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DISCLAIMER : I own nothing. Except the plot and some original characters.

Words : 6257

This is the un-beta'ed version. I'll re-upload it as soon as it's ready!

A hopeful smile sneaked its way to her face. She followed him, down to the cold water. Harry was preparing to rise, but she grabbed his neck, pulling him deeper. The water was so cold that he visibly shivered, but Renesmee didn't stop. He struggled, but it was weaker. Her hands touched his face. One of her tear escaped and formed a small bubble.

Something in his face shifted. His muscles relaxed. His eyes slowly dimmed, and without hesitation, she pulled her hands back and embraced him.

"Please," Her lips mouthed. "Come back."

And he did.

Chapter 9 – Rejuvenation

When he opened his eyes, the intensity of the light made him close it again. Slowly, he forced himself to sit. His head was pounding, affecting his eyesight horribly. The heft on his head was almost overwhelming, as if it was going to split up into two. Yet his throat was worse. It was very dry to the point that it hurt, and Harry couldn't think of anything but to ease it.

"Here," The too familiar voice said. A glass of water was shoved to his face, and he welcomed it gladly. She came back with another glass and a kettle, as well with a plate of food with McDonalds label.

Almost inaudibly, he forced his voice out, "Thanks."

"I've never experienced hangover before," Her tone was soft. "So all I could bring is water and greasy food. How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Bad headache," Harry shook his head. "I want a firewhiskey."

"Well, I want the world, brother," Renesmee rolled her eyes. "But life isn't fair. Drink again."

Harry managed a weak smile. Her bossy tone felt almost relieving—a reminder of reality.

"Drink more water. I bought two Big Macs—don't worry, it tastes good."

"Of course," He grimaced. "How long was I out?"

"Fourteen hours."

"Wow. And I still feel like crap," Harry sighed. "That Pocctalin's.. strong."

"You have no idea," She shook her head, filling another glass.

Harry bit down his burger. It tasted really good, but he couldn't help wondering about just how healthy it was. Renesmee took a bite too, and they ate in silence. It was almost odd. Perhaps Renesmee was giving him a space, but he could see there was something off with her eyes.

It took Harry a moment to finish his burger and realize this was a muggle hotel room. "Where are we?"

"Santa Monica hotel, in California," She didn't look pleased. "The closest one I could find. It's much closer than I'd prefer."

Now he was confused. "California? Why?"

"Long story," She said, almost evasive. "Just get better and I'll tell you about it."

"Fine," He grudgingly accepted. He rubbed his temples. The pain was throbbing. "Just toss me a hangover cure from my backpack."

She froze, as if this was a bad news. Her head turned inhumanly fast; a sign when she was upset. "You have one?"

"Of course," He said rather impatiently. "Getting this drunk is fortunately not a habit so I usually don't need it. It's deep purple, there's a label on it."

Harry eyed Renesmee as she rummaged his backpack. It took her longer than usual—approximately forty five seconds. She tossed the vial a little too high, almost slipping through Harry's hand to hit the window. "Thanks," Harry muttered nonetheless.

"So, your hangover's just gonna disappear like that?" She asked in disbelief. "Poof? That's convenient."

"Not even magic could do that," Harry opened the vial in haste. "I'll take a good sleep and it should disappear in an hour or two. At least I hope so."

The taste was repugnant, obviously, but it was nothing compared to the good old days with Madam Pomfrey. Soon, he felt his head heavy. Renesmee arranged his pillows a little bit—Harry found it annoying at first, but then it proved to be really comfortable—before she went off somewhere. A part of his mind was awfully curious, but the other countless parts were begging for a little rest. Harry promised himself to ask her before falling into a deep slumber.

When he woke up, Renesmee was still nowhere to be found.

His hangover had miraculously healed. It was almost as if he wasn't drunk in the first place. Yet, somehow, the anxiety in his chest still refused to disappear. He had heard, mostly from George, that anxiety was normal to feel during hangover. It was a little off, but Harry decided to shrug it off as technicalities with the potion.

