Author's Note: And now, at long last, the plot has arrived! Or, at least, a plot that doesn't have to do with Harry and Alana relationship angst. Yep, we're kicking off with Death Eater trouble. Yay! Angst and Pain and Grief and Death!

This chapter also introduces a new OC. Roman Corona is kind of a pet character of mine within the Potterverse. In several of the HP stories I'm planning to write, he's going to turn up in one way or another [because if the formula works, use it]. His play-by is Chris Pine. His role is likely to become more important as I continue editing future chapters.

Concerning updates, I realized this morning that I have a lot more editing to do than I originally thought. Mostly concerning this Death Eater subplot. On the plus side, it means you're going to get one more chapter than I originally planned [and it's going to be another Missives chapter, to boot]. On the minus side, it means I have a lot of writing to do, including completely rewriting the last two chapters, because one of my characters decided to play the hero when they weren't supposed to. I'll try and do it as quickly as possible, I promise. If I'm slow posting chapters, that's why.

Disclaimer: Yes, I stole the name for the Spanish version of Azkaban from Pirates of the Caribbean. Shh.

27 July, 2019
Auror Roman Corona stood in the midst of the chaos, feeling utterly and completely lost. His surroundings looked like something out of a nightmare, or worse yet, like a memory.

The English Auror was 37 years old, a veteran of the Second War against Voldemort. He had seen plenty of gruesome things in his time, but he had been sure after Harry Potter defeated Voldemort that he'd never have to see such brutality again. Yet here he was, in the destroyed remains of a once-gracious hacienda, and old fears were being disturbed once again.

He knew the signs of a Death Eater attack; he doubted anyone in his generation could ever forget. Violent entry in the middle of the night. Destroyed furniture. Signs of struggle. And then…

The bodies had been sent to the experts in the Ministry already, but preliminary results had confirmed Roman's fears. It seemed impossible, but it was undeniably true.

The house belonged to Hector Ramirez and his family- his wife Maria, son Manuel, and daughter Isobel. Hector had been a lawyer for the Spanish Magical Courts, well-known for his role in sending over 30 Death Eaters to Isle de Muerta, the Spanish version of Azkaban. From what Roman had seen before the bodies were removed, Maria and the children had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, and then the entire family had been murdered with the Killing Curse.

It shouldn't have been possible. Sure, not all of the Death Eaters were accounted for. But to wage such an attack as this, on a world that was supposed to be at peace…

Attacks like this had been happening for the past three months. One here, two there, spaced out in time and location so that most people were content to write the deaths off as unfortunate accidents. The papers refused to cover the attacks; even when government officials were killed it was called some kind of accident. The journalists refused to believe that the attacks were related, and the Presidente was turning a blind eye. It drove Roman up the wall; the bloody Spanish. This would never have happened in England…

Roman sighed. Unfortunately, if he were in England, there would be no one to even investigate these murders. So even though being these scenes reawakened old nightmares, he would put his nightmares to work in order to get to the bottom of whatever was going on here. It was, after all, the reason that the Ministry had assigned him to Spain.

Roman turned to his assistant, running a tired hand through his black hair. "Let's get the Spell Detection Squad in here, and get back to the office. Tell Amelia to put the paperwork on my desk."

He let his blue eyes roam over the scene one more time. Something was happening, and it had to be dealt with, quickly, before it got out of hand.

29 July 2019

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in his office behind his impressive desk, a sheaf of reports in his hands. Before him sat Department Head Alastor Moody, who was using his magical eye to read the reports Shacklebolt held. They sat patiently, awaiting the arrival of their top Aurors in order to begin their meeting.

Moments later, ex-Auror Potter and the Aurors Weasley walked through the door. Shacklebolt looked up, taking a moment to marvel at the fact that the Golden Trio had grown up. Merlin, did they make him feel old…

"Morning, all," Harry said as he, Ron and Hermione seated themselves.
"How's married life treatin' yeh, Harry?" Moody smirked.
Harry glared at his mentor, shifting in his seat. "Shove off. Now what's going on, Shacklebolt? Aren't I retired from the Aurors?"
"Some retirement," Moody chuckled. "Taking jobs whenever you can get away from Hogwarts, getting married, working on adoption papers…"
Moody would have continued, but Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "We're getting very strange reports from an Auror of ours in Spain," he rumbled in his deep baritone. "Take a look at these, tell me what you think."

Hermione took the proffered reports, and three heads bent together to study them. Shacklebolt and Moody exchanged glances; Godric's sword but did some things never change. Hermione's head shot up, and she looked at her two best friends before looking at Shacklebolt.

