Author's Note: I'm going to quickly (ish) circumvent a couple of likely critiques here. First of all, in Julian's April POV, he's going to repeat a few things that Alana has already said elsewhere. I know it sounds repetitious, but it's intentional. I needed to have Julian acknowledge these points in order to lay the foundations for the last two chapters of the story. In my opinion, nothing is more dangerous than a person who takes action on incorrect information or faulty intelligence. So Julian's assessment of his parents, and his mother's choices, is really important to the plot. I pray you forgive me the redundance.

Also, I realize that I zoom through months of time in this chapter. I suppose I could have slown way down and stretched this out to two or three chapters, but… I didn't want to. It would have slowed the story way down, and I needed to keep the momentum up for the next chapter. So this plot twist got a bit shortchanged in favor of keeping the pace fast.

01 January 2020
She sat on the bed numbly, eyes staring into space as her mind struggled to process, to understand. It was so simple; it was so horribly complicated.

Alana's entire life had always been planned for her. From the moment the Dark Lord had made the decision to breed her, every step of her life had been arranged, down to the last detail. She had deviated from her charted life course only three times- falling in love with Harry, giving birth to James, and helping Harry defeat Voldemort. She may not have agreed with the way her life had been arranged, but she had followed the plan- out of fear and cowardice, if nothing else.

This, however… This fit into no plan that had ever been conceived for her.

What had happened to their marriage of convenience, the empty vows? As strange and wrong as that had been, it was clear, easily understood. Then they'd had to go and complicate it all with this physical affair, this warm camaraderie and solidarity. They'd bound themselves together when Harry claimed paternity of James, true, and this physical affair had tied them closer yet. Still, their sham of a wedding was to have been over in 22 days. Their lives would have diverged again, and while they would be friends [likely with benefits], they would each be free to take their own path.

That couldn't really happen now. This… little accident… had bound them together just as strongly as James had.

Really, she had the worst sense of timing in the world. Why was it that she felt the need to conceive when the world was embroiled in war? Each time she'd gotten pregnant, it had been in the midst of fighting, when her life was constantly in danger. This was so obviously not the time to be with child.

And yet here she was, the day before she was due to return to Spain, pregnant with Harry's child 22 days before they would have begun the divorce process.

She stared again at the magical pregnancy test, which in addition to confirming pregnancy also revealed the day of conception. Seven weeks. Meaning she'd gotten pregnant in mid-November. She had a sneaking suspicion she could blame the escapade on the Headmaster's desk for this…

Placing her hands over cheeks that felt suspiciously warm, Alana rose from the bed and began to pace. Now that her pregnancy was confirmed, she needed to think, to plan, anything to occupy her mind and prevent her from panicking.

Seven weeks… She'd deliver in the latter part of August, in that case. It would be wretched, being pregnant through a Spanish summer… For there was no doubt in her mind that Alana would stick with her mission. She couldn't abandon it, not when Tisiphone had pushed into France and was preparing to take charge of the rest of Europe, England included. Alana was needed more than ever; she couldn't back out simply because she hadn't had the good sense to insist upon protection.

She could just work the pregnancy into her cover, she decided; claim that the child was Roman's. Thank Merlin Roman had black hair and that her disguise included green eyes… that should hold any questions at bay. Perhaps if she revealed her pregnancy, Tisiphone would allow her to bow out of the Death Squads, and she could relax a little. That would definitely be a welcome bonus. And once the child was born… what then? She would fight until the war ended, and then… what? Retire into the country? Live happily ever after with Harry at Hogwarts? Finally find the retribution she'd spent so long seeking?

She shook her head; the future was too uncertain to think about. For now, short-term planning was all she could really do. She needed to go shopping for the various herbs and potions she would need to have a healthy pregnancy. She would need to go to Hopewell House to gather the bassinette, rocker, and other newborn things. She'd see about finding a small house in Madrid for her and Roman to move into, to further along that happy family image. And, most immediately, she needed to figure out how in the world she was going to tell Harry.

She ceased her pacing when she heard the front door open, the sounds of her boys running into the kitchen and Harry coming upstairs to the room they now shared. Alana drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, waiting for him. She still had no plan for how to tell him, which she hated, but it was now or never.

