Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Whatever Weather	By : rajkosullivan Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 12790 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight, nor the characters from either. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Note: Thank you all for the encouragement! I hope you continue to enjoy!

Edit: I've tried to upload this several times and I'm not sure why it's not taking so if there's suddenly multiple copies of this chapter, forgive me! =/

Chapter 1: Little Boy Obliviate

The local constabulary was hardly the place for a child, especially one as young as the boy currently residing in Inspector Cooper's arms, but that was neither here nor there as far as he was concerned. The child was here now, and it was his duty to make sure that the little one was comfortable until the civil service matron came to collect him. Which should be any time now, he reflected, shifting the child in his arms.

"I'm sorry about this, love," Cooper murmured, carefully brushing a stray wisp of black hair from the toddler's forehead. An angry looking slash, jagged and puffy, stood out in stark relief on the boy's pale forehead, a terrible reminder of just how horribly wrong his young life had gone. "I'm sure the matron will be around soon. She'll get you settled up nicely at the orphanage."

The sleeping baby gurgled, a small-confused frown fluttering over his features before smoothing again. It tore at Cooper's heart. He'd been in law enforcement since the end of university, taking the road less traveled by flouting his hoped for business degree and enlisting in the nearest police training academy. It had been hard - harder than he'd ever thought it would be - but he didn't regret it. Not a single day, and days like today were proof of that.

What had happened to the boy's parents, it was a tragedy…and mystery. James and Lily Potter had been the picture of health; young, agile, and in the prime of their lives. There wasn't a single reason why they should be dead. Even when they'd called in the crime scene unit, the responding officers cornered about the doors blown off their hinges and the disquieting burn marks pockmarking the walls, they'd found little more than a fingerprint, unmatched, in the entire home. Print aside, the biggest pieces of evidence they had were the (possible) victims bodies and their son, Harry.

Closing his eyes, Cooper sighed. It was a shame, a horribly bloody shame, and the little boy in his arms was paying the price for it. Even if he didn't know it yet.

"How's he doing, then?" A quiet voice asked from behind them. Turning, Cooper's lips twitched into a crooked smile when he saw who it was: Gwen Donovan was a junior PC-in-training. Blond, perky, and generally underfoot whenever something was happening, he'd liked her instantly; preferring her spunky presence to the dour old maids around the station.

"Not bad," he replied, eyes drifting to the wicker basket she held her arms. "He was a little fussy earlier, but settled quickly. What's all that?"

"Oh," Gwen said, grinning. "I found this in storage. I thought you'd appreciate it."

Without further ado, she set the basket on his desk with a bit more flourish than it deserved. Medium sized and egg-shaped, it was filled with soft blankets and a small terrycloth towel for a pillow. In the corner, a diminutive stuffed bear with bobby hat and badge was placed, its brown bead-eyes solemn.

"It's just," she said, happily fluffing the blankets. "The CS matron hasn't come by yet and with all the commotion going on in the streets, I thought it'd be nice if you had something proper to put him in. It'd give your arms a break anyway, and," she flashed him another grin, "everyone's tired of seeing you get all soppy over him, Coop."

Rolling his eyes, Cooper stood, gently placing his sleeping burden into the basket. "Very fun, Donovan. I'd like to see you spend time with him and not get 'soppy'. Now," he continued, once he was sure the boy wouldn't wake. "What's this about a commotion? Please don't tell me there's been another waste services strike. The last one nearly did me in."

Gwen shook her head, blond ponytail bobbing. "No, just some strange characters seen around London, wearing capes and causing an uproar. There's been at least ninety calls in the last few hours complaining about them."

"Odd," Cooper mused, scratching his chin absently. He had a days worth of stubble, too busy with taking care of paperwork and a whimpering baby to have time for his daily ablutions. "I didn't notice anything when I drove in this morning. Maybe it's some kind of amateur theatrics? Is there a panto going on we don't know about?"

Shrugging, the blond tucked a bit more blanket around his charges' feet. "I can check into it if you like but I think it's probably someone having a lark at our expense. One of those groups up at the university or a rally of some kind."

"Possibly," he agreed, leaning back. The chair squeaked beneath him, the sound high-pitched and annoying enough to make him freeze and eye the sleeping toddler warily. Little Harry sighed, lips smacking noisily, before settling back into sleep. Cooper slumped, relieved.

"Check into it anyway for me, would you?" He persisted, more quietly this time. "I might not be anything more than a glorified babysitter at the moment but I'd like to keep my hand in. Particularly if the matron comes by soon."

Gwen nodded, eyes sparkling. "Need anything else before I go? Paper, ink, coffee, nappies?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "Just the coffee, please, and let me know about that panto, if there is one. I'd hate to write a citation over something as silly as performance art."

"You've no culture," Gwen declared, before wandering off for his coffee and, quite possibly, some nappies, too.

The stunned silence was damning, at least as far as she was concerned. Alice Cullen stared at her brother, chest tightening at the look of confusion, anger, and pain on his face. It was her fault. She was the one who had given him so much hope, however unintentionally, and she was the one who had pressed him to follow it.

