Author's Note: This chapter has the dubious honor of being the only chapter in this entire story that I completely scrapped and rewrote. Many of the other chapters were heavily edited, expanded [or created during the editing process], or in some way changed, but I always used what I already had. With this chapter, however, not one single word of the original text was used. I knew from very early on that this would be the case; the original chapter was horribly written and only about two pages long. But for a long time, I assumed that I'd just be expanding it. It wasn't until I was editing chapter 18 that I realized this chapter would need to be scrapped and redone. I love this new version. It's still on the short side, but I think it really ties up the loose ends and brings the story to a conclusion.

Yes, this is the end of the story. There will be no miraculous resurrection and continuation of a post-war Harry and Alana romance. Sorry. I tried, I really did; they were the ones who said they wouldn't do it. This story as a whole isn't quite finished yet, but please refer to the epilogue chapter for that information.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This is Lead Us To The Light, signing off.

04 November 2020
It was a cold, utterly gray day. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, and a bitter, dry wind blew dead leaves along the frostbitten ground. Winter was coming with a vengeance, which Harry thought was utterly appropriate; how better to acknowledge his double loss than with the season of death and cold?

Usually, Harry couldn't stand funerals. He was used to losing people in the early summer, when the air was sultry and perfumed with flowers, and the world was brazen and cruel in her beauty. If there was something Harry had grown to hate, it was a sunny day for a funeral. But this… this he liked, in a perverse way. The weather, for once, exactly suited his mood. So even though this funeral wasn't any easier than any of the others- in many ways, it was actually worse- at least it felt like a funeral.

He'd been numb for the past four days; numb and unable to process that Alana and Julian were actually gone. He'd hadn't slept, nor had he really eaten. Mostly, he'd sat in his quarters at Hogwarts, staring blankly into the fire. He had been blind and deaf to the world's celebrations of the defeat of the Death Eaters and the end of war, trapped within the stunned silence of his own mind. McGonagall had deftly acted in his stead as Deputy Headmistress, getting things at Hogwarts back to their usual routines; Ron and Hermione had spoken to the Minister on his behalf. Harry had simply sat on his couch, one arm cradling Lily, the other wrapped around James' shoulders. James, like his father, didn't speak; he merely sat curled into Harry's side, sometimes staring at the only sibling left to him, sometimes staring into the fire while he silently cried. They hadn't been separated once, and Harry was fine with that.

He stood alone in front of the two freshly covered graves, paying no heed to the bitter wind that played with his long black woolen trench coat or the legs of his black pinstripe suit. He'd deposited James and Lily into the car with Ron and Hermione, promising he would catch up with them later. The children needed to be thawed out from this frigid weather by a fireplace, mugs of Hermione's sinfully good hot chocolate in hand. All too soon, Harry would need to return to the Weasleys' home. He needed to be there when James was ready to talk about the loss of his mother and brother; he needed to hold his baby girl, who would never know her mum. But for right now, he needed to be out here, needed to share the cold where his wife and stepson now rested.

How was it possible that they were dead? It had all happened so fast. It wasn't like the movies, where there was clever repartee while blows were exchanged. Alana hadn't even had a chance to defend herself. One moment she had been standing there; the next, her corpse had lain on the ground, with no time in between. Alana's death was horrible enough as it was; Julian's murder was absolutely barbaric. He had been a child, only twelve years old. Yes, he had made a monumental mistake in aligning himself with Tisiphone, with bringing her into the castle, but could he be faulted? He had just been a boy who wanted to know his father's family. He was no different than Harry wanting to know his parents, and for that longing, he had been killed. By his own cousin, no less; the very family he had been trying to know.

He stared woodenly at the headstones, the mounds of freshly exposed earth. He had no flowers for the graves; even if he had thought to pick some up from a corner store, what good did flowers do them? They were dead, they couldn't smell or appreciate them. Besides, no flower had ever seemed to suit Alana. Daisies were too plain, roses too overdone, lilies too flashy. Anyways, flowers wouldn't look right against the black marbled granite of the headstones. Alana had left no details in her will about where she wanted to be buried, so he had taken the liberty of interring her and Julian with Draco. It seemed fitting, in a horrible way; Julian had always wanted to know his father, and now they could lie together for an eternity…

"I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely, his eyes trained on Draco's headstone. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect them for you."

He'd never thought that he would see eye to eye with his archenemy. After all, Draco had stood for everything Harry hated- elitism, prejudice, and outright evil. And yet, in the end, were they really so different? They had both loved Alana and Julian, had both lost them, had both failed to protect them after promising they would always take care of them. Harry was sure that Draco would have appreciated the irony, had he been alive.

"Oh, Harry."

Harry whipped around, blinking in confusion as Alana walked towards him. He looked around, frowning to see that the graveyard where he now stood was not brown and wintery, but instead warm and green. He was no longer in a sharp, pressed suit, but rather in jeans and a t-shirt. Alana stood before him, garbed in a simple, white, gauzy dress that flowed with the slightest breeze.

"Am I dead?" he asked blankly.
She laughed softly. "No."