It was evening again. After Harry cleaned himself—in a really excellent bath, he had to point out—he slided the huge window open. The night breeze welcomed him, gently embracing his face that was still warm from the water. There was no balcony, but Harry sat on the window's edge anyway. There was something about the city lights that made him sit there, without particularly thinking.

A few minutes had passed, and Harry was about to close the window when he heard a rather familiar hoot. With the eyes of a Seeker, Harry could easily spot something flying fiercely towards him. Then it became clearer as an ugly, brown owl cried out in anger.

"Shinji!" Harry felt quite bad for forgetting him. "Yeah, boy. I'm sorry. I know."

The owl narrowed his fierce yellow eyes at him. He looked too familiar for Harry. Not the owl's appearance, but it was the owl's acrimonious attitude. The moment he entered the shop, he could see the similarity of the malignant, nasty bird with a certain rabid snowy owl.

"A letter from 'Mione? Of course. Draco, Arthur," Harry said. "No news? Can't you get one?"

Shinji seemed offended. Harry immediately corrected, "I mean, the usual post? It's night, so I'd rather have you stay here. Please fetch a newspaper for me tomorrow, okay?"

The owl looked as if he wanted to whine. Harry gave him a smile that he was sure the owl would understand. He put Shinji into the cage, where he could sleep soundly. The ugly owl made an uncharacteristically soft purr, and Harry had to suppress his chuckle. He remembered Renesmee's face that was silently screaming "ARE YOU INSANE?", and for that moment, he wasn't really sure either. He had missed Hedwig immensely, unintentionally replaying her death scene in his head along with everyone else's. He thought he wouldn't own any familiar again—just as he would never have a godfather and a mentor again.

He left the tired owl to rest. There was nothing else to do but to browse through the television channels—fascinating, but for some reasons, he was not interested at the moment. He thought to make himself an omelet, until his eyes caught a dark, piece of metal in the back of the room.

The camera technically belonged to Renesmee, but Harry knew she wouldn't mind. In fact, she'd probably laughed imagining his reactions when he was finally sober. He pushed the button, and the camera presented him a rank of images that Harry knew he wouldn't exactly be pleased of.

There was a picture of George snickering, his face red, obviously drunk. Renesmee smiling broadly, a tint of rose in her cheek. It took Harry seconds to see that her gaze was focused on an unconscious Harry, far at the end of the table. A few of girls captivated in George's arms, while Renesmee had a photo of her with the bartender. The row of photos continued, filled with a selfie of George and Renesmee, with drunk Harry in-between. It seemed to be such a good time, and Harry partly regretted that he couldn't remember any of it.

He didn't stop browsing. The amount of the photos was huge, which Harry suspected was because of Renesmee. His smile remained on his face, projecting his fondness towards both of them, until it slightly faltered at the sight of blood dripping from George's mouth.

It was hard to identify the photo, because of the blur marring the quality of it, but it wasn't possible to mistaken that shade of red hair. He was lying on the ground in the ruins of a building. On the right upper side of the photo, the familiar, extravagant sign stood with only one wire left.

Harry froze.

He didn't like the sickening feeling that suddenly dragged his stomach. He tried to suppress his anxiety, trying to reason with himself that there was no possibility that some kind of vital event had happened and he didn't remember any of it. There were always plausible reasons for the bruises on his knuckles. He could have fallen and hurt himself badly. George could've thrown a spell in his drunk state causing the sign to fall down, causing a havoc and he was confronted by the owner of the bar.

Before any of these reasons managed to convince him, he had run.

It wasn't hard to find Renesmee when he put his effort to it. He had always known her location, and with a dread in his chest, he disapparated to the front of a foreign muggle hospital. He refused to think as he walked, because it was useless. Soon, he would meet Renesmee and she would laugh at his face, telling him that it was a misunderstanding.

The moment Harry stepped into room 217, Renesmee turned to see him. She was smiling, but Harry knew her better to know there was something beneath it. He wanted to demand the story she promised him, until his eyes locked with the figure of unconscious, bandaged George on the bed.

