The war is over and a crippled Harry Potter ends up in Forks. The plan is to live alone and heal while learning to deal with the rest of his wrecked life. Having an obsessive scary blonde vampire chase him wasn't part of the plan. Disabled!MoD!Harry (working title)

I don't own anything. I'm a hobo under a bridge, ergo I own nothing. All right to their respective owners and all that.

The Great Pursuit

Chapter One : Days Gone By

7th August – 1998

It was quiet in the house.

The people usually inside were out, seizing the opportunity of a nice day. One inhabitant had remained and didn't share their enthusiasm. Though with it, an opportunity had been seized as well. The chance to be alone inside for a small while. Behind a small desk sat a figure; perfectly still, the fascinating display of an elegant and statuesque pose on a rickety old kitchen chair. The wood did not seem to dare to groan under its current owner. Frozen in such stillness one could easily mistake the figure for an actual statue. The only source of movement and sound was a pale hand holding a pen, flying over the creamy paper and leaving dark blue veins of ink behind.

It was quiet in the house, with only soft scratching resounding.

The hand held still for a moment, laying the pen aside, careful not to break the fragile thing, while rereading some earlier notions of long ago, forgotten or cast aside by today's world.

17th of July – 1933; entry 1

I don't quite know why I waited so long with this, even if it seems utterly useless. Without purpose, robbed of it. I can relate to this unused diary. I have been robbed of mine as well. My purpose, my life, my dreams and my friend and family. The only thing I retained is my beauty. Yet even now, that I am more beautiful than I could ever have wished for, I have never felt uglier. This beauty is dazzling and almost too great. Unnatural. Inhuman. A display of perfection – I always was one – but with a monster hidden underneath. But perhaps I should start clearer. If I ever will have another to give this to, I should be clearer and start at the very beginning, writing down what little I remember before those memories, like all other things of worth are taken from me as well. My written legacy shall not be one of insane ramblings, no matter how pathetic or inane it may be.

My name is Rosalie Lilian Hale. I was born in the cold winter of 1915 in Rochester, New York. A child of the new year. People said that that cold day in January was a day of beautiful soft snow that had sadly missed its Christmas appointment. A beautiful picture, ready to be drawn on a postcard, straight out of a dreamy fairytale in the greatest city on earth. People often forget the point that they are only beautiful from inside, behind the window serving as a display glass. Outside, it is cold, harsh and inconvenient.

My parent are –were- nice people, I suppose. They loved me and did their best to raise me and I loved them. I still do. Unfortunately, there is the tiny detail that to them, I am dead. They were not perfect parents in any sense. I realise that I was quite spoiled and I was used in the ambitious social climbing ends of my father. Not that my mother disagreed with him in any sense, but she simply followed my father, who was the brain and muscle of the family. We were well-off; -Rich middle-class. But they wanted more, Howard and Dorothy Hale. They desired to become part of the newly scandalous rich who settled in their modern castles around West-Egg.

I had two little brothers, too. Robert and Thomas Hale. They adored me, and I was fond of them. I had hoped to be able to teach them something as an older sister, I know I would have loved it. Alas, it was not to be since Howard and Dorothy never taught me anything beyond a good limited education and skills a lady was to know. Off those things my languages and piano are the only things I like. Embroidery is something I will never have to do again. Thank the heaven for small favours, even if they pale in comparison to the grand dystopia I have become. My father often bought nice dresses for me, and I grew up, spoiled and lavished. I loved it. Every moment of attention on my beautiful self was one I loved. I was adored and desired, and I lived for it. Still, my parents had their flaws, but they meant well. In their roaring ambition they had only made the single mistake of marrying me off to a murderer.

His name was Royce King II. The son of the owner of the bank where father worked. They were rich, so very rich, the Kings, worthy of their name. A combination of old money with their banks and new money via investments in Wall street through those banks. We met at the bank actually – a clever set-up by my father which seemed entirely coincidental. He was talented like that, in setting things up. Customers or marriages, what's the difference? Soon after, I received an invitation to one of the Kings' parties. It was wild, lavishing and luxurious in an unholy amount so great I found myself surprised to not have been struck down by the lord for such a disgusting display of decadence. But I was young, foolish and naïve. An eighteen year old girl who had the attention of many rich guests and the desire of the richest of all, the prince charming of the castle, the handsome Royce King II. Bedazzled by pretty lights and drunk by the mere sight of such wealth I sighed myself silly at the perfection that was my life. A month after we were engaged and to be married in a week. A prince and his princess. Just like a fairytale. I should have realised then that the fairytales of the Brothers Grimm were not pretty. They were tales of horror.

That night, a week before the marriage of my dreams, I visited Vera – perhaps my closest friend. Of all people, I miss her presence the most. She was married to a common worker –a car mechanic, if I remember correctly- and they were poorer compared with my own home. Yet I've never looked down upon Vera for that, a small act of decency I am still very proud of, pathetic though it may be. They had a son, a beautiful baby boy and I remember well the first time I saw him. For the first time in my life, I had been truly jealous, filled with raging envy at my friend who was less wealthy, less beautiful, less special and less adored to have been giving something so beautiful. I wanted it too. And I would have it, I thought with great satisfaction. A handsome husband and my own beauty could only have produced a perfect child, that we could see grow up while sitting together in the gardens of our castle in West-Egg when we were no longer young and beautiful.

Silly, shallow, stupid me.

It was that night at Vera's house that I saw another thing she had that I did not : love. As easily as I discarded the notion before and after, I had seen how Vera and her Husband looked at each other. The love and tenderness they had for each other… I felt bad intruding upon their little world. I could not fully deny that I did not possess such love with Royce. We held a physical attraction to each other, but it was little more than a silly infatuation, fuelled by ambition-driven parents and children's stories. I left and went home, refusing to think on that uncomfortable fear inside.

