Author's Note: I'm posting this chapter in honor of the fact that I'm home from my internship, and found the plot for Destiny. Woo!

I'm pretty excited about this chapter. In Darkness, you only ever met Alana through her journal entries or Harry's memories. I was really excited to work with Alana as a character in her own right, instead of looking at her through other people's eyes. Enjoy!

01 June, 2019
The peace of the early summer twilight was disturbed by the laughter of a woman as her eleven-year-old son tried his hardest to yank her down the street.

"You can pull me all you like, it won't get us there any faster," she said, her low, well-modulated voice warm with amusement. "You can run ahead, if you like."

The boy made an impatient face and dropped his mother's arm in disgust before sprinting down the street ahead of her. She shook her head, an indulgent smile gracing her lips.

"So much like your father…" she murmured.

Lady Alana Sinclair Montblanc Malfoy sighed softly as she tilted her head back towards the dusky sky, lit by a sliver of moon and the very first stars. She smiled to herself faintly as she looked up at the stars. Though normally she loathed twilight, identifying all too well with the dying day and the time of shadows, tonight was different. It was a beautiful night, there would be dancing at the festival, and James was coming home. Tonight, Alana was at ease.

Yet mixed in with the peace, she had to admit, was melancholy. Beautiful night though it was, the twilight was up to its old tricks, evoking memories of England and home and a life she'd never have again. She was content in France, truly, but it would never be home. She had thirty years' worth of certainty behind this statement; she had spent part of every summer at Monticrief Manor, where she now lived. She hadn't liked it then, and she didn't like it now.

It had been a very long five years, she thought to herself. The English Ministry of Magic had worked a deal with the French Wizarding Government so that Alana could be monitored as an exiled prisoner. Alana still had very little use for the Ministry, having hated them ever since they denied her request to go to Draco's funeral, and then not allowed her to say goodbye to her children before they took them from her. But she very begrudgingly had to admire how they had managed things for her. She had lived quietly, keeping out of the public eye except for the yearly festival to welcome the children home from school. Her only visitor was Leigh Treacastle, the probation officer the Ministry had assigned to her case; he came once a month to ensure that she wasn't wreaking havoc and chaos or trying to resurrect the Death Eaters or something along those lines. It had been a quiet life, and truth be told a lonely one. But Alana accepted the lot she'd been assigned; Lord knew she deserved worse for what she'd done in the past.

She shook her head to rid herself of her idle, profitless thoughts as she and Julian entered the town square. The square was lit by hundreds of candles and Japanese lanterns, and decorated with white streamers. The air smelled of the gardenias which grew in bushes all around the square. A wooden platform had been built for dancing, and around it were tables. All the stores had set up booths to show off their wares. It promised to be quite a night.

"Mother!"

Alana turned, and a rare, full-blown smile blossomed on her face. A moment later, her precious older son had hurled himself into her arms. She held him close, ecstatic as only a mother can be that her child had returned home safely. She pulled back to look at him… and stared.

She was dreaming, she had to be. Or hallucinating. Because there was no possible way that Harry was standing there, looking as though time had passed him by. She was imagining him standing there, staring at her, looking as stunned as she felt.

"Harry," she said blankly, the name leaving her lips before she realized she'd spoken.
A tiny, cheerless smile quirked his firm mouth. "Hello, Alana."
James shifted uncomfortably, glancing between his parents. "I would have owled you, Mother, but-"
"I made a last-minute decision to come," Harry cut in smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Hmm. The Chosen One doing something without thinking it through, how shocking," she said dryly. "Boys, go get us a table, please."

Biting his lip, James nudged his brother, and they ran off. James was sure his parents were about to have a 'discussion', and he prayed he wouldn't get in trouble because of it- or worse yet, lose this time with his father.