"What happened?" His tone was flat.

"How come you—Oh, right. The watch," Renesmee pursed her lips. "He's fine. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with it. He probably fainted, you know, the amount of drinks the goof had.."

"Don't lie to me," His voice sounded harsher. Renesmee's eyes rounded a bit. "The truth."

"What makes you think something happened?" Renesmee stood, her eyes challenging him. "It was just another wild night. George had too much drink than his poor stomach was able to withstand. It was pretty common—"

"STOP IT!" He exploded. Anger clouded his vision intensely, that he could not think anything but to know the truth. "I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE HIDE SOMETHING FROM ME, ESPECIALLY IT WAS ME THAT WAS THE ONE CAPTURED AT THE CENTER OF IT!"

The hurt on Renesmee's face acted like a whip on his face. Taking a deep breath, he found the nearest seat and threw himself on it. He was over-reacting. He could get the information civilly—Stop acting so immature, Harry.

"I'm sorry," He muttered. "It's just a little confusing."

If there was anything that Renesmee used to cover her emotions, it was lifted now. She looked like she was about to cry, and for a moment, Harry truly despised himself for his little outburst. But before he could speak, she darted forward to sit on the chair next to him.

The silence was dragging him down, and Harry turned to peek at her face—only to find she was staring at him all the time, biting her lip, as if puzzling over something. Then her right hand touched his face.

His vision shifted. It was unstoppable—the moment she touched him, an alarming image invaded his mind. It was an image of himself, standing between the ruins. His raven hair moved gently—not because of the wind, rather because of the force on his hands—while he stepped closer, his eyes glowing.

He was gasping when he found himself back into the hospital. George was still on the bed, his breath steady. On his side, Renesmee was still locking her eyes on him.

"What was that?"

"I told you I have a gift," Renesmee told him impatiently. "I could show people my thoughts and memories. You want to know, don't you?"

"Y-yeah," Harry managed to say. Did he want to know? Did he really want to confirm that something vile had happened because of his hands? "Show me."

This time he prepared himself as Renesmee's hand held his face again. He was back in her memories. The clarity of the image was abysmal, defined to the very details of the most insignificant things. This time, he saw his memory self shaking slightly at the bar. He could hear Renesmee's "Harry?", but she was nowhere to be found. It took him a second to understand that this, was in fact Renesmee's memories and he was nothing but an outsider taking a look in it.

The memory Harry suddenly raged. The bar had collapsed by his human hands that had pulled the ceilings with disquieting ease. He was about to lunge at the bartender until the camera shifted, and suddenly Harry was battling against himself.

The poor bartender wasn't his only target. The memory Harry went from a human to another human, growling ruthlessly every time Renesmee prevented his actions. A frail woman. A child. Nothing seemed to faze him. There was an eerie tint of darkness in his glowing eyes. Everything seemed too absurd to Harry as the watcher—one of his kick had caused a hole in the ground. One simple punch and Harry was sent flying, and the camera refused to move. It altered slightly when George came into sight. The memory Harry snarled at him with no hesitation.

It was an outstanding battle, but the winner had been decided from the beginning. Harry watched helplessly, as George was about to get a blow from the monster. The camera diverted again, until he was suddenly in front of the ginger, blood dropping to the solid ground.

Another battle almost ensued until Renesmee's hands twisted the monster and threw him off the ocean. The camera moved again, and this time, the sight of the dark ocean welcomed him. Renesmee's hand was on his neck, forcing him back deeper while the monster struggled endlessly. Then, every feature of him relaxed. The monster's soulless eyes dimmed.

And he was back into reality.

He was gasping for breath. He didn't dare to look at his partner. All his eyes could comprehend was the sight of his own hands, with purple bruise on their every finger.

How close was George to death? If a punch to Renesmee caused her to be immobile, what would a blow do to George? What did it doto him? He saw the amount of blood streaming down George's stomach. How could he survive?