"Hey," Harry said, a grin on his face as he brushed snow out of his hair. "You missed an epic snowball fight."
Alana smiled, somehow. "How badly did the boys beat you?"
"Oh, it was bad," he nodded, laughing, before he leaned in and kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him back. They could handle this, she thought vaguely; they were mature adults.

"Alright, what's wrong?" he asked as he pulled away, looking her dead in the eye.

It wasn't like she'd never done this before, she thought. She'd gone through this experience twice before, once with Harry. She could tell him…

"Alana?" Harry asked, brow furrowed in concern.
She drew a deep breath. "I'm pregnant," she said quietly.

They sat at the kitchen table, each with a mug of tea, just staring at each other. It had been two hours, and they hadn't spoken yet.

Harry was stunned. How could this happen? Okay yeah, they'd been shagging a lot. And yes, they'd been pretty bad about protection, but… How could she be pregnant? More importantly, how could she be pregnant now? They were supposed to divorce!

Granted, lately Harry had been wondering if a divorce was truly what he wanted. It was, after all, rather difficult to contemplate divorce when he was fairly certain he was at least half in love with his wife.

But a baby?

He hadn't counted on having another child. He had James, and honestly, learning to parent a 12-year-old was challenging enough. To add another child into the mix…

"What're we going to do?" he croaked.

Alana bit her lip, staring into her tea. She'd been asking herself the same thing all day.

"I'm keeping it," she announced, soft but determined.
He nodded hesitantly. "I'll… I'm going to be there," he promised.

She looked up at him, apparently not having expected that. Swallowing thickly, he took her hand in his, his face serious.

"This is our child," he said softly. "Ours. I'm going to be there for this one."
She nodded slowly. "Okay."

14 February 2020
A sharp crack disrupted the silence of Hopewell Manor as its long-absent mistress Apparated into the foyer. Stretching wearily, she rubbed the back of her neck, allowing her disguising spells to wear off. Good Salazar, it was exhausting to keep that deception up… Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Alana looked around the manor that had once been her home. The silence was oppressive, unnerving, even tomb-like, and Alana shuddered in distaste. When she and Draco had lived here, they had combated the cavernous stillness of the house with laughter, music, raucous games of Tag that led to a more amorous game altogether. Standing in this mausoleum of her former life, Alana found herself wanting to scream, to laugh; anything to awaken the echoes of her and Draco's voices.

Sighing, Alana headed up the stairs, to the nursery where, for a short time, her boys had slept. James' crib, Julian's bassinette, the rocker where Alana had spent so very many hours. It seemed almost like sacrilege to remove these relics from their resting place, to bring remnants of her former life into her present one. But she waved her wand and diminished the furniture, the toys, lovingly stashing them in her purse. They would serve their original purpose once again, decorating her hotel room and serving her baby.

When she was done, she stood in the middle of the empty, forlorn-looking room, looking around.

It was in that moment that the truth of her condition really hit her. She was pregnant; she was going to be someone's mother. She'd been so focused on the fact that she was carrying Harry's child that she'd forgotten the child itself. It was a grievous error on her part; she knew better than most that in the end, paternity- even maternity- didn't matter. The babe she carried beneath her heart was its own person, a whole new human being.

Alana sat down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her torso and staring down at her still-flat stomach, marveling at the miracle that she and Harry had created, the wonder that was even now forming within her.

"I think it's about time we got to know each other," she murmured. "I'm your mother. And I can't wait to show you the world."

Harry sighed as he squatted, laying a single white lily before the simple headstone. His eyes raked over the inscription without reading it. He didn't need to see the words; they were engraved over his heart.

"Hey, Ginny," he murmured.

He didn't often come to the cemetery. He preferred to remember Ginny as she had been, rather than think of her remains rotting away. Usually, if he needed to talk he'd sit before her portrait. But today he felt the need to address her, not a depiction of her.