What happened afterwards is something I do not wish to recount in great detail, so I will be brief : I encountered Royce on my way home. He and his friends were all heavily intoxicated. I had not known he drunk, often refusing champagne as he did. He spotted me and began to brag to his friends about having the most beautiful wife on earth. Then they laid their hands on me and for hours afterwards, I was put through shame, humiliation, pain and horror in the likes I had not known existed as they all forced themselves upon me. I recall me relief as they finally left me there on the cobblestone street. It was cool and comfortable compared to their treatment. I knew I was dying, that I would not see another dawn. With the brutal reality of how my perfect life how been destroyed, I did not really think I cared particularly much. Yet such a small mercy was not granted, for my suffering had barely begun.

It was in this broken pose that a man named Carlisle Cullen found me. I had met him and his family earlier. His wife Esme and her younger brother Edward. Young people and strangely beautiful. Still, I had not given them much thought as they kept to themselves and were not much into the social circles I gallivanted in. It never occurred to me that they did so purposefully, to hide their true nature and make their unnatural beauty more forgettable. But I digress. He found me and took me to his home. I don't remember, I was treading towards death's realm at that point. But I do remember two sharp pricks in my neck and wrists. And then began a torture of the likes that made Royce's treatment seem like gentle kisses. A torrent of fire spread through my body scorching and burning me from the inside out. Every second seemed as long as the lifespan of the earth in that never-ending hellish pain. I was convinced that I was dead and burning in that inferno for sins I couldn't remember, yet I desperately begged that I was not, just so that I could die and the pain could stop. Three days it took, said Carlisle Cullen. He could have said three millennia and I would have believed him instantly. When it was finally over I had become just like them :

A Vampire

Never in all my thoughts and dreams had I expected that those horrors of the night, fairytale creatures of the most monstrous sort, could actually be real. That they had actually integrated in modern society. I must admit dealing with this new reality was not something I handled well. With my new-found strength I utterly destroyed half their house, including old and priceless furniture and art pieces, often made or restored by Esme herself. I suppose I should apologise for that, at least. Perhaps in a few years I will apologise for destroying the second half of their house, when I learned that Carlisle had changed me into this in hopes that I would become a partner for his 'son', Edward, who is the first person who has blatantly refused me and made clear that he felt absolutely nothing towards me. He had not been in favour of me being turned but would clearly not turn against his monstrous father. His solution is to exclaim that I am a brattish spoiled snob and that he wants nothing to do with me. Now, there is little remaining of the house except for the outer walls.

As I said, it were a bad few days and I did not handle them well.

Moving on. The first weeks I mainly spent learning about my new body. My power and speed have increased ungodly amounts but what I truly hate are my senses. There is no rest anymore once you hear everything that happens for miles around. And I refuse to start on the endless burning in my throat and my desire to drink the blood of people. It is utterly revolting and makes me feel sick inside, yet I cannot deny that of those two sides warring the vampire wins easily. There is no contest. If an innocent toddler would walk near the house now, I would rip him to shreds and gorge on his blood and flesh. What happened to me? Lord above, I can't even cry anymore!

There is one silver lining on the hellish months past. I got my revenge on Royce. I went to murder all his friends who were present that night. One by one. One each night. In the end, Royce must have been soiling himself when he locked himself with two bodyguards a sort of vault. I killed those too when they tried to shoot me. Being bulletproof is convenient. Snapped their necks, since I couldn't risk them bleeding. I did not want to ever lower myself like that and fully turn into this monster. Yet for a few moments, I enjoyed being a monster. Dear sweet Roycie was lying on the ground, crying and drunk –ofcourse- when he was begging and whimpering. I had worn a brides dress, for the dramatic effect. Then, I tortured him to his death. For four hours long I broke every bone in his body I could find without killing him prematurely. As dawn arrived, I had had my fun and I snapped his neck to be done with it, even if I wanted to withhold such mercy from him.

Carlisle expressed his disagreement with my actions fiercer than I expected, but in the end he did not stop me. I suspect he still feels guilty over my completely unwanted transformation and as such could not refuse me ending my murderers. Esme kept herself outside of it and Edward seemed to be against it as well, though he did say he understood and actually fought Carlisle on it. He did not want to see those human monsters slip away unpunished either but he was against taking lives, almost tormented by the thought. I do not quite understand him and I care not to try. Vain I might be, but his dismissal of me still hurt.

The antagonists of the fairytale are dead and the Cullens are moving away from Rochester. Their time was up and all those murders had attracted to much attention to risk. Carlisle has invited me -victim-turned-monster- to come along and I have agreed. Not that I am particularly fond of the man. It will be a long time before that can happen, like with Edward. At this moment Esme is the only one I am somewhat friendly with. But I must look at reality. I cannot return home. Seeing my parents, little Robert and Thomas or Vera and little Henry would put them in indescribable danger of meeting a horrible fate and I have no one else. I doubt many other vampires will be so courteous towards a newborn without a specific talent as this family will. I have nothing either, baring a few sentimental trinkets that I managed to recover, like this unused diary. Roaming eternity alone and poor and end up as a wild murdering monster doesn't strike me as a desirable fate.

Esme described it as a new chance at life. But I have never wanted a new chance, and this isn't one either. My life is already over. What this is, is being robbed of my death. A Grimm tale indeed.

Rosalie Lilian Hale

5th of January – 1934; entry 2

It has been a good six months since my previous entry so I let myself write another time in here. Vampire senses allow me to see the world in a wholly different way, but the wonder and exciting distraction of seeing so much more fades swiftly to the dull reality of a monotone existence. I only want to write the more important things in here. If I must spent eternity like this, I will undoubtedly get more than enough materials to work with. I hope. The thought of such a dreary grey existence would be fearful. The world creeps on slowly and steadily, but we never will.

We have moved to a nice house on the edge of the Tennessee mountains. The closest town is Gatlinburg and is a whiles away. There is more wilderness here and less people. Edward and I are both pleased with this. We have more freedom and it is a relief indeed. The strain was becoming heavy. The freedom to simply run around or be outside when we want to is a great gift, as immature and wild as it may sound. A pity I will never be able to return to the city that I used to love. But it is mainly the lack of people around here for miles and miles that lessens our eternal burning.