He wanted to punch himself—there was nothing greater than the anger that he projected inward. It twisted his insides, boiling his blood. If earlier all he could see was red, now all his eyes could catch was darkness. He was disgusted with the glint that was burning in his glowing eyes. He felt consumed—tainted. It was the exact feeling roaming in his heart in fifth year. Sirius' death. Voldemort's invasion. Renesmee's immobile state—because of his hands. Fred had died. And George almost met his twins—all because of his hands.

"Harry," Renesmee's voice sounded far away. "Harry, look at me."

He didn't want to. He didn't trust himself—let alone look at her in the eye. What would happen if something in him suddenly took over? In this state, he wasn't even sure this was his own body anymore. He felt trapped, and he didn't want any visitors. He was a convict that had the strength to hurt the only visitors that cared about his well-being.

"Harry," Her tone was soft, but on edge. "None of it was your fault. It was something else—you couldn't control it. It wasn't your fault."

Control. It had always been one thing he was lacking. He had the charisma. He had the power. He had the determination. But it was always control that messed his plans up. The lack of control murdered his godfather. The lack of control gave his nemesis the power over his body. And this day, the lack of control had brought Renesmee and Fred to the brink of death.

"George is safe. I am safe. George has passed the dangerous state and he's now safely asleep. He should wake up in days. And there's not even a scar on me."

"I'm sorry," Harry finally managed to say. "Merlin. God, I'm so sorry. What have I done? How could I—"

She frantically replied, "No, it's not. Okay? None of it is your fault—"

"It is my fault," His tone went an octave higher. "STOP THIS! Stop telling me otherwise. Everyone always tells me it's not my fault, but I know in their heads they're blaming me. How can you say it's not my fault? I've seen through it your eyes. Those were the eyes of a monster. It was easy. It was so easy to kill you and George that one more minute and both of you would've ended up dead. How is that not my fault?"

"Yes, we could've died. But we didn't," A tear escaped her eyes. It acted like poison to him, stabbing his chest with every tear falling. "You were not in control. Both of us were unprepared. We know nothing of this, for god's sake, it started with a bottle of whiskey! Please, Harry, he's safe. I'm safe. There wasn't even any death. Stop—stop that. Please."

Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't. The clutch on his throat made it very hard to breathe, let alone speak. Renesmee was clinging at his front shirt as if it was a life line, and reluctantly, he put his arms around her. Her eyes were all red, her innocence brimming behind those chocolate orbs. Of course she would believe he was blameless. When he said everyone, he knew from the start that it didn't include her. The sensation was overwhelming, and in a side, humiliating. It was like baring his tinted soul in front of her, and she was embracing him with tears on her face, earnestly believing in him.

The silence stretched on. Harry made no effort to break it. There was something soothing in listening to her sobs, in the warmth of her arms. It could very well be an hour when she finally spoke.

"Are you okay?"

"No," He saw no point in lying to her. "Not really."

"Oh, Harry," She whispered. "It'll be okay. I'll make sure of it."

Of course she would. There was no doubt in Harry's mind when she told him she would do something. So optimistic. He wasn't the only one in pain. He saw through her eyes. He knew everything she did to hold him back.

"How.." He began. "How did George survive?"

Her expression turned into worry. "It's.. something I wanted to discuss with you, actually."

"I'm all ears," He told her, leaning against the chair. He felt very tired.

"The moment you came to your senses," Harry cringed at the choice of words. "I had to drag you up to the ground. George was dying—there was so much blood. I could listen his heartbeat getting weaker every second. I was confused. And desperate. I knew nothing of magical healing, and you were still unconscious. I debated if I should just give him every healing potion you've got, or take him to a muggle hospital. The chance for him to live was low for both options. I was getting desperate, and the aurors had arrived at the main gate.

"But there was a wizard. I didn't hear him approaching, so I was guarded. He wore a black robe with that covered his face in shadows, though I could still see his face. He offered his help, but he couldn't do it here because of the auror's arrival. It would get us all trouble, so he offered his cottage back at the northern part of Halu'iowa."