"I'm going to be a father," he blurted out. Once those fatal words were spoken, the dam broke, and he just started talking. "Alana and I are married. It was supposed to just be for convenience, but now it's… well, I still don't know if it's real, but it's not just a contract now. And we're gonna have a baby. And part of me thinks that I should feel like I'm betraying you. I mean… I loved you. We were trying to have a baby. And now I am having one- with Alana. Who you always hated. And I should feel so guilty for all of this, but… I don't. I loved you- I still love you, I always will- but you're gone. You're dead. And I'm not. I'm alive, and… forgive me, Gin, but I don't want to be dead along with you. I'm tired of looking back, living in the past. I want to move on… I am moving on. I just… please don't hate me for it. I can't live for both of us. I want to live without feeling guilty that you're not here with me."

He sighed, falling silent. And he felt… at peace. As if a huge weight had lifted off his chest. Almost as if he'd been set free.

He left the cemetery with a smile on his face.

06 March 2020
Harry leaned back in his chair as he finished eating. "You should've been a chef, Ron," he sighed contentedly.
"And let you and Mione have all the fun? I think not," Ron scoffed, kissing his wife on the head as he gathered up the plates.
"Now what's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. From the moment he'd stepped through the fireplace, Hermione had been on him like a bloodhound on a criminal. He was honestly surprised she'd contained herself for this long.

"Alana's pregnant," he said as Ron sat back down.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then…

"WHAT?"

Harry winced, rubbing his temples; it was hard to say which Weasley had yelled louder.

"Alana and I are having a baby," he repeated.
"But… you… that… I… INSANE!" Ron exclaimed.
"Thanks, I didn't realize that," Harry shot back.
"Harry, what could you be thinking?" Hermione asked weakly.
He shrugged. "She's my wife? It wasn't exactly planned…"
"Imagine that," she said, the words dripping with sarcasm. "Harry Potter, without a plan? Never."
"I thought you were getting divorced," Ron said.
"Well, we can't until her citizenship papers come through," Harry pointed out. "And… I dunno…"
"What about Ginny?" Ron asked.

Harry stiffened, and Hermione hissed, 'Ron!', but Ron didn't let up.

"What about my sister?" he asked.
"She's dead, Ron," Harry said quietly.
"Murdered. By Death Eaters," Ron said, his voice hard.
"Not by Alana," Harry said, standing.
"She's one of them," Ron said through clenched teeth.
Harry glared. "You don't know what you're talking about," he seethed before throwing Floo powder on the fire and disappearing.

Hermione groaned as Ron and Harry stalked off in opposite directions. Stupid, stubborn boys… she had rather hoped that they were past all of this. Glancing at the fireplace and the door through which they'd disappeared, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Then she squared her shoulders and marched after her husband.

For as long as she'd been friends with the boys, Hermione had been the peacemaker. Which was rather ironic when one considered her occasional lack of tact and her perennial superiority complex [born from the comfort of always being right]. She was used to navigating the tempestuous waters of the boys' tempers, and even if she couldn't always get them to end their arguments in a timely fashion, she had gotten much better at calming them down. Of course, that had gotten easier when Ginny and Harry sorted themselves out… Hermione sighed, allowing herself a moment of silence to miss her best friend and sister-in-law. Of all the women Harry had ever been interested in [and Hermione included Alana in this, yes], Hermione had only liked Ginny. She and Harry had just fit together; it was obvious why they belonged together. Unlike this Harry and Alana business.

Hermione found Ron in the backyard, looking ready to kill something. Rather than encouraging Ron to talk out his emotions- a process she knew he hated- instead, she just talked.

"I don't blame you for being angry with him," she said, softly but resolute. "As a matter of fact, I think I agree with you. I don't at all understand why he would want to remain married to her, nor can I believe that they're having a child. But as mad as you are at Harry and as much as you don't like Alana, the fact remains that he is your best mate, and this is his choice. You don't have to like it, but you do have to respect his right to choose this."

There was a long silence, and Hermione was turning to leave when Ron's voice, low and weary, stopped her.

"I just… Merlin, a baby… What in Godric's name does he see in her?"
"I have no idea," she admitted candidly. "But he's always seen something in her that we don't get."
"Maybe he's seeing something that isn't there," Ron frowned.
"It's entirely possible," Hermione nodded. "After all, he fancied Cho, and she ended up a Death Eater."
"He has an unfortunate history with that," Ron said.