Mentioning Edward, our attitudes towards each other have improved! Another slight relief, I must confess though I would never say it out loud. Not that it matters. To Edward my thoughts are as if I speak them out loud. We spent a month haughtily ignoring each other until Esme had had enough. We started talking more and whilst we still feel nothing towards each other (especially not romantically, perish the thought!), we have both found it relieving to have an equal to talk to sometimes. He is an older sibling, despite being younger in age, and he shares his love for the piano and music in general. I do not delude myself though. We are a far cry from a sibling bond and I doubt we well ever have that. Neither of us seems to desire that. It is more like being alone together. We both prefer to be alone, but sometimes we talk without being bothered by the constricting sweetness of Esme and Carlisle. They are nice, I suppose, but their utter love and adoration makes me want to flee the house. In envy or in despair, I do not know. Probably both.

As for Carlisle and Esme, they are surprisingly compassionate for what I feared such creatures to be. Carlisle is perhaps the single most compassionate being that exists, always on and on about helping and saving and forgiving. Still, it is impossible to disrespect him. After many months, my control has finally improved in such a manner that I can carefully begin to be around humans again but I cannot comprehend how Carlisle went through this alone and is around human blood with such ease. It's almost strange how different humans appear now. Eight months ago, I was still human, but now I cannot help but think of myself as fully different than those beings. Partially responsible are my fading memories of humanity. Only a few memories are still complete but most have all but faded to a blur, compared to the perfect memory I possess now. My family are names from a long past with voices and faces twisted as through dirty glass.

Edward confessed that shortly before they moved to Rochester he had lived a few years on his own as an act of rebelling, feeding on human criminals. The taste was a sinful bliss, but the guilt of taking lives and playing god wore him down until he couldn't take it anymore and returned to Carlisle. He has a sense of bitterness at this existence that I share. Common ground, if you will. What had me most disturbed was his 'talent' of mindreading, though I begin to understand that it can be just as much of a curse. He is forced to listen to everyone's thoughts, no matter how small or infuriating they may be. Including my scathing remarks. Still, he is apparently grateful for my company. He has secluded himself for years in an attempt to have some rest in his head, but the lack of equal company began to wear him down.

We also talked briefly about the Volturi and the option of committing suicide there has given me serious thought. The main reason why I cast that notion aside was because I would never want to be so weak as to go out in such a fate. For I am still loathing this hellish existence, but committing suicide is unthinkable. This undead life holds nothing for me. It is merely a delay until the inevitable. Also, I don't particularly like what I hear of them, though I understand they may be necessary. Another topic we discussed were partners, or 'mates' as they were referred to. Carlisle and Esme obviously were, and their deep love reminded me about Vera's. Edward had not yet met his. I had no hope regarding this, though not feeling so alone would be nice for a change. I still spent nearly all time on my own, after all, and I cannot help but fall into bitterness and darker thoughts, as of late. Perhaps finding my own mate would stop me from going down such a path. It would be a nice change from all the horror of the past year.

Forgetting my own family has made accepting Carlisle, Esme and Edward as my new family somewhat easier. But while they do their best, I still feel distant to them. I hope they will accept me in time as well but I don't know if I will be capable of that in the first place. They are still nice hosts who allow me, a vaguely familiar guest to stay, but it does not feel closer than that. We have agreed that I pose as Carlisle's younger sister. Given our blonde hair, it is not illogical, though I was bothered by being addressed as Rosalie Cullen, rather than my own name. But it is a small sacrifice to make.

If I am grateful for one thing, it is that Carlisle's way of drinking animal blood spares me from ever having to take a human life. The red eyes have changed to amber now. It has made looking into the mirror easier once more. I had missed that.

Rosalie Lilian Hale

26th of March – 1935; entry 3

A year has passed, and something tremendous has passed! I have found my mate! I have not felt such hope in… well, as long as I can remember really. I find myself to be incredibly nervous at this opportunity, afraid I will somehow miss it, but thrilled at this chance as well. His name is Emmet. I found him in the mountain range while on a hunting trip. Ironically for him, he was also on a hunting trip, but turned from hunter to hunted when a black bear mauled him. Originally, I had planned to just kill the bear and disappear, or perhaps laying him near a road for help. Despite my two years of growing control, I cannot be around human blood yet, only enough to flee away from it. But when I looked at him, I- I just couldn't leave him there. He was dying, no doubt, and there was something about him that I could not place, but that urged me to change him. I suppose I was not thinking clearly.

I had brought him back to the house, more than an hour of careful carrying. An hour without daring to draw breath. I fear if I did, I might have eased his passing by draining him. Carlisle did it for me. He asked if I was certain, and I begged him. He seemed shaken by that, and wasted no time. He attempted to use painkillers, but the venom had spread swifter and rendered I useless. I sat by his side for three days and nights attempting to comfort him, useless as it was. But he could recall me being there during his torturous trek through Tartarus, so I supposed it helped a little.

As much as my thoughts were on my mate and the new way my life was heading – away from loneliness and despair, I hoped, I felt a twinge of pity for Edward. My two years like this had felt bitter and long. How he must have felt after twenty years, I cannot guess. I felt the urge to apologise to him for it, and he was surprised and mollified when I actually did it. It might have to do with the fact that it was the first apology I had given him. How typical of me to never apologise for his trashed room, but to ask forgiveness for something outside my power. While he is brooding again, he assured me that he does not blame me, is happy for me and that it might be nice to have both a brother and a sister. It is in moments like these, that I really am fond of him.

Back to Emmet, he is learning to hunt now with Edward. I wanted to do it myself first, but I relented that Edward was the safer option. If a human came close, I had difficulties myself and had to leave as soon as possible. While hunting, I do not think I could turn away. We are always careful with our locations. But Emmet… he is both newborn, and ridiculously strong in combination. Edwards talent and control are needed here. Emmet seemed to like Edward. Not that that is surprising. Emmet seems to like everyone.

