Standard disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by JK Rowling. No money is being made from this and no copyright infringement is intended.

AN: Thank you so much for deciding to read this story. This is a continuation of the Ebb and Flow, Shown like the Sun, and Beneath a Clear Blue Sky story arc. It is OC heavy and takes place during GOF and OOTP.

There are things you can replace, and others you cannot

The time has come to weigh those things…

—The Grateful Dead

Salem, Massachusetts, November 1994

Althea's nails clicked against the narrow bed the drum solo from Orpheus' 'Sweet Satisfaction.' She stopped. Maybe I should fold my arms instead, she thought and swallowed. She wasn't sure what she should do with her hands in the room decorated in pastels…at least it was tasteful. She felt rather awkward for a woman whose exploits were featured in the News of the World, the Sun, and the Mirror. She winced. It's almost like Sirius working on that bloody motorbike. Her eyes focused upon the painting before her…a landscape—some marsh in North America, maybe. Oh look, what is that bird, she thought, as the slender grey bird extended his long, delicate wings, it's—her eyes widened. It was futile to focus her thoughts elsewhere but that tiny examination room. Her eyes left the painted landscape and drifted from the white ceiling to the pastel walls and to the various posters that decorated those walls. Contraceptive potions—she wrinkled her nose. She was never one for potions—charms worked just as effectively…and the one the Death Eater, disguised as a Healer-in-Training, cast upon her was particularly effective.

"Doing okay?"

Althea blinked. "Yes, yes, of course," she muttered and sighed.

She was particularly happy that Sirius was encouraged to stay in the waiting room. She imagined him very bored—growling or muttering at the time—and finally resigning himself to read the outdated witch magazines. Still, for him to come. Althea had been discrete about it—she hid the correspondence, the paperwork, and the pamphlets—and it was only by chance that Sirius discovered her plane ticket. Excited, for he had never flown in a plane before (and without consulting her), he purchased a ticket upon the same flight. As Althea waited in the airport terminal, her stomach a queasy mess as she second-guessed herself, she noticed the familiar black locks over—she really shouldn't have been surprised at his boldness—the morning's Daily Prophet. Realizing that she could no longer hide her intentions, she divulged the reason for her trip to Sirius upon that three-hour supersonic flight. If Sirius was upset or had qualms about her intentions, he did not show it for he seemed too preoccupied with the marvel of Muggle machinery.

"Okay," Healer Fox sighed and Althea heard her stand.

Okay. Okay? Althea frowned as Healer Fox washed her hands. She sounded neither enthusiastic nor somber, and Althea did not know what to think. Suddenly, she saw a delicate hand before her. The woman in the lilac lab coat helped Althea sit up.

"So?"

The middle-aged woman smiled. "I'll have you dress, and then we'll talk."

Althea nodded.

Healer Fox smiled once more and carefully closed the door. Althea exhaled loudly. She slid off the exam table and curled her toes into the plush blue carpet. I've never had one smile at me before, she thought as she tied her violet jersey wrap dress. Frown, shake his head, but never smile. A gentle knock on the door alerted Althea to Healer Fox's return. She hastily smoothed her dress and sat upon the examination table. Healer Cordelia Augusta Fox entered the exam room. Head of The Salem Witches Health and Fertility Center, she was mother of Bacchus T. Fox, the front man for Pan, and Althea believed his dark features came from his father. The petite, middle-aged witch with light green eyes and equally pale blonde hair sat before Althea on the rolling stool. Out with it, she thought, tell me what I've heard countless times.

"It's been thirteen years?"

Althea licked her lips as she nodded. Thirteen years and two weeks.

Healer Fox nodded slightly and opened Althea's file. Althea leaned forward in an attempt to peer into her file. She wrinkled her nose at the scribbled notes only decipherable to Fox.

"Anything else you would like to share?"

Althea swallowed, kicking her heels against the table. She shook her head.

Fox sighed as she flipped through the pink papers. "Nothing structurally abnormal—"

Of course—

"—no lesions or scar tissue—the ultrasound was within normal limits—"

Whatever that means—

"—your lab work is within range," she explained and frowned thoughtfully, "and you've carried one child to term."

"That was before—"

Healer Fox nodded once more. "I'll be frank," she began and Althea felt her stomach drop, "it's been thirteen years—"

"I know—"

"—since the curse was placed," she continued and looked up from the file, "and I doubt it is as strong as it once was."

Althea arched her eyebrow.

"We've handled cases like yours," she explained and cast a sympathetic look at Althea. "I'm seeing more of it now—I'm shocked at how many women your age were affected."

Althea shrugged. "There was a war," she murmured.

"Anyway," she began, and pulled a shiny pamphlet from underneath the file, "I think this could help."

Althea took the pamphlet in her hands and fought the urge to roll her eyes at the pensive witch looking off in the distance. The meadow, the wind, was it necessary? Did the model know she was photographed for such a pamphlet? She hoped the model was paid handsomely.

The Obstruction Hex was a series of complex spells—

"There, of course, is no guarantee and there are risks involved," she said and flipped to the fourth page of the pamphlet.

Nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, acne, bloating, bleeding…

one reported case of transient gills and/or scales—

"The procedure is costly and time consuming," she continued and pointed to the last page of the pamphlet. "You would need to come to Salem at least four times for the charm procedures—do you have a potions master?"

Althea let out a knowing laugh and cleared her throat. "I don't think he'd help me."

"Well, five times," she said," and we'll ship the potions to you."

"Are the potions weekly?" she asked, quickly flipping the pages of the pamphlet.

"Daily."

"Daily?" she murmured and wrinkled her nose. "And they don't taste of Butterbeer?"

Fox shook her head. "Afraid not," she said and crossed her legs. "It's a very strict regimen—I know—and once started, it can't be stopped. Compliance is an issue—"

"How long?"

"Four months—"

"Four months?" she repeated, her eyes wide.

Fox leaned forward. "It's a lot to take in—"

"How many of these have you performed?"

She screwed up her eyes. "Of your case…fifty."

Althea's eyes focused upon her black satin heels. "And all were successful?" she asked, repeatedly slipping her right heel off and on.

"The majority."

"If I'm to pay," she began and slid off the table to retrieve her shoe, "one thousand Bullions, I'd like to know the exact number."

Healer Fox frowned. "Thirty-eight," she answered, "and I don't expect you to make a decision today—"

Thirty-eight. Would Althea be thirty-nine? She sighed. Was it worth the risk? Once begun, the process could not be stopped—the risks were more than Healer Fox divulged…they had to be.

"All fifty with strict adherence to the regimen?"

Healer Fox shook her head. "No, with strict adherence thirty-eight," she said and smiled sympathetically at Althea. "It's a lot to think about," she added and handed Althea more literature. "Read this, discuss this with your partner—he seemed very supportive—"

Althea weakly smiled.

"And I'm sorry, again, but we don't allow the partner back here during consultation…I hope you understand."

"Of course," Althea murmured.

Healer Fox furrowed her eyebrows. "He isn't pressuring you," she began to ask, "for it could adversely affect the outcome—"

Althea vigorously shook her head. "No, no, it's my decision…mine, alone."

"Okay," she breathed and nodded to herself. "Any more questions?"

Althea shook her head.

"Well," she said, clapping her hands together as she stood, "I hope to see you again. "If you have any questions, do not hesitate."

"I won't."

"As I said, thirteen years is a heck of a time for a curse—"

You've very little experience with Dark Magic, haven't you?

"—and with a little magical persuasion—"

"Thank you," Althea said, standing.

"Think about it," she said, offering her hand.

Althea hastily shoved the literature into black purse before she exited for the waiting room. Was Healer Fox right? Would it take a bit of magical persuasion—a strict regimen of daily potions and monthly charms—to lift the curse upon her? For Healer Fox, the solution seemed simple, but was Althea willing to take that chance? To invest herself once more? I'd almost hoped that she would've said nothing could be done, she thought as she entered the rather empty waiting room. The sound of high-pitched laughter broke Althea from her thoughts. A toddler with bright red hair caught her attention. The boy clapped and squealed as Sirius had charmed his toy dragon to fly above their heads. The child's mother, very pregnant, seemed relieved another would seek to entertain her rambunctious boy. Althea blinked rapidly and inhaled a shaky breath. Could we have this, she wondered as Sirius noticed her entrance. Would Sirius insist on returning with her every month? He was still a fugitive, and the Ministry sought to increase its efforts in light of the Triwizard Tournament. The appointment of Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody wasn't solely Dumbledore's decision.

Sirius smiled as she approached, and Althea weakly smiled in response; however, Sirius' smile quickly faded to a look of concern.

Sirius stood. "It went—"

"Later," she whispered and forced a smile at the small boy. "Shall we?"

"Right," he sighed and helped her with her black wool coat.

The two quickened their steps in the brisk November wind. Althea held her coat tightly closed at its collar for the wind seemed to find every which manner of entering her coat. The two were quiet, except for the sound of Althea's heels and the brown oak leaves skidding across the grey pavement. She frowned—every thing seemed brown and grey at this time of year…lifeless, barren—a natural reminder of her visit.

"Thank God," Sirius said and nodded ahead of them.

Althea glimpsed the faded red brick front with the black sign, which gently creaked in the breeze, of Afina's newest clothing shop. As the two approached, the silver, shimmering letters appeared: Otrera. Sirius slipped his arm around her waist, and Althea caught a glimpse of the newest winter fashions before Sirius guided her toward the coffee shop next door. He held the door open for her and the two were greeted with the friendly door chimes.

"I'll get us something, then?" Sirius offered.

Althea nodded and removed her black cloche hat and coat. She inhaled deeply the comforting, inviting smells of the coffee, mulled cider, and fire. With every step, the floorboards creaked underneath her as she walked by rickety tables and mismatched chairs toward the fireplace. Her attention was split between the elderly wizards in a game of Wizard's Chess and Sirius flirting with the young woman behind the counter. 'Oh, England!' Oh please, she thought and with a huff, she sat upon the leather sofa. Sirius rested his arm upon the counter and leaned forward—the girl giggled. She caught his disguised reflection in the glass case—his black hair now blond and his features handsome—she knew the young woman would not have been as receptive if she saw his true appearance. Althea rolled her eyes at Sirius's mock bashful routine. It had been a favorite before the war, when he pulled girls at the Leaky Cauldron (and still, he ended up in Althea's bed), and the Muggle clubs he frequented to check up on Althea (although he would never admit to doing so).