She took hold of his arm, guiding him to an ancient, enormous weeping willow. As she parted the swaying branches, he saw a simple bench nestled at the base of the tree. The soft grass was carpeted with small, white starflowers, a touch which Harry found rather fitting. He made a mental note to have starflower seeds sprinkled over Alana's grave. It would look beautiful come spring…

"Is Julian alright?" he asked, biting his lip. "I… I'm so sorry, Lana. I should've protected him-"
"Julian's fine," she soothed him. "He's off flying with his father somewhere. Since you never showed him the Porkoff Play."
He groaned, chuckling. "Porskoff Ploy. It's a Porskoff Ploy. How many Quidditch players have you married?"
"Remind me, Hal, how much attention did I pay to Quidditch?" she shot back, smiling.
s"What is this place, then?" he asked, brow furrowed as they sat.
Alana glanced around, looking supremely peaceful. "My last wish," she replied.
"What?" Harry frowned. "You wished for this? Why not wish for the curse to have no affect on you? You've done that before," he reminded her. "It kept me alive, why wouldn't it work for you?"
"Because it was my time to die," Alana stated.
"No it's not," Harry instantly negated, shaking his head. "The war is over, and you've got Narcissa to look after, and we've got James and Lily, and-"
"Harry," Alana broke in softly.

She was smiling as she leaned forward, laying her hands on his face. He drew a deep breath, falling silent, as he stared at her, willing his eyes not to fill with tears. All the things they'd done to each other, all the things he should have done, should have said… and now it was too late for all of that. How monumentally foolish of him; who better than him knew how fragile life was? And yet, he had behaved as if he had an eternity with Alana. So here he was, out of time.

"Stop berating yourself, Hal," Alana said softly.

She looked at him with utter love and compassion in her gaze as her thumbs stroked along his cheekbones. She smiled at him, as though she could read every hateful thought he was directing at himself and found him very silly for thinking so. When she smiled at him like that, he couldn't help but relax, to stop his silent remonstrations and focus on her.

"Hal, I've done everything I was sent to this earth to do," she said quietly. "But you… you have so much yet to do, to be."
"You sound like Frodo at the end of Return of the King," he groused.

She laughed softly, before looking him in the eye, jade meeting emerald. A thousand images passed between them in that moment. There would be birthdays and Christmases and coming home parties after every school year… scraped knees and broken bones and teeth coming out… there was black haired, jade-eyed Lily taking her first steps, and James leading the Gryffindors on to victory in Quidditch… both the children graduating school, each sporting red and gold… James marrying Selene Longbottom, and Lily flying with the Holywood Harpies…

"You have a whole life to live, with the children," she murmured. "Don't give that up."

He nodded numbly. He saw happiness in this life that Alana was promising him, and he grasped for that promise of joy. He knew that he had to keep going; he had their children to raise, his dreams to pursue, a life without war to enjoy. He had friends to laugh with, family to love, Hogwarts to lovingly rule.

But before he started upon that life, there was one last thing he had to do before he could close this chapter of his existence. He'd never been comfortable expressing his emotions, but he'd never done it while Alana was alive, and this was his last chance before he left her behind…

"Lana," he said hesitantly. "I… I want you to know… I…"
"I know, Hal," she said softly, laying a finger over his lips. "Me too."

Perhaps he should have pushed her hand away and spoken the words he'd never uttered while she was alive. But maybe she was right, and it was better left unsaid. They both knew and understood how they felt; to put it into words would have cheapened it, defined what was indefinable. Leaving it unsaid left it pure and unsullied. Besides, they didn't need the words to know that they were true.

They sat in silence for a moment, their eyes saying everything their lips didn't. After a moment, Alana smiled.

"Harry? Don't mourn me," she said softly. "Miss me, but let me go."

He was quiet for a long moment, eyes downcast. But he could see the sense in her words. He had spent so much of his life mourning for those he'd lost- his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny. Perhaps he had never in his life been entirely free of the burden of his lost loved ones, especially since he'd never gotten to say goodbye. Perhaps it would be easier to move on from Alana, since she had Wished for this moment for them to say their farewells. He was grateful to her for that.

"What do I do now?" he asked, wonder in his voice.
She smiled. "That's the beauty of it. Whatever you want."

His eyes unfocused as he thought about that. What did he want to do? What adventures did he want to embark on, now that he no longer carried the weight of being the Savior? What experiences did he want to have, now that his life was his own?

"I'll be there with you, any time you wish upon a star," she said softly.
"You're my shooting star," he replied, leaning in for one last kiss.

When he pulled away and opened his eyes, he was standing alone in the cemetery again. He looked around; it was dark now, the stars shining overhead. Had it all been a dream, then? He glanced down at Alana's headstone, his heart sinking.

A white flash in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He glanced overhead, to be treated to a stunning shower of shooting stars streaking across the night sky, illuminating and dazzling him. He watched the display silently, before the smile on his face turned into a soft laugh.

"Alright, Lana, point taken," he murmured.

He smiled, touching his fingers to his lips and pressing the kiss to her headstone before heading down the hill. He might not see her, but she was still there watching. He was going to make her proud.