Even Carlisle is stunned by Emmet's easy acceptance of what he is, who we are, and what we have done to him. He only sulked for a moment when he found out he could no longer be around his family. He comes from a large workers family on the edge of Gatlinburg. He and his older brothers worked on laying train rails, and his sisters were younger and helped in the house. He was often in the woods to hunt game and bring some more food to the table. But he said that he had been stupid with the bear, and we had given him a chance for a second life. It makes me feel somewhat humbled, that he has accepted more and acted more mature in a day than I have in two years. Especially given that he is little more than a way too powerful child. The upside is that I am relieved. I would not know how to help him if he had reacted similar to me.

I truly hope that it can work out between the two of us. He is a chance for me to get out of the deep pit of despair and darkness and see the light again. Though it will take much time on my part, I fear.

Rosalie Lilian Hale

13th of April – 1935; entry 4

I have grown closer with Emmet but I have been plagued by creeping doubt and confusion. We share a lot of time together and feel a bond, but I don't quite know how to proceed. I am certain that if I asked him to bed he would respond enthusiastically, but I do not feel ready for that! Even cuddling feels… awkward sometimes, though a simple hug is something I enjoy, which is more than I would allow any other – even Esme. Am I not ready yet for physical contact? Is there something wrong with our bond?

I have approached Carlisle on this and he was very pleased that I asked him freely for advice, though he hid it well under the mask of professionalism. He explained that nearly every bond is unique. While most would indeed lust for each in a frantic amount, especially as soon as they recognised each other as mates, that is not set rule. Every bond is unique after all, and he and Esme had taken much longer than usual as well. It had taken Esme a while to come to accept this life and Carlisle, and the loss of her child after her failed attempt at suicide. They had gradually fallen in love. Carlisle theorised that we acted slightly different in regard to our vampiric instincts due to our diet, and that I could still suffer from the lingering effects of the raping squealing fucker (no, he did not say it like that…). As such, me being hesitant to form a close bond to anyone, let alone into physical territory was not unlikely.

I had already thought most of this myself, but it is nice to have a confirmation. I feel abnormal enough as it is.

Emmet is a good listener when he is not acting like a monkey so we often just talk for hours, recalling and comparing what we remember of our human lives and what we hope for in the future. We might not be ready for romance yet, but I have no doubt that will come soon enough. For now, I am happy in the knowledge that I have gained a true friend who will never leave me and that in time, I'll have a partner who will be perfect for me, and who I will be perfect for. I like the sound of that.

Rosalie

13th of May – 1935; entry 5

I have left the Cullens. I have left Emmet. I am sitting alone, in what used to be a forest but is now an apocalyptic scene of death and destruction. Yet levelling a square mile of wilderness to splinters with thunderous crashing force has done nothing to relieve me of my pain and seething rage. I am struggling to write this, as not to pulverise this pen.

I shall recall the event that brought me here. if only for the recording's sake. Our short time in Tennessee had been nice, but was up. Emmet needed a different location, for one. We left for Alaska, towards Denali. Carlisle knew another coven there, who shared our diet. Edward had met them once before and was not looking forward to it. Apparently one of their members called Tanya –a blonde thousand year old bitch- had been infatuated by him but he felt nothing towards her. Emmet spent the entire trip goading Edward by questioning his sexuality. He had perfected the art of annoying us and it was amusing – as long as you were not the recipient.

I was… excited to meet other vampires. I understand that most of them retain nothing of their humanity and I despise those. But others who share a similar lifestyle as Carlisle… I greatly looked forward to it, despite my usual self-instilled solitude. Perhaps Emmet had opened me up? I did miss social contact after all. I was a person who wilted without people to interact with, an individual shaped by my parents to flourish when showered with attention and admiration, like a sunflower needs golden rays. The past two years had weighed heavily on me. I was not fit for this existence, not good enough, where lifetimes of isolation where rule rather than exception. I was in hopes that Emmet, a person incapable of ignoring me or allow me to ignore him, would be a relief in this.

I should have learned by now that hope is futile and traitorous when you are cursed like us. For every hope I had since that night on the cold cobblestone had been killed then and there.

We arrived and pleasantries where exchanged and all seemed to go well. They were curious to Emmet and I as recent additions as well, it seemed. The coven consists out of five vampires. Three sisters of almost a millennium old and a couple of Carmen and Eleazar. The latter actually used to be in the Volturi guard! But no matter. It only dawned upon me that Emmet was awfully quiet for his usual behaviour, so I looked around and I saw him staring at the blonde, who was staring back in the same manner. Not even staring could come close as a description or any word in any language I know, but Emmet stared at her like a blind man who saw the sun for the first time. Then, they dashed in each other's arms and began kissing feverishly.

I didn't understand. Probably didn't want to, clinging on to my fantasy in desperation to deny reality. My second clue was the looks of agonising raw pity that some of the others send me. Carlisle. Esme. Edward most of all. My insides felt like ice, cracking and exploding under the pressure of the nervosity eating me up inside. I was unable to keep my voice even when I called for Emmet, too scared of the answer I already knew but refused to accept. Too stubborn, as always. When I understood, I seemed I had no insides anymore, but only a big gaping hole of something important missing in my chest. He turned around, seemingly only now realising I was present as well, and his visage morphed from pure bliss to one of surprise and fear. The blonde bitch looked at me as well and simply sneered :

"He is mine"

I don't quite recall in what manner or how long I roared and screamed – a lie of course. This existence doesn't allow forgetting. I even tried to fight her in an attempt to keep Emmet, my bit of hope and my buoy in the ocean of despair. I was pathetic. She toyed with me, cracking my limbs with ease. The only reason I didn't die is when the others pulled her off. Edward dragged me away, tried to calm me and explain. I broke down in front of him in the dirt. He understood I needed to leave for a while. He offered to come along, but I am I no state for social contact.

I had an uncertain hope for two months before it was torn down again. I suppose I was a fool for believing that something so good would stay. Fate is a cruel bitch and I am an experiment extraordinaire of hers. Never have I felt so lost before, so purposeless, so empty.

R.L.H.

