Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone! :D I hardly expected my story to get so much attention in only the first day I put it up! I know eight reviews isn't much in the long run, but I'm so grateful for all the praise. Now I'm completely excited to get this story going! I have tons of ideas for it! ;D I'm not sure how long it will go one for, but you can be sure there's lots more to come.

Everyone seems to be wondering whether or not Simon or maybe Magnus will show up somewhere along the lines. I cant tell you for sure *shields from tomatoes* but I will say that anything can happen. Especially since it is completely within their abilities to live for a hundred years and beyond.

Here is the second chapter. :D I was typing it up for most of the day, as I was "sick" today and could not go to school.

Bwahahaha

All characters except for Holm, his mother, and his father belong to Cassandra Clare, as well as any settings (Alicante, Idris, ect.). Idea/Plot belongs to me.

Throughout the next few days, Holm took several trips into the city and brought Clary's diary to an antique specialist. The specialist was amazed at the age of the book and thought Holm lucky that he had discovered such an important piece of his past, but nothing else. When asked, he had no idea who Clary or Jace were and knew even less of Valentine than Holm had at first. Holm wondered if it was only the incompetence of the man that made his knowledge of his great-great-grandparents so little or if people really had forgotten about Clary and Jace. Nonetheless, Holm handed the diary over with strict orders to be extremely carefully with it, and told the man he would be back the next day. The specialist nodded frantically, placed the diary carefully on his workbench, and bobbed his head once quickly in a hasty bow.

The rest of the day, Holm went on a hunt for answers. He took a trip to the Clave's council room and questioned the workers and single receptionist there, taking down the names of the council-members who would have been alive during Clary and Jace's time. The receptionist boredly handed over the answers to whatever questions she could, but when he got to asking more specific questions, such as the ages of the certain council members, or whether she had ever heard of Clary, she replied in what he thought was a dry tone, "Just because the Lightwoods are an extremely affluent family in Idris, doesn't mean that everyone knows their history." Holm thanked her in a tight tone and left to head for his next destination.

At the Library of Alicante, he didn't have much luck. Electricity didn't work in Idris, so there were no computers and he certainly couldn't look anything up on the internet. He was stuck with the old fashioned way of flipping through as many history books as he could and asking as many people as were available for answers. His previous suspicions turned out to be true. Everyone knew the names Valentine, Clary, and Jace, but that was as far as their knowledge went. He hastily flipped through book after book looking for any mention of them. Their names popped up several times, but he only gathered small pieces of information. It was by coincidence, browsing through a book about the Clave and Council, that he discovered that it was Clary who had designed and drew the current emblem of the Council and that she was the reason they had the Alliance program now; the Alliance program being a bond of sorts between Shadowhunters and Downworlders using two runes to share their power. From there, he wondered why she was responsible and began looking up information on the program's history. What he discovered was an old article that stated that his great-great-grandmother had created the rune that enabled Nephilim and Downworlders to share their powers in battle. He snorted and tossed the article away. A Shadowhunter who can create runes? Impossible. He'd never heard of such a thing.

By the end of the day he was still looking up information. It was well into the night when his mother came to find him and drag him home. The Library was open to all Nephilim throughout all hours, so he hadn't realized how late it had become. He was still protesting somewhat loudly, however, when his mother kicked him into the carriage and they rode home. During the ride back to the Manor Holm's lack of sleep gradually caught up to him and when they got home, he gratefully threw himself onto his bed, jeans and sneakers and all, and went to sleep.

"Holm. Holm." A voice shook him awake and he groaned and slammed a fist down onto the pillow his face was buried in. He shook his head and turned his face just so that he could peek his eyes angrily up at whoever was speaking. His father was leaned over him, his glasses falling off his nose, shaking Holm awake. Light flooded the room where his father had opened the curtain.

"What?" Holm croaked, turning his face so that it was once again buried in the pillow.

"A messenger from Willow's Antique Store came and delivered this." His father set something down on the bed in front of Holm. Holm's head snapped up and he grunted as the sunlight penetrated his eyes. He forced them open a little bit and saw the white envelope sitting in front of him.

He huffed and sat up tiredly. His thin blond hair felt limp and greasy and his bones felt stiff. He desperately needed a shower. But he picked up the envelope and glared at it slightly, pushing his bangs up and out of his face. His father held out a letter opener to him. He ignored it and ripped open the message. His eyes scanned the words on the page.

