Author's Note: I intended to leave last chapter's cliffhanger hanging for just a little while longer. However, after getting chapter nineteen edited and completed, I had to post this chapter to celebrate the fact that I only have two more chapters to edit. This chapter marks the halfway point in this story, woohoo! And yeah, everything is going to start snowballing until we're going so fast that nobody will be able to breathe. You, me, the characters… we're all going to be a mess when this story wraps itself up, I think.

So, now that I've filled you with foreboding for the rest of the story, about this chapter. Roman, as usual, decided to come in and steal the show. He's got a horrible habit of doing that, I really should punish him. But other than that, I'm really fond of this chapter. I love scenes where Harry realizes things about Alana, and I absolutely love their banter. Scenes like the ones in this chapter are the times that I like these two the best. It's also really refreshing to watch Harry tease Alana; I love it when they decide to get along. I also like this chapter for introducing you to Alana's Aunt Charlotte, who I happen to adore. I wish I could have included more of Charlotte; she's one of my favorite characters in Alana's backstory. Enjoy!

15 August 2019
"What are you doing here?"

The words were flying out of his mouth before he even realized he'd spoken. But Harry believed he could be forgiven for being discombobulated. After all, he'd just been thinking about this woman; maybe he was hallucinating.

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes snapping with the same sparkle as the star pendant around her neck. "Not happy to see me, dear?" she asked sardonically.
"You can't be here," Harry said, feeling very much like he'd just fallen down the rabbit hole. "You're supposed to be in England!"
Alana sighed. "Look, I got worried. I knew if you weren't communicating that there was something wrong. I figured you could use my help."

Harry bit the inner wall of his cheek, considering. Alana + Death Eaters + Spain = Trouble-With-A-Capital-T, he knew, but… if she could possibly help…

She took advantage of his hesitation and ducked under his arm, smoothly entering his domain. As she took in the mess, Harry caught a familiar gleam in her eye, like a hound spotting a fox or a hawk eyeing a rabbit, and he realized with a start that she'd missed this. She missed her job as an Unmentionable, creating order out of chaos. Perhaps she'd missed her work as much as he had.

"How'd you even get here?" he asked while rubbing his neck, wondering if he could delay the inevitable, if it was even worth it to try.
"I wished upon a star," Alana replied, a faint smirk on her face.

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. He knew that every so often, a Wishgiver could make a wish for themselves, but he never thought she'd use her wish to be with him. She must have been worried… And what did that mean, that she was worried? Did it have ramifications for their marriage of convenience, this sham they'd been forced into?

And why the hell was it that Alana complicated absolutely everything in his life?

"You realize this is gonna get us both in a hell of a lot of trouble," he told her.
She quirked an eyebrow. "When was the last time you ever worried about getting in trouble, Potter?"

He had to grin; she had him there.

"Besides," she said briskly. "You know that if you were to try and push me out, I'd just go and do it myself."
"I do know that," he nodded ruefully.
Alana nodded. "Then once again it seems as though we can be of use to each other."

Well, she had him there. He did need her help; she knew it as well as he did. And if she was willing to help, then he was more than ready to accept her insight.

He was about to voice his agreement when the door flew open. Harry and Alana both turned, to be greeted with the sight of Ron and Hermione walking in, arms overflowing with food.

"Honey, we're-" The jovial greeting died on Ron's lips as he saw Alana. His eyes narrowed, and he set his bags down with a bit more force than necessary. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to offer my assistance," Alana replied calmly.
"We don't need it," he said icily. "We're doing fine."
Alana raised a delicate eyebrow. "You understand the way the Death Eaters operate in Spain? You know how they're running things? I organized Spain, Ron. I know how they're working."
"You might've known once," Ron snapped. "But you've been out of the game for years. They could've changed everything."
"True," she acknowledged the point. "But even if they did, their system now will be based on what I designed. I can at least give you a starting place, instead of shooting in the dark like you are now."
"Look, we're doing just fine," Ron spat out. "We don't want your help. Harry, tell her."

