Author's Note: And here's chapter seven! I quite like this chapter, despite the fact that it's really short. There's a moment between Harry and Alana that I simply adore, both for its simplicity and for its significance. Other than that, I don't have much to say, so happy reading! I hope you enjoy!

24 July 2019

Married.
He was married.
Harry and Alana were married, twelve years too late.

Fifty-four days ago, he had boarded a train in Scotland, determined to learn the truth about Alana. Maybe he had built up too many expectations in his mind, but he'd thought he'd be able to see Alana for what she truly was, and then leave her where she belonged- in the past. He would have his answers, his son, and his closure, and the could leave it at that, and finally be able to move on.

Fifty-four days later, and he was no closer to that goal. And now he was married to this mysterious and painful reminder of a time in his life he'd done his best to forget.

It was an empty promise, he reminded himself; a marriage of convenience for one purpose only, to get Alana back to England so he could be closer to James. The marriage meant nothing other than that, and they didn't even have to acknowledge that it had happened.

But even if they didn't talk about it, the fact remained that they were married, in a horrible mockery of their situation twelve years ago. And even if they never spoke of it, Harry knew, and it bothered him that fate had seen fit to give him this slap in the face.

Harry glanced at his bride as they walked back to Monticrief Manor. She showed no signs of stress; she looked completely serene. It was a change he'd noticed about her; once upon a time Alana had fought against her created destiny, tried to forge her own path. Now, she simply accepted what life threw at her, and she adapted. He wondered whether or not that was a good change. Did it show that she had in some way grown up, learned to compromise? Or did it simply mean that something that had been essential to her makeup had been broken, changing her irrevocably and leaving her unwilling- or unable- to fight anymore?

The silence turned awkward as Alana led Harry upstairs. They were both very well aware that it was their wedding night, and both knew full well what a bride and groom traditionally did on this night- what they used to do at night, marriage or no.

"You should find everything you need in the trunk at the foot of the bed," Alana said, opening the door to the guest room.
"Right. Thanks," he said, stepping inside.
"Well… goodnight," she said awkwardly.
"Night," he said.

There was a brief, awkward pause as they shifted, unsure how to take leave of each other. Harry leaned down to kiss her cheek, and somehow their lips met. They froze for a minute before hurriedly pulling away. An awkward laugh, and then Alana hurried down the hall and Harry retreated into his room, unsure of what had just happened and if it had meant anything.

27 July 2019
He had hoped that he could get Alana back into the country quietly, that no one would pay any attention. He should have known better; he was the bloody Savior. His every move was analyzed and chronicled. And where Harry was adored and revered, Alana was infamous and feared.

It seemed as though the moment they'd set foot on English soil, everyone had known that the infamous Death Eater Lady Montblanc was back. Only people's fear of Alana kept them from forming a mob. Still, Harry got her and the boys to Grimmauld Place as quickly as he possibly could, for the millionth time loathing his celebrity and the many bloody inconveniences it caused him.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he said, collapsing in his chair after directing the boys to their rooms.
Alana raised a delicate eyebrow. "How long before we're swamped with Howlers and Hermione's bursting through the door?"

He groaned, dropping his head onto the table. She laughed softly, walking to him and massaging his shoulders. He sighed, relaxing into her touch, allowing her to remove the stress of the past ten days. It was a surprisingly peaceful shared moment, and the first time in years that Harry could believe that he and Alana were living in the same moment and the same world. For this one moment at least, they were in this together… whatever it was that this was. After a few moments, the massage ceased, and Alana's arms were simply wrapped loosely around his shoulders. He rose a hand and rested it on hers, and they simply stayed like that, sharing the silence and the comfort in the touch.

But of course the peace didn't last.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"
"Good Salazar, she does sound like Molly, doesn't she?" Alana mildly observed, going to put the kettle on.

Harry raised his head just in time to see Hermione charge into the kitchen, Ron in her wake. The men exchanged a brief glance but both knew better than to speak, choosing through long years of experience to remain silent until Hermione had finished her first wind of berating Harry. Just as she opened her mouth, however-

"Hermione, Ron, how nice to see you both. Come sit down. You will be joining us for supper, of course?" Alana asked smoothly.

Hermione stared between Harry and Alana blankly, then slowly sat down. Grimacing faintly, Ron sat beside her, patting her back. Taking that as assent to dinner, Alana walked back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her as if she knew that she was going to be talked about.

"So the rumors are true?" Ron asked, his face and voice unreadable. "She's back. And… and you're married."
"It's true," Harry confirmed.
"Why?" Hermione breathed.
Harry sighed; could he even explain to himself? "I want my son. I want to fix things with my son's mother. I couldn't do that," he continued as Ron opened his mouth, "unless Alana was in England. Shacklebolt's the one who arranged for a marriage visa- if Alana behaves for six months, her citizenship will be restored."

Hermione, for once, was speechless. She leaned back in her seat, silently staring at him. There were a million questions in her eyes- questions that she didn't have words to ask, questions for which Harry had no answers.

"So we'll eat a dinner to welcome your bride home, then?" Ron asked, unresolved anger lurking behind his eyes.
"No," Harry shook his head. "The boys don't know, and we're keeping it that way. Marriage of convenience, nothing else."

None of them said anything, but each was remembering a period of time twelve years ago, when not only had Alana and Harry been engaged, but they'd believed Alana had betrayed them all Could it be possible that history was doomed to endlessly repeat itself?

Dinner seemed to take forever- making polite small talk with people she hadn't seen in five years, people she knew still hated her and probably always would. She couldn't blame Ron and Hermione for how they felt about her; based on what they knew of her, their reactions were to be expected. Perhaps she was surprised that Harry hadn't informed them of what she had revealed to him, but that was really none of her business. In any case, she didn't care what they thought of her; she never had, not even when they were all at Hogwarts together. Still, it wasn't much of a wedding feast [not that she'd been expecting one], and as the night wore on Alana felt more and more out of place.

She excused herself once coffee was served, leaving the Golden Trio to their reminiscing of the old days, perfectly secure in the knowledge that they wouldn't miss her. She walked up to her room- hers and Harry's old room [Harry had taken over Sirius' quarters]. She changed quickly into a green tunic top and jean capris, and Disapparated, going to the place where she knew she would be accepted.

She sank down beside Draco's grave, pulling out her wand and transfiguring a blade of grass into a white rose, which she lay at the base of the headstone. Salazar, had it really been five years since she was here last? It seemed like a lifetime.

"Hello, love," she whispered. "I'm home."

She rested her head against the gravestone, closing her eyes and pretending that the sultry breeze was actually Draco caressing her. Home again… and wed to Draco's bitterest enemy. What an ironic joke the universe had played on her. It felt like a betrayal- an even worse betrayal than when she had actually loved Harry. And yet, if she hadn't betrayed Draco by marrying Harry, she never could have come home to Draco.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "He's the means to an end, Drake, no more. And I mean it this time."

Her fingers closed around the wedding and engagement rings Draco had given her, which she had strung onto a chain and put around her neck. Had this marriage to Harry meant anything, she would have put Draco's rings away. Since it was an empty contract, she felt no shame in keeping her old rings with her. She may be married to Harry, but she was in love with Draco. Still, and always.

Alana sighed, blinking back tears that she could never allow to fall. How she wished she could stay here forever. Draco was here, and Blaise and Emily; nearly everyone she had cared for in her life was now dead and gone. And she, by her own choice, was condemned to life. Was she always to yearn for what she couldn't have?