Author's Note: Oh my Merlin, I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting for this chapter for so long. I don't really have an excuse, other than that I got caught up with reading stories in other genres here on ffn [mostly Covenant and Boondock Saints stuff]. However, a timely review reminded me that it's been a stupidly long amount of time since I updated, so here's chapter six for you, with a million apologies and thanks to Curly96 for jogging my memory.

About Alana in this chapter, yes I do realize that I basically repeat myself in her thought processes. That was intentional. She is by no means certain that she wants to go through with this madcap idea, so just when she thinks she's settled it, she talks herself back out of it and has to start over again. That's why I let her sound so repetitive.

20 July, 2019
His head was reeling as he walked up the sidewalk to Monticrief Manor. It had been 72 hours exactly since he'd left, and in that time his world had been turned on its head.

The moment his foot touched the top step, the door was opened by an elderly, stooping house elf.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," she squeaked. "Young Mistress is expecting you."
"Where is Alana?" he asked as he walked in.
"In her study," the house elf replied, closing the door. "Gemma will tell Young Mistress that Harry Potter is here!"

So saying, the house elf disappeared with a sharp crack! to go to her mistress. Harry stared at the spot where the creature had stood a moment before, musing; he vaguely remembered that Alana had once said that Gemma had cared for Alana since she was a baby, and for Alana's mother before her. Exactly how long did house elves live? Questions for Hermione, when he got home… He was interrupted in his distracted musings by another crack!

"Come with me, Harry Potter!" Gemma squeaked. "Young Mistress is waiting for Harry Potter in the study. Does Harry Potter want any food or drinks?"
"No, thanks, I'm good," he said, following the house elf as she pattered down the hall.

Gemma opened the door to the study, ushering Harry inside before turning her attention to her mistress.

"Young Mistress should not stay up too late," she admonished, as if Alana were still a child. "Young Mistress has a long day tomorrow."
"I won't be up much longer, Gemma," Alana replied without turning, though Harry could see the smile in her voice. "Could you bring up a mug of hot cocoa to my room?"
"Young Mistress knows she should not be drinking cocoa this late!" Gemma said. "Just a little mug, then. And no marshmellows."
"Thank you, Gemma," Alana said as the house elf departed.

For a long moment, Harry merely stood in the middle of the room, observing Alana as she stared into space. She was curled up in one of the armchairs before the banked fire, clad only in a white silk nightdress and robe. Her curly black hair fell loose over one shoulder, and her arms were loosely wrapped around one bent leg. She was looking into the fire, her face and the set of her shoulders suggesting she was pensive, lost in something long ago and far away.

He walked over to her quietly, and silently sat in the other armchair. She didn't look at him as she spoke.

"A marriage visa," she said quietly. "How would it work?"
"It's a six-month visa," he replied. "Conditional alien status, gets you and the boys into the country and lets you stay there while the papers get pushed around the Ministry. I'd be your patron, we'd have an official assigned to us to watch you, make sure you assimilate into the culture. At the end of the six months, if the Ministry approves you, your citizenship is restored."

Alana leaned back in her seat, twisting her ridiculously ornate wedding ring [Voldemort's purchase, not Draco's] around her finger. The more she thought, the more she twisted the ring.

Did she want to get married? Absolutely not. She had married once- on the Dark Lord's orders, yes, but she had truly and honestly loved Draco. She had put her entire being into that marriage, and in a very real way she had died along with Draco. She had never planned on marrying again. Besides, marrying Harry so she could be reinstated as an English citizen… that wasn't a good reason for letting someone into her life.

But then she happened to look up, and her gaze fell on a picture of her sons. James and Julian grinned and waved at her, and she was lost. James needed his father, and Julian needed his father's legacy. Both could be found in only one place, and there was only one way Alana could get them there.

"Alright," she said quietly. "For the boys."

It took Harry a moment to regain his bearings; he hadn't thought she would actually agree to Shacklebolt's scheme. She must have wanted home very badly.

"Alright," he nodded. "As long as we act married, no one will pay much attention. Marriage of convenience only."
Alana nodded. "I don't want to tell the boys," she said. "I don't know how they'd feel about it. Especially Julian."
Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll go take care of the paperwork, and I'll come for you and the boys in a day or two."
Alana nodded once, biting her lip. "Thank you, Harry. You didn't have to do this."
"Yes I did," Harry said. "For James."

They nodded at each other, each clear on why they were agreeing to marriage this time. And then, Harry was gone.

He prayed Ginny would forgive him, he mused as he walked into Grimmauld Place. It wasn't really a marriage; it was a contract, an agreement made for reasons that had nothing to do with Alana and everything to do with James. Maybe Ginny would understand that this marriage wasn't a real one, that Alana had nothing to do with what they were going to do. He wasn't marrying her for the reasons he'd married Ginny; it wasn't because of love. Not like he had once wanted to do.

Still, it felt like a betrayal of his vows to Ginny, to make those same vows with Alana. Did the emptiness of this forthcoming wedding demean the true marriage he'd had with Ginny? Or could that question only be answered by his attitude towards the situation?

21 July 2019
She hadn't slept.

The sky had darkened, the moon had risen and fallen, the sky had lightened. But Alana hadn't slept. She had gone from her study to her bedroom, but she'd never gone upstairs with the intention to sleep. Hidden in a locked compartment of the trunk at the foot of her bed was a photo album- her wedding album. For all the hours between Harry's visit and the currently encroaching dawn, Alana had been flipping through the pictures, her mind racing her memories and speculations.

She couldn't believe the Ministry was trying to push her into this. Moreover, she couldn't believe she was considering it. The Ministry had to be thinking that she would never consent to such a thing- and if that was the case, then they knew her incredibly well. It wasn't a marriage they offered her, and certainly not a wedding.

