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Words : 6061

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"Lies," She snapped. "It's not the boy who lies. They're lies spread by everyone, to hide the fact that my mother had once told me. There is only one Ice Phoenix, and its life cycle never stopped."

Renesmee felt a sudden chill down her spine.

"Think, girl. There are only two types of Phoenix. The most common, even though remarkably rare, is Phoenix with fire affinity. Fire Phoenix represents life."

"Then—"

"Ice Phoenix represents death. It is the pet of Death itself."

Chapter 13 – The King that Went Missing

"—Riddrook was unclear on the subject, Harry, but he did have a few points—"

The sound of the fire crippling the wood coated McGonagall's dull voice. It probably didn't escape her notice that Harry was too absorbed into the book to listen, but she seemed too stressed out to stop. The amount of books stored in Headmistress' private library is smaller than he originally thought—only included in one small, dusty shelf.

"Professor," Harry cut whatever it was that she was blabbering. "Who is Rawlins Paxton?"

McGonagall glanced at him. "Rawlins Paxton?"

"His name keeps appearing throughout the second chapter," Harry held up the old, fragile book cover of 'The Darkest of History' to a rather stunned McGonagall. "But there's no explanation of him."

"Minerva, Harry, at least do try," McGonagall took the spectacles off her face and put it onto the vast desk. "Rawlins Paxton was a well-known heir to the Kingdom of Belgium in 1300s. He was deemed a just and competent leader, especially when the King of France blew Belgium's west wing up."

"—Rawlins Paxton disappeared in 1312 —"

"In his very own bedroom, yes," McGonagall said. "Even his wives had no idea where, or how, he disappeared. There was only one thing amiss that day; his youngest son bawled since the dawn. The only hint we could get is that his first wife saw a flash of bright blue light from Rawlins Paxton's bedroom window. When the guards rushed in, he was nowhere to be found."

"Professor," Harry hesitated. "I'm sorry, but the story is suspiciously detailed—"

"Well, you can't expect any less from Albus, can you?" McGonagall's eyes twinkled, as though as she had been Dumbledore himself. "He can be very.. inquisitive when it's needed."

"Professor Dumbledore was interested in the case?"

"Almost the only one among millions," McGonagall sighed. "The world believed that it was all a mere conspiracy to get Netherlands on their side. Rawlins Paxton had two beautiful young daughters, you see. The very next year, both of Rawlins Paxton's wives remarried to the King of Netherlands and his brother. All in all, everyone believed, even the Netherlands, that Rawlins Paxton was hidden somewhere to hide his shame from having to see his wives remarried. Or killed himself. There were many, many theories."

"But Dumbledore believed otherwise."

"Yes," McGonagall said, her voice strong. "He researched as much as he could, and he found out later that Rawlins Paxton was the son of Aislinn Paxton."

"I see no relevance—"

"Her maiden name is Aislinn Peverell."

Harry's eyes widened. "Peverell—"

"This is where matters went beyond belief," McGonagall sighed. "But Albus was so sure, almost as if he knew. Aislinn Peverell was the only daughter of Antioch Peverell; the man who was believed to be the first wielder of the Elder Wand."

"That's insane," Harry shook his head.

"Indeed," McGonagall said. "But Albus didn't think so. Just like he firmly believed that you're the direct descendant of Ignotus Peverell. The granddaughter of Ignotus' married a Potter, and passed your cloak from father to son through the centuries."

"I've heard," Harry commented sourly. "I highly doubt that, you know."

"You may believe whatever you want to, Harry," McGonagall peered at him, her eyes penetrating. "I'm only stating what Albus believed. Apart from all of the others, only Cadmus died young. That was because he killed himself the moment the stone brought back his significant other. Antioch died in his 70s, killed in a small inn. His daughter disappeared. For a century, no one heard about the wand anymore; until Rawlins Paxton wielded an incredible wand."

"Aislinn killed her own father."

"Yes," McGonagall nodded grimly. "Then when Paxton disappeared, the wand was found on the floor. Someone stole it from the wives' cabinet, and it passed down to an entirely new generation. Albus did another research—this one, he wasn't too sure—and theorized that Rawlins did a ritual for power to save his village, proved by his sudden inhuman power, before completely disappearing in his room. The wives refused to say anything else, but one of the maid claimed that he acted like a madman."

The glass of rum felt so feeble in the grip of his hand.