4th of October – 1936; entry 6

It's been a while. A year and a half and most of it passed in a blur. I no longer feel like a shipwreck that has been violently destroyed by a cruel storm. Now I just feel like I'm the empty remaining carcass of it, stranded on a misty beach. Especially empty. I don't feel much as of late. There's always the eternal intense burn of course but apart from that everything seems to have dulled, only faintly gnawing at the background.

Apart from me wallowing in self-pity like a pathetic child, I have recently rejoined the Cullen family. Carlisle, Esme and even Edward were all overjoyed to see me again. I did not react much, but it felt... nice. Edward has been most helpful. We often just sit in silence reading or even on rare days playing the piano together. Not much talk is needed, but he understands better than Carlisle or Esme what I'm experiencing. Sometimes we even manage to make each forget that we're miserable together. Still, he is a broody person and that will never change. I wonder how long we will be alone.

We have recently moved to an area called Hoquiam. It is south of a little town called Forks – and whoever came up with such a name? It is about the rainiest place in the entire US. The ever present blanket of thick clouds mirrors how I feel perfectly, but it is quite enjoyable to be able to go out during the day whenever we want and not be afraid of discovery. The rain though, not so much.

I've also found a somewhat odd house. It seems small but is surprisingly big in the inside and has an old beauty in it. It's a shame its abandoned and its remarkable how easily it is overlooked. I found it entirely by accident and none have otherwise shown up. It's a bit dark on the inside but very calm. I have found myself going there several times now as it is the most silent and relaxing place in the vicinity. There are odd things about it though, that I can't point down. There is… something about it. I can't place it but a sense of mystery shrouds it like a gentle mist.

On another note : Emmet apparently misses us and has tried to get to me several times. He's feeling awful, or so the others say. Guilty. Even the blonde bitch wants to apologise. I loathe it, I loathe them, but I do miss Emmet. We both felt some kind of connection after all and my anger has since long faded into a dull bothersome throb. Perhaps next time they come I'll try to talk to him.

R.L.H.

26th of March – 1937; entry 7

Two things to mention this time. I'll begin with the good news for once. Emmet and I have reconciled, in a sense. I've always been stubborn and my grudges are no less, but he really wasn't at fault here. Would I not have been excited to meet my mate? I can't blame him, nor do I wish my loneliness upon him. Tanya and I are still like ice towards each other. She views me as a threat to her mate, and I hold a grudge against her. Still, we agreed to keep out of each other's way for the sake of keeping the peace. I can tell that that was no small relief to the others. Emmet even went down on his knees, promptly invented a few new deities and started thanking them profusely. Typical.

The downside is that we apparently are not alone. In a nearby reserve are Quileute natives living and to make it grand, some of them can change into the shape of a huge supernatural wolf, powerful enough to threaten us. We have by far the numerical advantage though, as there are only three of them left. Carlisle managed to broker a peace treaty and the wolves surprisingly enough agreed to it. Our 'diet' was new to them and while the loathing towards us was unmistakable (I return it – their stench alone warrants it) a glimmer of respect was present out of sympathy for our daily struggle.

It did nearly break down to a fight though… they only listened because we were with six against three. Emmet being obviously eager did not help either. Edward kept his gift a secret as a precaution, though he could read their minds even as wolves. These werewolves… they're nothing like the myths portray them to be. Then again, am I not the proof of such inaccuracies?

I've wondered if there are many other supernatural races or effects in the world but I was disappointed. Carlisle let me know that the Volturi hunted down what little was left centuries ago. Either it is extinct, or negligible. Perhaps I'll see some of those remains one day? I certainly have the time, I suppose…

Rosalie Hale-Cullen

15th of June – 1937; entry 8

I found out more about this fascinating house. It belonged to a family named "Black" and was built around 1580. There is a family named 'Black' on the reserve, but I doubt it is more than a coincidence. No smell in here is even remotely comparable. No, the smells are old but not stale. There is something ever so slightly energetic about this place. A power long waned and forgotten, but still left in all the magnificence of its ruin. And for a ruin from 1580 it is in a remarkable good state. Too good, almost. My senses tell me none have entered this place in many years yet it has not much dust or damage. It only has darkened.

Then again, I do not know if I can trust my senses in this place. I've actually measured everything and something in it just makes no sense. There is a space manipulation at work here that goes beyond clever illusions. It is all very subtle, but the influences are unmistakably the more I think about them. It is definitely bigger on the inside than it should, there are 3 rooms too much in it and sometimes even an entire floor. Even stranger is that Edward has not approached me a single time about this all, even he should be at least interested. I know he should have heard my thoughts… it's like the house has a power of stealth over the mind so that it is kept out of mind and out of questionability.

Perhaps I think too much on this. As I repeat : it's very subtle and mostly unrecognizable. Perhaps the house simply wants to keep his secrets. As excited as I am in the possibility of unlocking those (Excited? It's been a long time since I felt like that…) I am content with it as a sanctuary. Inside it is calming. Just a slight bit, but I'll take whatever comfort I can as to not feel so… empty and moody all the time. It's strangely uplifting to have this as a "secret". A personal relaxing sanctuary. "Cool", Emmet would call it. It's one of those new words of his. I bet people will stop using it within the year. It means mildly cold Emmet.

Rosalie

9th of September – 1950; entry 19

Two new vampires have joined our family. It's been the first truly notable thing happening to our family since we left Hoquiam/Forks and the house of Black, twelve years ago. I miss its strange presence. But back to the newcomers : their names are Alice and Jasper Whitlock and are straight-up the weirdest couple I have ever met, even to vampire standards.

Alice is a teensy small girl with short black hair and an unnatural cheerfulness. How can such a small thing have so much energy? I don't understand it. Perhaps she was changed while having a sugar rush or on drugs? I suppose we'll never know, just like her because she can't remember anything of her human past. I'm conflicted about how I feel towards that. It is a burden for which she has my sympathy, but I am somewhat jealous; I would like to forget some parts of my past. I banish the tempting thought immediately. Royce shouldn't get away with it from anywhere. That would mean forgetting about my family as well, and those memories are far too hazy already.