They almost laughed at that. Which was progress for them; for many years they hadn't even been able to mention Harry in conjunction with Death Eaters, not after what he'd suffered at their hands. The fact that they could nearly find humor in this pattern of Harry's relationships was perhaps the best proof they had that they were healing from the traumas of the war, after all.

The stood silently, leaning against the fence, for some time, each contemplating the storm that loomed on the horizon, wondering if they'd all make it through this baby thing alive or if blood would be shed before the child ever saw the light of day.

01 April 2020
Hogwarts was quiet, Harry's students busy with homework or mischief making or merriment in general. He wasn't too worried what they were doing; he had the Maurader's Map, it would tell him if anything was amiss.

He was on the Quidditch Pitch, watching James and Julian as they chased each other on their brooms and performed rolls and dives that would have given their acrophobic mother a heart attack. He had to smile; Merlin, it was déjà vu to watch them…

He'd tried to be impartial during the school year, truly he had. He'd tried to be the Headmaster, to treat them as he would any other students. But… James was his son. These were Alana's boys. So try as he might, he couldn't resist evenings spent like this. Besides, he had something to tell them…

"Boys, come sit down," Harry called, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. "I have something to tell you."
"Is it about Mother?" Julian asked as the boys landed beside him. "Is she alright?"
"She's just fine," Harry assured them both. "She and I…" he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your mother's going to have a baby."

They were silent for a long moment, stunned, before Julian spoke.

"Y-You mean… you and Mother. Like with James."
"Yes," Harry nodded, wishing he could read Julian as well as Alana could.
"I'm… I'm going to have another brother?" James asked.
"You both are, yeah," Harry said. "Or maybe a sister. Your mother's living in the country right now, would you like to go there this summer?"
"But… what are you and Mother going to do?" James asked, looking up at him.

Harry hesitated; should he tell them about the marriage? One look at Julian's face answered his question. No, the boys didn't need to know yet.

"We'll continue on just as we are," he said, sounding upbeat. "I'm still your guardian, we'll all live together, and we'll be happy, won't we?"

The boys glanced at each other for a long moment before nodding.

"Yeah," James said. "One big happy family."

They headed indoors soon afterwards. Julian soon veered off to go to the Slytherin common room, his mind reeling.

Julian Malfoy was, in general, a quiet person. It wasn't that he was a timid or boring person; far from it. It was just that he, like his parents and grandparents before him, valued silence as a tool of power and as a respite from the perpetual, hectic chatter of daily life. Also much like his family, Julian's mood could be judged by the quality of silence that surrounded him. Sometimes, the silence was light and peaceful; sometimes it was still and thoughtful. And sometimes, like now, the silence was black and oppressive, choking all attempts at speech and even repelling overtures of company. It was at times like this that Julian became trapped in his silence; its slave rather than its master.

There had been times, many years ago, when Draco Malfoy had forsaken his favorite couch before the fireplace, and had instead ensconced himself in a leather wingback armchair secluded in a shadowy corner, there to brood for hours at a time. Tonight found his son sitting in that exact spot, knees drawn under pointed chin, gray eyes darkened in thought.

A baby. Good Salazar, Mother was having a baby. With Harry.

A hot, deep anger fueled by jealousy flowed through his veins, lava chasing his icy composure away. So Mother was having a baby? Well, wasn't that just bloody wonderful. She and Harry could give James a new sibling, and they could form a whole new family of black-haired, green-eyed coherency.

There was clearly no place for him in that family. For one thing, he looked different. Where James actually looked like Harry and Alana, Julian was every bit his father's son. How could he hope to assimilate into his mother's new family when he was so clearly from her old life?

It wasn't just a physical difference, either. James and Harry- and even his mother, to a point- were Potters. Friends to Muggles and magic folk alike, not giving a care for standing or the established order. Harry and James both collected a following of outcasts and oddballs and those just dazzled by the Savior's fame. Julian, however, was a Malfoy; the only Malfoy heir, for that matter. Julian was the last scion of a branch of wizard aristocracy, a world of blue blood and old money. His mother had turned her back on that world, but Julian had not. There was an inherent dignity and grandeur in the weight of his name; a power he had that James didn't. Potter was flashy and celebrity; Malfoy was as ancient and enduring as stone.