McGonagal turned back to her book. "Albus also theorized—"

But Harry wasn't listening to her anymore. His eyes wandered through the window, to the sky, where there was a Thestral fighting something blurry—too fast to figure out.

"I'll take the book," Harry said. "I'll send it back tomorrow evening. Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall sounded a little surprised. "Alright. Again, it's Minerva, Harry."

"I'll see you soon, Professor."

The moment he was out of the room, Harry rushed to a sleeping portrait by the window. He would've leapt off the stairs, but he had no broom to ride, nor the ability to conceal himself in the building where there were this many condensed particles of magic.

"Discoveries Apparis."

"How in the world could you know?" The portrait grumbled. "Fine, fine. Come in, then."

It still amazed him to no end that he only needed to take five vast steps to reach Hogwart's ground. Soon, he was welcomed by the strong wind that made the leaves shake. He was right outside the Clock Tower entrance. A couple of students glanced at him as they passed by.

Up in the sky, the Thestral seemed to struggle. It looked like it was bawling, as it got off its opponent and groggily flew to the west.

Harry followed, but this time the skeletal horse was attacked again. It was impossible to see the attacker; no matter how wide he was opening his eyes, he could only see the Thestral. His forced himself to think. The Thestral's weep was now audible.

He turned left the moment he saw the building not far from him. He barged inside, ignoring a flabbergasted red-haired student that looked as though she had seen a ghost. He forced the lock open with a click. The dusty room seemed to welcome him. The smell of the familiar old room was as fresh as it had been yesterday.

He brushed off the small sense of nostalgia as he took the handle of a Cleansweep. It wasn't as fast as he wanted, but it was fast enough to fulfill his need. In a split second, he was already flying out of the Quidditch's Pitch range, towards the battle. The Thestral let out a piercing scream that sent a chill down his spine.

He tightened the grip on his wand. How the bloody hell could he attack without hurting the Thestral?

The Thestral let out a sharp cry. Black fluid spluttered from its wretched skin.

"Impedimenta," Harry whispered.

A weak, red light jerked out, flying so slowly until it missed, dissolving in the sky.

"What?"

He gritted his teeth, tightening the grip on his wand. "Impedimenta! Impedimenta! Levicorpus! Expelliarmus!"

His wand sent several spells as it was told; but every spell was so frail, so sluggish, that not a single spell hit the Thestral, let alone its opponent. Harry stared at his wand in utter disbelief.

His wand felt cold, lifeless. He always had the connection with his wand that had been his companion for years; he could feel the warmth on his finger tips. But the stick on his hand was as frigid as a stone. It felt dead.

"Come on," He muttered, almost like pleading. "Please work."

The Thestral screeched; its voice ringing in his ears painfully. This time, Harry gripped his wand with the strength that could break it. He shouted from the top of his lungs, "EXPELLIARMUS!"

A jolt of blue light surged from his wand, bursting forth; the Thestral let out a yelp of surprise. It was like a slow motion—he watched as the ball of blue light went closer to the initial target. The strength his wand contained went with it; his hand felt as if the wand was a mere stick. As the spell hit, his eyes finally caught a glimpse of white-blue being.

The Thestral neighed painfully, as it leapt away the moment the chance was given. Harry held his breath, pointing his wand like a sword at the enemy that was now still.

It took him one second to register what he was seeing.

"Koori?"

The Ice Phoenix croaked horsely. The sound was pitiful, like a crying elder. There was something akin to despair in its eyes. It spun slowly, letting its long crystallized tail glitter under the sunlight. It was glowing.

"How the ruddy hell—"

But Koori had already flown away. Harry didn't think; his body had moved on its own. He forced the old broomstick to dash against the strong wind. Every part of his body felt so cold, as if the sky was snowing rather than having the sun shine so brightly. There was an unexplainable sense of dread that engulfed him. His heart beat faster as he accelerated. His instincts were screaming for him to turn around.

Yet he couldn't. There was something pulling him in; something that would be in utter despair if he chose to turn away..

The magical bird finally stopped, right above the Great Lake. Its wings didn't falter against the blowing wind. It was as majestic as any Phoenix could be. Yet it was different; Harry couldn't feel the comfort of staring at the bird. Unlike Fawkes, it was as cold as it seemed to be.

The next second, the bird was gone. Harry's eyes widened in total surprise, but his hand immediately moved to create a barrier. The Phoenix's claw scratched the west side of the barrier. The crystals of ice on its claws cracked. The Phoenix cried, its white eyes were as wide as Harry's.