Renesmee rubbed her temples. "There were no other options. The aurors sounded nearer and nearer, so we rushed to hide in his cottage. It turned out he was an official healer in town. He gave George a lot of potions, a lot of spells. His heartbeat was getting steadier. When George passed the critical point, he moved to heal some of your injuries. When he's done, he practically kicked me out of his house. I didn't even get to say thank you, nevermind his name."

Harry murmured, "Then you came to the muggle world, rode the bike past the ocean and arrived at California."

"Exactly," Renesmee nodded. "I got George into the nearest hospital I could find. Then I realized I couldn't have you sleeping on the floor, so I checked into the hotel, only a couple blocks away."

Harry raked a frustrated hand through his disheveled hair. "That's bloody fucked up."

"Yeah," She sighed. Then she stopped talking, before spinning to see his expression, looking a little unsure. "You better yet?"

"I wouldn't say fine", Harry answered. "But it was much better than an hour ago."

Both of them sat next to George. Mostly, they stayed quiet, studying his sleeping face. There was something that connected him with George after the war. It might be Fred's death, but Harry wasn't really sure. George had always been an important person, but now he almost rivaled Ron's position when it came to brothers. And now, looking at him, knowing that he almost lost him, made the clutch on his heart tightened.

Renesmee squeezed his hand. There was nothing he could do that would properly express his gratitude at the moment. So all he did was smiling at her, a hint of sadness lingering in his eyes. She smiled back, encouraging him in a way words couldn't.

Absent-mindedly, he wondered about the mystery healer. He didn't know if the healer was someone to be feared of, but perhaps it was best to stay more alert from now on.

And research, Harry's eyes hardened. I've got a lot of research to do.

Two days had passed until George finally awoke. Harry who earlier insisted to stay in the hospital room—Renesmee finally got him to agree to spend the night at the hotel—darted to the hospital as soon as he heard the news. Even with a pale face, George managed to croak a few crude jokes, which amused neither Harry nor Renesmee. He sulked a bit, but after six days had passed and actually improved his condition, the doctor told them that he was permitted to leave.

George stayed in the hotel room for a few days. It was relieving to see him so healthy after thinking that he might not make it. Mostly, they spent the day looking at the photos, even making some more on Renesmee's request. The television was also a great source of entertainment for George, who could not be silenced while watching Sci-fi movies. Renesmee joined into George's laughter sometimes, but Harry still stayed quiet on the back of the room. She also appeared smug when Shinji didn't seem to like George either—proving Harry that she was not the problem. Her smile faltered when Harry only rolled his eyes. It was depressing to see him acting like this—blaming himself for something he had no power over.

When George told them they were leaving, Harry more-or-less freaked out.

"What?" Under Renesmee's and George's stare, he coughed. "I mean, why?"

George apparently found Harry's reaction amusing. "I'm healed, mate. I'm really grateful for everything both of you have done. It's kind of funny, really. I didn't expect to meet you, nevermind meeting this pretty little girl here," He ignored Renesmee's snort. "It was a blast. Mad, if you ask me. But I have a plan, you know. That night we met, I actually planned to go back to French."

Harry seemed pained. He deliberated, before finally dropping his shoulders, resigned. "I see. You're welcome here—well not here—anytime, Forge."

George strode across the room to hug Harry. "Listen—mate, nothing of it is your fault. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'll do some research in France. Told 'Mione yet?"

"No, I haven't," Harry shook his head. "I'm afraid she might overreact."

"Tell her," George advised seriously. "You probably wouldn't survive if she wasn't around. She's your best friend."

"I know."

George grinned, before moving to Renesmee. He wriggled his eyebrows. "You're sure you won't come with me to France, fair lady?"

Renesmee bit back a laugh. "No, I don't think so."

"A shame," George sighed. "Well, I guess I'll see you around. Take care, you two!"

And he was gone.

