Author's Note: Okay, first things first. You're getting this post today because I'm celebrating. I've mentioned before that I have this story completely written and finished. That's because while I'm posting chapters on ffn, I'm also writing the next story I'll be posting. Ergo, while I was posting my Boondock Saints story AVPF, I was writing Light. I would post a chapter of AVPF every time I finished writing a chapter of Light. The same system is at work here; I post a chapter of Light after I finish writing a chapter of the next story I'll be posting. The next story happens to be a trilogy, and earlier this week I finished writing the second book. So I've been celebrating for the past few days, and that's why you're getting an update today.

Now that I've utterly bored you with that ungodly long explanation…

I fully realize that what happens between Harry and Alana in this chapter comes out of nowhere, and is rather out of character for them both. I also realize that they don't really stop to think about what they're doing. For those of you tempted to cry foul, I will defend myself with this. Everything that has happened between these two, in both books- including the bits of their past that you saw in Alana's journal- has been out of character for them both and has come out of nowhere. That's the basis of their entire relationship, and the root cause of a lot of the tension in this story. Before you try to tell me that that's completely unrealistic… no it's not. I have witnessed- even been involved in- relationships that come out of nowhere, and those involved don't think about what they're doing or why.

As for why Harry and Alana refuse to think about their actions, my only excuse there is that they're in the midst of a war, and are focused mostly on survival at this point. They're assuming that after they've dealt with the war, they'll have plenty of time to sort through their relationship.

I feel better for having gotten that out. I'll let you enjoy the story now.

Disclaimer: This is a really minor point that probably doesn't even need disclaiming, but I'm a bit paranoid. The chess image that Alana uses in the middle of this chapter is stolen from Twilight. At this point, I can't remember if I took it from the books or from a fan fiction or an RP that I wrote with my friend Henderson; maybe it's all three. Anyways, yeah. It's from the Twi-verse. A, don't flame me for stealing from Twilight. B, don't sue me for stealing from Twilight.

01 November 2019
Harry woke up slowly, blinking in the clear November sunshine that filtered through his windows. He sighed, shifting… then blinked, staring at the naked shoulder, the gentle sweep of black hair, lying next to him.

Oh bloody… bloody, bloody, buggering hell.

Last night had been… surreal. Alana had never broken down like she had last night. He had never seen her so unsettled, so vulnerable, so… human. She had been so weak, so unlike Alana, that for a moment he hadn't known what to do. She had clung to him, crying bitterly, needing him for comfort that he had offered, albeit bewilderingly.

Between her sobs, he'd heard the basics of what had happened. And for a moment, he was filled with nothing but dread. Yes, the ringleader of this infernal circus was dead, but the sideshow freaks still remained. The Death Eaters would be howling for vengeance; the war would likely escalate. It would be bloody, and dangerous, and likely complicated.

He had pulled Alana closer, his heart breaking for her as the full weight of what she'd done sunk in. In order to try to end this war before it began, she had murdered her own family. It didn't matter that said family was insane, or that Alana hadn't been fond of Bellatrix. She'd still had to kill her, had still damaged her soul in order to end the war before it began.

The kiss had started out as comfort. It had ended... with this, the two of them naked in bed. And Harry was feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.

Sweet Merlin, what had he done? Yes, he and Alana were married, so it was technically alright. But… it had just been an arrangement, a contract. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. When had his vows begun to matter to him? Did his vows matter all of a sudden, or had he simply… well, been a guy, and taken advantage when an opportunity presented itself? No, that wasn't it. At least, not entirely. Yeah, fine, he'd had no compunctions about this last night, but he wasn't like he had consciously been taking advantage of her. It had been… he didn't know what. Something different, something legitimate. She hadn't been some opportunity, she had been Alana. His wife. And last night… whatever it was… had been meant honorably. Mostly. Why was it that their marriage now seemed validated, real? When had he started having feelings for Alana again?

By Dumbledore's beard, this was not a good time to start falling for his wife! She was in danger, England was under threat of invasion, there was a war about to explode. He knew he was going to end up being right in the middle of it. Alana may have been working to destroy the Death Eaters, but he'd be called to lead the fight from the other side. They could both die. If there was ever a time not to think with one's heart, surely this was it.

But apparently, Harry still hadn't outgrown his adolescent sense of bad timing, because here he was, in bed with his wife, who he may or may not have been falling in love with.

He swam through a sea of blankets, wrapping an arm around the still-sleeping Alana and curling around her, trying to hide from his thoughts, which were only chasing each other in dizzying circles at this point. They fit, he was absently surprised to find. He'd thought it would feel wrong, to have her in his arms again, but it worked. It was comfortable and oddly familiar, like an old sweater that fits just right.

He hitched himself up onto his elbow, watching over her as she made the journey from sleep to wakefulness. For a moment after she opened her eyes, she just lay there. The look on her face wasn't confused or upset; it was exhausted, numb, bordering on hopeless. Harry rested his hand on her shoulder, stroking her bare skin with his thumb when she didn't turn.