His mother had belonged to that world, once, and had commanded it. But she had walked away from it all, and for what? Was Savior Potter really so much better than Julian's own father? What did England offer, really? His mother was being held prisoner in London- of course the Ministry used a more polite term, but the truth was that she was living under guard and close scrutiny. No one in the wizarding world trusted her- not even Harry's closest friends, even though his mother had done nothing to harm them; she had even at one time worked for them, for Merlin's sake. She had given up being a Malfoy, she was having another child with Harry… and why? Why was her current prison and isolation so much better than the freedom of being a Malfoy?

No, Julian didn't fit into his mother's new life. He belonged to his father's world, to the world where his blue blood went back thousands of years and his magic ran deep and pure, a world of money, prestige and power. His father had been on top of the world, and Julian intended to restore his family's good name.

His family… His family was his grandmother, his relatives in Spain, his cousin Tizzi. Tizzi was his favorite. His mother had never mentioned her, but Tizzi's mother was his father's aunt. Tizzi was several years older than he, but it didn't matter; they both belonged to the same world, and they enjoyed each other's company through the letters they sent. Tizzi had started writing to him once her mother learned that Alana had returned to England. The letters were their secret; neither of their mothers knew about their correspondence. Julian told Tizzi about Hogwarts and what little he knew of Harry's involvement in the war; she told him of Spain, and stories of his father. Julian lived for those stories. True, his grandmother and mother gave him his father's possessions, told him that he was so very similar to Draco. But Tizzi told him stories, and in those tales Draco began to live again. He'd been strong, brave, resourceful, clever, ambitious; everything that Julian strove to live up to.

Yes, let Mother keep Harry and the baby. Julian had a family of his own, and one who wouldn't turn their backs on him.

17 May 2020
Leto Semele groaned as she Apparated into the cemetery. It had been a very long week; she had revealed her pregnancy to Tisiphone, since there was no longer any way to hide her belly. Of course, she had claimed that the child was Roman's. As Voldemort had when Alana was pregnant with James, Tisiphone had been ecstatic at the news. After all, Roman would surely be distracted by his impending fatherhood; it was the perfect time to dispose of him. Tisiphone had even graciously permitted Leto to step out of the Death Squad so as not to endanger herself or the child she carried. Instead, her role as double agent was given increased importance.

She was supposed to be in her hotel room in Madrid, spending the day relaxing. Instead, she was walking through an English cemetery, to make her peace with a ghost.

"Hello, Ginny," she murmured.

She stood awkwardly before the tombstone, her arms wrapped around her burgeoning torso. Merlin, what was she doing? She had no right to be here. For Salazar's sake, she had been the one to reunite Harry and Ginny after Harry's release from the Death Eaters' prison! What was she doing now claiming him for herself?

"Your brother would kill me if he knew I was here," she said ruefully. "And I must say, I don't exactly blame him. I realize that I don't have much of a right to Harry, not after all we've been through."

She stood quietly for a long moment. The earth, the air, the grave before her… all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting, straining to hear what she had to say.

"I'm not trying to take your place," she stated. "I'm not even trying to reclaim my place, if I ever truly had one. I just… Harry and I have a son. We're going to have another child. We're a family now… at least, we're trying to be. I just want you to know… we haven't forgotten you. Either of us. And I don't want him to forget you. I was just hoping that… perhaps… we could share him. There's plenty of room in his life for the both of us."

She sensed the earth exhaling, the air flowing like a sigh. The tension leached out of the atmosphere, and Alana was left with a sense of acceptance. Ginny may not have liked her in life, but in death she'd given Alana her blessing to do… what, exactly? Enjoy her family? Care for Harry, perhaps even…? Well, whatever it was Alana had permission for, she thanked Ginny from the bottom of her heart.

Harry knew it the instant Alana got to Hogwarts. It didn't matter how graceful Alana was, one could not be graceful clambering out of a fireplace after traveling via the Floo network. Especially not when one was pregnant. Leaving his office, he hurried upstairs, drawing Alana into his arms and kissing her. When he pulled away, he was treated to her beautiful smile, the one he thought never to see again.