Harry looked her over, his mind cataloguing all the differences five years had wrought on her. She didn't look as though she had aged a day. Her black hair fell in soft curls down her back, nearly to her waist. The dark hair was a perfect counterpoint to her white A-line wrap dress and low sandal heels. Gracing her left hand was a pink sapphire and diamond wedding band, and around her neck was the star pendant he'd sent her for Christmas. Though his face remained smooth, he was taken by surprise; he hadn't really thought that she would actually wear his present. Physically, she looked no different. However, if one looked in her eyes… Behind the carefully crafted mask she wore, he could catch glimpses of what she had been through in the past five years, experiences she couldn't entirely hide- or perhaps she just chose not to hide them.

Alana took a moment to cover her shock at Harry's sudden appearance, to make sure her accustomed mask was fully in place. She folded her arms, meeting Harry's gaze impassively. He was evaluating her, clearly; comparing the reality to the memories he held, perhaps? She wondered how she stacked up. Certainly he looked no different, except… except for the eyes. There was a wariness in his eyes, an old bitterness wrought by all the trauma he had seen and had to survive. Not so different from herself, she reflected idly; they both had weaknesses to keep hidden, especially from each other.

"If I'd known the Savior would be here, I'd have worn a different dress," she said smoothly after a moment. "What brings you to mingle with us commoners?"

Harry stifled a sigh. What had he expected, a warm welcome and Alana falling into his arms? This was Alana, he reminded himself. The woman considered losing her self-possession a mortal sin. And they were supposed to be nothing to each other. Moreover, this was Alana at her very most guarded, something he'd not seen since their Hogwarts days. But this time, he would see through the armor, and he would have the truth.

"Is it alright that I'm here?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I doubt I have much choice in the matter. What does the Ministry want now, for me to relocate to Siberia? I warn you, the extreme cold and the terrible Russian dental hygiene might make me more dangerous, not less."
Harry shook his head. "The Minister doesn't know I'm here."
"The Aurors, then?" she asked. "Checking up on their favorite menagerie animal?"
"It has nothing to do with the Ministry," Harry said, trying to keep his impatience in check.
"What then?" she cooly challenged him. "Wanted to be sure James isn't growing up a Death Eater?"
"Knock it off, Alana," Harry snapped. "I came because of this."

He shoved his hand into his messenger bag and withdrew the journal. Alana's gaze fixed on it, and though her expression didn't change it seemed to Harry that she was agitated.

"What of it?" she asked, wresting her eyes from the black book to meet his gaze again.
"Oh come off it," he retorted. "You didn't seriously think you could just send me this and that'd be the end of it? What'd you think would happen, that you'd send this out of the blue and I wouldn't follow up on it? Don't be insulting."

She knew she should never have written that damn thing.

She would have retorted, had she had a clever retort at hand. The truth was, that was what she'd expected. She had written the journal after a week's worth of insomnia, setting down her side of the story as a way to ease her conscience and fulfil the promise she'd made to explain herself. Maybe she was trying to expunge the demons of the past; maybe she was just trying to understand the past. The journal had been an intellectual and emotional exercise for herself, a way to give herself closure. She'd never thought he'd actually read it, and either way, she really didn't want to open up this whole can of worms again.

"Honestly, I assumed you would use it to kindle your fireplace," she said. "So you're here to assure yourself that I didn't lie to you again," she guessed, nodding towards the journal.
"Yes. No. I…" Harry sighed, ran an agitated hand through his unruly hair. "Have you not been reading the letters I've sent? I want us to be friends."
Alana tilted her head. "You always did love lost causes."
"No, at this point I think we're finally at a place where we can let go of the past and actually try to get to know each other," he countered.
She was quiet for a moment. "The past never dies, Harry," she said philosophically. "Not really. It colors everything you do, informs every decision you make."
"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean we need to repeat the past. Besides, if you thought the situation was hopeless, why are you wearing my necklace?"

He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows in challenge, hoping that he had just scored a point with that one. Because really, it made no sense for her to wear the gift if she hated the giver, right? She looked at him thoughtfully, and though her expression of cool detatchment never altered, he sensed she was caving. He had no idea why she was, but then again, he had never understood her, and she had never explained herself to anyone except in the journal he held.

"Alright," she said. "For James."
Harry nodded once. "For James."

That decision made, they turned and waked to the table where James and Julian were waiting for them.