Author's Note: I was going through the system of folders in which I keep all my stories, and I realized that I hadn't updated this story in for-freaking-ever. My sincerest apologies, and please do enjoy this long-overdue chapter!

There are three more chapters after this one. After I've wrapped this story up, I have to get my ass in gear and find an appropriate offering to tempt my Muse, because there I have plans for both a prequel and a sequel to this story, and she's gotta give me the inspiration to write them.

January 07, 2019

Another sunset bathed the Great Hall of Hogwarts as Harry sat down to dinner. From his seat in the center of the professors' table, he could observe any student he chose to. Tonight, his eyes were on a certain head of unruly black hair at the Gryffindor table.

James sat surrounded by a group of students that reminded Harry so much of himself and his friends that he couldn't be sure he wasn't looking through Dumbledore's Pensieve. Selene Longbottom, daughter of Neville and Luna… Shane Thomas, whom Dean had named in honor of Seamus after Seamus had been killed… Rose Gregory, Lavender Brown-Gregory's child… Fred and Bill Weasley, George's twins. Watching them was almost like seeing his childhood again.

Harry had to admire his son; James had inherited the best of both his parents. He'd combined Harry's charisma with Alana's poise to create a charm all his own, an air that won him friends who liked him for a reason beside his father's fame and his mother's infamy. And even though Harry could take no credit for how James was turning out, he couldn't help but be incredibly proud of his son.

It was with James on his mind that Harry walked out to Alana's favorite spot by the lake and opened the journal.

I told you that I wasn't supposed to get pregnant, that Voldemort had expressly forbidden it. When I could no longer conceal my pregnancy, Draco lied for me, told the Dark Lord that the child was his. At least, it was partially a lie; until the child was born there was no way to tell if the father was you or Draco. It was a dangerous gamble; if Voldemort ever discovered that Draco had lied to him, both Draco and I would have been publicly tortured and killed.

I know that there have been, and probably will always be questions about James' paternity, so let me say this right now: James is your son. I know I told you that he wasn't, that night when you were supposedly killed, but it was a lie. James was given Draco's name in order to protect all three of us, and Draco saw James as his child, but he is your son.

I couldn't fool everyone with the lie. Draco of course knew the truth, and several others- my parents, Blaise and Emily, Pansy- suspected that we were lying. But as long as the Dark Lord believed our story, no one dared to say anything against it.

Not only did the Dark Lord believe us, he was ecstatic. He hoped that a child of Draco's and mine would be naturally skilled at telepathy and telekinesis- which Julian is.

When I had an afternoon to myself, I checked your family tree against mine. Unless a certain recessive gene kicks in during puberty, James will be completely normal, no special powers to worry about. Which, believe me, is an absolute relief. Children with extraordinary powers can be holy terrors to control- it's hard to direct Julian's powers when he has me suspended three meters in the air.

Harry laughed at the image, recalling stories Alana had told him of her childhood before she'd learned to control her magic. She had described herself as a holy terror… it sounded as though Julian were giving her a taste of her own medicine.

Harry leaned back, wondering about Alana's younger son, her child with Draco. What was Julian Draco Malfoy like? Was he his father's son, destined to be arrogant, caustic, and cruel? Or was he like his mother? He could only imagine, but he thought that Julian would likely become who Draco would have been, had he not been polluted by the Dark side. Intelligent, sarcastic, elegant, reserved, charming, a smartass.

Harry sighed as he closed the journal. He knew that the Ministry of Magic would periodically check up on Alana at her home in France, to be sure she was behaving herself. For some reason, most likely because he had been the target of her mission, Harry was always given a report of the investigations. That was how he knew that Alana lived in her grandmother's home, Monticrief Manor, in Marseille, and that she was a virtual recluse, unable to find a job [not that she needed the money].

It always puzzled him, that she lived at Monticrief Manor. She'd always said how she'd hated it there; why would she return?

Unless she hadn't been the one to choose…

He hadn't thought of it before, but it made perfect sense if the Ministry had made the same mistake he had- to judge her as Lady Montblanc, the Death Eater, and to make arrangements for her based on her reputation.

Harry exhaled heavily, rubbing his face. If that had been the case, the Ministry had mistreated her almost as badly as he had. So the only people in her life who hadn't abused her were her sons. James and Julian were better men than he was, and they were only children.

It was good that Alana had them, then, if only to offset the abuse she'd suffered from the rest of the world.

June 12, 2013

Alana walked through the cemetery, towards Draco's grave. She'd snuck away every day to come sit here. Ron would be furious when he found out, but she didn't care. She found it far too soothing and beneficial to sit by Draco's headstone and remember both him and Harry to regret disobeying Ron's command to stay in Grimmauld Place.

With a sigh of relief, Alana sat down Indian-style before the headstone. "Hey Drake," she greeted him softly. "Sorry I'm late, Ron's been watching me like a hawk."

Shimmying herself around to lean her back against the headstone, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander where it would. It was strange, but sitting here allowed her to feel more relaxed than she ever had.

"This reminds me of sneaking around Hogwarts to meet you," she murmured, laughing softly. "I miss that."
"Excuse me, miss?"

Alana's eyes snapped open at the woman's voice. Strange; for a moment she could've sworn she'd heard…

Alana's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she scrambled to her feet and stared at the woman. Her platinum blond hair, the silver barely noticeable, was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. There were new lines around her blue eyes, and she was dressed more casually, but there was no mistaking Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mom," Alana breathed, moving forward as if in a dream.
Narcissa stared. "Alana?"

A second passed, and then the two women were embracing. The tears flowed unchecked as the mother- and daughter-in-law were reunited at the grave of the man they'd both loved.

"Oh, Alana, I thought I'd never see you again!" Narcissa said, holding the younger woman's face in her hands.
Alana smiled through the tears. "I never thought I'd leave Azkaban."

She would've said more, but her attention was diverted by two small children a little way away. One had black hair and green eyes. He was standing in front of his half-brother, who had white-blond hair and gray eyes, shielding him from the strange woman.

"Grandma, who is this?" the older one asked.

But Alana needed no words as she slowly walked towards her sons. Relief washed over her; her boys hadn't been separated, and they'd been raised by their grandmother. She'd still never forgive the Wizengamot, but at least her sons were safe.

"James, Julian, this is your mother," Narcissa said, her voice choked with tears. "Didn't I tell you she would come back for you?"
A huge smile grew on Julian's face. "Mummy!" he squealed before hurling himself into Alana's arms.

It took James a second longer, but at long last Alana was holding her boys in her arms again. It was at that moment that she knew she would never be able to accept the Dementors' Kiss now. She had her sons back, and nothing would ever take her from them again.