"What does it say?" His father asked. Holm glanced up at him.

"It says Clary's old diary is ready." Holm balled up the letter and threw it in the trash bin by his bed. He tossed the blankets off of him and slowly slid out of bed.

"Why is the diary at the Antique Store?" His father asked, moving out of Holm's way as he strode over to his dresser and pulled out a set of fresh clothes.

"Cause I had it taken there so it could be restored. The pages were all stuck together and the grime covering the glass on the frame was so thick I couldn't even see the picture." Holm had made it especially clear that the Antique Specialist make it so that Holm could see the picture on the front. He wanted to know what his great-great-grandparents looked like.

"Oh." His father said. "Well, I've made an appointment for you to speak to the Vampire Council Representative."

Holm's head snapped up. "What? Why?"

"Because she was alive the same time your great-great-grandparents were."

Holm grimaced and internally kicked himself. Of course. He should have done that, instead of exchanging snappy words with the receptionist at the Council Hall. "Cool."

His father gave him a look, his eyebrow raised. When Holm said nothing else, he shrugged, pushed his glasses farther up his nose, and left.

Not a minute later, as Holm was about to walk out of the room, his mother swooped down on him. She popped up, seemingly from nowhere, and he was again amazed at his mother's ability to show up exactly when he just wanted to be left alone. He growled a little. "What?"

"What was that, Holm Lightwood?" His mother snapped in a low voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugged, stepped around her, and began walking down the hall.

"Your father had to pull a lot of strings to get that appointment." His mother followed right behind him. "You should have said thank you. I taught you better than that."

Holm reached the bathroom and yanked open the door. He stepped inside and turned to his mother, who glared at him with her arms crossed. He blanched a little and fidgeted, glancing around. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'll tell him next time."

"You'd better." His mother said firmly and then sighed. "Oh, Holm, I wish I didn't have to remind you of these things."

Holms face went hard and he was about to retort but she turned and walked away. Grumbling, he closed the door and took a shower.

When he was finished with his shower he got dressed and went straight to the Antique Store, resolving to thank his father for the Council appointment later. He didn't bother with a carriage and instead took one of the horses, hurrying away from his home before his mother could pop out of nowhere and lecture him about something again. It took a good twenty minutes to get to the city from the Lightwood Manor by carriage. On horseback, Holm made it in ten. It was around noon when he finally arrived and the city was bustling with activity. He saw several of his classmates from the Academy but didn't bother to wave at them (though they waved to him) as he passed. He was the school prodigy and the Lightwood Heir. Of course he knew almost everyone at the school but was only close to a select few, who were considered the more popular Academy attendees. He normally didn't bother with anyone else.

The Antique Store was empty, no surprise. The open sign swung in the window but there were no other horses or carriages hitched in the area. He secured his horse before strolling inside, the bell above the door ringing, announcing his entrance.

The elderly shop owner shuffled out from the back of the store. "Coming! I'm coming!"

He paused when he saw Holm standing behind the counter. "M-Mr. Lightwood! Here, I have your book right here." He gripped the surface of the counter as he leaned over and drew something out from behind it, setting it down in front of Holm. It was the diary, wrapped carefully in brown paper.

Holm raised his eyebrow and looked at the old man.

"The paper is merely a cautionary measure. Open it, examine it, if you like." The old man urged.

Holm shrugged and ripped the paper unceremoniously from the surface of the book. It came off easily and Holm had to admit, he was slightly surprised at the old man's work. The surface of the leather was no longer dull, the thread of Clary's name and the Lightwood family emblem no longer fading. The glass containing the picture reflected the light coming in through the window of the shop. He peered down briefly at the picture and saw that it was of two people sitting in the grass. He opened the book and flipped carefully through the first few pages. They didn't stick together and flowed freely, and the writing was no longer blurry and dull but clear against the yellow/off-white of the diary's pages. Delighted, Holm shut the book carefully and tossed a bag of coins onto the counter. "Perfect, old man."

The old man gingerly took the coins and watched as Holm turned and strode towards the door. The bell of the shop rang again as the door opened and Holm prepared to start out, but paused. Then he turned towards the old man and looked at him, somewhat awkwardly. "Thank you." He said, somewhat reluctantly, and in a tone that implied he was doing the old man a great favor.

