Author's Note: The moment in Harry's flashback comes out of nowhere. I know there's no build-up to it; that was kind of my point. I'll explain the moment in a roundabout way in later chapters. For now, accept and build.

Disclaimer: The song Only Hope doesn't belong to me, no matter how hard I would like it to. It's the brainchild of Switchfoot, and honestly I'm not sure why I think it fits so well for this chapter. Maybe it's more the way the instrumentation sounds like it's sweeping the narrator into something unknown, and that's kinda what happens to the characters in the flashback. In any case, it's not mine, please don't call up the band and tell them to sue me.

October 31, 2018

Harry sat behind his desk, elbow-deep in paperwork. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes behind his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

"That's enough for now," he muttered.
"Giving up early, Headmaster?" sneered the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.
"Let Harry be, Phineas," Dumbledore's portrait chided him. "After the meetings he's had today, he's allowed to take a break."
"A break so that he can read Alana's journal again?" Nigellus asked. "How important can her diary entries be?"
"All things are important in love!" came the high, squeaky voice of Armando Dippet.
"That's enough commentary from the peanut gallery," Harry grumbled.

Grabbing a folder off his desk, Harry retreated to his living quarters. He nearly ripped off his robes, changing into a gray t-shirt and navy sweatpants. Wiggling his bare toes in the scarlet carpet and running a hand through his messy hair, he stood at the west-facing window, looking out at the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor team had just flown out of the locker rooms for practice. Among their number was a small, first-year Seeker.

Pride swelled in Harry's chest as he watched James fly around the pitch. Only eleven- wait, twelve, his birthday had been on the 12th-, but already so good! Harry laughed and shook his head; James was carrying on a proud family tradition. Wouldn't Alana despair of that… She'd always been afraid of heights. It was good to see that James hadn't inherited his mother's phobia.

A few moments later, Harry turned from the window and sat in his favorite armchair (which he'd… borrowed… from the Gryffindor common room- it had been his favorite chair as a student, too), opening the folder in his lap. Silently, he blessed his position as Headmaster; it allowed him information to any information he wanted. And anything he couldn't get as Headmaster, he could get thanks to his connections at the Ministry.

Name: James Sirius Malfoy
Birthdate: 12 October, 2007
Parents: Alana Sinclair Montblanc, Draco Lucius Malfoy
Siblings: Julian Draco Malfoy
Residence: Monticrief Manor, Marseille, France
Previous Education: Steno Academy for Boys

Schedule

MWF

9:00-11:00 Potions (with Slytherin)
11:00-12:00 Lunch
12:00-2:00 History of Magic (with Ravenclaw)
2:00-4:00 Herbology (with Hufflepuff)
4:00-6:00 Charms

TR

9:00-11:00 Transfiguration
11:00-12:00 Lunch
12:00-2:00 Defense Against the Dark Arts (with Slytherin)
2:00-4:00 Magical Theories and Ethics (with Ravenclaw)
11:00-2:00 Astronomy (with Hufflepuff)

Harry looked through copies of homework and tests, and comments from professors. From all accounts, James was as smart as his mother had been, hardworking, reserved. He saw so much of Alana in their son. She'd obviously raised him as she had been raised, and the result had been the same- James possessed all the good qualities of aristocracy, and very few of the bad.

A twinge of regret twisted Harry's heart. He'd missed all of this. He'd known- or thought he'd known- that separating himself from Alana was not only the right thing to do, but necessary. But he'd had to pay a price, and that price was his son. He'd lost his chance to be a father to James when he cut ties with Alana.

He glanced at the black journal laying on the coffee table. That journal was now his only tie to Alana. He knew perfectly well that he was just as guilty as she, if not more so, for creating the gulf that separated them. And he knew that now that he'd cast Alana aside completely, he'd never be able to repair his relationship with her.

All he could do now was sit there and listen as she wove a tale for him, as she unraveled the painful, complicated truth out of a web of lies.

"All right, Alana, you win," Harry murmured, reaching for the book. "What've you got for me this time?"

I wasn't supposed to get pregnant with James. It was one of the things that the Dark Lord had expressly forbidden me to do.

- Don't tell him any of the truth.
- Don't let him suspect you, right up to the end.
- Don't get attached.
- Don't forget your mission.
- Don't get pregnant.
- Don't fall in love.

