Author's Note: Some might say that what happens at the end of this chapter is unmotivated and out of character. I would reply, "thank you for noticing," and "that's the bloody point." Please notice, everything between Harry and Alana has been spontaneous, unmotivated, out of character, and thus confusing and hard to define. I had a reason for that, which I hope you've picked up on.

Disclaimer: If you're going to emulate Harry and Alana at the end of this chapter, please use appropriate birth control. This chapter is not a PSA for unprotected sex.

Shout-outs and Story Promotions: Huge shout-out, squeals, and hugs to my beloved fellow Saint, Sara, aka'd here on ffn as AshtrayHeart86. Also, if you're a fan of The Chronicles of Riddick, I have an incredible (and incredibly disturbing) story for you, also on ffn- Persephone and Hades, by Kali-Red. It's one of the most fascinating and well-written stories I've ever had the pleasure (and occasionally, pain) of reading.

December 20, 2018

Harry and James stood on Grimmauld Place, luggage in hand, ready to begin their Christmas holiday. James looked up at the buildings, brow furrowed. Number 8… 10… 14…

"Where's Number 12?" he asked.

Harry smiled at his son's confusion. He had considered merely using the Floo network to transport them, but thought James would appreciate using the front entrance more.

"Read this," he said, handing James an old, faded piece of paper.

James opened it to find a sentence written in a narrow, slanted, loopy handwriting. The ink had faded nearly to invisibility.

The location of the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Suddenly, Number 12 grew from between the sides of Numbers 10 and 14. James' head snapped up as he watched, and a fascinated smile grew on his face.

"Cool," he grinned.

Harry smiled and led his son into the house, turning on the lights.

Grimmauld Place had once been dark, grim, and sinister. But no more. When Alana had been here five years ago, she had repainted and redecorated everything. The walls were warm, earthy shades of rusty red and brown. The house elf heads and the portrait of Mrs. Black were long gone, and had been replaced with photos of friends and family. Somehow, Alana had taken a dungeon and made it into a home.

"Let's get you settled in," Harry said, leading James upstairs.

He opened a door on the second floor, bracing himself against the memories that still had the power to ache, if not to wound all over. The baby furniture was gone, now, donated to his friends as they'd needed it. Though the walls were still blue, the dancing animal border was gone. As James walked into the room that should have been his nursery, Harry's throat constricted to see the boy his baby had grown into. Remorse washed over him again at the thought of all he'd missed.

"Are you hungry?" he asked to break the silence.
"Not really," James said.
Harry nodded. "Then I'll leave you to unpack. You can wander around anywhere you like. If you need me, I'll be in my office on the first floor."

Harry turned and left, heading downstairs. He made a detour in the kitchen to get a butterbeer and a sandwich, then cloistered himself in his office. It wasn't the largest space, but Harry loved it. One corner was devoted to music both Muggle and magical, and held the acoustic guitar he'd taught himself to play. One wall was packed with shelves of books. The other walls were covered with posters and pictures.

Here, surrounded, comforted, and protected in this very personal space, Harry felt safe in dwelling on one of the most painful parts of himself- the part of his heart that still, despite everything, belonged to Alana.

I know you think everything I ever said to you was a lie. And, honestly, it was. That had been my job, after all; tell whatever lie was necessary to get you to trust me. And lie I did, exactly as I was ordered to.

Don't read that statement as me shrugging off blame for what was done to you. I fully accept responsibility for lying to you, for luring you to your death. You're right to blame me, to be furious at me.

But if you're going to be upset, you have to understand every piece of the convoluted puzzle. Which I suppose means I have to bore you with history and politics before I can begin to explain what was done to you.

A Wishgiver, or Star as they're usually called, is nothing more than a matter of genetic probability. If on the mother's side there was a blood-related Intuitive witch within four generations, and on the father's side there was a strong-willed Creator witch or wizard within three generations, the first daughter of those parents who has a strong enough spirit will be a Star.

The Dark Lord, having somehow learned this science lesson while at Hogwarts, obsessively combed through the family tree of each and every one of his followers. It was how he discovered many of the genetic talents of his most prized Death Eaters, how he built up such a strong army. But he never found what he was looking for, until his attention was drawn to Lucretia Montgumery Sinclair and Hugh Charles Montblanc.

At last, Voldemort had the genetic material he needed. He ordered my parents to wed for one reason- to breed me. My mother miscarried twice in the Dark Lord's quest for a Wishgiver, but finally he was rewarded for his patience with my birth.

The Dark Lord immediately put me under his personal protection. My family was rewarded for the service they had rendered by being counted among his closest and most trusted servants, and were ordered to raise me as befit a princess until the time came to play my part in the great drama Voldemort had written.

At the same time, Voldemort knew I would need a Keeper, someone to act as a friend and protector. To breed this guardian, the Dark Lord chose Narcissa Dione Black and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, promising them riches and power for eternity if they produced the needed boy.

Draco and I were born only two months apart, and from the moment our eyes opened we were being groomed for the roles we would someday play.

