Author's Note: This chapter is disgustingly short. Which part of me hates; I prefer to write chapters that are between 5-9 pages long on Word. This is 2. But part of me really likes how blunt it is, likes that Harry (and, by extension, you the reader) has no chance to react to what he reads this time. It's very stark, very blunt. Which is kinda cool. Enjoy, hate, whatever… but read!
If you'll forgive my saying so, I'm incredibly proud of the plan Ron, Hermione and I came up with to save you. So simple, but so effective! I've always considered that plan one of my more brilliant moments.
It was inspired by you, and your exploits second year. A simple plan, really; Ron and Hermione would Polyjuice themselves to masquerade as Crabbe and Goyle. We would go down to your dungeon, and Polyjuice you to masquerade as me. Ron and Hermione would escort you out, and I would Polyjuice myself as Theodore Nott to get out. Then you and I would be hidden at Grimmauld Place.
Such a simple plan; such a complicated execution.
Maybe it was just my anxiety, but everything seemed to go wrong, or nearly go wrong. Crabbe and Goyle were late coming to our rendezvous point, and it took longer than usual for the potion to work. We almost missed the changing of the dungeon guard, which was our only chance to get you.
Then the fight you put up against me! Not that I blame you at all. Had our roles been reversed, I would have refused to cooperate too.
Harry winced, rubbing the back of his neck ashamedly. He vividly remembered the rescue; he had called Alana every nasty name in the book- both the Muggle and wizarding books- he'd lashed out at her, and had nearly succeeded in sabotaging his own escape. Only Alana cutting in and telling him that Ginny was still mourning him shut him up long enough for the plan to work.
He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. All that danger Alana had put herself in… And she had done it for him. It made his behavior toward her seem even more unspeakable. He'd never even thanked her.
His mind drifted back to the period of time they had spent cloistered together at Grimmauld Place. The house had seemed impossibly small; he'd been unable to avoid Alana. The tension, the animosity, and the close quarters had seemingly conspired against them. Compared to the first time they'd lived together, it was hell.
It had been Alana who'd dressed and nursed the injuries he'd sustained, and Alana who nursed him back to health. She'd been the one to reorient him to the world. She had dealt with his foul moods, his frusteration, his hatred. And she had borne it all without ever once lashing out at him.
She had even been the one to get Ginny and him back together. She had sent Ginny an anonymous letter, saying she had personal effects of Harry's. Ginny had come to Grimmauld Place to collect them, and Alana had brought her to Harry.
Harry sat back abruptly, thinking. He had never once paused to consider how Alana might have felt about the whole situation. He'd assumed that she'd been indifferent about him, and wanted to avoid him as much as he'd wanted to avoid her.
But thinking back, her actions proclaimed emotions completely different than indifference. She'd tended him carefully, giving him her full attention. She could have done no better if she were his mother or his wife-
He cut off that thought train, his eyes widening. Oh no. No, no, no. He was reading too deeply into this, looking for patterns where there were none. Alana had not been in love with him.
Because he wasn't sure he could handle the emotional repercussions if she had been.
I know my actions speak differently, but don't think I hated you when we were hiding together. I was furious with myself for being the cause of your demise; I was angry that I had to remain in hiding, away from my sons, though I knew the Dark Lord would know I had had a part in your escape, and he would be out to kill me; I was terrified Voldemort would get his hands on my children and hurt them to force my surrender. All of that pressure got to me. Add onto that the utter confusion into which your presence had thrown me, and there you have the recipe for an unnecessarily moody Alana.
But I didn't hate you. Far from it. In truth, I never hated you. Even when I betrayed you to Voldemort, it wasn't out of hatred. Honestly, I didn't know during those weeks in Grimmauld Place what I felt for you. Even now, I'm not completely sure what those feelings were. But I never hated you, Hal.
But you hated me. I knew it; you made it absolutely clear that you loathed me, and would never forgive me. I understood that; I hadn't expected forgiveness. I also knew you were aching to fulfill your prophecy, kill the Dark Lord, and be gone from Grimmauld Place. So I didn't attempt to waste your time trying to change your mind about me. Instead, I focused on getting you to the Final Battle, to the point where our paths would split once again, this time for good.