Renesmee expected Harry to fall into some sort of depression, but it turned around that he was just fine. The first days of George's leaving, both of them spent their time reading books in Harry's backpack. All of the books had been read, and there was no such information about Harry's condition. Harry was reluctant, but finally agreed to Renesmee persuasion to see around. He was visibly jubilant when Renesmee took him to several muggle restaurants, especially when he tasted a plate of Sautéed Prawns. Slowly, a genuine smile returned to his face. Soon, he was already back to his usual safe, while he kept on browsing the TV channels with a bowl of Mac and Cheese in hand.

This time, they were yet on another dinner at a restaurant. Dinner.

Like a date.

Out of all her outfits, Renesmee had picked a sky-blue dress that she bought in Halu'iowa. It was nothing revealing, but she thought it would at least look great on her. She also had combed all of her long hair to the left side, baring her right side of her neck. Of course, the restaurant they picked wasn't any romantic place—since it was Harry who decided it. In fact, they could hardly hear each other because of the sound of joyful men's laughter.

"—I mean, Ron and Hermione used to bicker a lot," Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I've never thought they would end up together—wait, maybe I actually did. Ron cares deeply for Hermione, you know. He never said it out loud, but I've always known."

Renesmee gently ran a hand through her hair, trying to imitate Rosalie's enticing manner. A few men in the back of the room stopped laughing.

"I thought Hermione would go for Fred. I suspected she had a crush on him, you see. Well, she never dated anyone up until Viktor came along. Ron was mad—Renesmee? Are you okay?"

"Never better," She grumbled as she forced her head back up. "Please, continue."

Harry eyed her curiously, but he went on, "Hermione was also devastated by Fred's death, but of course, everyone was—"

"Fred?" Renesmee frowned. "Who's Fred?"

"You don't know? Oh—right," His face turned solemn. "Fred. George's twin."

"He has a twin," Renesmee's eyes rounded, immediately thinking of the double trouble. "But he's.. dead."

"Yeah," Harry's eyes were distant. "He died in the war. George's never been same since."

"That's.. sad," She whispered. "Losing a twin. That's like losing your other half."

That seemed like the wrong thing to say. Harry's eyes were fixed on the table, but Renesmee knew that his mind was elsewhere. She slapped his hand.

"Your dinner, by the way," She reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," Harry's face turned into delight. Renesmee hid a smile behind her hair. "This is really good. One of the best food I've ever tasted. By the way," He grinned. "You've never cooked anything for me."

Her eyebrows rose. "There was never a kitchen, we were busy eating local dishes, and you never asked!"

"I did. The first time we met, remember? You claimed to be a really good cook."

"Well, I am," She raised her chin up. "It's one of the perks of growing up with a bunch Vampires that have nothing to do."

"Your home seems like incredibly fun," His tone was tender.

"Of course," The corners of her mouth twitched. "The fun's never ending. Everyone's never got tired, so they use every passing minute teaching, playing, or joking with me."

"I—" But Harry's cell phone beat him to it. He excused himself to the front door of the room, mostly intending to get a clearer sound rather than for privacy. He was probably aware that Renesmee could hear him nonetheless.

"R-ron?" Harry sounded astonished.

"Harry?" A male voice asked, his voice coarse. "I—I want to say I'm sorry.Bloody hell, you don't deserve this. I'm sorry—but it's the truth. I'm really bad at this, and I feel so messed up right now, but I thought at least I wouldn't lie to you—"

"Slow down, Ron," A hint of happiness in his voice. "I can't hear you properly."

"I'm sorry," Ron said again, this time clearer. "I'm sorry for being a git, Harry. But the truth is—I'm calling you because I need your help. Merlin, some friend I am. If you're gonna hang up, that's fine. But I'm honest about how I feel—I really feel bad, Harry. I'm sorry—"

"You're forgiven," This time the joy in his voice couldn't be missed. "And I'm sorry too."

"Yeah—What?" Ron sounded completely flabbergasted. "You're not—I don't know—repulsed? I called you, I apologized, I asked for your help. Doesn't that disgust you?"