The Phoenix leapt off the barrier with the force that shattered it. Again, it was gone. Harry immediately brought the shield back up, as he sent away numerous spells blindly. The bird was nowhere to be seen, but Harry casted the spells in the sky like a madman. The blue sky was filled with vibrant colors, and the birds around seemed as though they were attracted to it, not knowing that every single of the spells was deadly.

He heard a sharp cry, and he turned around as fast as a human could. One of the spells hit, and the Phoenix was staring at its right wing that was only a half now. There was no blood—not even liquid. Its wing was still frozen, as if it was an ice sculpture.

The Phoenix's eyes watered. Harry immediately realized what was going on. He sent another row of spells, shouting each one until his throat felt dry. But this time none hit the bird, and when it could be seen again, its right wing was as perfect as new.

"Advanced regeneration," Harry whispered. He ignored the falling pit in his stomach.

The Phoenix's figure blurred, only to circle him in an invincible speed. The only thing he could see was the ring of light blue that surrounded him like an expedited tire. He focused on the stick on his hand, compelling it to bust a defensive spell. It didn't come as strong as he wanted, but it was enough to break the being's acceleration and ruin its ring-formation. There was a crying voice from it. Unlike the Thestral, this one was musical.

But Koori had already moved; it was faster than any vampire Harry had ever encountered, and much fiercer. He threw defensive spells rapidly. But his wand was almost unresponsive, and every one of it was weaker than the previous. The bird vanished again.

"PROTEGO MAXIMA!"

There was a sound of swords clashing. The Phoenix's beak was penetrating the strongest barrier Harry could manage, stabbing into his right shoulder. He didn't feel any pain, but he could feel the wetness of the blood soaking his right sleeve. Still, he refused to let the barrier down. But the force that the bird had was overwhelming; Harry gritted his teeth as he forced all of the magic in his being out. The part of the blue orb cracked by the Phoenix's bone-white beak slowly shattered. The Phoenix's beak and his hand were trembling in a true match of strength.

His barrier exploded out as he shouted. The Phoenix was thrown off to the north, and Harry took this little moment to send a numerous cutting and explosive spells. Five of the ten he sent hit it right in its breast.

The wand on his hand was ready for another spell.

"FIEND—"

But he could not finish the word. There was something inside him screaming, as his eyes watched the peculiar bird in the sky. There was something amiss, something that he did not understand yet. The phoenix let out a sorrowful howl, as its body twisted, as if whipped. One lone tear escaped from its right eye.

It only needed one moment of hesitation for the phoenix to strike.

His right leg was also bleeding. Stomach. Right upper arm. Everything happened so fast, and when he raised his wand and forced the cursed word out of his mouth, he couldn't move the hand. It was covered in ice.

The next thing he knew, he was sent flying towards the earth, pieces of broomsticks falling with him. His right hand, still frozen, pointed at the Ice Phoenix. The sunlight reflected on the ice on her tail and invaded his eyes almost painfully. Before the darkness came, his ears caught the song that the Phoenix sang. It was beautiful, and chilly, as chilly as the ice it represented. Far on the back of his mind, he heard a piercing scream.

The scent of hospital was the first thing he could comprehend. It was much more familiar than the muggle one; the air was mixed with a lot of potions with nauseating odor that he found unsavory, yet couldn't help but to smell more. He was lying down on the only bed in the spacious room, with no one around. The clock on the wall ticked. Every healer's needle was pointing at Emergency, except for two Healers, which are labeled as 'Healer Hemmington' and 'Healer Flaire'.

Harry's head turned to the door when it suddenly opened. It was Renesmee, concerns and worry written all over her face. In a second, it all turned into relief, and Harry couldn't help but smile. She didn't return it.

"How are you feeling?" She sat beside his bed. On her hand, there was a bowl of apples.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. It wasn't a lie. "I'm fine really."

"You feel fine," Renesmee muttered. "There's a vast difference."

Harry didn't answer. He closed his eyes. He wanted to feel tired, to feel the pain that should've made him wince with every move. But even staring at the bandages that covered his skin didn't make him uncomfortable at the slightest.

"How long it's been?" Harry asked, his voice weaker than he thought.