Jasper is the opposite. Tall, blonde, silent, dangerous and with a past he would be all too eager to forget. After Carlisle he is now the oldest since he was changed during the civil war, only to be dragged in the newborn wars in the south. His skill as a soldier and his ability helped him survive, but his generous collection of scars sets me on edge. It's instinctual. He seems to like us and we're apparently "the largest group of vampires he's ever met that don't want to kill him". Lovely. It's not like he pretends he could be here for any other reason than his Alice. At least he is honest on that front. He seems to like the idea of living of off animal blood but struggles heavily with the change. I get the feeling that it is to reduce his own guilt rather than that he actually cares about ethics and human lives. Still, he tries, even if I fear there could be many 'incidents' in the near future. Edward has had many, even if nearly all were before my time. Esme has failed, Emmet has failed, even teensy little Alice has failed. So far Carlisle and I are the only one who have never drunk human blood.

It is something I take great pride in, by the way. I may loath this existence, but I've never given into the temptation of killing humans. I've never forced my nature on others. Well, aside from the occasional bunch of serial rapists. Those are necks I don't spare. … as in broken necks. Just so we're clear. Not biting. Breaking.

Speaking of abilities, the level of privacy went from small to non-existent instantly, skipping even pathetic on the way. Alice can see the future based on your decisions and likes to let everyone know about them. She literally tells your secrets before you have them. I mean really… At least Jasper keeps his senses to himself, even if they are as invasive as Edward's by sensing your emotions. He can even manipulate them, which is even more invasive then Edward. At least he can't change you and keeps most things to himself. The downside is that Major here is affected by the emotions he feels.

Naturally, he's avoiding me a lot and sticking to Alice. "You have remarkably little emotion beyond sadness, bitterness and anger." Way to compliment a woman, major. I suppose it was fair turnabout though, because I commented earlier that he thus depends upon Alice's happiness like a drug. My social skills are not as refined as they used to be. Or perhaps it is because I am caring less and less every year about everything.

What has been bothering me is that I'm even more ignored than usual, what with all the attention going towards the shiny new additions. I know that sounds vain of me, but is noticing me every once in a while in a positive sense beyond what is required for introductions really that much to ask? I feel as if I have just drifted further away from the others. As distant as I am to them, I know I need to belong somewhere. Staying truly alone for the rest of my existence is no option.

But I shouldn't worry. After all, I have three vampires of Christmas past now, who can accurately describe my bitterness in past, present and future…

Rosalie Hale

12th of September – 1950; entry 20

Search for family in Rochester.

As I write this, I have fulfilled my recent purpose but have concluded it with great sadness. For three days I had I purpose again. That and much more was once again stolen from me.

The pressure of the new vampires in our family caused me to leave momentarily. I felt like a stranger, watching from the sidelines and needed some time alone to be myself and looking into personal matters. The others were almost surprised at the marvellous concept of me wanting to keep those things to myself. Only Edward knows, but he won't spill. Privacy, what a ridiculous notion it becomes with being a vampire. Something that I noticed since long is how much I have slowly shifted in my identification as a vampire. Long has my denial lasted, but now, when I look at humans, I can't help but look at them as different. Human. Such a familiar word, with such an alien feeling. It is strange how these things change.

I wanted to find out what has become of my birth family now that I was no longer an uncontrolled danger, so I went to Rochester and did some digging. The results were painful. No, not painful. Painful doesn't quite cover it. I did not know I could care or feel in such an amount again.

Vera is dead, as is her husband. A car crash. Instant death. Their son -Henry- was working a carpenter job, like his late father. Little was left from the cute toddler in the man with tired eyes. I discreetly moved some money to an account for him. It might be the only thing I can ever do for Vera ever again.

Thomas and Robert, my two little brothers had an even worse fate. They died in the war, far from home and were dumped in some local grave. I couldn't find were, only that it was near England. Perhaps I'll search there one day. Mother is dead too. Lung infection.

All that remained was my father Howard, who was stuck in the most solitary and lonely bed in a long term hospital. I couldn't help it. I knew it was the worst idea possible, that so much could go wrong, but I still did it.

I visited him.

At night of course. I am a vampire. The first few hours he was just sleeping and I looked at him. I had remembered him as a strong and tall man, but now he looked so weak and fragile as if he was ancient thin glass that would break under a breeze of fresh air. His breath and heart were ragged. So ragged I didn't realise the signs when it changed. He sucked air in sharply and looked straight at me with fear and tears in his eyes.

"R- Ro- Ros-ie? Issit really you?" he whispered.

I nodded. His shoulders shook and he sobbed his dry tears.

"am so sorr- ry." He heaved.

I wanted to say lots of things. Good and bad. But I only ever said three words that night. "I forgive you."

He shook more, but I am sure that one of those sounds was a choked laugh.

"Stay?" he whispered.

I nodded again. We just stayed in shared silence that night, each to their own bottled memories which were uncorked by the presence of the other. Just at the dawn his heart gave a final thump and then decide that it had been a good end as the room silenced with the departing of death, who came to collect another soul.

Once again, I feel hollow. Like someone punched through me and tore out my stomach. But I know that somewhere deep inside, in my grief is a note of happiness that I could comfort at least one of them in the end. Even if now, I am the last Hale.

Rosalie Lilian Hale

1st of August – 1980; entry 64

This is going to sound extremely weird, but I just have to say it : I feel happy! I don't understand it. Nothing of note has happened around here that could have caused me any changed feeling (or any feelings at all) but since yesterday I have just felt… lighter. Easier. As if something has gone incredibly right and I can't help but walk around with a constant easy smile. I have yet to make a single scathing remark too and am even friendly to the rest. Needless they say, they are completely creeped out and look like I might explode any second. Although they also seem jubilant at my temporary change in mood. Especially Jasper seems grateful for the sudden lack of anger and present giddiness. Alice doesn't question it, but only said "finally!" (whatever that meant) and Carlisle and Esme seem proud. Edward and Emmet are completely frightened though.

No idea why.