"You're late," he chastised her with a kiss.
"I was running errands," she defended herself, threading her arms around his neck.
"Excuses, excuses," he muttered, bending to taste her neck.
"Maybe you should punish me, Headmaster," she purred.

He didn't need to be told twice.

Two hours later they lay entwined in bed, sleepy and sated. Alana lay her head on Harry's shoulder, playing with his fingers, while he played with her hair.

"You know, we still haven't discussed names," she said.
"Mmm, alright," he yawned, placing a couple more pillows behind himself and shifting into a semi-seated position as Alana curled into his side. "Do you want another J name?"
"No," she shook her head decisively. "I like Cassius or Orion, for a boy. But neither of those really go with Potter."
"Not many traditional Pureblood names do," he said. "What about Tom?"
"Harry James Potter, I am not naming my child after Voldemort, and I should Crucio you for even joking about it," Alana said heatedly. "What about Remus?"
"Alright. I think Lupin would like that," Harry nodded, his fingers sliding from her hair to trace whimsical patterns along her bare back.
"And could his middle name be Roman?" Alana asked, tilting her head back to look at him.
"Remus Roman?" Harry asked, his mouth quirking in a smile.
"I know it's a bit of a tongue-twister, but I'd really like to honor Roman," Alana said. "He's been so helpful to me…"
"Whatever you want," Harry nodded, kissing her forehead. "What about a girl?"
"You get no say in that. We name her Lily Charlotte," Alana stated.

Harry stared at her, surprised. Yes, he had wanted to name a girl for his mother, but he hadn't expected Alana to proffer it.

"Thank you," he managed to choke out.
She looked up at him. "From everything I've heard, your mother was a rare woman. I'd be honored if our daughter grew up to be like her."

That was the last thing either of them said for quite a while.

01 June 2020
Harry leaned back in his seat in his compartment of the Hogwarts Express, seemingly lost in the latest Auror reports while James and Julian ate their way through a mountain of candy from the trolley. While the boys entered glucose paradise, Harry slipped into reminiscence.

One year. It had been one solid year since he'd boarded this train, headed towards Marseille with James and clutching a black, leather-bound journal. One year since he'd gone to France with the intention of learning the truth about a woman he'd once loved, a woman he'd assumed for years to be his enemy. And here he was a year later, on his way home to his pregnant wife, their sons in tow.

What a year it had been, he mused. What a riotous roller coaster of a year. Marriage to Alana. James his son in name as well as biology. A child on the way. Bellatrix dead. Alana turning double agent again. Another war erupted.

And what a war it was. Things were as bad as Harry had ever seen them; cities paralyzed by fear, the air smelling of magic and death. He'd already promised himself to the fight this summer. Alana was right, people needed a hero to believe in. And for better or for worse, he was the Savior.

He glanced up as the train slowed to a stop. Shaking his head at the mess the boys had made, Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket and waved it at the wrappers, which promptly disappeared.

"Alright boys, let's go," Harry smiled, tucking his papers into his briefcase.
"Is Mother here?" Julian asked.
"She's waiting for us at Grimmauld Place," Harry replied, fervently hoping that Alana had managed to get away from the Death Eater croquet match or whatever had been scheduled for that day.

After corralling the boys, the luggage, and their owls, Harry somehow managed to marshal them all to the car where an Auror, disguised in Muggle clothing, was waiting to drive them through London. Normally, Harry wouldn't bother with such a precaution, but since he had the boys he figured it couldn't hurt to have the protection. A ten-minute drive brought them to Grimmauld. Harry hustled the boys inside, wary lest any Death Eaters be watching. He shut the door and locked it…

And then he, like the boys, stared in awe.

Fairy lights were strung along the ceiling. Every possible surface was covered in flickering candles. Soft music played, and mouthwatering smells issued from the kitchen. They found Alana in the living room, setting down platters of food. She was garbed in loose, light, gauzy robes in deference to her swelling belly; she looked as though she were floating.

"Mother!" the boys exclaimed in glee.

A moment later they were a tangle of limbs, and the music was drowned out by the sounds of their laughter.

"What's all this?" Harry asked.
"I figured that if we couldn't go to the Marseille homecoming party, I'd bring the party to us," Alana replied, smiling.
Harry grinned. "Then I guess I should ask you to dance."

