Author's Note: I'm posting this chapter because I saw HP7 on Sunday, and of course freaked out about it. It was by far the best of all the movies; yay for competent screenwriters and directors!

This chapter is really short. However, it is important to the story, and Alana's POV is the reason I kept this chapter short and filler-free. I realize that what's about to happen is really abrupt and comes out of nowhere, but… that's kind of a theme of this story, I've found. Hope you enjoy!

31 October 2019
Harry leaned back in his armchair, dropping the reports he'd ostensibly been trying to read for the last two hours. It was hopeless; he was completely unable to focus on them tonight. He'd been hard at work all day, meeting with Ministry officials and the Hogwarts governors and unruly students, not to mention the never-ending paperwork and last-minute preparations for tonight's Halloween party. He knew it was foolish to push himself this hard, but he couldn't help it. He needed something to do that would take his mind off the fact that he hadn't had a letter from Alana in four days. They'd been sending each other multiple letters every day; that there had been four days of silence was worrying… He made a sound of frustration and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Must not think about it.

He glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner; good Godric, was it really almost 2 am? He had to be awake in five hours… Groaning, he pushed his weary body out of his chair and left the Headmaster's office for his private chambers upstairs. Sighing, he pulled off his school robes, dropping them on the carpet and changing into blue plaid flannel pants and a white t-shirt before sitting before the fireplace. He waved his wand, getting himself some Butterbeer and starting the fire. Then he simply sat there, staring into space and letting the moody silence envelope him.

In the nearly two months since the school year started, Harry had been pushing himself relentlessly, working constantly from dawn until well past midnight. When he ran out of Hogwarts business to attend to, he would read everything the Aurors had on Spain. And when that failed, he would re-read Alana's letters, driven by a half-forgotten and fully disturbing, overwhelming need to know that she was safe.

He was incredibly confused by this insane need. Why was he so nervous about his wife's safety? Yes, they were friends now; yes, they were writing each other multiple letters daily, revealing the innermost pieces of their souls to each other, and yes, she was in an incredibly dangerous situation right now and he feared for her safety. But Alana had been the one to conceive of this mission, and she knew what she was doing. This was far from the first time she had straddled the line between sides; she was a veteran of just as many wars as he. So why this fear that she wouldn't return home?

Of course, there was the possibility… Were his feelings for Alana once again progressing into dangerous territory? Why should they have to? Why could they not remain as they were, fostering this friendship they'd discovered? Theirs was a marriage of convenience, a contract so that Alana could return to England and Harry could have his son. How could his heart interfere on that?

And yet, it did. He missed her. He missed her presence at mealtimes, her mystifying smile or knowing smirk; he missed knowing she was two doors down late at night. He saw James every day, and Julian as well, but Alana he missed. Not only did he miss her, but for the first time in his life he felt as though he actually understood her. He clung to their letters, devouring them, picking them apart to divine every possible nuance of meaning. To Harry alone did Alana confide the terror she felt, the horror at the brutalities of the war. Here was a glimpse into the mind of his wife, something he never thought to have again. And in her mind, he found… he didn't even know what it was. But it was something, something that drew an answering chord from him.

He missed her, he understood her, and he wanted her home.

He glanced at the table beside his armchair, picking up her latest missive. He picked it up, but he didn't read it; it had made him sick when he'd read it the first time. Not only sickened at the brutality of the Death Eaters, but also sickened at the heavy toll this mission was taking on Alana. She was going through hell in Spain, and he could do nothing to ease her pain.

He hated being helpless. He did have to say that about being the Savior; it meant that there was always something he could do. He never had to just sit and wait, watching as someone else fought to save the day and praying that they came home safely. Harry chafed at his inactivity, but there was nothing else he could do. He had his duties to Hogwarts, and Alana had chosen to go on this mission. It was dangerous, and reckless, and classically Alana. She still felt as though she had to atone for her sins, still couldn't forgive herself for her past, and this was how she'd chosen to find retribution.

He could only hope she lived through it, so she could come home and Harry could figure out what exactly he felt for his wife.

