Disclaimer: It still belongs to JKR...although Alana's mine, so I guess I'm making progress! ;)

Author's Note:

I've had questions pertaining to the historical accuracy of this story and to how Machiavelli is portrayed in this piece and would like to say that yes, although I do acknowledge that he did write more influential pieces in his time, and that yes, it has become more of a guidebook for rulers in general, he did write this book in exile from Florence under Lorenzo di Medici, and he did write this for Lorenzo believing that he could be the right leader at the right time to unify the Italian city states – a long time political goal of a rather popular political group in medieval Italy during the Italian Renaissance.

If I have lumped Machiavelli's teachings all into The Prince and overlooked his other works, my apologies. To be truthful, as much as I may know about his teachings, I have only technically read The Prince so I'm not well versed in his other writings; however, this story does focus on what he taught. Again, if something was not written in The Prince that he wrote later, my apologies for lumping them all together.

A day had passed since Harry's meeting with Snape in the Black family library and he had, for once in his life, actually flew through a book. Not just any book, this thing had been almost like a textbook! Needless to say, Hermione was very proud of him for it, and had immediately borrowed the text, read it in half the time, and was already trying to force her way into Order meetings so that she could start to apply some of her newly acquired knowledge. Unfortunately for her, the only thing she found herself applying any Machiavelli to was her games of wizard chess with Ron.

"At least she SEEMS to be improving a little" admitted a rather embarrassed Ron after watching helplessly as pieces of his queen went flying in all directions.

Harry chuckled and settled back into his armchair watching the fire blaze in the old fireplace while his friends battled on over the chessboard. The peace of the room was interrupted only by the sound of shattering stone, and the consequent moan or curse from the affected side.

"Watch that language, Ron!" came the hushed yet harsh voice of Mrs. Weasley from the direction of the entrance hall, but she turned to Harry before Ron could get in a "sorry." He slunk further down into his chair as a rook went flying.

"Harry, dear" she started. "Alana just got back and told me that if you were still awake, you would probably be waiting to speak with her?" she had more asked this than told him, but either way, Harry jumped up thanking Mrs. Weasley and started off in the direction that she had come from, the book tight under his arm.

"She's in the parlor – the one with the family tree" Mrs. Weasley called after him over the triumphant yelp of joy as one of Hermione's pawns cowered and caved at the hands of a black knight.

Harry went as fast as he could without making that much sound – half the house was asleep by now and even small noises at this time of the night tended to wake old Mrs. Black's portrait. When he reached the door to the parlor, he stopped for a moment before turning the doorknob slowly.

Alana sat in a plush armchair, studying the large purple tapestry that was the Black family tree as best she could without having to get up and observe it any closer. She looked tired. Her long blonde hair hung freely over her shoulders and her sharp blue eyes were lost deep in some far away place. A blue and silver silk kimono had been draped over her black velvet nightgown and Harry could see in her poise - just sitting there with a far away look in those contemplative eyes – how closely she was related to her cousin.

Looking at Alana lost in thought, Harry was immediately reminded of Snape a few nights back: the ragged yet noble visage of the tired scholar; but, she just had something more about her. He couldn't place it (and even had he known, he would never have bought into the reason being the fact that she was of the pure blooded line of the Prince family). Perhaps it was her life lived free of conscience? Knowing that you've always only had your side to serve, and you knew that it was the right side to be on. Maybe that wore less on her than her cousin's position had on him.

Harry made a point to close the door behind him with an audible "click" and she was immediately drawn out of her reverie, the sadness in her eyes disappeared somewhat as she looked up at her informally adopted godson. She smiled slightly.

"Come in, have a seat" the auror prompted. Not needing to be told twice, Harry plopped down into an armchair that faced both her and the fireplace. "I've been told of your little history lesson with my cousin" she stated with a hint of laughter in her eyes "and let me start off by just clearing up the point that Niccolo Machiavelli was exiled from his native city by the very person that he had written that book for." She gestured at the worn volume in Harry's hands.

Harry had to chuckle at that. "In fact," she continued with the distant look back in her eyes, "that book was written during his exile from Florence. Interesting how an outcast can still be so desperately loyal to a cause that he still looks for fulfillment from the leader that banished him."

Harry had stopped laughing. He knew that these two had had a long history, but was he accusing him of something so openly?