And right on cue, their song began to play. They both smiled as he took her hand and led her in the dance, moving gently so she wouldn't get dizzy or tired. For a moment there was no war, no Grimmauld Place, no James or Julian or even a baby. For a moment, there was just Hal and Lana. Just them; just us. And that was perfect.

The moment had to end, of course, but even when it did everything was still wonderful. They had a huge meal of Alana's cooking [which was surprisingly good, given that she'd been served by house elves for most of her life], then settled before the fire for games of Exploding Snap and wizard's chess.

"Alright, boys, concerning this summer," Alana said, stroking her belly as the baby kicked. "You'll be doing a good amount of traveling. Harry and I both have jobs with the Ministry, so you'll be bouncing back and forth between here and staying with your grandmother."

Harry and Alana's eyes met over the boys' heads. They'd worked this plan out a few weeks ago, so that Alana could continue her work in Spain and Harry could run missions with the Aurors without putting the boys in jeopardy.

"You have a job?" Julian asked, confused. "But you don't like the Ministry."
"True enough," Alana replied wryly. "But they needed my help. I'm afraid we may not see much of each other until after the baby's born."
"This work… it's not dangerous, is it?" James asked worriedly.
"Of course not, darling," Alana lied smoothly. "It's just very time-consuming. Anyways, you're not to worry, understand? Everything's going to be alright."

Thus reassured, the boys went upstairs to bed. For a moment, Harry and Alana just looked at each other. Then, as one, they stood and met in the middle. The kiss wasn't passionate or sexual; it was life-affirming. Acknowledging, almost desperately so, that they were alive, that they would soon be in grave danger, that their feelings- while unstated, unlabeled and largely unexamined- were genuine.

"And so the summer begins," Alana murmured.
"It'll be the beginning of the end," he promised.
"Or just the end of the beginning," she said darkly.

31 July 2020
The summer had been gruesome. Blood spilled daily, the death toll steadily climbing higher, Muggle and wizard alike being injured, or worse, permanently handicapped either physically or mentally. The fighting had been vicious and dirty, battles being fought day and night, in city streets, all across Europe. The dementors had been breeding, and Tisiphone had sent them out to attack. Countries began to fall to her, and the alliances the Order had made didn't look like they'd be enough to turn the tide.

It was in the midst of this grim atmosphere that Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior- was celebrating his 32nd birthday.

Harry had spent the past two months traveling. During the school months he had been reading reports, designing attacks; now he was out in the field. It was the last place he wanted to be, but the world was crying out for its Savior. People wanted the great Harry Potter to defeat this enemy, so he was doing his best.

Besides, doing this kept his mind off of Alana.

She had been deeply involved in the war, much more than anyone except a small handful of high-ranking Ministry officials knew about. Due to her delicate condition, Tisiphone had made her role mostly an organizational one, which was perfect. She could report the Death Eaters' movements to Roman, and he and the Aurors would find a way to engage combat- without putting Alana's cover in danger, of course. Aurors were dying, but at least Tisiphone's resources were being attacked, which in turn slowed her down.

It hadn't been Harry's idea to have this party; Merlin knew he wasn't in the mood to celebrate. Roman had actually been the one to put this party together, as a way for everyone to blow off steam and escape reality for a few precious hours. In Harry's opinion, the only good thing about tonight was that his arms were around his heavily pregnant wife.

She was due in about 2 ½ more weeks. Harry had no idea what was going to happen after the baby was born. Would Alana return to England? Would she remain in Madrid? How would Harry manage to see his child? Alana had said she hoped to have answers for him soon, but for now there was a cloud of inquiry around the entire blessed event.

Alana sighed softly, leaning her head back against Harry's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting over their busily dancing child.

"Next year you'll have a proper birthday," she sighed. "We'll be home in London, you'll be surrounded by family, we'll have presents."

He said nothing, only buried his face in the crook of her neck. Part of every letter she sent him contained her plans for their future, after the war was over. She planned gardens for Grimmauld Place, and parties she would throw in said garden, grand dinners, family outings- anything that wasn't involved with Terror Brigades or Death Squads or war reports. She was starved for normality, and he ached with the knowledge that he couldn't give it to her.