The old man only smiled and bobbed his head. "You're welcome."

Holm blinked and walked out.

After Holm had arrived home, he ran up to his room. His mother and father were gone. The footman had informed him that they had gone into the city to see a play at the theater. Good, the thought. He didn't feel like being bothered by anyone at the moment. It had been a whole day since he had last seen the diary and he was excited to read the rest of it. After he had read the first entry, he had put it carefully away, afraid he might damage it if he tried to go through it any more than he already had. So first thing the next day he had taken it to the Antique Specialist and had him fix it up so that Holm could freely read it without worrying about damaging it.

He sat on his bed and held the diary in his hands. He wondered, vaguely, who had been the last person to touch the book. Maybe Clary herself? He had no way of knowing even when the diary had been placed in the attic. No way of knowing who had put it there and how long ago. As he was day dreaming, his eyes caught the reflection of the light off the glass bound in the cover of the book. He blinked out of his reverie and remembered the picture. He had only glanced at it back in the shop, remembering it as a picture of two people sitting in a field of grass. He bent over and examined the aged picture further.

He sucked in a breath. There they were, or so he assumed it was them. The picture was of them, sitting together, leaned against one another. Only it wasn't a field of grass they were sitting in, rather a yard. Lightwood Manor's yard. There was his home in the background of the picture, and off to the side he could see the branches of the only tree poking out. Holm himself had run around in and played on the very spot his great-great-grandparents appeared to be sitting. His eyes floated over to the woman he assumed was Clary. In the picture, she couldn't have been older than 20. She was thin and petite. The kind of girl you'd be afraid of crushing if you hugged her too hard. Her thick, curly red hair was blown in the wind and her slim hand was tucked behind her ear in the action of brushing her hair from her face. Her skin was pale, her eyes a pretty apple-green. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks and her lips were pulled up into a light smile.

Holm looked at the man he assumed was Jace. He looked… a lot like Holm. His hair was thin, blond, and curly, as Clary had described in her diary. He looked tall. Holm would have guessed he was a little less than six feet. Like Holm, his build was lean and his muscles were obvious, even in the light t-shirt he was wearing. Amber eyes stared back at him. Jace's lips were turned up into an amused smirk, but it was not the sort of smirk Holm himself wore regularly—cranky and sarcastic. In the picture, Jace appeared on the verge of laughing. Thin scars, the scars of a Shadowhunter, crisscrossed across his arm, which was tossed carelessly over Clary's shoulder.

Holm stared at the picture for a good ten minutes, drinking in every detail. He was amazed. The scenery was exactly the same. It could have been taken yesterday, for all anyone else but Holm and his parents knew.

After a moment, while staring at Clary, he remembered that he was actually holding her diary in his hands. He blinked and flipped the book open, turning to the first entry he had read. It was actually the third or so entry in the book. He shook his head, resolved to start from the beginning tomorrow, flipped to the next entry after that, and began to read.

"June 1, 2007

Dear Diary,

Mom and Luke have finished patching up all their loose ends with the Council, and so now were free to go. I am so glad to be going back to Brooklyn, but I can't help but feel sad about leaving Alicante. This place is so beautiful, and these last few weeks have been so peaceful compared to the horror of the past few months. It's almost hard to believe that it's all over and I won't ever have to worry about Valentine ever again. I never thought I'd get to be lazy and just relax ever again. Even in the few days after Valentines death and the big celebration I hardly had time to stop and think. I almost want to stay here and begin my Shadowhunter education at the academy. But, according to everyone (Jace, Mom, Luke) I'm too old. So I will be trained privately by the Lightwoods. And I do miss Brooklyn, despite everything. I've never gone such a long stretch of time without seeing Simon and will be glad to get back some sense of normalcy (though I'm not sure my life can now be considered normal since that fateful day in the alley by the Pandemonium).