"We need to get you into hiding," he said. "The Death Eaters will be baying for your blood."

She was quiet for a long moment before she rolled onto her back, looking up at Harry with red-rimmed eyes. He stared down at her, cataloguing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the translucence of her skin. She looked as though the constant stress had made her sick, sick and weary and in no condition to fight. The fall she'd taken from the pedestal he'd put her on had been long and hard; the evidence was laid out before him. This wasn't the Death Eater Goddess, the distant Star he had at points feared, reviled, and worshipped. No, the woman who lay beside him was the reality, the one behind all the masks, the fragile and very human truth of her.

"No," she replied, her voice hoarse but resolute. "No, I have to go back."
"Don't be stubborn," Harry frowned. "Your safety is more important than you needing to prove yourself-"
"It's not that," she cut him off. "Think about it, I just killed Bellatrix. Meaning that there's no one to guide Tisiphone. The senior advisors are going to be tripping over each other to bend her to their will. I need to be there, I need to get Tisiphone's confidence. If I can direct this war I can try to minimize the damage."

He was quiet for a moment, acknowledging the truth of what she said. Seeing that she was going to win, she spoke quickly.

"I'll tell the Death Eaters that Bellatrix and I got into a fight with an Auror, that he killed her and injured me," she said. "I'll get into Tisiphone's confidence and I'll do everything I can to stonewall them. I'll have to leave today-"
"No," Harry cut in. "Not today. At least, not yet."

She looked up at him, her green eyes liquid and serene. For a moment he just looked at her as they read the truth in each others' eyes. She saw that he had no idea what he was doing or what was happening; he saw that she really didn't care, as long as it didn't cease. He leaned down and kissed her again, sealing the bargain without knowing the terms… and that was the last thing either said for a very long time.

02 November 2019
She could feel her stomach tying up in knots as she approached the hacienda. For a minute, Alana found herself wishing she had accepted Harry's offer of sanctuary. Surely she had done enough to earn her reward; she had fought in three wars now, that was enough for a lifetime… Surely now she could be forgiven, she could leave the fight to someone else.

Frowning, she shook herself out of it, berating herself for her selfishness. The war wasn't over yet, and hadn't she wanted to end the war? Roman and his men were still fighting, thus so would she.

Alana drew a deep breath, allowing thoughts of Roman to calm her. They'd become good friends in the last two months, bound by their common experiences and their current dangerous situation. They were both black sheep, cast out of their families because they didn't believe in the Death Eaters' credo. Each was haunted by memories of what they'd done before their conversion, and each sought forgiveness they couldn't let themselves believe they deserved.

For Roman, she thought as she walked through the door. And for Harry.

"Good morning, Miss Semele," the butler, Watson, intoned.

She fought to stay calm beneath Watson's shocked inspection. She knew what she looked like; she had forced Harry to hit her with Sectumsempra on her cheek and her arm, so her story would be believable. Currently, her arm was heavily wrapped and in a sling, and she looked like death warmed over.

"Where is Lady Tisiphone?" Leto asked.
"In Madam's office," Watson supplied.

Without another word, Leto dashed up the stairs, allowing anxiety to bleed through her calm. She knocked on the office door, waiting for Tisiphone to call 'enter' before walking in.

"My lady," Leto said, inclining her head.
"Leto," Tisiphone replied, gazing at her. "You've returned. Where is my mother?"
"I'm sorry to tell you that your mother is dead," Leto replied. "We were ambushed outside of London by an Unmentionable, and she was killed."

Killed. By Alana's hand. She hadn't yet let herself think of the fact that she had murdered her aunt. How did one reconcile that fact within oneself? Someday, she would find the strength to face that down. But not today.

There was silence for a long moment, as Leto watched Tisiphone absorb the news. The young woman's expression didn't change, but Alana felt as though Tisiphone was throwing off a cloak, revealing her true colors. And for a moment, Alana felt sheer, unadulterated terror. She could have sworn that she was looking at Voldemort, and in that moment she knew that whatever Tisiphone Niger was, she wasn't human.

"I see," Tisiphone said. "Which means I am now in control of this war."

Leto remained silent, watching as Tisiphone began to pace. After a moment, Tisiphone turned to face Leto.

"My mother's advisors will attempt to rule me," she stated. "But I mean to take full control. Will you support me in this?"

For the barest moment, Alana considered. To support Tisiphone would mean that she would have a much harder time stalling the war. It would mean allowing innocent people to die, putting Roman and his men in danger at every moment. Instead of playing a simple chess game, she would be spreading the game across three boards, and fighting on all fronts at once. But to refuse would be to give up everything she had worked for, letting go of all the progress she had made and all her hopes for the future.

Swallowing hard, Leto knelt. "I pledge fidelity and support to you, my lady," she murmured.
"Which I accept, and shall not forget," Tisiphone said, an odd gleam in her eyes. "If you keep faith with me, your rewards will be great."