Then again… Alana flipped another page, her face thoughtful. The Dark Lord certainly hadn't intended for Draco and Alana to have a marriage, either. No one had thought of their happiness when the plan to breed them and bind them had been made, and that had turned out alright.

Then again… She sighed as she turned to one picture in particular. It was a shot of her and Draco, literally five minutes after they'd been made husband and wife. They were looking at each other, with eyes for nothing but each other, and they were smiling; Alana pushing her lace veil out of her face as Draco's hand rested on the gentle swell of her abdomen. They had pushed to be wed as soon as possible after Harry's defeat, in order to protect James' supposed paternity.

If pictures were taken of this wedding, there would be no pictures like this, because Alana wasn't in love with her intended groom.

Alana frowned. Listen to her thoughts, she sounded as though she were considering this ludicrous proposal! She wasn't going to marry Harry, and that was final, no matter what she'd agreed to.

A glance at the portrait above her fireplace settled everything.

It was a portrait Alana had had commissioned six years ago, of herself and the boys. She sat in a chair, her boys lounging on either side of her. Beside each son, painted as a spectre, was his father.

Draco truly was dead, and Alana wouldn't love again. But Harry lived, and had a son who both desired and deserved to know him. Compared to James' right to his heritage and his father, what importance was Alana's preferences? None at all.

So. Alana would marry Harry.

Now… how on earth was she going to explain this to her boys?

James would surely be overjoyed that his father would be in his life. But what about Julian? He didn't neatly fit into the family that Alana and Harry had made once upon a time. He was an anomaly; one had only to look at his white-blond hair to realize that he didn't belong to James' father. If Harry joined their lives, what could be done about Julian?

Dawn came, and Alana ran out of time to think. The boys were coming down for breakfast, and they would have to be told. She had to put aside her own fears and take control. She had to at least look like she knew what she was doing.

"Morning, Mother!" the boys chirped as she walked into the dining room.
"Good morning, my loves," Alana greeted them, kissing each of her boys on the forehead before taking her seat at the head of the table. "I have something to discuss with you."

James and Julian exchanged quick glances, and Alana could've sworn she saw guilt flash through their eyes. But she didn't want to know what mischief they'd gotten into now.

"I've received a… proposition, from the English Ministry of Magic," she said slowly, considering the best way to phrase her decision. "Harry's found a way for me to return to England. Would you boys like that?"
Julian blinked, his gray eyes wide. "We can go home?"
"Mhm," Alana nodded. "What do you think?"
"YES!" both boys yelled.
Alana laughed shortly. "That settles it, then. We'll live with Harry; the Minister's appointed him as our protector."

Close enough, she thought to herself, pleased with herself for having thought that white lie up.

At the mention of his father, James' whole face lit up. "Live with Dad? In London?" he asked, the hope clear in his voice.
Alana nodded. "Would you be okay with that, Julian? Living with Harry?"

James bit his lip and looked at his little brother, knowing that Julian's decision would be final. If Julian didn't like Harry, there was no way their mother would move into Grimmauld Place, and Harry would always be distant and out of reach.

Julian looked up at Alana. "Will you take me to Malfoy Manor sometimes?"
Alana nodded, smiling. "And your dad's and my house, where we lived when you were born."
Julian nodded. "Then… okay."

And with that, Julian gave Alana the permission she hadn't been able to give herself.

24 July 2019

The chapel was small and dark, lit with only a handful of candles. Other than the priest, the only witnesses were the English Minister of Magic, the French Presidente of the Wizarding Government, and the English Head of the Auror Department. The bride wore a sleeveless, v-neck black dress that fell to her knees, her only jewelry being the star pendant her intended had given her last Christmas; the groom wore jeans. They exchanged unadorned gold bands, and the ceremony lasted only 10 minutes.

Alana was half-convinced that she was dreaming. This quiet, somber ceremony couldn't possibly be binding and real; it was an echo of a dream, a hollow mockery of what she had once wanted.

She hadn't allowed herself to think for the past three days. She had had to undergo a series of meetings with various government officials, which she found amusing since no government would claim her as a citizen. Every last one of them had treated her as though she were a leper or a pariah. She had had to sign documents, take oaths, undergo binding spells that prevented her from being a menace to either England or France.

She had had three days to pack up Monticrief Manor, to decide what she and the boys were bringing with them to England. As Alana wouldn't be allowed to leave England for the next six months without Shacklebolt's express permission except in case of extreme emergency, it was rather important that she remember everything.

She and Harry had kept a constant flow of owls going for the last three days, ironing out details. She and the boys were moving into Grimmauld Place for the summer; they would all relocate to Hogwarts come September [how Harry intended to get around the rule stipulating she couldn't leave England, she had no idea]. The rest they'd deal with later.

Ten minutes and two vows later, and it was done.

And none of it seemed real.

This was what she had wanted, once; to pledge herself to Harry, to wear his ring on her finger, to bear his name, to start a new life with him. But this was wrong, all wrong. They weren't supposed to wed like this- empty vows made only to bring father and son together. The whole thing was a meaningless sham, a farce. But instead of laughing, Alana thought she might scream.

"You are now husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Alana turned to Harry, thinly veiled panic in her eyes. She had forgotten about this… He gave her an apologetic glance, but there was nothing to be done. They had scrupulously avoided physical contact for the past month, and now they found themselves indulging in the most intimate kind of convergence. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his; gentle, a passing caress, empty.

It was done. They were married.

And he had never been more of a stranger to her.

She was drowning, choking, burning, being buried alive. It wasn't real, none of it had any meaning. What did she have to hold onto? She was spinning out of control, and all she could do was hold the hand of the stranger she'd married.