"Oh, I travel—"

"A travel writer?" the young woman asked.

Sirius smiled and laughed quietly. "You could say—"

"Oh, bollocks," Althea muttered.

Althea reached into her purse, shuffled through the papers and makeup, and pulled out the silver compact. She pressed the small button and the compact clicked open. She pretended to smooth her lipstick. Answer, she thought as Sirius pointed over the woman's shoulder. Answer, you wanker. Sirius continued to ignore the buzzing mirror in his trouser pocket. The woman smiled and nodded. Sirius grinned. The man behind the counter slid two beige mugs forward. Sirius winked, taking the mugs in his hands. He caught Althea's eye as he walked toward her—Althea folded her arms.

"She has yet to go to Afina's shop," he said, holding a mug before Althea.

Althea frowned as she took it. "Thank you," she murmured and took a sip of the tart, mulled cider. "God that it still works—"

"What?" he asked, sitting next to her.

"How any woman could ever believe that you're shy," she said and took another sip. "Bloody daft."

Sirius seemed content with himself. "Ah, lovely," he whispered and pulled a face as Althea narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're the father of a teenage girl," she said, her lips twitching to betray her smile.

Sirius shuddered. "Must you remind me," he murmured and took a large gulp of cider. "I don't feel that old. Do you?"

Althea raised the mug to her lips. "Act with some maturity, my love."

Sirius laughed lowly.

Althea slid closer to him, slipping her legs upon the sofa. "How will you ever outdo her thirteenth birthday?" she asked, observing Sirius's pleased profile. "The Granian foal? Lessons with Camilla Woodhouse?"

Sirius shrugged.

"Christmas will be a disappointment, I'm sure."

Sirius shook his head. "So…?" he began slowly and raised his eyebrows.

Althea's stomach flipped. She recognized the small tinge of hope in his voice.

"It's…" she began and stared at the floating pulp in her mug, "been so long."

"Ah," Sirius whispered and kissed her cheek. "I love you," he whispered and kissed her cheek once more.

"Anyway, we have enough to worry about…Harry," she said, tapping her nails against the mug, "and that damn Triwizard tournament."

Only two weeks ago, the Goblet of Fire sputtered out the name of the fourth champion—Harry Potter—to the shock of all in attendance…including Harry. At first, the faculty were split in their assessment of Harry: had Harry overcome the age spells to place his name in the goblet? Althea had sided with the majority that believed that Harry Potter was an innocent and the perpetrator lurked amongst Hogwarts. How Althea loathed telling Sirius of the news! It had been an uneventful year for Harry until then. She waited until the night after Prudence's birthday party to tell him…which led Althea—at Sirius's insistence—to search out the castle for Peter Pettigrew into the wee hours of morning. Who else would've put Harry's name in the goblet? He disregarded her opinion that it was thoughtless prank by an of-age Slytherin in retaliation of some Quidditch vendetta.

Sirius's casual demeanor shifted—he was on alert, tense. "Any more news?"

Althea shook her head. "Dumbledore said that it was magically binding—Karkaroff was the most livid—"

Sirius growled. "That he is teaching children—"

"Maybe you could get a job at Durmstrang—"

Sirius's glare was murderous.

Althea rested her head upon Sirius' shoulder. "I can't imagine it to be an elaborate scheme to kill him…there are just too many variables," she said lowly and Sirius inhaled to speak—she knew he would mention his suspicion of Bertha Jorkins's disappearance in Albania. "It's completely stupid."

Sirius leaned closer to her. "Voldemort tried to kill him directly once and was unable to do so," he whispered and Althea saw the faint shimmer of the Vocal Obscuring Spell that surrounded them. "Watch Karkaroff."

Althea nodded. "I just can't think of anyone—Hogwarts staff, at least," she said as Sirius placed his arm around her shoulders. "Moody is investigating on Dumbledore's orders—"

"Good," he sighed and she felt him breathe in deeply. "Has he—"

"Made inquiries about you?" she finished and took a final sip of cider. She shook her head. "He knows what happened to me," she said, and raised an eyebrow when she realized that she did not receive her bouquet this year at Halloween—how odd. "Sent me flowers every year."

Sirius shifted. "Mad-Eye gave you flowers?"

Althea nodded. "He lost his wife—"

"Moody was married?" Sirius asked and let out a quiet laugh of surprise.

"Murdered by a Dark wizard," she explained and quickly frowned. "His eye…it can see through Concealment Charms, right?"

Sirius nodded.

Althea's left hand rested upon her right arm, her fingers absently stroked the fabric overlying her concealed tattoos. He would know my secret, then. She exhaled a ragged breath. He would've known for years.

AN: Thank you so much for reading. Please don't hesitate to comment or review, I would love to know your feedback.