"Three days," Renesmee answered quietly, refusing to meet his eyes. Her long hair covered her face as she looked down. The apple on her hand trembled. There was a water drop on its blood-red surface. "You—you have no idea.."

"I've made you really worried, have I?" Harry asked as quietly as she did. She didn't answer. There was no sound, not even a sob, but it was worse than her crying loudly.

His hand moved to hold hers. It was warm, despite her cold temperature. She looked up, tears brimming in her chocolate orbs. They were close enough for his right hand to wipe the tears off her cheek.

"I'm sorry," He whispered. It was the very word that he had been having trouble with these days. It was so simple, yet so hard to utter. But now it ran out of his mouth smoothly, regret dipping in every word. "I'm sorry. For worrying you. For being a complete git for the last few weeks."

She breathed loudly. He would've thought it was an amused snort if he didn't see the look on her face.

"I'm sorry," He said again. It didn't come as clear as he wanted to. "I swear. I regret it now. The way I acted, the way I brushed you off—"

Renesmee shook her head. "Stop that—"

"It's true," He almost pleaded. "I'm sorry. I really am. Please don't believe the nasty things I said—none of it was real. You know it's not. I'm sorry, Renesmee."

She looked down again. Harry could tell that she was crying, and he sat from the bed to pull her into his arms. But before that, her hand had already stopped him from getting up.

"No, stop," Renesmee's voice was small. "Don't push yourself. Nothing is your fault. I'm not mad at you, you know. I'm not."

"Then why—"

"I'm scared," She admitted. "I'm scared of you. I'm scared of the things that you're capable of doing. I'm scared of the dark glint in your eyes when you're angry. I'm scared of everything right now. But most of all, I'm downright terrified for you."

Harry couldn't answer.

"I saw you fell. I ran as fast as I could, but I couldn't stop you from falling into the lake. I dived, and the lake wasn't empty. There were mermaids. They weren't as beautiful as I'd imagine them to be," She chuckled, even though the sound was still weak. "They all had these sharp things to your neck. They were so mad, all of them, and I had to fight them off to drag you out. When we were out, your heartbeat was almost non-existent," She took a shaky breath. "So I went straight to Infirmary. The Healer said she'd try anything she could, but before she was done, McGonagall barged in to take you here."

"The whole school knows?"

"I covered you with the Invisibility Cloak."

Harry let himself breathe.

"Renesmee, I—"

There was a knock on the white door.

Renesmee let his hand go. "It's Ginny."

"What?" Harry asked, uncertain if he had misheard.

"I could smell it from here," Renesmee smiled, but it seemed more like a grimace. "I'll wait outside. I need to talk to the healers anyway."

Harry wasn't particularly in the mood to face Ginny right now. But before he could pick his choice, Renesmee was already out of the room. There was a small silence, before the door creaked open, revealing the freckled redhead.

She smiled a little. "Harry."

"Ginny."

Ginny's smile widened. She sat at the chair Renesmee sat earlier. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Doesn't hurt as much as I expected it to."

Her laugh echoed in the silent room. "I knew you'd say that."

Silence followed. Harry stared at his bandages.

"I've been wanting to see you, you know," She said, her voice low. "But I haven't got the chance."

Harry couldn't help but to retort. "Why? Victor doesn't like you to be seen with another male?"

"No," She said calmly, much to Harry's surprise. "Actually, he set off to Belgia last week. We kind of ended it."

Harry stared. "What?"

"He's.. going to tour. He's going to leave me anyway, and we were fighting a lot—we were together at the wedding only for public image," The ginger looked away. "It didn't work."

"I'm sorry."

Ginny turned to see him. She bit her lip. "Harry.."

Harry looked back into her wide eyes. "Yeah?"

"I regret it. The way we ended it."

"Yeah," It was now him that turned away. "Me too."

"I was.. too absorbed in my own emotions. I'm sorry, Harry," She closed her eyes. "I was too angry to see the truth. Now that you're back here—"

"Ginny," He cut her. "We're heading for somewhere else in a few days."

Ginny bit her lip again. She tapped her feet, looking as though as she wanted to run from this room, but stayed. "With her?"

Harry nodded. The silence that followed was thick enough to be sliced.

"Do you seriously expect me to just forget about you?" She suddenly asked, her voice cracking. "It's been nine years, Harry. I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you on the train."

"That's not love," Harry countered automatically. "That's obsession."

Her face turned into a pained disbelief. "Are you saying it'all fake—?"