"Of course, that's neither here nor there" Alana sighed, and relapsed back into that comfortable smile. "I suppose you've finished it by now?"

"Yeah" said Harry simply, still not knowing how to react to her last statement.

"And?" she asked.

"Well, it was certainly interesting" he said, "although I think Hermione may have gotten a little more out of it that I was able to."

"Which is quite alright," she laughed. "You at least have an understanding, it's not something that you will need to memorize or be tested on." She said with a wink.

"Heh, yeah, thank you." He paused. "Does Voldemort really follow this?"

"Yes…and no" she said. "Harry, there are three ways to study a book such as that. Some will read it once, like you have, glean a bit from between the two covers and move on to the next piece. Others will study it profusely, until the whole meaning is understood. Still others will move beyond this last stage and start to put it into practice, whether physically or theoretically. That last group of people will tend to find that nothing that has worked perfectly in theory will ever work perfectly in real life. They use books like this as a guideline, not rules set in stone."

"But he's read this. Or he knows what's in here…and he uses it, right?"

"Oh, of course he does." She sat back into her chair. "It is a stroke of genius not to be overlooked; however, it is not the only thing he has read. And quite personally, it is not my favorite book in the world."

"Well," he asked timidly, "what is?"

"To be honest, Harry, I don't really profess to follow any set rules or teachings. Yes, Machiavelli may have laid out a beautiful guide to dictators or generals," she put extra emphasis on these last two words, "but I am neither."

The auror sat foreword a little to better look straight into Harry's eyes. "I am a warrior, and a scholar. Many people do not believe that a person can be both at once, but I like to think that it is possible;" she paused "however, there is a difference between soldier and warrior. A soldier follows blindly, where a warrior knows his or her art." She looked at him meaningfully, dissuading him from interrupting with the question that she saw in his eyes. "Everyone should be their own scholar on a certain level. You must know enough to make your own decisions. Good soldiers, I am told, follow orders blindly and put all of their trust in their leader. Most 'good soldiers' have a lower level of education than their leaders because they simply don't need to think, they just do."

"Yeah, Snape went over that. He basically said that a lot of the Death Eaters are loyal, but not too bright." Harry interrupted, impatient to get on with the conversation.

"Professor Snape, Harry, he is still your teacher." Alana corrected with a slight sparkle in her blue eyes. "What else did he tell you on this matter?"

"He claimed that Voldemort's top advisors could out think most of the teachers at Hogwarts." Harry replied, "although I'm not sure if I believe that or not. I mean, who can outwit Professor Dumbledore? Or Professor McGonagall?"

Alana gave a chuckle. "He certainly did choose his words carefully…but then, Severus always does." She gave a sigh. "Harry, our side has its top 'advisors' per se, and surely Albus and Minerva are among them. He did not mean that the inner circle could perhaps compare knowledge of the stars with Professor Sinestra, or read tea leaves like Professor Trelawney" – Harry smirked at that – "but most of them could easily out maneuver and out fight most of the Hogwarts professors on a battle field. They are more skilled in the art of war and battle, and in their game, that is the only skill that matters. Yet they are still only soldiers."

Harry nodded as he tried to envision a shawl trailing Professor Trelawney trying to fight off a battalion of Death Eaters by frightening them all with signs of the grim.

"But again" she continued. "Before we know war, before we know battle, we must be able to step back – to observe the situation as a whole – before deciding that we are soldiers, or advisors, or thinkers or generals. You asked me what my favorite doctrine is, Harry, and I will tell you that it cannot be read anywhere. At least not yet." She pointed to her head "It's up here" and then to her chest "and in here."

He looked questioningly at her and she explained, "I am from a family of Death Eaters, Harry. My father, my uncle, my cousin even for a time all served their Dark Lord. I was never expected to act, but if I did, it was to be on their side; it was expected, and I grew up knowing that. The only time that I knew that it wasn't a path I wanted to take, was when I could become disjointed from the situation. Too look at the whole thing from afar…and know what was for me." She sat back again. "Hence, I sit before you now, an auror of the Ministry of Magic...a warrior."

"So you just…listened to what you told yourself then? But Machiavelli…"

"Oh sure, I have read him. I have read a myriad of other works on similar topics, Harry… but I have never settled to use only one. I have read them all; I drew my own conclusions, and formed my own path. Not followed one already set out hundreds of years ago."