"It looks like… like the things we used to see, before," she said hesitantly.
Moody nodded. "That's what Corona fears."
"Well, if Auror Corona is the one saying it, we'd best pay attention," Hermione replied, biting her lip. "He was always very good at determining Death Eater activity."
"But how is that possible?" Harry asked, running a hand through his messy hair. "Their Lord is dead, for real this time. Has been for years. Why resurrect a dead cause?"
"Well, I imagine they've been very angry," Hermione said. "Maybe this is someone- or a group of someones- lashing out."
"But look at this here," Ron countered. "Corona thinks this wouldn't be happening unless they had enough support to start an uprising."
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Harry exclaimed, standing and beginning to pace. "Will they never give it a rest?"

For a moment, silence reigned as they all acknowledged the Savior's point. Then Hermione drew a breath.

"What do you want us to do?"
"We need someone to help Corona figure out what the bloody hell is going on in Spain," Moody replied.
"And you want us?" Harry asked. "We're kind of famous, wouldn't we just make things worse?"
"Your fame would be an advantage," Moody said. "We could make it look as though you're only vacationing. But Death Eaters knowing the Savior is near- could make them act early."
Harry nodded, acknowledging the point. "But what about Hogwarts? And Alana and the boys?"
"You'd only be gone for a few weeks," Shacklebolt said. "You'd return with plenty of time to set Hogwarts in order. Alana will remain in England, under our protection."
Harry sighed. "Let me think about it."
Shacklebolt nodded. "Give me an answer by tomorrow."

Harry sighed heavily as he walked into Grimmauld Place. He'd been tired and in a bad mood since that afternoon's meeting with Shacklebolt and Moody.

What answer would he give them? Were he younger, he wouldn't hesitate to go traipsing off to all parts of the world. But now… now he had Hogwarts, and he had his son, and he found he really didn't want to handle the storm that was surely brewing.

He walked into the kitchen, to find Alana making dinner while brewing a potion at the same time. At Harry's puzzled look, she explained.

"It's Skele-Grow. Julian broke his arm falling off his broom and James confused his spells."
Harry laughed softly. "He alright?"
"He will be," she said. "You remember how this works."
Harry shuddered; he did indeed. "Poor guy."
"What did the Minister want?" Alana asked as she stirred the potion cauldron.
"Oh. There's something happening in Spain, he and Moody want me, Ron and Mione to check it out," he sighed.

He didn't miss how Alana stiffened, how every muscle seemed to tense. But before he could question her reaction, there was a whimper from upstairs, and she was gone in a flash.

He finished making supper as Alana tended to the boys, both of whom were confined to their rooms for the night. Hary brought up food for the boys, sneaking them candy while he was at it [lemon drops for Julian, Bertie Botts' for James], then he and Alana went downstairs for their supper.

"Spain," Alana said as she poured herself a glass of dark red wine.
"Yeah," Harry nodded, pouring himself some firewhiskey. "Deaths, attacks… it's like five years ago all over again."
Alana winced; she knew better than most how brutal the Death Eaters could be. "So they want you to investigate."
Harry nodded. "I think I'm gonna say no."
Alana furrowed her brow. "What? Why?"
"From what I read, it looks like a small group of Death Eaters causing trouble," he said. "Aurors can handle that, me being there would just complicate things."
"Do you actually believe that?" Alana asked. "You? The Savior of the wizarding world, and you don't think rebelling Death Eaters is an issue?"
"Not a big enough issue for the Savior to get involved," Harry maintained.
"Ah," Alana said. "So that's what this is about. You don't want to play the hero again."
"I've never seen the appeal of being a hero," he said. "It's messy and painful."
Alana sighed. "Yes it is. And it's unfair to place such a burden on you again, after everything you've endured. But Harry, people need heroes. Someone they can put their hope in. And for better or worse, you're the Chosen One. Whether you like it or not, people are going to look to you for a solution."

Harry sighed, knowing Alana was right and hating it.

"That's a very un-Alana-like speech," he said, tilting his head curiously.
She stared into the ruby depths of her wine as she answered him, her voice low as her fingers curled around the star pendant that hung around her neck. "It's what I've thought for years. Ever since we were 19. I believed in you while I was living that charade, needed to trust in you. I still believe in you."

He stared at her. He'd been expecting a flippant, shallow response; he'd become used to only seeing the surface with his wife, to never seeing behind her carefully constructed mask. This unexpected self-disclosure drove home the point that he truly didn't know much of anything about the stranger he'd married.

He walked over to her and gently lifted her chin, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Lana, do you think I need to go to Spain?" he asked, locking eyes with her.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Spain was always a hotbed for Death Eater activity. If a rebellion is starting there, it won't be long before it speads to the rest of Europe. Save them, Hal."

He nodded slowly, acquiescing. What made him do it? He didn't know, but he obeyed the impulse, bending down to capture her lips with his.

The kiss lasted only a second, but that was more than long enough for Harry to realize what he was doing. Good Godric, was he actually kissing his wife? They both pulled away, then quickly turned and went their separate ways- Alana to her chamber, Harry to his office to prepare to save the world one final time. All of a sudden, leaving for Spain couldn't come fast enough…