Author's Note: Okay, because I'm feeling a little insecure about the direction the story's about to take, I'm going to front-load this chapter with an explanation. If this is a plot twist you've seen a million times, I'm sorry. But I promise I'm not just plopping it in willy-nilly because I thought it sounded cool; I've put a lot of thought into it, and I've done everything I could to justify why I'm doing it, and why it makes sense in this world I've created. I promise it's not a plot twist for the sake of a plot twist; the information revealed in this chapter becomes the focal point for the rest of the story, and introduces you to our main antagonists. So it's not like I'm dropping this plot twist on you and then not developing it; it is going to be important for the rest of the story. I promise.

Secondly, I realize that this chapter is really short and kind of abrupt. That's because it used to be the end of the previous chapter. I split it because I wanted to keep the tension up and not immediately reveal what was going on. So this chapter is dedicated solely to introducing you to our newest villain.

Third of all, I know the moment between Harry and Alana is short and sweet. I realize I could have drawn that out, but when I was writing this chapter, Hal and Lana came up to me and said, "We don't want to dwell on this. Acknowledge it and let us move on with our lives already." So I played it their way.

OC Play-By: Tisiphone Niger is portrayed by Christina Ricci.

17 August 2019
Harry jumped as the door opened and quickly shut again. He turned to see an abnormally pale Alana locking the door, then desperately trying to regain her composure as she sank into a chair.

"Alana?" he asked unsurely, knowing that anything that had her this shaken was a bad thing.
"Firewhiskey," she croaked.

Harry winced as he went to the cabinet where he and Ron had been hiding their firewhiskey from Hermione and her disapproval, quickly pouring her a generous glass. Yep, bad thing. Only the worst had ever driven Alana to drink.

She snatched at the glass, downing it with practiced ease. Harry poured her more, surprised when she gripped his hand, though her gaze was focused on the empty space in front of her instead of on him. He folded his fingers around hers as he squatted before her, waiting for her to regain enough composure to speak.

"Do you remember why we were partnered in the Ministry, twelve years ago?" she asked.
He nodded. "Aurors had intelligence that the Dark Lord was creating a weapon of some kind in Spain. But we could never figure out what it was."
"Because we were looking for the wrong kind of weapon," she said heavily. "I should've seen it. I know how he worked, I knew he liked Death Eaters with special gifts…"
"Alana…?" Harry asked uneasily.
"Back in 2002," she began, "the Dark Lord bred a weapon- another like me."
"Another Wishgiver?" Harry asked.
"Not exactly," Alana said. "Not a Wishgiver, but the same idea- a witch with some kind of extraordinary power, but much easier to control than I was. She was to be hidden in Spain until the day Voldemort was ready to reveal her."

Harry kept silent as Alana poured herself another drink, sensing that the best was yet to come.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is running this war," Alana finally said. "And it is a war; Aunt Charlotte told me the plan was for them to return to England to empty Azkaban. She's holding the Spanish Presidente under the Imperius Curse." Alana drew a shaky breath. "She's doing all of this for the Dark Lord's weapon- Tisiphone Niger. Voldemort's daughter by Bellatrix."

Harry sat back, sickened and amazed. He didn't need Alana to explain why that was such a calamity; it was obvious. A child with Voldemort's magic, the pure blood of the Blacks… Voldemort was sure to have invested his own powers in his weapon…

"Is she a Horcrux?" he croaked.
Alana shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know."

Harry's mind was reeling so quickly he feared he would be sick. If the girl was a Horcrux.. if Harry's work wasn't finished after all… then he had no choice. He would have to kill her, to go through another war, to be the Savior once again.

"We need to go back," Harry managed to force out. "We have to go back to England. They know I'm here; they'll know you visited Charlotte. And I need to tell Moody, we need to prepare."
"I want to help," Alana said. She looked up slowly, fear and determination warring in her eyes. "If there is to be a Third War, I want to help you. I… I need to help you, I want to be on your side for once."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Harry knew it was time. He had wanted reconciliation with Alana for months, had needed to tell her he forgave her. Here was his chance.

"You always were on my side, I know that now," he assured her.

Their gazes held, and Harry saw something shift in her. His forgiveness seemed to be the impetus Alana had needed to begin to forgive herself. She had spent years living with a guilt disproportionate to her crime. It wouldn't happen overnight, but it was time to move on.

"Let' s go home," he repeated. "We'll have one hell of a mess to clean up at the Ministry."
Though still pale, a glimmer of an amused smirk graced Alana's face. "Well, if your Ministry would just cooperate, I wouldn't need to break the rules."

"A daughter," Shacklebolt said blankly, collapsing back into his chair.
"We heard rumors of a weapon of some kind in Spain, but we could never find anything," Moody said, shaking his head.
"She must've been hidden, like the Potters were," Alana said thoughtfully. "Houses spelled for secrecy, a Secret Keeper, charms for concealment."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, and it struck Harry how old the Minister looked, how tired. He was only 52, but two wars and thirteen years as the Minister had aged him before his time.

"So we fight again," Shacklebolt said with a sigh.
"And what to do about you?" Moody asked, eyeing Alana.
"Commend me for figuring out what was going on?" she suggested.
"If you didn't already know," Moody said.
"You've been reading my mail, you've had me under 24-hour surveillance," she shot back. "I'm flattered that you think me cunning enough to outwit you and have contact with the Death Eaters without your knowledge."

Moody leaned back, acknowledging the point. Harry frowned; he'd thought they were past this mistrust of Alana. He took her hand in his, silently reminding everyone whose side she was on.

"I'm going to keep Hogwarts open," he said. "It's always been a refuge in times of trouble. And since both of Alana's boys will be there, it only makes sense for her to be there, as well."
"So we should reward her for breaking the terms of her visa?" Shacklebolt asked.
"The visa stipulates that I may leave the country in the event of an emergency," Alana said. "I consider my husband's safety to be an emergency."

Harry smirked faintly at Shacklebolt's and Moody's faces. They clearly hadn't expected that…

"We'll discuss it," Shacklebolt said begrudgingly.
Alana nodded and stood. "Thank you. And now, I'm going home to my children."

She walked out, head held high, without a single backwards glance; always the consummate aristocratic Pureblood. Harry had to laugh as he followed her out; as usual, she had ended up dominating were she was supposed to be submissive. Some things, at least, never changed.