Author's Note: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter! But if I did, this is what his grandparents' story would be like. This Prologue is the first part of my ficcy saga. I wrote it on a whim two Christmases ago, & it's my favorite thing that I've ever written.

It makes sense by itself, but I think that it'd probably be better to go to my author page, start with my first fic, my Year 5 one, then work your way back through the prequels. That's what several of my readers tell me is the easiest way to understand everything off the bat is. But, if you like a little mystery, read on! All will most definitely be revealed...

After this, read Part 1 & so forth. Sorry if Parts 3 & 4 aren't finished when you get to them; I'm working backwards from my Year 5. So eventually, I guess you'll end up there with unanswered questions!

I started writing my saga about a year & a half before OoP came out, so it is definitely from that particular era. So, sorry if parts of it are utterly cliche now, but they weren't when I started this fic! I'm a traditional shipper, but I really enjoy putting strange twists on everything. And the ships I hate, I make it so the characters are related & therefore hooking up would be incest & morally wrong. I do add in a lot of OC's, because I happen to think they're fun.

Also, I do admit to using way too much music in my fics. Not songfic, but when a song is so perfect for the scene, who am I to resist?

Please don't forget the lovely Review button at the bottom of your screen...

Chapter 1: Footsteps

She came calling one early morning. She showed her crown of thorns. She whispered softly to tell a story about how she had been wronged.

As she lay lifeless, he stole her innocence. And this is how she carried on.

Well I guess she closed her eyes, and just imagined everything's alright. But she could not hide her tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years…

Wash away those years…I wonder how many people know that my father wrote that song while he was in Azkaban prison, serving a sentence for a crime that he didn't commit. And, I'm sure that even fewer people realize that the 'she' is my mother. To most people, those words simply belong to a song by Creed.

In fact, I bet that Mom would be scandalized if she found out how much I know about both she and Papa's pasts. They don't like to talk about what happened back then, and frankly, I don't blame them.

You'll never see their real story in any of the dozens of biographical books in Flourish and Botts. Most of what's in those books isn't really true, anyway. Papa told Nicholas and I when we were little that people are fascinated with the rich and famous, so they make up what they don't know. And since my parents rarely give the media any access into our lives, a lot gets made up.

Take my name, for instance. I read in a book the other day that I'm named for my maternal grandmother. Which is interesting because her name is Catherine, and I'm Megan, Meggie to those who know me. Both names are Celtic, but that's where the similarities end.

But, irritations and misconceptions like that come with being part of the notoriously famous Black family. I'm the youngest child by ten minutes, and Nicholas never lets me forget it. Nicholas Black, the miracle child, my parents' pride and joy. I'm just the tag-along.

It's frustrating having two perfect siblings. My older sister Hermione does no wrong, and neither does Nicholas. I'm stuck trying to follow in their footsteps. So often, I feel like the family black sheep, which is how this all got started.

When I was around nine, I became curious about my family. Not the same old stories my parents tell over and over – I wanted to know the family dirty laundry, or even if there was any dirt. It would make me feel better about being the pariah if I had something in common with one of my ancestors.

So, I decided to sneak into the attic, which is strictly off-limits. No one except my parents are allowed up there, which led me to believe that whatever I was looking for was up there. I nicked my cousin Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and waited. Finally, I got my opportunity when Papa went to get the Christmas decorations.

I carefully crept up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. My father has amazing hearing, and if I had gotten caught – I don't even want to think of the consequences. Most people think that because my parents are fun-loving people, they're permissive parents. Well, they're not.

Mom says that part of it is on principle. When she was young, apparently Papa made her follow a million and one rules. Yes, my father raised my mother. Which is beyond bizarre, I know. And according to her, he's much more laid-back than he used to be. Even so, I would've been in the worst trouble of my life if he had caught me.

Luckily, I managed to tiptoe upstairs. I hurried to the furthest corner of the attic, and sat on an old, dusty trunk while my father quickly levitated the Christmas decorations and walked them downstairs. As soon as I heard the door slam shut, I tossed off the cloak and began to investigate my surroundings.

After a few minutes of exploration, I discovered why none of us kids are allowed in the attic. Anything and everything that belonged to our family is stored up here. In one corner, I came across all of Hermione's mum's old sketchpads and artwork. In another, my Uncle James' Quiddich trophies and old gear. At the top of the stairs was my Grandma Catherine's antique vanity. Why Mom doesn't use it, I don't know. Maybe she's forgotten that it's up here.

But, the biggest find of all was contained in that old, dusty trunk. When I opened it on a whim, I discovered my mother's old journals. I didn't even know she kept journals until then. I scooped up several of them, and parked myself in a comfortable-looking rocking chair. Excited, I flipped open the cover.

Unfortunately, I couldn't read a single word, because Mom wrote all of them in Gaelic, her native language. The only thing I could make out was her name – Isabelle Rose Evans. It would be years of before I could understand her journals, but all the effort was definitely worth it.