The moment Voldemort was told of the presence of the Prophecy, he began to plan your demise. After his ill-fated attempt to kill you in Godric's Hollow, he disappeared, but those who had been in his closest confidence carried out his well-made plans, plans that were set into motion the day we arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry lowered the book, his eyes unfocusing as his mind drifted back in time.

September 01, 1999

Eleven-year-old Alana Montblanc stood with her best friends, Blaise Zabini, Emily Hawthorne, and Draco Malfoy, watching the Sorting. Even at this young age, Alana showed a marked poise and detachment from her peers. Her jade eyes scanned over the others gathered with her, but they didn't seek out potential friends; they just observed impassively. Only Draco could sense her excitement and unease.

"Not worried, are you, Alana?" Emily grinned.
"Of course not," Alana replied staunchly. "Why should I be?"

Pretty, bubbly, sassy Emily tossed her friend a grin before she was called up to be Sorted (into Slytherin, as it turned out). As she left, Draco glanced at Alana, serious and nearly caring.

"You know we'll always be friends, right?" he asked.
Though the unfamiliar tone in his voice startled her, Alana quickly found a smile. "I know. Unless of course I'm Sorted into Hufflepuff, and then you'll deny ever meeting me."
"Please," Draco scoffed. "We'll be Sorted to Slytherin together, Lala. Just wait and see."

Alana glanced at Draco then. Lala was the nickname he'd given her at the age of three, when he'd been unable to pronounce 'Alana'. Usually he called her Lala when he was annoyed, but sometimes, like now, he used it when he was being serious and encouraging (a rare event for him these days).

Draco grinned at her when his name was called for the Sorting. Alana had to smile when the Hat screamed "SLYTHERIN!" before it had even touched his head.

"Montblanc, Alana," Professor McGonagall called.

Taking a deep breath, Alana lifted her head so that her chin was parallel to the floor. She strode ahead confidently, unknowingly drawing the eye of many a student and professor, all of whom were amazed by her self-possession. Alana seated herself on the stool, schooling her face to calm as she faced the entire student body, her glittering eyes challenging them all before the Hat was lowered onto her head.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. A very good mind, introverted… oh, you'd do well in Ravenclaw."

Alana closed her eyes in something like fear. She didn't want to think about what her father would do if she was Sorted anywhere but Slytherin. The Montblancs- in fact, every member of both sides of her family- had for generations been in Slytherin or Ophidian, the Slytherins' sister House in Crenova Academy, in France.

"Ah, of course, the family history," the Hat mused. "Some very dark, very powerful witches and wizards in your family. And you, possibly the greatest of them all."

Please just make your decision, Alana begged.

"Oh, very well," the Hat grumbled. "SLYTHERIN!"

It quickly became apparent that as long as I was associated with Slytherin- and Draco- there was no possible way that I could wom myself into your life. So instead of punishing me, the Dark Lord began creating a new plan for me, telling me nothing but to be sure you knew I existed, and knew who I was.

Harry looked up thoughtfully, memories of his school days floating lazily through his head.

He'd always noticed her. He'd never had a crush on her, not really; not like he had with Cho and Ginny. He'd watched her because she was a puzzle, a mystery that he didn't know how to solve.

He'd paid more attention to her after that first encounter in their third year. Ron and Hermione had told him all about her family and the things they had done. Harry should have been repulsed that this distant, reserved princess was the heiress of such a dark and evil legacy. Instead, he was just all the more fascinated. She was the undisputed ruler of Slytherin House, the daughter of one of the most powerful clans in the wizarding underworld… how was she so… not evil?

His fascination grew exponentially after Halloween 2003. The emotions he'd felt while dancing with her had come out of nowhere, but he knew she'd felt them too. After that night, his feelings toward her had changed. He no longer saw her as the untouchable Wishgiver, Lady Alana Montblanc, the Princess of Slytherin; he was coming to see here merely as Alana, a girl who was frantically trying to balance too many roles and expectations.

Harry sighed. Could his attraction to her really have blinded him that badly?

Next up in the list of Statement Harry Will Never Believe:

I always noticed you.

Pause so you can scoff, roll your eyes, and say "yeah right"…

I shouldn't have been paying attention to you. I had Draco, my courses, my friends. I had my own life, and you weren't due to walk into it until after graduation. So why should I be noticing you?

I'm sure it was partially because you were The Boy Who Lived, the boy that I had to take down. We were made enemies by our births, so of course you would attract my attention for that. But there was more to it than just keeping my enemy close. I think I admired you for being able to have your own life despite your grand destiny. Unlike me, your movements weren't dictated by others. You were your own person. I envied you that.

For years I watched you, until you and Draco left Hogwarts. While Draco was in hiding and you were hunting Horcruxes, I completed my final year at Hogwarts. Then, when I graduated, Voldemort's plan went into action.

Under orders from the Dark Lord, my father used his influence at the Ministry to have me hired as an Unmentionable in the Department of Mysteries- close enough to the Auror department that our paths would cross, but not close enough for you to need to keep tabs on me.