It was a moody twilight, full of shadows. The stars hadn't come out yet; only a faint sliver of moon could be seen in the dusky purple sky. The world was quiet, brooding, lost in its secrets as two hooded and cloaked figures glided down the sidewalk.

As Leto Semele walked down the sidewalk, she marveled at what had transpired. Fast; it had all happened so fast. She'd known it would happen quickly, of course. That was the way Bellatrix operated, striking as suddenly and unpredictably as lightning. But not like this…

"I know there is a spy within our ranks," Bellatrix had said, her insane, paranoid gaze darting from face to face with quicksilver glances. "Our positions have been passed to the Ministry. Harry Potter, the great Chosen One, as been alerted that we are active."

She paused, looking at everyone again. Her eyes rested last and longest on Leto. Leto raised her eyes to Bellatrix, holding her gaze steadily as she practiced Occlumency. Finally, Bellatrix looked away.

"We must proceed with the plan," she said. "My daughter will take her rightful place as Queen of the wizarding world."

Alana shivered, pulling her cape more closely around herself. She'd heard idealistic rhetoric like this before, when it had been she who was the destined leader, the princess. But Bellatrix didn't have one half the cunning or the intelligence of Camilla Montblanc, and Tisiphone, whatever she was, was no Alana.

Leto had known that Bellatrix would move fast. But bumping up plans took time, as did gathering needed supplies. She'd thought there would at least be time to warn Roman of what was to come.

But here they were in London, only twelve hours after Bellatrix's meeting. The city was quiet, completely unprepared for the assault that had already begun. There was no chance to tell Harry or alert anyone; Alana was going to have to end this on her own. Unfortunate, that. Harry was the hero, Alana the scapegoat. That was the way it worked; role reversals were not in her line. Oh, they'd happened, of course. When push came to shove, she'd defied Voldemort and all he stood for. But she'd never relished playing the hero.

"I know it's you, Alana."

All of Leto's thoughts drew to a halt as Bellatrix spoke. They'd stopped walking; a quick glance around revealed that they stood in Grimmauld Place. Oh dear. So Bellatrix hoped to use Alana to gain entrance into Order Headquarters, and take it for her own. Did Bellatrix know the address? Could Alana stop this before any unsuspecting Order members were killed?

"It was a good disguise, my dear," Bellatrix said, looking over her niece-in-law. "You nearly had me fooled."
"How did you find me out?" Alana asked.
"Well, that necklace was my first clue," Bellatrix replied. "No one but you would wear a star. Then I overheard you talking to my portrait of Draco. Once I'd figured that out, all it takes is-"

She withdrew her wand and shot a spell at the younger woman. Alana shuddered as it hit; it felt as though her entire body had been plunged into cold water. When the sensation passed, Alana suddenly felt naked, as if her skin had been ripped off, leaving her nerves exposed.

"Homorphus Charm," Bellatrix purred.
"Ah. I hadn't thought of that," Alana said thoughtfully.

She leaned against the fence and pulled down her hood, as if she hadn't a care in the world. And indeed, the wisps of hair that fell around her face were black, not red. Well, perfect. She folded her arms, her fingertips brushing the wand in the pocket of her cloak. She would have to be quick; there was no error for margin.

"So what now, Aunt Bellatrix?" she asked, looking at the older woman and tilting her head.
"Either you prove your loyalty to your family and Draco's memory and lead me into this house, or you die," Bellatrix sneered.

Alana nodded silently. A moment later, Number 12 grew from between its neighbors. A delighted smile light up Bellatrix's face. She patted Alana on the cheek, then skipped up the lane. Alana followed slowly, her mouth dry.

Bellatrix reached for the doorknob-

"Avada Kedavra."

-and fell to the ground, dead, her eyes wide in shock and betrayal. Alana stood above her, shakily lowering her wand.

"Forgive me," she murmured, before making the body disappear with a wave of her wand and gliding inside.

The door closed behind her, but she didn't notice. She walked upstairs numbly, reached for the Floo powder sitting on her mantle, and traveled to her destination.

Harry stared at her as she stepped out of the fire and into the Headmaster's quarters. Seeing the look on her face, he stood and crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"It's finished," she whispered, then broke into tears.