"I'm sorry, Edward," she apologized, not for the first time. "If I had known -"

"But you didn't," her brother interrupted, haunted eyes drifting to her own. "I saw as much as you did and I didn't think..." He trailed off, shrugging. "It's all right. Maybe - maybe he wasn't my mate after all."

"Edward," Alice implored, faltering. "He's your mate; I promise you. It's just that the timing was off, that's all. Next time I'll pay more attention; try to figure out how much longer you have to wait. I'm sure it won't be long."

"That's right, dear," Esme exclaimed from beside her, tone decidedly anxious. No one could blame her. Of all their family, Edward had always been the most difficult when it came to the subject of 'mates' and 'love'. He had never believed that he deserved either, convinced that his soul was lost the moment he had been changed and this, Alice knew, would be the making of him. One way or another.

"Only a few more years and he'll be of age," Esme continued, warming to the subject. "It's not so very long and you - we can get things ready for him in the meantime. I'll design a house. For all of us. Rosalie and Emmett, they've been away too long, and we'll need to move in a few years anyway. It'll be perfect."

"No," Edward denied, softly. "No, he's not my mate. Alice; she would have seen, would have known, if this was going to happen. Whatever that vision was, it wasn't this. It was just some, some, fluke."

"She doesn't have 'flukes'," Jasper interjected seriously. He was seated on the other side of her, his hand resting comfortingly on her thigh. The strain of their family's turbulent emotions was obvious on his face and even without looking, she could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. "Alice may only see snapshots, bits and pieces of the future, but only when decision are made. You know that. This boy, toddler, is going to be your mate and you need to start accepting that."

The 'now' was unspoken but definitely heard if her brother's face was anything to go by. Alice sighed, laying her hand on top of Jasper's. He squeezed it reassuringly.

"He's a child," Edward replied, standing in agitation. "Alice didn't see a child. She -"

"I know what I saw," she interrupted, though not unkindly. "I also know that my having this vision so early can only mean one thing: you're destined to have him, whether he's a child right now or not."

Closing his eyes, Edward trembled. "I wish he was older. I wish he was..."

Here.

Alice was beside him in an instant, arms wrapping around his waist. "He will be," she promised, hugging him close. "One day."

Jacqueline Jones, Civil Service Matron to the greater London area, had seen quite a bit in her long life. Orphaned during the war, bounced from foster home to foster home, she had seen too much, done too much, and been a part of too much to be surprised. The fact that she was today didn't bode well for anyone.

"What do you mean, you 'don't have a baby here'?" She demanded, frowning at the perky blond behind the police station's main desk. "You have to have one! My office was called not two days ago about coming to pick the boy up."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the blond said, voice firm but cheerful. "We don't have a child in custody at the moment. Perhaps you've come to the wrong station..?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Jacqueline snapped, slapping her paperwork onto the desk. "It says right here I'm supposed to pick-up a one year old boy, Harry James Potter, at this station. Now," she squinted at the girl's name tag, "Officer Donovan, I don't know about this station, but my office doesn't make mistakes like that and if you think -"

"Is there a problem here?" A voice broke in, sounding authoritatively curious. Jacqueline turned, staring hard at the police officer before her. He was tall and lean, with at least a days worth of stubble and the kind of bloodshot eyes she associated with long nights and little sleep.

"Yes, there is," she said, at the same time the perky blond said, 'no, sir'. She resisted the urge to snort. "There is," she persisted, when the girl stayed quiet. "I was told you had a child here in custody, a boy, and I'm here to pick him up. I'm from the Civil Service Office, Matron Jacqueline Jones."

A look of surprise fluttered over the man's features. "Inspector Cooper, Matron Jones, and I'm afraid we haven't any children in custody at the moment. Haven't done in well over two months."

"That's impossible," Jacqueline replied, turning to scoop up the paperwork. "I have all the documents here. I know we've been a little busy at the CSO but someone would have told me if there was a cock-up like this."

Moving forward, the Inspector took the papers, glancing over them with a small frown. His eyes lingered for a moment on the boy's name before he shook his head and handed them back. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we haven't had any children come through here. I can check with other stations if you like-"

"No," she interrupted, irritation mounting. "Thank you, Inspector. I know I came to the right station. It seems that someone is playing a prank on me." Glaring at both of them suspiciously, she turned on her heels, marching towards the door. There was nothing more she could do here, but this wasn't going to be the end of it. Not by far.

Shoving open the main door, she made her way down the stairs, ignoring the riffraff that was being escorted up them. This was an outrage, an absolute outrage. If this was some sort of false report, there would be hell to pay, and if it wasn't and the police station managed to misplace that poor child, she was going to make sure each and every one of the local law enforcement felt her wrath for it.

"Damn fools," she muttered, never noticing the jet of white heading towards her or the softly whispered 'obliviate'.
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Whatever Weather