"Someday," he whispered the promise into her ear. "Someday, my star."

16 August 2020
It had been a long week for Harry, filled with nightmarish visions he'd never be free of- more to add to the arsenal of horrible things he'd seen in his life. All he wanted to do was Apparate to Prague, pick up the boys from Narcissa, and enjoy a couple of weeks at home with them before they went back to Hogwarts and he went back to work.

The decision not to return to Hogwarts had been a difficult one. He was, after all, the Headmaster, and he loved his little kingdom. But in the end, he was first and foremost the Savior. He was in command of the Order of the Phoenix [risen from the ashes once again, reborn of former Order members and friends from the old DA crowd]. He had to fight this fight before he could return to his old life.

He cursed Voldemort, the war, the Ministry, the media, and his own nature for his inability to escape the pedestal he'd been placed upon. His star had never shined brighter; his fame was probably equal to Dumbledore's now. He was the first, last, and only hope of the wizarding world; how could he possibly allow himself to fail when everyone had pinned all their hopes on him?

Harry glanced around his office. He was in Budapest this week. Every week, he changed locations. Every week he set up the defensive spells around his space and swore he was living through the extended Horcrux-hunt camping trip again. Every week, he secretly connected his fireplace to a hotel in Madrid and Shacklebolt's office through the Floo network. And every week, he'd pray that this would be the week when it would end.

"Harry!"

He whipped towards the fireplace, startled. The urgency and panic in Roman's voice couldn't be good…

"Roman, what's wrong?" he snapped, tense.
"Alana's water broke," Roman reported. "I brought her to St. Mungo's, she's in a room now."
"I'll be right there," Harry croaked, stunned.

He flew into motion, packing an overnight bag with mindless haste before Apparating to the house Narcissa was renting in Prague. He burst through the door, ignoring the startled house elf, and sprinted down the hall, screaming for the boys.

"Dad?" came James' panicked voice, a moment before the boy himself appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong?"
"Your mum's in labor," Harry panted. "Grab Julian, time to go."

A moment later, the boys and Narcissa hurried to him. Harry frowned at Narcissa in surprise, a look which she returned.

"Alana may be your wife, but she is my daughter and I will be there," she said stiffly.

Ignoring the shocked looks on the boys' faces at this unintentional revelation, Harry and Narcissa Apparated them all to St. Mungo's, where they were directed into a waiting room that already contained an anxious Roman.

"Anyone looking would assume you were the father," Harry greeted him dryly.
"Well, that is the idea," Roman shot back, drawing Harry aside. "A battle broke out in the street while she was shopping. She's alright, but the stress caused her to pop."
"Bollocks," Harry sighed, rubbing his face. "How long now?"
"Any minute," Roman said, shaking his head. "She managed to get word to Tisiphone about what happened."
"Bollocks!" Harry said again, vehemently. "What if she comes here? It'll be a bloodbath."
"We have to hope she doesn't," Roman replied. "And if she does, we take care of it."

There was nothing to do but wait, so wait they did. Harry contacted Ron and Hermione, who came to sit with him and serve as backup should a fight arise, but other than that all that could be done was to sip at mediocre, acidic, weak, cold coffee and pace restlessly. Finally, at 9:23 pm, a Healer came into the waiting room.

"Mr. Potter, your wife delivered a healthy baby girl," he said. "Mother and child are both fine. Would you like to see them?"

Relief flooded through his veins, leaving him weak. Unable to formulate words, he merely nodded, wobbling as he followed the Healer down the hall and into Alana's room.

She was sitting up in bed, cradled by a couple of pillows. She looked exhausted, but clearly pleased with herself as she stared down at the bundle of pink blankets in her arms. When she looked up at him, he could've sworn her green eyes were filled with starlight.

"Come see," she beckoned him.

He moved forward slowly, unable to breathe around the lump in his throat. Carefully, he relieved Alana of her burden, gingerly holding the warm bundle close, and he stared down at the tiny, red, wrinkled monkey face of his daughter.

One look, and his heart was lost.

"Hello, Lily," he whispered, his arms tightening around her. "I'm your father. Welcome to the world."