Author's Note: My apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. I'm also posting this story on , and it takes forever to get a chapter validated there, and then… well, you get the point. Enjoy!

December 25, 2018

Christmas Day dawned bright and early. Following a years-old tradition, Ron, Hermione and their daughter Molly had spent the night at Grimmauld Place, and the adults had gathered in the living room to greet the dawn. Then the children had awoken, and James had carried Molly downstairs on his back to get their presents.

Everyone had merrily exchanged presents. Then Harry had come to an oblong rectangular present, marked only with his name. No note, no clue who sent it.

He stared at it, considering. Should he throw it into the fire, on the chance the gift had been booby-trapped? But… who could have sent it? As far as he knew, all the Death Eaters save the exiled Alana were either dead or imprisoned.

Slowly, he undid the gold ribbon and ripped off the red wrapping paper, always alert in case some hex or curse had been laid on the gift. It was a simple mahogany box, the lid emblazoned with a basilisk entwined around a gryffin. Harry lifted the lid, surprised to find that it was a music box. A tiny smile graced his lips when he recognized the notes of Only Hope. This could only have come from one person, and he was relieved that Alana had sent it. Now the gift he'd sent to her- a star pendant necklace made of silver with a small diamond in the middle- wouldn't seem so strange.

His gaze settled on James as he thought of the necklace. He'd bought it 12 years ago, and had once planned to give it to her when she gave birth to their son. Even after everything, he had never thrown it away. He'd tried to many times, but had always ended up tucking it into the secret compartment of his desk, where it had resided for years.

James looked up at his father, and a small knowing smile crossed his lips. "That's from Mother, isn't it? She told me she'd send it. It's a music box, and it has a drawer to hold your quills."

Harry looked, and sure enough found the drawer. Inside was a most unusual black and white quill, with alternating black and white threads of feather.

"What's this?" he asked James, whose grin grew larger.
"She took a feather from her owl Mordred and wove it with the threads of a dove. It's a combination of a Quick Quotes Quill and a Truth Potion, to ensure that only the truth is written. She wrote the journal with that."

Harry nodded, turning the quill in his hands and silently thanking his son for validating what he'd hoped for. Now that he knew Alana wasn't lying or tricking him, his last reservations about studying her thoughts melted away, leaving him only more curious than ever.

When James and Molly ran outside to play in the freshly fallen snow, Ron and Hermione cuddled up to enjoy the crackling fire. After snickering and making some inappropriate innuendo, Harry walked into his office and picked up Alana's journal, driven by an almost desperate curiosity to know what else she had to say to him.

The Dark Lord had made my mission very clear. I was to spy on you, report your doings to Voldemort, and most importantly, get close enough to you that I could lure you to your death.

The plan had been mercilessly considered, every minute detail meticulously massaged until the whole thing was flawless. But there was one thing Voldemort hadn't considered, one variable he had never thought of.

He never stopped to think that I might possibly begin to have feelings.

I never stopped to consider the possibility, either. You were just a job, just a mission I had to complete. I hadn't planned on truly connecting with you. I didn't count on falling in love with you.

But the longer the mission went, the worse things got. The closer I got to you, the more I began to question everything I'd been taught, everything my family stood for.

February 17, 2007

Draco Malfoy sat in the living room of his Kent home, settling himself in his favorite armchair before the fireplace with a plate of fettucini alfredo, a glass of white Zinfandel, and one of his favorite Muggle books, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. Strangely enough, he'd always associated this book with his life- he was Sidney Carton, Potter was Charles Darnay, and Alana was Lucie Manette. Not that he would ever die for Potter.

He spent a lot of time reading these days. The Dark Lord had him working as an assassin, doing the dirty work so he could prove his loyalty. It was easy enough work if one didn't mind the blood, which left him with a lot of free time. Since he wasn't allowed to seek Alana out, he read voraciously, everything his library offered, anything to take his mind off of his fiancee.

He never heard a word from or about Alana. He wasn't allowed to; there must be no contact between Alana and the Dark side, or Potter would get suspicious. But sometimes, Alana would defy the rules and sneak away, to come to Draco. He needed those times with her- not wanted, needed, with a fierce desperation that almost frightened him. He was rapidly losing control of every aspect of his life, so he was fiercely protective of the few things that were totally his, the most important of which as the woman he loved.

He looked up sharply as the light changed, standing when he saw green flames in his hearth. He really wasn't in the mood for company right now…

His apprehension turned to a soft smile as Alana stepped into the room. Before she could say a word, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, reveling in her warmth and her soft body against his.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here for Valentine's," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.
"You were with him," Draco said simply, anger and jealousy stirring in his gut at the thought of Potter's hands on his fiancee.

Alana nodded, thankfully not divulging any information. Though Draco knew full well what Alana and Potter had to be doing, he'd rather just live in blissful ignorance of the details.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to stake his claim on Alana. As a matter of fact, he meant to claim her many times over.

Three hours and many rounds of lovemaking later, Draco and Alana lounged in his canopied, king-sized bed. He ran her fingers through her hair, which because of sweat was beginning to curl, as she traced lazy patterns on his arm.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly, knowing from the look on her face that she was miles away from him.
"Everything," she replied. "Everything we were ever taught or told to do. Draco…" She hesitated, biting the inner corner of her lip.
"What, Lala?" he murmured.
"The longer I spend there, the more I get to know them… the more it makes me question. What if we're wrong? What if everything we were taught about blood purity and magical supremacy is wrong? Why are we fighting them?"
Draco sighed. "Because Voldemort will destroy us if we don't? You know the history as well as I do. Muggles and magicals lived side by side just fine until the 1000s. Then the Church started persecuting any magical being on the grounds that they were in league with the Devil. So we went into hiding."
"But why should we still persecute them?" Alana asked. "You really think they'd still try to kill us?"
"No," Draco said. "Look at them, most of them don't even believe in magic anymore. But they're different from us, Alana. Our worlds are completely different. It's better to keep them as separate as possible, and that's why the blood purity is important."

Alana sighed heavily. Draco's reasoning was more logical than anyone else's she'd heard on this subject, but lately she'd been silently wondering if even he was wrong.

"Do you ever wonder how much of us is us, and how much is our parents?" Alana asked softly.
Draco sighed. "I have for years. All I know for sure is that I love you, and nobody but you is responsible for that."

Alana tilted her head up to look at him, touched by this uncharacteristic display of feeling. Draco was not demonstrably emotional, having been taught from the youngest age that women were distractions and trophies, but not partners. Furthermore, he'd been taught that Malfoys did not feel such weak emotions as affection, let alone love. So she cherished the few times Draco had verbally admitted his love for her.

He leaned down and kissed her again, but knew that she was lost in her own world. This was happening with alarming frequency; it was as though every time he saw Alana, she had pulled further and further away from him.

"This is our problem, Draco," she sighed, leaning against him. "We've started to think. Death Eaters aren't supposed to do that."
Draco nodded. "That thinking can't be good for you. You're changing, Alana. I don't know what it is, but your barriers are down. You're different."

Alana didn't answer. She was enveloped in the silence that comes with self-discovery and the utter clarity of the truth.

Alana had been changed. She wasn't the Alana Draco had grown up with. And this change had come as a by-product of one simple fact: she had fallen in love.

She made no outward signs that she had come to this most startling of revelations, but she knew it to the depths of her core. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

And for his safety, and her own, she could never let Harry know that the love she had been feigning for him had finally become true.