At first I didn't understand. What could be so bad about getting pregnant? Other than, of course, the child's paternity? Later, it made sense to me. The Dark Lord didn't want you to have an heir, someone to whom your 'secret power' would be passed down. He didn't want a son of Harry Potter to be born, someone who could defeat him, if you did not.

But, as you can clearly tell, I disobeyed orders. Matter of fact, I broke every one of those orders.

He told me not to tell you any of the truth… and yet here this journal is.
He told me not to let you suspect me… yet I know you did, despite everything I tried to keep you in the dark.
He told me not to get attached… but I grew attached to not only you, but to everything and everyone in your world.
He told me not to get pregnant. I'd been taught all the contraceptive spells and potions known to wizardkind… but I still wound up with James.

Why?

Because I'd broken the last two of Lord Voldemort's commands. I had let myself forget my mission. And I had fallen in love with you.

I know you won't believe that statement. I don't blame you. After everything I did to you, how could I claim to love you?

But I did, Harry. How or when it happened, I didn't- and still don't- know. But you'd gotten under my skin, had invaded and filled the deepest part of my heart. That love for you started to change me, though at first I didn't have eyes to see it. I started becoming what you thought I was- sweeter, more sincere, happier.

I found that I was less able- and less willing- to conceal the truth from you. I wanted to share everything with you; even the truth. And as these changes took place, my focus started shifting, until my life was no longer about my mission, but rather about you. I came to the point where I wanted to abandon my mission, come clean, and make a life with you. In anticipation of that, I stopped attending summons from the Dark Lord, and ceased using all magical birth control.

Then I got pregnant. I was so blissfully happy. For once, I was in complete control of my life. I owed my allegiance to no one; my life was my own.

After that disastrous battle with the Dark Lord, I was forced to return to my old world. But becoming a mother forever changed me. I can't explain it adequately; the closest I can come is to say that my heart now walked outside my body. Never again could the Dark Lord fully control me; James had my heart more deeply in the world ever had before.

Granted, having James put me more firmly in the Dark Lord's service. Voldemort knew he could make me do anything, simply by threatening James' safety. But he couldn't directly control me anymore.

Even after all that happened, after the Ministry more or less banished me to France, I didn't truly mind, because I had James.

Harry looked up, thoughtful. He'd been wondering for two months why Alana had sent James to Hogwarts. She had no more ties to England; why not send him to Beauxbaton?

Why did I send him to Hogwarts, you ask?

Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head as a faint smile crossed his face. "How do you do that?"

I told you, you're ridiculously easy to predict, Harry.

Anyways… There are several reasons. Since James was born in England, he was put on Hogwarts' waiting list the day he was born. And I loved my time at Hogwarts almost as much as you did. I wanted James to experience that. But besides that… Hogwarts is where you are, Harry. And regardless of how you feel about me, James deserves to know who his father truly is, not who the papers have made him out to be. Going to Hogwarts may well be his only chance to do that.

Harry put the book down, lost in thought.

James deserves to know who his father truly is…

Harry had missed eleven years of his son's life. If Alana was willing to let him forge a connection with James, he would take that opportunity.

Accordingly, Harry sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. For a moment, he just stared at the blank page, unsure of what to say. Five years had passed since he last saw Alana; how did he reopen the communication between them?

Hesitantly, he started writing, hoping she would understand, somehow knowing deep inside himself that she would.

Alana-

James gave me the journal. So far, it seems to be raising more questions than answers. But I'll keep reading, because if I know you, you'll answer them all. After I've finished it, we can figure out what to do next.

But for right now, I'm writing to ask your permission for James to spend Christmas with me. Because you're right; James deserves to know who his father is. And I want to know who my- our- son is.

Harry looked at the letter, biting his lip. Should he tell her how his feelings toward her were softening as the journal led him closer to understanding? That thoughts of her now pervaded not only his nights, but his days also?

No. That was a conversation they could only have in person, if at all.

In the end, he merely signed the letter and slid it into an envelope, then walked to Hedwig's cage. His beautiful snowy owl was aging, and usually Harry didn't use her for long trips, instead using his golden eagle owl, Fawkes. But for this very personal letter, it felt right to use Hedwig, who once upon a time had carried letters between Harry and Alana on a frequent basis. Harry handed Hedwig the letter and carried her to the window, which was open to allow the breeze in.

