Ned Veigler used his wand to open the door to one of the many guest rooms upstairs. Carefully, he lay the woman down, resting her head upon the pillow, and tucking her in. Her eyes were crossed with exhaustion, the wound smelled of burned flesh, but had healed cleanly, save for the small pucker of a fresh scar. He brushed a bit of her silver-blonde hair from her eyes as he stared down at her.

"You said we've met before," she breathed.

Ned nodded, "We have."

"Why don't I remember it?" she asked.

"No reason to," Ned replied quietly.

The woman stared up at him, her eyes flickering with the threat of sleep, "A man as handsome as you are, I very well should have," she said.

Ned smiled as best he could. "Get some rest," he said quietly, "Before you say something you'll be embarrassed of in the morning." He backed out of the room, pausing in the doorway. "Goodnight," he murmured, and he flicked his wand discreetly and the lights went dim.

Downstairs, Remus was still sitting up in the window of the library, petting the kneazle, staring out at the stars and the portion of the moon in the sky. He looked up as Ned entered, his eyes concerned. "Is she alright?"

Ned nodded, "A little sleep and she'll be right as rain, once the shock wears off." He hobbled, his bones in even more pain than ever after the excitement, and went to stoke the fire. "Of course, before she leaves, we'll need to modify her memory."

Remus frowned.

Ned saw the look on his face. "Well we can't very well send her back off into the Muggle village telling stories of the healing properties of musclemahla, can we?"

Remus looked down at the kneazle. "Who do you reckon shot her?"

"Dunno," Ned replied.

Remus let a silence sit between them for several long moments as Ned put a couple logs on and poked at the cinders and ash. "Is she that woman you told me about? Last year?"

Ned stared at the fire.

"The one you're in love with?"

Ned put the poker for the fire into it's spot on floo stand. He cleared his throat, "It doesn't matter if she is. All the more reason to modify her memory."

Remus watched as the kneazle, tired of human interaction, jumped down and slipped out the door of the library. "But Professor," he said, "This could be your chance..."

Ned leaned against the mantel, carefully not looking back at Remus. "I can't subject another soul to my condition," he murmured. "No one deserves to have lives as disturbed as... as ours would make them."

Remus replied, "We deserve love, too, Professor."

Ned looked 'round at Remus's silhouette.

Remus turned and stood up, crossing the room to stand with Ned at the fireplace. His voice was firm. "Just because you're a werewolf, it doesn't mean --" his voice choked up as he spoke because, he realized, even as he said it, that if it wasn't for Sirius, he wouldn't believe it, either. He stopped speaking.

Ned turned and looked at Remus. "You can't even say it."

"If I can have love, then you can, too," Remus said shakily.

"She's a muggle Remus. Asking her to accept the magical world is shock enough, but to accept it and then be shunned from it on account of what I am... that is the worst cruelty I could ever dream of inflicting upon her." Ned shook his head. "Her memory will be wiped clean tomorrow. It'll be as though she never --" he stopped.

Remus sat down on the carpet in front of the fire, the heat of it loosening tight muscles in his knees. He rubbed the caps and stared as cinders fell from one of the logs. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Elva," Ned said. The way the name rolled from his tongue, the syllables rang with significance and weight.

"Pretty name," Remus said.

Ned nodded.

The pair of them sat in front of the fire in silence for nearly an hour before Ned got up and went to bed. The entire time, Remus's mind continuously spun the names over and over - Ned and Elva...

The group of Potters - plus Sirius Black - was in the cantina in San Jose, eating platefuls of enchiladas. Sirius was staring at his plate, still wondering about Ottalie Potter, but not daring to ask, and not wanting Dora to spot the question in his eyes. Noticing how quiet he was, though, she leaned closer, as James and the others were all talking rather loudly, and pressed her palm against his forehead. "Are you alright?" she asked, feeling warmth to his skin.

"Yeah, mum," Sirius muttered.

Dora made a face.

"I really am!" Sirius said, and he forced a grin.

"You've something on your mind, then."

Sirius shrugged, "It's nothing."

"It's making you quiet and unlike my Sirius," she said, "So it's something."

Sirius glanced Charuls's way - he was talking animatedly, gesturing and laughing so hard that he was nearly in tears. James, Ignatus, and Maria were paying him undivided attention. Sirius turned back to Dora, "Could we talk, just you and I?"

Dora studied him, then cleared her throat and announced to the group, "I'm sure you won't miss us but Sirius and I are just going to pop off and get him a pair of replacement shoes if that's alright with you lot?"

"Go, go," Charlus chuckled, "Although you'll bloody miss the fun."

Dora stood up, "That's a risk I'm willing to take, my love." She went 'round and kissed the top of his head, and then beckoned for Sirius to follow. "We'll be back shortly."

James's eyes followed as the pair of them went out the door and onto the street.

Outside, Dora led the way to a shop with loads of flipflops hanging from little pegs on the wall and Sirius selected a grey pair that seemed of better quality to the ones he'd left behind. He felt a little bad, purchasing new ones when, if he'd been left alone a moment longer at the beach, he might've been able to retrieve them from where he'd left them. He wondered what would become of them? Would someone else take them? Finished there, Dora again led the way a little ways down to a little coffee shop on a corner. "I hear the coffee here's so fresh -- it's to die for. I'm not usually a coffee drinker, but I'm willing to give it a go for the experience. Come along," she pulled him in the doors. 

