfortably, and swishing her blonde hair in his face. She hadn't yet since talking about the new girl, which, apparently, despite her rather uninteresting lifestyle and face, seemed to catch the eye of the student body entirely.
He hadn't noticed her until his Biology class, upon which he halted in his tracks.
Not only could he not read her mind, but her smell…her blood….was so enticing. It took everything he had not to kill everyone in the room and taste and see just how delicious it really was. Edward wasn't entirely sure how such an unpleasantly normal looking girl could have such a perfect, tantalizing smell to her, as if beckoning him to rip into her neck and release the scent into the air. His fingers twitched to brush her hair back, and he sat rigid for more than half and hour, scantly remembering to breath, trying to ignore her existence.
It frightened him, how easily he lost control.
Edward didn't need to be a mind reader to see that the girl thought he was repulsed by her, but there was nothing he could do. He felt if he opened his mouth to speak he'd instead bite her neck.
Immediately afterwards, he packed as many clothes as he could find off of his bedroom floor, stuffed them into a bag, and left for a hunting trip.
Harry smiled as he was once again met with the London air he had so been craving.
Hermione had dragged him into every furniture store this side of Knockturn Alley, and the Weasley twins had given him a variety of knickknacks to take on his journey to what they called, "the other side" more formally known as, the great wilderness of upper North America.
After lifting out a hefty sum of galleons at Gringotts, Hermione had proceeded to load him up with an array of sofa's, carpets, books and even bookcases, as well as a full potions set (for homework, she explained as she also grabbed an astronomy set, incase they had weekend assignments) and everything he'd ever dreamed of for his bedroom. What Harry would do with a lamp that changed colors depending on his mood, he wasn't very sure, but he supposed it could come of some use to him at some point in time. After more than a couple hours perusing the many shops and nooks of Diagon Alley--and, when the Gryffindor witch wasn't looking, some of the more feasible stores of Knockturn Alley--Harry's house would no longer be the barren empty one it was at the moment, but a junk house filled with a lot of crap he would probably never use.
She then disappeared into a bath store, to no doubt buy an assortment of bath supplies he'd probably never use, leaving Harry and Ron to stare forlornly, piled with bags upon bags of shrunken furniture.
They consoled themselves by shooting some of the Weasley Emporium water-bombs into the lake, watching the small crushed bits of stone erupt into bursts of fire in the fountain by the bath store and chuckling implacably as a woman with an impressive pillar of layered hair wobble by the fountain, unknowingly catching the entire wig in flames. By the time Hermione had exited the store the two had caused quite a scene, much to the ire of the young witch.
"Honestly," She was seething furiously, dragging the two by the ears. "I don't understand how anyone can find such humor out of such a mean act of criminal injustice--"
Ron and Harry only snickered as they were pulled along, and, in a stroke of genius that only the Weasley Twins would have ever conjured up, were able to trap Hermione in a bubble courtesy of Weasley Emporium's Bubble-Your-Mother spray (which drove Mrs. Weasley to the dogs every time she was caught in one) and leapt away to find the confectionary store, that had one of those large bags of Burtie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, which Harry could keep in his kitchen and keep for most likely forever, judging from the size of them. By the time she had caught up to them the two had already ransacked almost half the store, buying Harry more candy than he could probably eat in his entire lifetime, much to the dismay of Ron, who was now quickly become more and more depressed at the fact Harry would no longer be living with him, and hence, no longer sharing his candy.
The day ended much faster than Harry wished it to, and by dusk they had all the shopping done.
With a heavy heart Harry flooed with them to his new house, which looked even more desolate then when it did with hazy light streaming in. The time difference from London to Forks was eight hours, and it was nearly four in the morning when the floo spit them out. His two friends looked around his deserted house, casting Lumos bright enough that Harry could make out their sullen, empathetic expressions. Hermione immediately cast a
Lumos Maximus to brighten the entire house, and began to string up furniture like Christmas decorations. Harry was reminded of when Flitwick had strung decorations on the massive trees Hagrid had dragged in on his first Hogwarts Christmas, the items floating around strangely and placing themselves with ease, and the vile taste of longing welled in his throat. The dim, wintry spill of a thousand candles as they shone above the great hall, stars and swirls of light a kaleidoscope of burning brightness, and utter silence as the very last of the Great Hall's inhabitants dwindle out of the room, and Ron, Hermione and Harry sit still and breathless, watching as the magic flickers once, twice, before all the candles release in a hushed whisper. The magic in the halls of which he had called home since his eleventh birthday, the rain as it pattered against the dorm widow, Ron's limp form in the bed beside him shaking with each snore. Neville smiling at him crookedly as he pulled open the blinds, shattered sunlight dappling the boys face and hair, the side of his bed sheets, and his own eyes and the rest of the dorm groaning because only Neville would want to get up this god damn early.
The Lumos was cancelled when Hermione plugged in the lamps they had purchased, (which was bought in the muggle world, because people in Diagon Alley looked at them oddly when they asked) and they were all still silent.
"I'm gonna miss you mate," Ron hugged him sadly. "Sure, I suppose'll see you in all our classes," And he grimaced at that, no doubt remembering a particularly eventful afternoon in Herbology, including poisonous drool and a handful of spiked leaves. "But what about all our after hour adventures?"
Harry shrugged helplessly. "I'm sure I can get some wiggle room…and I'll plead with Professor Dumbledore to let me go for Hogsmeade weekend. I don't even care if I need to have Aurors trailing me."
"We'll miss you." Hermione sniffled feebly.
Ron nodded dully. "Yeah, mate."
Hermione and Ron ducked back into the fireplace, and Harry could remember the watery look Hermione had given him as she mouthed the location of Hogwarts, dust seeping from her palm, and sitting bonelessly on his couch, watching the darkness around the lifeless, silent, wilderness.
Right, so I've noticed that many xover HP and Twilight stories have a median of about two thousand words per chapter. Which is annoying, to say the least. So I'll keep my chapters around five thousand to six.
But anyway, thoughts?