"No," He immediately pressed on. "I know you were in love with me. So much. Just like the way I did for you. But events change us, Ginny. They shape us. You can't expect me not to change after what I've been through these years. I accept the changes you have gone through. Change. It's what makes us human."

"Then I don't want to be human," Ginny said as tears streamed down her face, and Harry was a bit thrown off-guard with the memory of him shouting that exact quote to Dumbledore. "If this pain makes me one, then I don't want to be human."

Her sobs filled the room. Harry's eyes softened.

"It was painful for me too," Harry said quietly. "I've hurt you too much. I thought—it's your turn to hurt me back. At least, I thought you'd think that."

"I saw my future with you, even in the middle of the war. I saw myself walking down the aisle and you waiting on it. I saw Mum crying and Dad smiling nervously. It was all so clear to me, Harry."

"I saw you in mine too," Harry admitted.

She looked away, resigned. "But not anymore, right?"

"I'm sorry."

Harry thought she would leave. But she didn't. She slowly wiped the tears off her face.

"Do you love her, Harry?"

Harry should've expected this question. But it stammered at the edge of his mouth. "I.. I don't know."

Ginny was looking at him oddly. Then the corner of her mouth twitched up. "I see."

"You love him, don't you?"

Despite her question, Ginny was thrown off-guard. "I.."

"I think you should go to Belgia," Harry smiled. "You won't know what will happen unless you try."

"But if he rejects.."

"At least you try," Harry said. "You're the one who taught me to not throw away chances when it comes to love."

It was weird, having this conversation with Ginny. But the smile on his face was honest, and he truly wanted her to be happy. There was still pain deep in his human heart, of course, but it was nothing with the relief that he was feeling.

"Thanks, Harry," She stood up, smiling, even though there's still disappointment on her face. "Get well soon."

Harry grinned, watching her walking out of the door. She winked at him once, to which he snorted. Then, the room was all his.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. He didn't expect the closure to come this soon; he actually expected them to part in hateful ways, and a part of his mind believed that he would never be over the redhead. But now everything was as clear as crystal. It made everything he used to believe was a strong illusion. Maybe, in a sense, it was.

Renesmee didn't come for what probably had been fifteen minutes. Therefore, Harry let himself have a rest. It was meant for a little nap, yet instead, he woke up with the moonlight shining through the window. Unlike his first awakening, there were already people in the room.

"Healer Hemmington," He greeted the Head Healer that had fixed his eyes two years ago, sitting at the chair next to the bed. He spared a glance at Renesmee who was standing in the corner, but she was looking at somewhere else.

"It's been awhile, Harry," The sandy-haired man smiled. "The last time we met was when you told me you resigned, after the Downtown battle."

"That was the last mission," Harry nodded. "My eyes are working good as ever, anyway."

"Good," Hemmington said. "Though I can't say the same to the rest of your body. Now, I know you probably don't want to talk about it—as you always do—but I really need information to work on healing you."

Harry sighed. "It was an Ice Phoenix."

"Ice Phoenix?" Hemmington raised his eyebrows. "As in Japanese Phoenix? I'm sorry, Harry, but they can't even survive here."

It was Renesmee who responded. "Why? I mean, yeah, it's ice, but it's not like it's a desert here.."

"It's not about the temperature, it's about the magic particles," Hemmington explained patiently. "Every region has different magic density. Humans can travel around the world, of course, as well as some magical creatures, but it is not for the rarest of them; Unicorns and Phoenixes. Even though they're the same breed, or even look exactly the same, their bodies had adapted to the region they were raised once. They couldn't survive without proper training and medical treatment first."

Harry hadn't heard of this before, and neither did Renesmee. But she looked so sceptical at the healer's explanation; too sceptical for someone who was supposed to have less knowledge than the Head Healer.

"Are you sure it's an Ice Phoenix, Harry?"

"I fought it. I'd think I'd remember," Harry muttered, a little annoyed.

"No need to get defensive," The healer stood up. "I'll see the archives on it. Meanwhile, you stay rested, alright?"

The moment Hemmington was out, Renesmee blurted out. "I don't believe it. What he just said."

"Why?" Harry asked. Her expression captured his curiosity.

Instead of opening her mouth to explain, Renesmee pursed her lips as she sat on the chair again. Her hand touched his face gently. Harry shivered under her touch.

"Look."