He managed not to flinch as all eyes turned to his- Ron's angry, Hermione's conflicted, Alana's unreadable. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's our best bet, Ron," he said.
Ron rolled his eyes. "I cannot believe you," he muttered.

He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh dear," Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"Can you talk to him?" Harry asked.
"I can try," she said doubtfully, before walking out.

Harry and Alana stood in silence for a moment, each feeling trapped in the awkwardness of the situation.

"He's never going to forgive me, is he?" Alana asked, her voice soft and low.

Harry glanced over at her, surprised by the note of vulnerability in his wife's normally composed voice. It was a rare occasion indeed when emotions bled through her mask. He'd thought she was beyond caring what anyone thought of her, Ron especially. They'd never particularly gotten along; Ron was too wrapped up in Alana's public face to see the truth of her, and Alana was never interested in earning his confidence. And yet, Alana seemed remorseful, regretful… two words he still had trouble associating with her.

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off, sounding like her usual self.

"Well, let's not waste time," she said, clapping her hands. "Come here and explain this bulletin board to me, I see you've made a mess of it like usual…"

Ron and Hermione had yet to return, but that didn't stop Harry and Alana from soldiering on without them. They were hard at work when a knock on the door sounded. They looked up to see a sympathetic face peeking in.

"Came to check in and make sure you were still alive," he said, a tired smile on his handsome face.
"Barely," Harry replied. "C'mon in Roman, there's someone you should meet."

Roman walked in, and his and Alana's eyes met. A crooked smile grew on his face, making him look years younger, and… sweet Godric, Alana was actually blushing.

"Well well," he said, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. "Alana Montblanc. You're a sight for sore eyes."
"Roman Corona," Alana smiled. "As charming as ever, I see."
Harry blinked in confusion. "You two know each other?"
"Our families ran in the same circles," she said, an ironic smile on her face.
"So you're turning traitor again," Roman said approvingly.
"Well, when I had such a fine example before me…" she replied, smiling. "How could I not be inspired to follow suit?"

They chatted for a few more minutes- about memories of the last time they were both in Spain, apparently- looking cozier than acquaintances had a right to, before Roman excused himself. When he was gone, Harry slowly turned to Alana, his eyebrows raised and an amused smirk on his face. To his amusement, a faint blush stole across her cheeks and she hurried to straighten her notes.

"What?" she asked, sounding defensive.
"What was that about?" he grinned.
She shrugged. "We knew each other growing up. Draco, Blaise and I were friends with Roman's little sister Isabelle." Her smile dimmed then, her eyes lowering. "She was found slipping information to an Order member and killed in front of Roman. It's why he became a turncoat."
"Oh," he said, biting his lip. After a moment of silence, though, he grinned again. "And when did you have a crush on him?" he asked impishly.
Alana blushed. "I was twelve," she admitted. "Draco was being a right proper arse, and Roman was nineteen and oozing charm."

He laughed at this unexpectedly human side to Alana. In the midst of this serious and upsetting situation, it was odd but refreshing to discover his wife's humanity.

17 August 2010
Alana groaned, rubbing her temples as she rested her elbows on the table. "My brain can't take any more."
"I know the feeling," Harry sighed from where he rested his forehead against the wall.

Two solid days, they'd been working. It had been frighteningly easy to fall into their old work habits; in this arena, at least, they were a perfect match- her analysis and his instinct combined to make an unstoppable team. He caught her up, she suggested alternate theories, she had quite happily immersed her brain into piecing it all together… but they had come up short.

"It makes no sense!" Alana said for the hundredth time. "What could they possibly be thinking? The Dark Lord is dead, and none of the Death Eaters could possibly agree on a replacement. And even if this is a few disgruntled Old Guard, what could they hope to gain? The Death Eaters don't have the numbers to rise up again. What few aren't in prison or dead are either on the run or under surveillance. And even if they're recruiting again, it would take months to train them up to the level they'd need to be in order to pose a threat to the Ministry. What do they think they're doing?"
"I'm not the one who can think like a Death Eater," Harry pointed out.