Poor Mom just thought that I wanted to learn Gaelic for the heck of it. Papa was more skeptical, and far less trusting of my motives. Probably because we're just alike, he and I. Come to think of it, I'm nearly an exact cross of my parents, unlike Nicholas. He's more like my Aunt Lily; at least, that's what everyone tells us.

From that day on, the attic became my private sanctuary. I found refuge from the little trials and tribulations of life among the relics of the past. And, as my Gaelic got better, I began to read my mother's journals. Throughout my childhood, I relived my late family's lives through Mom's eyes.

The stories that Mom's journals describe are far different than anything that I've ever read, or that anyone has ever told me. Well, except for Harry. Early on, he discovered what I was doing, mostly because I nicked his Invisibility Cloak. Luckily, he understood why I was nosing around the attic, and began helping me out.

Although Harry's technically my first cousin, he's like a wise older brother that I can always go to when I need anything. We spent countless hours sorting through family folklore, trying to piece together an accurate timeline of events. And, a truthful family history.

I'd say that our family, in its present form, is the product of a highly unlikely friendship between my paternal grandmother, Juliana Piedra de Black, and Harry's paternal grandmother, Victoria Gates Potter. Actually, those are my sister Hermione's two grandmothers. But, I'm already getting ahead of myself.

Papa's mother's family is originally from Spain. My great-grandparents lived through, and fought in, the Spanish Civil War. My great-grandfather, Miguel Piedra, was an artist and writer, and my great-grandmother Mariana Delgado de Piedra was a great actress. That's how they met. They were an integral part of the wizarding artistic community of the day.

My great-grandfather, who I know simply as Abuelo, was very good friends with both Pablo Picasso, the modernist painter, and Federico Garcia Lorca, a famous playwright and poet. When the War broke out, the artistic community tried not to be politically involved in the conflict. However, the new Fascist government perceived the Spanish wizarding world, and especially the artists, as a huge threat to their regime.

My family's ancestral homeland is roughly halfway between Granada and Malaga, and has been for centuries. Abuelo flatly refused to leave their home even though tensions grew high in the southern area of Spain. On August 19, 1936, right-wing Nationalists stopped him, Lorca, and several other people on the road, and an argument broke out amongst them. Knowing that they did not support General Franco and the Nationalist insurgence, the troops refused to let them go. Instead, they marched Abuelo and the others into the woods, and opened fire.

To this day, no one knows the location of Abuelo's body. He became an example for what happens to leftist sympathizers, and a martyr for the left-wing Republicans, along with Lorca. Heartbroken but determined, my great-grandmother, Abuela in Mom's journals, took my grandmother and fled to Barcelona. My grandmother was only three years old.

They stayed there, mostly because it was the Republic's greatest stronghold. Mom loves Barcelona, and takes us there often, where we stay in Abuela's old house. Sometimes I stand in my grandmother Juliana's old bedroom, and look out at the city, trying to picture what life must've been like back then.

I'm not really sure why, but I really relate to the Spanish side of my family. Well, I'm my grandmother's living image, except that I have Mom's green eyes. So, that probably has something to do with it. But, it's more than looks; I feel more Spanish than anything else, even though I'm technically British.

When I'm in Barcelona, or Grenada, it feels like home. More so than Dover, or London, or Hogsmeade, and I don't know why. Mom says that she feels the same way about Galway in Ireland, where her family's originally from. And, it's true; she's an Irish girl, through and through, which rubs off on Nicholas. He learned Gaelic years before I did. No offense to Mom, but shamrocks just aren't my style.

Anyway, Abuela and my grandmother stayed in Barcelona, even after it fell to General Franco. As long as they didn't call attention to themselves, they slipped through the cracks and lived unnoticed by the authorities. They established an uneasy routine until a polio epidemic swept through the city when my grandmother was seven.

Although my family's wealthy, there simply wasn't enough medicine or doctors to go around. All Abuela could do when my grandmother got sick was to pray that she would get well enough to travel to another country for better medical treatment. By the time she could travel, my grandmother was basically a cripple.

I hope that I take after Abuela, at least a little. She's such an amazing woman; she never gave up, no matter how bad things got. I truly believe that without her, my parents never would've gotten together. But, I'm getting ahead of myself again.

One night, Abuela packed up my grandmother, and snuck out of the country into France. From there, they traveled to London, England, where they settled in a quiet neighborhood in Chelsea. My grandmother Juliana got better, slowly but surely. She was schooled by private tutors, but led anything but a sheltered life.

Grandma Juliana (sorry, Mom's English is very Americanized, so that's how I learned her name) chose to stay in London rather than to go to Hogwarts. She said that she'd rather be in the middle of things instead of in the back of beyond. I tried that argument with Papa, but it didn't work. Unfair, huh?

While Grandma Juliana was being tutored (lucky duck, and have I mentioned yet that Mom was privately tutored, too?), Abuela decided to go to medical school because she was highly unsatisfied with the state of pediatric medicine at that time. So, they often passed their evenings keeping each other company studying.

