My Soul, Your Heart

Discussing the Facts and a Feeling of Belonging

Harry glared out of the window at the churning grey clouds.

He was sat on his bed, had been for the past hour or so, sat up and cocooned in several blankets to keep out the permanent Forks chill.

It was Saturday, a dull week had passed since Harry had met the fake wolves of Forks. A week spent at school, having quiet conversations with Jasper and pretending the rest of the Cullen's didn't exist.

Harry hadn't heard anything from the wolves, so assumed there governing system was about as efficient as every other governing body seemed to be; so a decision on if he could read their legends or not would take time.

Luckily, or rather miserably, Harry had lots of time.

This however was not the reason for Harry's morning glaring.

No, Harry was more than used to leaders taking an age to make decisions.

In fact the cause of today's resentment was a ridiculous thing. If anything, Harry was more annoyed that it was effecting him.

He had woken up to a text message.

He and Jasper had had minimal out of school contact by muggle phone, a few teasing 'will you be at school today's?' and one rather predictable 'can I copy your essay?'.

But these had been simple, laid back messages. A level of social interaction that Harry could cope with.

'I know it's late, but we really need to talk. When can I see you?' however, was not simple or laid back.

It stunk of commitment.

Something that Harry had avoided like the plague for at least 40 odd years of his apparently lengthy life span.

That text message had arrived sometime last night, evidently Jasper forgot that while Harry was a sleep deprived gremlin driven by nicotine, alcohol and pure stubbornness he still slept...sometimes.

Harry groaned and summoned the phone, it lept up from it's place on the floor (where he had dumped it in despair after reading the text) and hovered in front of his face.

Harry half hoped that using this level of unnecessary magic would force the device to explode before he had a chance to reply, sadly that wasn't the case.

Harry frowned in thought, using his magic to type his brief but hopefully suitable reply.

'We can talk. Meet me at my place at 10, just follow my scent'

Harry read and reread the message before deciding he wasn't a love struck fourteen year old and hit send, before once again letting the phone smack on the floor.

That was enough right?

Harry's house was more private than the Cullen home for annoyingly immortal teens. Plus Harry needed to see how Buckbeak and Fawkes reacted to Jasper. The two creatures were a very good judge of character and would soon let Harry know how they felt about the bunny muncher.

Harry's musing was interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

Harry peered over the edge of his bed and eyed the phone, Harry sent a tendril of magic out to nudge the home button, lighting the screen.

Green eyes darted across the notification.

'I'd love to, see you soon'

Harry blinked, then buried his head back under the blankets.

Fuck he was pathetic.

He was nearly sixty years old.