Alana rubbed her left wrist, over the star-shaped brand, and sighed. Truth be told, she'd never understood the Death Eaters either, for all that she came from their world. There was a reason she'd kept trying to break away…

Then she paused. She may not ever understand them, but there was a place she could go to at least learn what was happening.

"Harry, I'm going out," she said suddenly. "Take a break until I get back."

Without waiting for his reply, Alana ran out the door.

The hacienda crowned a hill, overlooking the village below. The stucco walls were still painted yellow, the tiled roof was still earth-toned, red hollyhocks still grew below the windows and vines crawled up the walls. Casa de la Paz was, had been, and always would be Alana's favorite place on earth.

She stood before the lane, adjusting her oversized sunglasses as she gazed at the house, her gaze drawn to a particular balcony. She wondered if the scent of flowers on the evening breeze was as strong as it had been that night; if the stars shined as brightly as they had the night Alana received her first kiss.

Then she shook her head. She had no time for memories of Draco; her concern today was with the living. Forcing her mind back to the present, she walked up to the door of her Aunt Charlotte's house.

An ancient, stooped house elf led her into a small parlor before disappearing. Alana stood before the fireplace, her attention riveted on one picture among all those that crowded the mantle. It was a shot of two teenagers standing on a balcony. She was in a white halter-top dress, he in a white button-down shirt and khakis. They were framed by the doorway directly opposite Alana. She watched the picture as the boy plucked a flower from the vine beneath the banister and tucked it behind the girl's ear, before his hand slid down her neck and behind her head as he pulled her in for a kiss.

"Oh, Drake," she sighed.

Funny, she hadn't been thinking about Draco very much lately. He'd been dead for so long that at times it seemed hard to believe they'd ever been married. And to her horror, Alana was beginning to forget the sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around her, his scent.

Being married to Harry wasn't helping matters, however much of a sham the marriage was. Alana had always prized what little independence she had, but now she found herself wanting to include Harry in her decisions, to ask his opinions. It was ridiculous; in just over five months they'd be getting divorced, and their only connection would be James. Why was she trying to integrate him into her life?

The rustle of silk skirts alerted her to someone's presence. She turned only a moment before she was imprisoned in an embrace of red silk, gold lace, and the scent of cinnamon.

"Alana, mi amor!" Charlotte Montblanc exclaimed.

The never-married Charlotte was the little sister of Alana's father Hugh Montblanc, and Alana's favorite relative. Charlotte had always been a free spirit, using the fact that she was "only a female" to arrange her life her own way. Associated with the Death Eaters only to keep her mother from paying attention to her, the 41-year-old Charlotte still had the beauty and vivacity of a 16-year-old, and could pass as Alana's sister instead of her aunt.

"Oh, let me look at you," Charlotte said, taking Alana's face in her hands. "I still think of you as the 15-year-old girl who I kidnapped for a summer. But look at you! 31 years old, widowed, a mother twice over, and I'm guessing involved in more trouble with the Ministry."

One corner of Alana's mouth quirked in a smile; Charlotte had always known everything. She opened her mouth to speak, but Charlotte held up her hand.

"No, don't say anything, I don't want to know," she said. "You're probably here to figure out what our dear relatives are up to, so I'll just tell you."

Charlotte said no more until she and Alana were settled in the afternoon parlor, a generous tea laid out before them. Charlotte leaned back in her chair, and for the first time Alana could recall, her aunt looked her age.

"Oh my dear," she sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "Promise me you'll be careful. If they learn you're here…"
"They do want me, then?" Alana sighed.
"Despite your track record for rebellion," Charlotte nodded. "Your powers are too lucrative to ignore. Especially when you were bred to be their weapon."
Alana rubbed her forehead. "Tell me everything."