Inside, the air smelled of coffee beans and cinnamon. They each ordered a cup and a piece of something called a coffee cake, with crumbly cinnamon topping, and sat down at a table in a corner, away from the muggles that were already in the shop. The cake between them, and each of them clutching their cups.

"Now," Dora said, pinching a bite of the cake and popping it in her mouth, "Tell me what's on your mind."

Sirius drew a deep breath, deciding how to frame his question without admitting he'd followed them earlier that day. He slowly rotated the cup with his fingers. "It's just that James mentioned Mr. P had a sister."

Dora nodded, "He did."

Sirius stared at the black-tan surface of his coffee. "What happened to her? Who was she?"

Dora  stopped pinching the cake and took a long sip of the strong, fresh coffee. She made a face. "That needs help." She took out her wand, glanced about to be certain to be discreet, and whispered, "Sweet and cream," and tapped the edge of the cup. It instantly lightened and seemed to be stirring itself from below. "Very good." She looked at Sirius. "Same for you?"

"I like mine black," he answered.

"Very well," she sipped hers. "Much better."

"Mum?" Sirius asked, pressing for the story.

Dora set her cup down. "Ottalie came here when she was sixteen and Charlus was just coming of age. Within days of his seventeenth birthday. He'd just gotten his watch." Her eyes had a far-off look to them. "She was the sweetest thing you ever saw. Tight blonde ringlets for hair - and piercing green eyes. She came a year after we'd been to Hogwarts and followed Charlus about like a shadow - which truly annoyed him. He thought he'd be rid of her when she was sorted Hufflepuff, but she managed none the less. She looked up to him something fierce..." Dora smiled, "Then a lot of us did."

"I've seen pictures of him," Sirius said, "When he was in school. In the Trophy Room passage you lot used to hang out in."

Dora smiled. "Handsome, wasn't he?"

"Near identical to James," Sirius nodded.

Dora nodded, "Near, yes."

Sirius wanted to ask about Azkaban, but still didn't want her to know he'd been eavesdropping. He would have to get there another way. So he prodded, "Why did she move here? Why didn't Mr. P come with her?"

Dora flushed. "I... I suppose it was me that kept him from going."

Sirius nodded.

"That and... She didn't want to be followed."

"Followed?"

"By the Ministry. Or MACUSA. Or any aurors." Dora's cheeks were turning pink, her eyes carefully residing on her coffee.

"Why would the Ministry, MACUSA, and aurors be following her?" Sirius asked.

Dora's voice lowered. "Because she -- she was accused of murder in affiliation with a dark magical arts anti-muggle terrorist group."

"So she ran to get out of going to Azkaban?" Sirius asked.

Dora nodded. "Charlus -- he went by Fleamont at the time -- he was charged at first in her place. He was sent to Azkaban in her place. It was all the time she needed to get away, and by the time he was released... she was gone."

"How - how long did he spend there?"

Dora's eyes were clouded, bad memories in her mind. "A couple days only... maybe a week... long enough to have effected him all his life."

Sirius swallowed back the sinking feeling of terrible dread that was weighing in his heart for Mr. Potter. "I'll bet it has."

"It changes a person -- that prison. They go in one sort of way and they come out some entirely different way." Dora drew a shaking breath, then said, "Charlus is a good man, strong. It's a miracle he made it out. Just like that Odair boy last summer..." Dora's voice lowered, "That's why the story bothered him so, why he fought so passionately for the boy. It struck rather close to his heart."

Silence fell over them.

"So... Did - did she do it?" Sirius's voice shook. He wanted to doubt, wanted to say that there was not a drop of evil blood in any Potter, but something about the way Mrs. Potter said the words made Sirius's veins run a bit cold. 

Dora replied, "Only Ottalie would know."

"Why would she --?"

But before Sirius could finish the question, and certainly before an answer could be provided, the coffee shop door opened and Charlus and the others filed in together, and Dora gave Sirius a look that said not now and they were joined by the others at the table.

James slid in beside Sirius as the others went to order their drinks, and took a large rip off the coffee cake. Mouth full, crumbs trailing over his chin and chest, he asked Sirius, "Well? What's this been about, then?"

Sirius said quietly, "Your aunt."

"Yeah?" James asked, "And?"

"You won't believe it when I tell you."

James looked intrigued. "Tonight," Sirius added.

James nodded.

Far off, Lily Evans awoke with a start. It was after midnight in the UK, and she was laying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her heart pounding so loud she could feel it in her ears. Something had startled her. She sat up and slipped out from beneath her blankets, padding in wool-stockinged feet to the window, and stared out.

The street out side was dark, the street lamps dim. The houses lay like teeth in a row - each identical to the next, on and on down the little road. The street was quiet, or so it seemed. And then she heard it, a whirring, like a car engine, and a pop and a small backfire and she opened her window and leaned out, her eyes looking up to the sky....

Hovering over her house was the red Morris Mini. The one they'd flown to Havmork to rescue James Potter months ago. The one that her mum had been bloody pissed beyond hell to find out they'd lost. The one that they'd never gone back for.

Her heart skipped a beat. 

"James?" she whispered, irrationally hoping -- she imagined a scenario in which Sirius had told him about her feelings for him and James, being the impulsive git that he was would've found some way to -- but no. No, it couldn't be, could it? He was in Costa Rica and the car was in -- where ever the bloody hell Havmork had been. She stared up at the underside of it as it shivered and shook, hovering... and then lowered... and Lily gasped as the window came even with her bedroom.

In the driver's seat, pale and as thin as ever, his hair hanging in raggedly greasy stands over his forehead, was Severus Snape.