Harry's vision shifted. He was looking at the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw in front of Hogwarts's Library. Her face was stoic, displeased with whatever Renesmee had just said.

"That is the Ice Phoenix. Known to be only one in the whole world."

"But Harry said it's rare. It's Japanese."

"Lies," The ghost of Helena snapped. "It's not the boy who lies. They're lies spread by everyone, to hide the fact that my mother had once told me. There is only one Ice Phoenix, and its life cycle never stopped."

Helena's eyes hardened.

"Think, girl. There are only two types of Phoenix. The most common, even though remarkably rare, is Phoenix with fire affinity. Fire Phoenix represents life."

"Then—"

"Ice Phoenix represents death. It is the pet of Death itself."

He was then brought back to reality, wide-eyed. He stared at his hands that were frozen three days ago, by an Ice Phoenix.

No. The Ice Phoenix.

It felt like his brain was freezing. It was hard to think clearly with all of his senses panicking for no apparent reason. His instincts told him to run and hide, to shut down the curtains and take some drugs and sleep. But he didn't even have the power to do that.

Every little piece of suspicion for the past years crashed back into his mind like a raging ocean.

His very first meeting with Renesmee: the accident. Being resurrected by a blinding blue light. His body's sudden tendency to refuse pain. His sudden power right down the ocean. His memory loss. The Ice Phoenix. His rampage. The small voice inside his head. His wand's sudden unability to work the moment he had a tiny bit of suspicion in his being.

Every dark turns of his life after he decided to pursue the bucket lists. And every dark corner of his days before that; the empty two years he had regretted deeply.

His corrosive depression after the war ended. His wand refusing to work properly on his auror's entrance exam. The life before he decided to quit; when all that mattered was to work his way to the top, to gain power beyond everyone's expectation. He kept telling himself that it was all to defend, to evade the pain that would come if he was too weak to protect.

But now that shred of motivation felt like illusion. Now, looking back at those two meaningless years, all of his words and promises to get stronger was all a facade to hide his true desire.

To conquer power.

Did he really think that? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

"Renesmee," He managed to force words out. "Help me up. We'll go to Ollivander's."

"No," Renesmee protested. "I've got no bleeding idea who this Ollivander is, but you're still not in the condition to leave the bed."

"It's urgent," He pressed. "I need to know."

Renesmee stared at him for a while, contemplating. "Give me the letter and I'll pass it to him."

"A letter—?" Harry huffed in disbelief.

"That's all you can get right now," She crossed her arms. "Letter's better than no contact at all."

So for the night, Harry wrote a quick, to-the-point letter on a piece of parchment. Renesmee left that very same night, returning one two hours later with a letter as the reply. The letter was long, despite Harry's short message, and the only paragraph that mattered was the last one.

"A wand is a companion, not a mere tool. When a wand is neglected by its master, it shall remains the master's property only, and no one else's. Unless the master specifically gives it to another's hand, or dies in battle, or breaks it, as long as no one else has ever laid their hands on it, the wand belongs to the master. Even if the master has decided using another wand—which is considered the higher form of betrayal in the Law of the Wands—the said wand will still be true partner of the wizard. The master and the other wand would never have a real bond, as long as the initial wand exists."

"What does it say?" Renesmee's voice dragged him back into the blackened reality.

"Nothing."

Renesmee sighed. "Harry—"

"I said nothing, alright?" Harry turned to glare at her. But the regret came as early as the anger did. "I-I'm sorry. Please. Not now."

Renesmee nodded, sitting beside him. Her face was still solemn, but there was a small smile. "Conjure me a small bed?"

"Why?" Harry showed a faint grin. He pointed his wand on his bedstead, and it expanded, enough for two people. "Here."

But Renesmee didn't hop in immediately. She was staring at the bed, open-mouthed, her face red.

The moment their eyes met, Harry could feel his own cheeks burning too. "That's not what I was trying to imply."

"Y-yeah," Renesmee chuckled weakly. Harry conjured two pillows and Renesmee arranged it, a little longer than she could have. Finally, she laid down, staring at the ceiling.

"Renesmee?"

"Yeah?"

"Sing for me."

A familiar, musical laugh welcomed him for the first time in the day. "What song do you want me to sing?"

"Anything," Harry smiled, closing his eyes. "That can get me to sleep."

Renesmee began singing a song he never heard before. It was heartwarming, peaceful. Harry felt as if he could listen to it forever, letting all of his problems evaporating at the back of his mind. He felt like he was freed, even though only momentarily, off to his own dream world.