Leto inclined her head, feeling very much like she'd just sold her soul to the devil. As she rose and followed Tisiphone out the door, only one thought crossed her mind.

Her work had only just begun.

20 December 2019
Harry smiled to himself as he walked off the train, surrounded by James, Julian, and quite a bit of luggage. The boys were chattering happily to each other, and while he made the appropriate remarks at the right times, his mind wasn't really on the conversation that flowed around him. He paused when he saw the black carriage, emblazoned with the Malfoy family crest on the door.

"Your grandmother's here," he told the boys, motioning as Narcissa stepped out of the plush, black- and silver-draped carriage box. "You will behave for her, won't you?"
"Of course we will," James said, rolling his eyes good naturedly.
"Will Mother be here when we get back?" Julian asked.
"She'll be waiting at Grimmauld Place," Harry confirmed. "Go on now."

Needing no further prompting, both boys ran full-speed for their grandmother, greeting her with the deep affection one afforded to the woman who had raised them for the first part of their lives. As Narcissa ushered the boys into the carriage, she glanced back at Harry, and the two exchanged a civil nod before she slid into the car herself.

It had been Alana who had organized this tradeoff. She had fed Tisiphone a story about going home with Roman for the holidays; she would return with false information on the Order and the Aurors. In the meantime, Alana would be in London from now until New Year's. She'd arranged things so that the boys would spend Christmas Eve with Narcissa, and Christmas Day at Grimmauld Place with their parents and the Weasleys. And while James and Julian got time with Narcissa, Harry and Alana would have time alone together.

He had the funny feeling they weren't going to be wearing much clothing over the next few days.

Ever since returning to Spain, Alana had taken to using the Floo Network to travel to Hogwarts about once a week. She claimed she came for comfort, although they never did much talking. He mostly provided comfort in his bed, though he'd also had occasion to give it on the floor, against the wall, and on one memorable occasion, the Headmaster's desk.

They had never actually verbally agreed to take this next step in their relationship; it just kind of kept happening. And honestly, neither minded. It was strangely easy to be together; their bodies remembered each other, even if the emotional baggage each carried had yet to be fully shed. They were comfortable with each other, they enjoyed each other's company, trusted each other enough to reveal every facet of themselves. Even if they lacked the wild, passionate love they'd once had [had they ever truly loved each other? or was that only coming now?], what they did have was enough.

Smiling, Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place, intent on enjoying his Christmas holiday.

21 December 2019
Tisiphone Niger paced through her office, hands folded behind her back as her agile mind worked furiously, making and rejecting plans, considering her next move.

Ever since the death of her unlamented mother, Tisiphone had been leading this war. And she loved it- as much as she was capable of loving anything, that is. With her mother no longer running the show, Tisiphone was in full control, and she loved the power. The war was progressing beautifully; no more hiding in the shadows, as Bellatrix had done. Tisiphone's Death Eaters were bold and fearless, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that Voldemort's cause was alive and well.

There was, however, one aspect in which Bellatrix had been correct, and that was in the matter of the Great Traitor.

Killing the Great Traitor had been one of Bellatrix's ultimate goals. She was too powerful an ally for Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and too dangerous an enemy for Tisiphone and the Death Eaters. The Traitor had been bred as a weapon of war; that made her both highly valuable and highly dangerous. She'd already proven that she would become a turncoat at the drop of a hat; she couldn't be trusted by anyone. And if she wouldn't use her magic for the people she'd been born to, Tisiphone would be damned if the Order got a hold of her.

There was only one problem; the Traitor had vanished.

She was supposed to be in London. Leto and Bellatrix had gone to London in an attempt to find her and kill her. And yet, no one had seen the Traitor in months. It made sense to Tisiphone; the woman was likely under the protection of the Order, not to mention the personal protection of the Savior himself. She had likely been hidden away in an untraceable house, and would be untouchable.

Tisiphone stopped in her pacing, tilting her head thoughtfully. Yes, the Great Traitor was beyond reach for now… but her children weren't.

The elder son, James, Tisiphone disregarded. There were rumors from the time of the child's birth- recently renewed after Potter married the Traitor- that James wasn't truly Draco Malfoy's son. Most didn't believe it, pointing to Alana's black hair and green eyes and the fact that all the magical documents- birth certificates, magically spelled family trees- recognized James as a Malfoy. For her part, Tisiphone believed the rumors. James would have been conceived during the time Harry and Alana lived together, and everyone knew Alana and Draco hadn't seen each other during that time.

Julian, though… Julian would suit. He truly was a Malfoy, and supposedly much like his father. Tisiphone had never met her cousin Draco, but Bellatrix had assured her that he had been a devoted follower of her father, perfect in all respects except one- his inexplicable love for the Traitor he'd been bred to protect.

Smiling to herself, Tisiphone crossed to her desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and began to write a letter to her cousin. She would win his trust, learn the whereabouts of his mother, and then destroy her rival, once and for all.