"Hey, I neglected you for two years. Then hurt your sister. I didn't even allow you to come with me," Harry sighed softly. "I'm just as much as a git as you are."

There was no answer for seconds, until Ron chuckled. "Of course you'll forgive me. Merlin, Harry. I'm sorry—"

"Oh, cut it out already. You're in a rush, aren't you? What is it?"

The voice turned nervous. "Er, you see.. It's.. Hermione. I'm planning to propose to her."

"That's great!" Harry shouted. "Ron, that's great!"

"Er, yeah," It was easy to tell that Ron was blushing. "But that's not the point. I'm planning a huge public proposal. In Hogsmeade. We're going to get married right then and right there."

Harry was quiet for awhile. "That's brilliant, but have you asked her parents?"

"Of course I have!" Ron sounded offended. "Mum's flipping, and I know everyone will agree. I'm going to make it magical. She deserves it. What I'm asking is—d-do you think she'd mind? Does she even want to marry me?"

"Of course she does!" Harry let out a loud laugh. "She's been pestering me before I even went away!"

"I-Is it true? Bloody hell. I think I'm having a fit now. Oh, you have to come home!" Ron gushed excitedly. "You're my best man!"

"I'll murder you if I'm not," Harry deadpanned. "Of course I'll come! Right away. Give me one day."

Wow, that was fast. Renesmee had always wondered about Harry's hometown. She had visited the magical world of Japan and Hawaii so far. Both had amazed her, but Harry's hometown was entirely different story. She couldn't wait to see the Diagon Alley Harry kept on talking about. Hogwarts. Gringotts. And Harry's friends! While she was a tad worried for their reactions, she knew meeting them would be a blast.

Does he even want you to come with him?

Renesmee's shoulders slumped. Why did she think Harry would take her? This was his hometown. His oldest friend's wedding, with a chance to fix things with the redhead. He would be having the time of his life with familiar faces that had been with him through the years. She was nothing but an outsider.

Oh, crap. Not now..

Harry strode back into the room, looking as though as he had won a lottery. The grin on his face couldn't be any broader. Renesmee returned it with a smile, ignoring her heart sinking.

"Wedding!" Harry announced.

Renesmee grinned. "I heard. Congratulations, best man!"

"Wow," He sat down, abashed. "They're so young.."

"You sound like an old man, Harry."

"Home," His eyes danced, ignoring her. "Come on. We've got to unpack."

Her eyes widened. Hope began to fill in. "I'm.. coming?"

Harry turned at her, confused, before his eyes rounded in realization. His face turned tender, as he walked towards her and touched her hair. "How many times do I have to tell you?" His smile turned into an exasperated grimace. "You're coming with me."

Just like that, and she was lost in his dazzling eyes. A mere sentence, simple yet honest, lifted her from the sadness she was in. The words left her thinking, wondering, hoping for something that probably wasn't there in the first place. She didn't want to hope too much—but she did.

Maybe, it wasn't entirely a lost cause.

They were standing on the top of the hotel building, drowning in the heat. She was sitting on the ledge, staring at the view of the boisterous city. Meanwhile, Harry was muttering to himself while he was trying to figure out what was wrong with the motorcycle.

"No idea," Harry finally said. "I'll call Ron. Maybe he can ask Arthur."

Renesmee sighed. If only Jacob was here. Of course, there were times when she did miss her brother. She did want to see Jacob again—but not with the love-struck, dreamy eyes he stared her with when he confessed. She wanted to hug him, play with him—being the little sister he had always promised her of.

"Oh well," She jumped off the ledge. "I'm gonna fetch some ice cream. You want some?"

"Sure. Strawberry."

"Suits you," Renesmee laughed while Harry glared at her. "You think it'd be too much if I just jump down there?"

He pondered for a bit, before suddenly casting a spell at her. The purple glow illuminated her skin until it blended. "Muggles shouldn't be able to see you. It'll only last ten seconds, though."

"Thanks!" She called, before leaping off the ledge. She opened her arms wide, embracing the view of the ground that was appearing closer and closer by seconds. The citizens remained oblivious, and she held the excited screams back in her throat. Just before she met the road, she held out her right arm. Pushing it towards the road, she flipped back into a perfect standing position.