"Here we are."

Renesmee nodded. There was something different about her today. She looked nervous, sad, confused. Her pale skin was even paler than usual, looking dim under the moonlight. She looked like a little child who was forced to attend her parent's formal party. Harry started to feel that it was not a very good idea.

"You sure you want to come?"

"You said I can come."

"Doesn't mean you have to," Harry said. "You don't look very thrilled."

She inhaled deeply. "I'm fine."

"Alright."

It had been a week since the battle with the Phoenix, and it was the very first day St. Mungo allowed him to leave. At first, he wanted to immediately contact Kingsley for more information, but he decided that that day, he wanted to do something that his heart desired. So, Harry and Renesmee were walking through the gates of Godric's Hollow.

The dark night was so clear, with the stars brimming in every side of it. The wind was blowing softly. Harry snuck his hands into his jacket.

Unlike the first time, Harry knew the path by heart. Usually he would walk without stopping, but this time, he stopped before the grave of Ignotus Peverell. It was still the same, even after these two years. The symbol of Hallows was carved neatly there, unseen until Harry wiped the dust off the stone.

"What is that?" Renesmee asked. Her voice still quivered.

"The symbol of Deathly Hallows," Harry answered just as quietly. "I'll tell you later."

Harry knew that Renesmee could feel his denial, his pretenses and the desperation in his voice. He would tell her, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. How could he say it, when he himself wasn't sure of it? When he desperately wished for all of it to be mere paranoia?

What would she think of him?

"Is this it, Harry?" Renesmee's voice recalled him back to his surroundings.

"Yeah," Harry said, both of them staring at the tombs of his parents. "This is it."

"In loving memory of James Potter and Lily Potter," Renesmee read it. Her voice was so small, almost inaudible. The night was so chilly.

Harry took out his wand. He flicked it, and a bouquet of blood-red flowers appeared. Renesmee bent over, her hand softly brushing the flower petals. "They're beautiful."

"It's what they deserve," Harry smiled, bending over too to match her height.

Renesmee was too quiet. Her eyes were fixed on her parents' names. Her lips were shaking slightly. Harry reached her hand to comfort her. It was colder than usual. The silence went on.

"It's a scary thing," She finally said. "You know. Death."

"That's what's been bothering you?" He nudged her gently.

She closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. She nodded her head lightly. Harry stroked her bronze hair that fell to her side like curtains. He gave her a half smile. "Every living thing will eventually die. Even the ones that live longer than everyone else."

"But do we share the same chance for afterlife?" She asked. There was an uncharacteristic bitterness in her voice. "Do we, Harry?"

It took Harry a moment to ponder the question. Then, quietly, he said, "Yeah. At least, I believe we all do."

Renesmee was silent for a moment.

"What if my kind is able to live much longer because we take the time from afterlife to this life?" She whispered. "So when humans go.. on, we wouldn't, because we already have spent our time to its limit."

"That wouldn't be fair," Harry shook his head. "That wouldn't be fair. It's not like people choose to be like this. You don't."

"My mother did," She retorted easily. "And she's got one of the kindest heart I've ever known."

Harry didn't answer. He didn't know the answers to her questions either.

"Do you fear death, Harry?"

"No," Harry answered. It was an easy question; the answer had been definite from the start. "I never wanted to live forever. One day, I'll welcome death with open arms. I'll be able to see Mom, Dad, Sirius.."

"What if those people you love can live forever too? Would you live forever?"

Harry inhaled deeply. "Forever.. is a very, very long time, Renesmee. Too much of time kills you."

Renesmee seemed like she was about to cry. But Harry couldn't do anything to assure her this time. It felt like it was out of his range. But she smiled softly. "I'll be young forever, Harry. I won't marry someone normal or have kids. I'll stay forever a teenager, forever a kid in everyone's eyes. It just feels.. empty."

"You're not a kid," Harry said without thinking. "You're never a kid, not from the very first time I saw you."

Renesmee turned to meet his eyes. Her small smile turned wider, and the happiness that was lacking found its way back to her chocolate eyes. Harry watched silently, knowing that deep down inside, he did not like how things were either.

Hey, only a week after the earlier chapter! :D And I've got a math test, tomorrow, just so you know, I love writing this. Thank you for all of the reviews, they're a huge source of motivation.

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