"Take it to Alana, girl," Harry said softly, watching as the owl took off.

When she was gone, Harry got into dress robes quickly, and walked out of his chambers, heading for the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall had, in her time as Headmistress, begun the tradition of a Halloween dance. As Headmaster, he was expected to start the dancing, which he thought was extremely unfair. He'd always hated dancing.

Harry entered the Great Hall, smiling at the students and nodding for the music to begin. As he stepped out to dance with Hermione (who'd come to talk to Professor McGonagall about something), his mind strayed to another Halloween celebration.

October 31, 2003

Harry sat in a corner table with Ron while Ginny and Hermione were out dancing. For reasons no one knew, Dumbledore had arranged a masked costume dance for tonight. Evil old man.

Ron sat comfortably enough in his bright orange Chudley Cannons Quidditch robes, his red hair hidden under a leather cap and his face covered by large goggles. Harry was garbed in head to toe midnight blue, with silver embroidery, and a silver mask. He was going as the midnight sky, a sight he was growing increasingly familiar with as nightmares and insomnia plagued him.

A mischievous twinkle played in Dumbledore's blue eyes as he stood beside the director's podium. "One last dance before midnight," he announced. "And for it, I will choose your partners for you. For those who appear similar to you may be the ones wearing the most clever masks of all."

With that mysterious little speech, Dumbledore brandished his wand. Immediately, people started moving towards those who wore similar costumes to themselves. Princesses with princes or knights, angels with demons, and so on. Those who had more original costumes were guided to people with related ones, until everyone had a partner.

Harry bowed to his partner, stunned by her costume. Her black hair was curly and hung down her back, silver hair ornaments holding it in check. A diadem of silver and diamonds crowned her head, and was connected to the white and silver mask hiding her face. Her dress was white and silver, clinging to her body perfectly. The fabric flowed and swirled around her, from the folds that fell from the one-shouldered strap to the train that she held up. She was bedecked in silver and diamonds, and her feet were shod in silver sandal heels. With the light reflected by her dress, and the light that glowed within her eyes, she seemed swathed in her own starlight.

Harry, the midnight sky, had been paired with a star.

They took their positions as the music started. The air was filled with the sounds of a piano, cello, and guitar as a Spanish-sounding waltz began playing. The steps seemed embedded in his feet, as if he'd known them all his life and had just been waiting for this moment with the star for them to come out. Everyone started moving as the words wove in with the music.

So I lay my head back down
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours
I pray to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope

Harry was lost. Lost in the moment, in the music that flowed around him like a spell, in the steps of the dance, in the silver gaze of the star before him. The world around him spun and ceased to exist, so the only things left were he and she, locked together in this dance as if this moment was all they'd been born for.

Sing to me the song of the stars
Of your galaxy dancing and laughing
And laugh again
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that you had
For me over again

The world was spinning, or maybe it was just his head. The dance was moving all the couples around the Great Hall, was spinning the sky and the star towards the middle of the room.

And the music kept building to its climax.

They were in the middle of all the others, conscious of nothing but each other. Did they propel the dance? Did the dance propel them? They didn't know, nor did they care.

Her hand was on his shoulder, his on the small of her back. There was barely any space between them as they moved together, hardly needing Dumbledore's spell. They seemed to be one, moving in perfect time to each other, bound by their hands and the music and their eyes.

And all they could do was dance, revolve around each other as everything else orbited around them.

I know now you're my only hope

She was his only hope, as was the dance. His whole world, his entire being, had condensed to this one dance, this one moment. He was the dance, and he was lost in it.

They were breathless, lost in each others' eyes as the song ended. Their costumes stopped moving moments after they did, and for a moment they were hidden in a swirling vortex of blue and white and silver.

Harry reached out as if in a dream. She didn't stop him as he slowly, gently, lifted off her mask, as he stared into her eyes which changed color when the mask was gone. He didn't resist as she reached up to strip him of his.

Harry, the midnight sky, stared into the eyes of Alana, the Star, as the rest of the room stared at them. Nothing was said. Nothing could be said. The song had said it all for them.

I know now you're my only hope

And they were lost to it.