After remaining in an alley until she was visible again, she walked casually to the ice cream stand. The sour look on the owner turned into awe when she came into sight. She sighed, "One strawberry and one chocolate please."

The man stammered a little, and she patiently waited until he was done. When he refused the payment, she gave him a smile and a 'thanks'. He didn't know about the new cash on his pocket, though.

She licked her portion. It tasted good. It wasn't as good as Esme's, though..

"NESSIE!"

She froze for a ninth second, before spinning around. Of course she recognized the voice. But for a fraction of second, she desperately wished that her ears had fooled her. There, two hundred feet behind her, stood a huge, dark-haired man with a breathtaking blonde.

She didn't spend a second. She darted as far as possible, pumping her feet. She didn't know herself why she was running—she missed both of them immensely. But it didn't stop her from forcing her feet to jump from a wall to wall in an alley. In the next three seconds, she was already in a top of a building. She leapt for another one.

"Nessie—Please," Rosalie's gentle voice begged. "Don't run again."

There was nothing she could do but to stop. Emmet and Rosalie were standing in front of her, separated from her by a huge gap between the buildings. Both had the same forlorn expression—except it was strange to see it from Emmet's face.

"I-I'm sorry," Renesmee choke out. "I miss both of you. Everyone. So bad. But—"

"If it's about that mutt, we can work things out," Rosalie pleaded. "You know I've never agreed on it."

"It's not—it's not about Jacob anymore," Renesmee blurted out without thinking. Her eyes slightly rounded. It was never about Jacob anymore. "I found something.. important."

Before Rosalie could protest, she continued, "I won't be away forever," Her eyes went downcast. "It probably won't work anyway. Just please—give me time. I love you guys. I swear, I do."

"Nessie, the Volturi—"

"—doesn't have anything to arrest me anyway," She cut her softly. "Please. Trust me. I'm not a kid anymore."

Rosalie opened her mouth again, but whatever it was that she was going to say, Renesmee couldn't know because in the sky, a robust motorcycle dashed forward. She leapt to the side car without wasting a second, and the motorcycle dashed upward, only to stop mid-air, approximately thirty meters above the wide-eyed vampires.

Harry gave her an encouraging smile.

She shouted at the top of her lungs. "I LOVE YOU GUYS! TAKE CARE!"

Rosalie opened her mouth in protest, but this time Emmet cut her, "NESSIE!"

She stared at Emmet. His face was infuriatingly unreadable. "YEAH?"

"ARE YOU HAPPY?"

Renesmee stopped to study the look on both of their faces. The answer was definite, of course. It might be egoistical, but it was still her feelings. She would treasure it.

"HELL YEAH!"

Emmet's face broke into the same old grin he used to show her. Rosalie's lips twitched up, and Renesmee didn't have to look to be aware of the tears glistening in the blonde's hair.

The motorcycle scurried to the sky, while Renesmee kept waving her hand for the vampire couple. In a way, it broke her heart. Yet she was exceptionally happy, tears running down her cheeks. She knew they wanted her to be happy. That was the main reason she loved them—apart from being a family. There was understanding. Even with the occasional fight, it all ended with love and understanding.

She would come home. When that day came, she would accept every punishment they would give her with open arms. But today, she rested her head against the pack of pillows, watching the bright sky with a broad smile on her face.

See? I can update faster! Don't expect too much, though. School's starting tomorrow. My senior year! But it won't be another 2 months again. I promise.

Both the 9th and the 8th are still un-betaed. My beta is still unresponsive, and my friend (the one who usually check the plot out before it's updated) refuses to read it. I'm sorry for the delay before, and I hope this one makes it up!

Come on, guys. There are 453 people getting an email for the update! Please review. They make my day ;) I don't mind flames, but if you think this chapter (or the story in general) sucks, tell me the reasons.

Love it, hate it, couldn't care less, let me know!