Not that I am too optimistic. I can already feel myself slipping back in my sarcastic self but still… it is an odd feeling, this lightness. I think I like it.

Rosalie Lilian Hale

Rosalie looked up from the little old book. Most of her writing was dramatic and depressing, just how she remembered it. Still, it was good that she had written down most of what she still knew from her human memories in the beginning. Nearly all had faded. The one bit that had surprised her was the note from 1980. It was indeed an oddly happy day, the likes she had barely ever known. Not that it mattered. The fact that it stood out, only because she was happy for a day, spoke volumes about the eternal weight of her life, and how it had hollowly dredged on since 1950. 48 years now, and a single happy day stood out.

Truly depressing.

Though she had to reconsider this with all the new notes she had just written down. They had come back to Forks and to she had been immensely relieved and pleased that the ancient house of Black was still standing there, as mysterious and unperturbed as ever. Rapidly, it had become her home away from home. And still no one else had found it. they had asked her a few months ago where she always went, but didn't ask through after she simply answered "out". She was sure that the house had, in some shape accepted her and protected that knowledge to it and her from others somehow. Even Alice had never come close which was very unlike her.

And with the recent events of the last year, she had been in that house a LOT. What with Edward finding his, mate, finally.

She had been happy for him. Honestly, she was. Of all people, he had been alone so long and he truly deserved it. She was happy for him. She simply didn't think his mate was anything remotely close to a sane choice.

She was human, for starters. But they couldn't change her quickly, as Volturi law stated. She knew. It was a risk, even if Rosalie could agree with the fact that Bella Swan would not likely spill their secret. Jasper was under immense pressure. His home which had been a safe haven, a sanctuary away from the burning hell of temptation that were called 'the school grounds' was gone because the little human spent all time in there! Not to mention she was Edwards singer, for crying out loud! How could that possibly end well?!

And there was the slight fact that she simply didn't like Bella. She was plain in everything. She was meek and unremarkable. Her common sense was heavily damaged, while her sense for caution was all-together missing. Yes, she was better than most school girls like Mallory or Stanley but since when was that an achievement? Rosalie simply couldn't understand how Edward and her could connect on an emotional level, or have anything in common beyond the talent for staying in a room and reading books. How was there any passion in that relationship? Edward was not exactly lively and she was entirely… passionless. Had they found common ground in their passionlessness?

And then the whole leaving town part, Bella becoming unstable, and downright suicidal and half of them nearly dying in Volterra? She felt guilty for her misinterpretation which sent Edward there but still… she had always said Bella was dangerous and here was the proof. The James debacle, the mutts rising up again, watched by the Volturi and a crazy vampire trying to kill her… the girl wasn't a magnet for trouble. She had her own gravitational centre for it.

And still she wanted to become like them. Rosalie snorted. She would regret it, she knew. She hoped not, but it seemed inevitable.

Then, she perked up. The others would be coming home soon and she took that as a sign to leave back to her own house. Quickly she ran through the thick green forest, smiling as she approached it but came to a screeching halt when she discovered a most unpleasant surprise in the front.

A car was parked there. She could hear the people talking, something about legal matters of the house. She considered the option of just buying it –it would be worth it- but that would be impossible without the owner. Some names were mentioned and an inheritance. A long discussion followed between the men, but in the end everything seemed solved. Rosalie stood frozen in shock behind a tree.

The house had just been checked out and somebody would move in here in a few days. Her world seemed to come crashing down as this too was now lost too her. She sprinted away, not caring where she went, too seething too try and cry. She had never been fond of other humans since she became a vampire, but it had been since 1933 since she had been so tempted to kill somebody. She would find the little shit that would waltz in here like he owned the place. And she would make sure that the house became hers again. No matter the cost, she swore.

17th August – 1998

Edward was worried. Not for Bella this time (untrue – he always worried for her) but for a family member way too often overlooked. Rosalie. She had always been distant, preferring solitude with regularity but as of late, she had withdrawn even further than she ever had. He barely saw her anymore, come to think of it. In the mornings when they went to school. In school. When they went back to the house. Sometimes when she left her room to go out wandering again. They always used to hunt together, but when was the last time they did that? Months ago, and that was an exception… in truth, he felt rather guilty over it all. Focusing on Bella as both his singer and a new mate took a lot, but had he really started to forget her so much? It was not a pleasant thought considering all they had were each other for many decades…

"What is affecting you so?" Everyone looked at Jasper with curiosity. "You worry about something, but I do not understand. What troubles you so?"

Edward sighed and answered. "Rosalie."

Esme shifted nervously and Carlisle spoke. "What of her Edward? Was there a new difficulty between her and Bella?"

"No. Look around. She is the only one not present. The question is… when is she? When has she last been home with any of us? Actually at home with several of us, not just holed up in her room or the garage? She has withdrawn more than she ever has and I worry for her" He said frustrated.

"She feels alone. It is not something any of us can change, I think. All of us are mated by now and she feels left out. She has never been an open person, but it is affecting her far harder than even she realises" Jasper answered with some difficulty. He didn't like spoiling what little privacy there was in this family.

"When has all of this started to worsen till such direness?" Carlisle wondered sadly.

"Since Bella." Said Alice dully, without her usual chipper voice. "I love Bella Edward, so no offense, but her coming into the family and our family focusing so quickly and so much on her is what Rosalie paid the price for."

Edward nodded, not in the mood to argue. He knew she was right. None of this was Bella's fault of course and Rosalie was not the most considerate towards her at all, but in comparison to Rosalie who had been a member of the family since the start, Bella was lavished in attention. Given all the new challenges her humanity brought along, it was not that hard to understand Rosalie's less than stellar opinion of her - even if she was too harsh. Then again, was she not harshest with herself?

"Has anyone hunted with her lately? Or even done anything with her beyond greetings?" Carlisle asked disappointed at his family and himself. The others were still as statue-like as ever, but still shifted guiltily. Emmet had been most of his time online with Tanya, Jasper and Alice had been in their own world, Edward was naturally busy with Bella and with precious little time Carlisle had not spent in the hospital he cherished with Esme.