I'm taking a break from packing up all my things to write this. Between gifts from everyone and things my mother has bought me here in Alicante, I have a ton of new, Shadowhunter-esque clothes plus a few other things. Amatis has given me her Shadowhunter gear and the silver dress. Luke took me to a tailor to get my green coat patched up. It is as lovely as the day I got it. And surprisingly, Valentine left us something as well. Of course, in his brief will, he stated that everything was to go to his first born son, Jonathon Christopher (Sebastian). But as Sebastian is dead, they have deemed all of Valentine's estates and assets to us. Everyone was surprised at that. We all assumed the Clave would confiscate everything Valentine owned. Of course, they did make us promise to burn down the several manor houses listed on the will that belonged to Valentine, but that is no trouble. We want every trace of him gone. Mom is giving most of Valentine's vast fortune to the city towards the Gard and Alicante's reconstruction, as well as the burial of the many fallen Shadowhunters. She kept a large piece of it for emergency funds, and then split another large piece of it between me and her. She has not spent a penny of her share, and I suspect she is saving it for her wedding to Luke. The irony of it makes me laugh, though never around Jace. Valentine was his childhood father, after all. I don't think he misses Valentine, but he will never be able to forget him. I, personally, am using my share to buy some things that I have no doubt I will need in the coming days: a new stele, the latest model, which I've named Engel, a few odds and ends for Jace (though he will never, ever find out where I got the money from), a souvenir for Simon, flowers to put on Max's grave, something for all of the Lightwoods, Luke, Mom, Maia, and Magnus, standard Shadowhunter books which Jace has told me are the basic study of students at the Academy, training clothes, and a few other weapons I found interesting. And I haven't even used up half of my share.

The reconstruction of Alicante has been going smoothly and little sign of Valentine's demon's siege remains. The hills beyond Alicante, however, are now flooded with the fresh graves of the Nephilim who fell that day. It is a sad sight to see. I've gone to see little Max's grave once with Jace. It was a sight that gripped my heart and twisted it around in its fist. I cried. Max had reminded me of Simon when we were kids. I didn't know him that well, but then again I did. Like Simon and I, we had many things in common. Sebastian (I cannot call him the same name as Jace) answered for his crime in the end, though. But the memory of him still bothers me. His body has yet to be found and I am hesitant to believe that it was just washed away by the river so easily. My brother (this I am glad to call him, because it means that if he is my brother, Jace is not) will forever haunt my dreams. I have nightmares about him and Valentine sometimes. The good news is that whenever Sebastian or Valentine do choose to bother my sleep, Jace is always there too; always standing between me and Sebastian's black stare, always next to me when facing Valentine, the man who was a father to both of us, though in very different ways.

Today Jace and I are going on a walk through Alicante for the last time in what is sure to be a long while. We will not return for, at the very least, another year. As soon as I get back to Brooklyn I will start my training and will have very little time to spare, even for Jace."

After that, the handwriting became messy and Holm had a little trouble reading the last sentence of the entry, as if it was written in a hurry. He squinted a little at the page and went over the words slowly before he finally got its meaning.

"Jace is knocking on the door! Got to go! I will write you later, Diary, to tell you what happened.

—Clary."

"Wow, it looks brand new." A voice startled Holm just after he had finished reading. His head snapped up to see his mother leaning over him. She was dressed formally in a blue gown of silk gossamer and was wrapped in a white, silk shawl. Her mouse brown hair had been pulled from a bun and she held her blue heels in her hand.

"Jeeze Mom!" Holm snapped, flipping the diary shut. His mother leaned away from him, a hand on her hip.

"Wow, you can even see the picture." She mused, ignoring his snappy tone.

"Uhg!" He said, flopping backwards onto his bed.

His mother smirked, amused. "Why don't you show that to your father? I'm sure he'd love to see it."

Holm glared at the ceiling and huffed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry for startling you." His mother half laughed, leaning forward and patting him on the leg. "If a little thing like that wounds your pride, I'm worried for you." She turned and began to leave. "Dinner is ready, if you're hungry. I had the servants make it today since your father and I were out."

"Yeah." Holm groaned out, staring at the ceiling. There went his quiet peace.

"And Holm?"

He grunted in acknowledgement.

"Remember what I said earlier, about your father." She said, and he thought he heard the tone of a threat in her voice. Uh oh. He swallowed and sat up to find his mother standing in the door, facing out, her hand on the frame. She said nothing more, only raised an eyebrow at him before she swept out of the room.

Holm groaned.

Taadaa! :D Poor Holm still has a lot to learn. Reviews are better than Klondike Bars!!!! (and thats saying something)