The Dark Lord staged a falling out between my parents and me, to give me an excuse to move to London. Closer to you.

Incidentally, living in London began my metamorphosis. In my little flat, free of my parents' influence and not closely watched by Voldemort, my life was my own for the very first time. I could take a step back and analyze my entire existence, figure out why I was doing what I was.

I didn't notice this process occurring, at first. My attention was diverted by leading my double life, and then by our paths crossing once again.

July 16, 2006

Harry walked down the hall to the boardroom where the Auror meetings were held. He had been called for a private briefing, which meant the Auror department's Golden Boy was being sent out on assignment again.

"Harry, m'boy," Mad-Eye Moody said as Harry walked in. "Have a seat."
"So what's the situation?" Harry asked as he sat opposite his boss and mentor.
"The Dark Lord's been creating a lot of havoc in Spain lately," Moody said. "At first we thought he was just trying to distract us, but it seems there's more to it than that."
"Like what?" Harry asked.
Moody leaned forward, lowering his voice. "We got a hold of two lower-level Death Eaters. The guards overheard them talking about 'the Dark Lord's weapon'. Something he didn't have last time."
"I thought the weapon was the Prophecy," Harry said, a familiar feeling of doom overtaking him.
Moody shook his head. "We think the weapon is a reaction to the Prophecy, a way to get around it. We need you to find out what that weapon is."

Harry leaned back in his chair, stunned. A new weapon? Some other thing he'd have to defeat? How was he even supposed to begin looking for it? He could feel a headache coming on…

"We're giving you unlimited access to Ministry assets," Moody said. "Every contact and resource is yours for the taking. From this point on, this is your one mission. We're also assigning you a partner. An Unmentionable, but also an expert on the Dark Side."

The door opened, and Harry turned to see Alana Montblanc glide in. He leaned back in his chair warily, unsure if this was a good or bad idea. Alana sat beside him without sparing him a glance.

"I don't have to impress upon either of you the potential dangers involved in this mission," Moody said. "Take care of each other."

With that, Moody stood and clumped out, leaving the new partners to get to know each other.

Harry stared at her. "What are you doing here? Your entire family's Dark; why are you turning on them?"
Alana turned to face him. "You remember what I said back in third year, about not approving of Slytherins hunting Muggle-borns?"
"Yeah…" he said.
"That extends to abhoring what Voldemort is doing," Alana said. "I don't care if my family is loyal to him, I'm not. I want to bring him down. Even if that means that I have to work with the Ministry- and you."
"Flattering," he muttered.

September 01, 2006

They were cloistered in a small room made smaller by the presence of file cabinets, many large and heavy books, thick files, and a forest's worth of paper. The room had become Harry and Alana's library, and they spent most of their time combing through the information here as they meticulously studied each others' notes.

They sat across the table from each other, each at one end, using the Summoning Spell to send each other papers and cartons of Chinese food.

"I can't read anymore," Alana muttered, pushing her notes on Harry's work away. "My brain hurts."

She stood and stretched, adjusting her gray sweats and white tank top, then reached for the carton of orange chicken and her chopsticks.

Harry looked up and nodded. "Breaktime sounds good."

He yawned and stood to make coffee (which was more for Alana, who adored coffee; he preferred Butterbeer), flicking on his magic-run Ipod (a Muggle device with which Alana was fascinated). For a time they just moved around, loosening stiff muscles, stretching and eating while the music played. They made small talk, but nothing important, as they were both sick and tired of words.

Alana glanced at the Ipod when Only Hope started playing. "I remember the last time I heard this."
"The masquerade?" Harry guessed.

She nodded. For a moment they both stayed in an awkward silence as memories of that dance came to both their minds. They glanced at each other, neither sure how to begin having to conversation they'd never had, but needed to.

"Did you…" Alana began hesitantly.
"Did I what?" he asked.
She cleared her throat, irritated that the words wouldn't come to her properly. "That night, the dance… that dance… did you…?" One corner of Harry's mouth rose in an amused smirk. Alana huffed. "You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?"
"Yep," he nodded.
She sighed heavily. "That dance that night… did you feel it too?"
He nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I felt it."
She leaned against the table, messing with the plastic bracelets around her wrist. "Sometimes… sometimes I wonder… if that was just the spell," she admitted in a low voice.

Harry picked up his wand and moved everything out of the way, then restarted the song on his Ipod. He held out his hand, which she took, and they began to dance.

For a moment, it was awkward to be in such close contact. But as the music propelled them, everything came rushing back. And as they danced completely of their own volition, without the aid of any magic, it quickly became apparent that there was much, much more between them than just some spell that had been cast on them at a dance a couple of years ago.

The song ended, and for a moment they just stared at each other uncertainly. Harry wasn't conscious of moving, but suddenly his lips were on Alana's, her arms were around her neck, and he was lost to it.

There was no reason nor rhyme to it. Nothing had led up to it, and who knew what would come of it. But suddenly Harry found himself shoving everything off the table and setting Alana down on it, and his fingers were in her hair and she was unbuttoning his shirt, and nothing had ever seemed so natural.