Rosalie had no one to spend her time with.

"I guess she also feels guilty for the whole Italy situation. It was her misinterpretation that led Edward to the Volturi, and Bella and me… She was quite torn up from it. She feels as if she brought the dangerous side of attention onto us from Italy -"

" – which was always her argument against Bella. Rosalie is consistent. It would make sense if that caused her to distance herself further away from us. In a sense, she might feel as if she has failed the rest of us."

"But she hasn't! It was a grievous mistake, but no bad came from it! And she apologised to Bella immediately after, didn't she? Can we not mend this?" Esme expressed herself morosely.

"I fear it won't be that easy. But we must. We owe her that much."

"But that still won't change the fundamental problem doesn't it? The fact that she is alone! I think you all underestimate her bond to all of us. If she didn't feel towards us as true family, she would've left long ago. Seeing everyone with a mate is just painful for her! Let's not delude ourselves. As soon as we cheer her up or try to, we soon start to do our cutesy stuff with our mates and she will feel even worse." Emmet shouted out, no longer keeping calm. Out of everyone, he had the closest bond with Rosalie. Edward had spent the longest with her, and the rest were fond of her but the bond between Emmet and her had been genuinely strong enough to be felt when he was a human still. One of friendship, a sibling bond from the start, but still a bond.

"Alice?"

"I know her mate exists, I'm sure of it, but I can't see anything in Rosalie's future with someone else…" She tried to convince herself and others. Then she suddenly went stiff as her eyes were far away. When she returned with her mind to the anxious present living room she looked frightened.

"Rosalie needs us! NOW!" she shrieked and everyone sprinted out after her in the inky black night.

Rosalie had been walking around aimlessly in the thick green bush, still furious but mainly sad now after her latest loss. Night had fallen but the cold didn't bother her. She idly thought it was very cold for a night in August, even for Forks. And it seemed the get colder with the second, nearly freezing. She ignored it and kept thinking, slowly becoming more desperate in her thoughts. It was then, when heard a soft crack that she looked towards a small pool nearby and noticed to her great confusion that it had been frozen shut. Ice covered it and mist was everywhere. What was happening? This wasn't normal. She gave an involuntary shiver.

It set her on edge. A vampire never shivers. Yet here she was. It was with a great dread that Rosalie realised she truly felt frozen and cold that she slowly turned her gaze towards the dark mist over the ice and felt her eyes going wide at what it revealed.

A dark presence was eerily floating in the mist, ever so agonizingly slow creeping towards her. It looked like a ragged filthy black cloak was worn by some legless humanoid shape but it was too large, too silent and definitely too frightening to be anything humane. The thing radiated terror, fear and despair like an ancient sleepless malice. It was a manifestation of something so terrible, so vile and so malicious that she could not find any description for it. It was then that she realised how utterly terrified she was and how drained, how weak she felt. She was literally frozen in fear and cold and terror. She could not remember ever being so weak and so afraid. A voice in her head became louder and she paled when the haunting voices were as loud and clear as if they were truly present.

"Look at her, boys. Isn't she pretty?"

"I don't know, she has too many clothes on!"

"Royce please no, let me go!"

"Spare the rod, spoil the child hehe!"

The dark hooded being suddenly appeared in front of her and grabbed her by her throat, lifting her up with a slow ease that betrayed an inhuman strength that she currently lacked. She kicked and screamed but it nothing to her attacker. Worse, he began to show more excitement. Under the hood there was a black void where a face should have been. Rosalie struggled with all her might, trying to fight against the rough voices around her but felt like she was fighting an ocean freezing around her. She did not want to know what horror the hood contained. What ungodly wrongness it would inflict. But it slowly loomed over her, making her feel sicker with the second as if it wanted to kiss her.

Just when all hope seemed lost she felt the creatures' grip slack an lessen as she was dropped to the ground unceremoniously. But her heart soared when she heard the shrieks, as horrible as they were. And suddenly it was no longer dark. The light was blinding, but pure and happy, rolling over her in waves of gentle warmth. The centre of the aura was shaped like a magnificent great stag, as if it were a spirit from the ancient forest. Behind it, the light was linked to something else, the source - whatever that was. Two green dots were reflecting the light back but the harsh light made it nearly impossible at seeing any other defining features.

The foul creature gave off a last ear-splitting shriek and fled as the light lessened and the deer slowly traipsed back to the other side before waning into the nothing. Or, not nothing. Two spots of bright green, almost glowing like emerald eyes kept looking at her. Was that still the deer? Then, her family burst out from the foliage behind her. As she stared with wide eyes to the place the light had disappeared, she could form one coherent thought. 'what the fuck was that'. Edward didn't even admonish it, as he usually did, but was staring at the same silent inky dark spot now, while the rest kept fretting around her. She was certain she had heard an odd popping sound before that silence settled.

A/N:

Firstly, I've been made aware that all of this sounds overly dramatic. It is. But the way I see it is that the Cullen's lives, and in particular Rosalie's was until that point very monotonous or just straight up depressing. Rosalie strongly dislikes what she is and cannot help but focus on everything she lost in one way or another, these outtakes of her diary are a personal way of expressing that a bit, where she can show or tell things that she wouldn't tell anybody. And the focus on that she's alone... well, it was her great dream to have a husband and family, no? Seeing eventually everyone have someone except her weighs on her.

Harry isn't going to be an all-powerful master of death. I going to try and write him as I see him in the books. Naturally, cool stuff gets added with him being MoD, but he is essentially a (powerful and talented) teenager with issues and to some extent, an neglected child soldier. He has never really known normality so letting someone in is going to be a struggle. I'll try not to involve too much angst though. This chapter already had way more than enough of it. But both backstories include a lot of drama that shaped their characters, so prepare for some feels in the next chapter to. And at last, this is my first attempt at writing romance. I try to write something because the attempt interests me, really not much more.

Sadly, writing really isn't my priority among sporting, studying, social life and the whole drill. Frequent updates are not really my thing, so consider this a note of honesty.

PS: I love reviews. Thanks for reading.