Harry was silent, and Alana smiled. "Know yourself, Harry. It is as important, if not more so, than knowing your enemy." He nodded slowly.

"What about Sn…er, Professor Snape? And Voldemort then?" he asked.

"It seems to me, that my cousin is till trying to wrestle with himself in many ways. I think he has a lot to do before he can truly know who he is…and perhaps to come to terms with it all." She had again adopted her look of a tired, drawn out scholar. "Voldemort, on the other hand, knows himself very well, and as such, he is a very dangerous enemy. He understands himself, his way of life, even those of his followers and those bound to him – perhaps more than his followers know!" she sighed here again. "Watch out for him, Harry, he is a powerful force, one that can swallow anything whole. But he has the weakness of having surrounded himself with weak and mindless people. Drones and yes-men may make decent soldiers, but not true warriors."

"Would you consider any of his followers warriors?" asked Harry.

Alana thought for a moment before responding. "At one point, there was Severus; we know how that turned out though. I also believe that, were she not so unquestioning, the Lestrange woman could be an outstanding warrior – she certainly understands war better than most people I have ever known..."

"Known?" asked Harry in amazement.

"Oh sure. We all went to school, you know. Yes, I knew Bellatrix way back before Sirius and I were betrothed." Her eyes were far away. "She certainly did have potential."

"But I think" she continued "that of all of the others, the only other real warrior I can think of among Voldemort's followers was Sirius' younger brother, Regulus. I can't say why, and Sirius was always highly critical of him, but again, I saw potential there."

"He was killed by the Death Eaters, though, wasn't he?"

"Yes." She shrugged bit "Perhaps he found himself somewhere and realized that he was on the side that he wasn't meant to be on. Who knows."

She fell silent and Harry didn't feel like disturbing it. She was still partially lost in her reverie and she was starting to draw to a close…maybe this was a good time to…

"Alana?" asked Harry timidly. "A few nights ago…when Professor Snape and I talked, he said something as he left. He….he apologized to me. And he also said that he had known my mother! Why-"

"We all knew each other at school" she responded. Yes, he knew her…about as well as I knew Bellatrix…"

"He said he even knew what books she had!"

"Well, it was no secret that you mother was intelligent." replied Alana calmly. "They did, at the beginning of their Hogwarts careers, have something resembling a friendship, built over books and the like. See, your mother and I were very good friends Harry, you know this. Severus and I were also on good terms until our second or third year, and the three of us, with a few more friends, would all very frequently study together."

Harry looked a bit surprised, but he had gotten that answer, now for the bigger question. "Oh…well, what was the apology about then? Why did he do that? And why to me?"

"He didn't tell you why?" she asked, peering at him curiously.

"No, he just said that I'd probably never accept it and that I had my answer whenever I found my question." Harry looked at her desperately.

"Hmmm, well Harry…I'm sorry, but if he did not tell you why, I don't think I'm the one to tell you either. Not now at least." She was even more distant now and bore a distinctly sad continence. "You will find out sooner or later, I promise. I don't know how or when, but you will. And you will have to decide then whether to forgive or not to." She looked straight into Harry's eyes still bearing that same sadness "you need to understand yourself before making meaning of anyone else."

Harry was silent. This certainly had turned out differently than he had expected.

"Now Harry," she said, standing up slowly and ridgedly. "If you will excuse me, I have to rest. Sardelle and I have been without a decent sleep in a good few days and given our activities, we certainly are in need." She turned and started to walk out, favoring her right leg.

"Are you ok? You're limping…here, let me help you." Said Harry rushing up to take her elbow. "What were you out doing?"

She smiled. "Thank you; you are a kind soul, young Harry Potter." She removed her arm from his. "But I am fine; I will survive this as I have everything else." A slight smile lit up her face again, "unfortunately I cannot tell you exactly what we have been up to…but if you are truthfully dieing to know, I'm sure you can try to pry it our of Professor Dumbledore when he gets back" she finished with a wink.

With that Alana closed the distance between her and the door. "Good night, Harry. Sleep well."

"Good night" he answered as she left the room, and as she walked, with her dark blue silk kimono trailing behind her, the silver embroidered dragons seemed to curl up as if tucking themselves into bed.