More often than not, though, they were in the West End involved in one play or another. No one has ever given me a straight answer, but I truly believe that Abuela was at least part gypsy. She had to be, from her pictures and the way that she's described. Regardless, I come from a long line of free spirits, on both sides of the family. Despite her busy schedule as a doctor, Abuela never gave up the theatre. Grandma Juliana didn't act because she couldn't walk very well, but she did sing and play the guitar all the time.

She used to perform in a tiny coffee shop frequented by other Spanish refugees and artsy types. It was quite an unorthodox life, but it's all she knew, and she was happy. When my grandmother passed the N.E.W.T. tests and became a fully qualified witch, Abuela decided to go back to Spain to provide healthcare for low-income patients.

After she left, Grandma Juliana was very lonely, so she entertained visitors at the house in Chelsea often. I use the term 'entertaining' loosely – she basically threw a never-ending party. Which is exactly what appealed to eighteen-year-old Victoria Gates, who I know as Mummy P.

When Mummy P graduated from Hogwarts, she headed straight for London, looking for excitement and adventure. Unfortunately for her, she was the black sheep in her family of bankers. Not that there's anything wrong with banking. In fact, Papa's family, the Blacks, helped found Gringotts' bank along with the Potter family.

However, the Gates family was quite stuck-up, and wanted Mummy P to keep up appearances of culture and sophistication. And if there's anything she hated, it was pretending to be someone she wasn't. So, she packed her bags, kissed her trust fund goodbye, and set off to find a job…

Nervously walking down the street, Victoria paused to scan the help ads from a newspaper that she picked up from a local street vendor. Loud, angry voices spilled out from a nearby alleyway as she pulled a highlighter quill out of her bag and circled several ads. It was only after she finished that she realized that the quill was a bit out of place in Muggle London. She hastily stuffed it back into her bag, making a mental note to visit the first stationery store that she found.

"Diego," an irate female voice with an odd accent screamed. "Any git should be able to brew coffee and pour it without spilling it on the customers!"

"But, Liana--"

"Don't Liana me. Dios, give me strength! It's a simple job, Diego. If I could walk around like you, I'd do it myself. But I can't, so I have to rely on idiots like you! You brewed the coffee so that it was the consistency of caramel. Caramel and coffee both start with the letter 'C', but when people pay for coffee, they should get coffee! Not caramel, with grinds at the bottom of the cup!"

"Oh, fine, you think you can replace me so easily?"

"Anyone could do a better job than you! Excuse me? Excuse me!" Liana bellowed. Victoria looked up from her paper, wide-eyed. "Yes, you. The one who's looking through the want ads. What's your name?"

"Victoria," she gulped. "Victoria Gates."

"As in the Gates family?"

"Yeah."

"What's one of your kind doing out here? You know, in the working world?"

Victoria watched the other girl cross her arms expectantly, glaring up at her from her wheelchair. "Uh, well I, that is, um…I'm an artist. And, I need a job to pay bills. So, do you need help or not?"

"Do you know how to brew coffee?"

"I can learn," she said resolutely.

"Good enough." The girl stuck out her hand, and Victoria shook it. "Welcome to our little café. I'm Juliana, but most people call me Liana."

"Nice to meet you, Liana."

"Likewise." She turned her wheelchair around and rolled back into the café's tiny kitchen, followed closely by a perplexed Victoria and a brooding Diego.

Once Victoria's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she began looking around the room wide-eyed. A large island with a sink, stove range and cutting board was in the middle of the floor. Along all four walls was a low countertop. She guessed that was because Juliana was wheelchair-bound.

Above and below the counters were rows and rows of shelves covering every available inch of space. Jars of coffees, chocolate tins, baskets of fresh bakery goods, teas, dishes and dozens of other goods were stacked neatly on the festively painted shelves. Although the room was stuffed to capacity, it was spotless.

A coffee pot began whirling and percolating cheerfully. Victoria turned around, and noticed about a half dozen coffee and tea pots, working perfectly without the benefit of electricity or any other Muggle form of power. A puzzled look passed over her face.

"Yes, they're magically charmed," Juliana laughed.

"I should've guessed that you were a witch. Why else would you know about my family?" she said, suddenly feeling very stupid.

The other girl simply shrugged. "Diego, could you do a quick inventory for me? I need to place an order with my tea supplier in the morning."

"Oh, you trust me with the finances of this fine institution, but not with charming a coffee pot to brew?" he seethed.

"Of course I trust you. I've known you since I was ten. Now that I've hired someone else to handle the floor, I could really use you in the back to handle the books. You're a math genius, and I'm not. I need you." Juliana smiled charmingly, knowing that he couldn't stay mad at her for long. After a minute, he huffed over to a small, cluttered desk and pulled out a tattered blue notebook. "Thank you, Diego."

"Yeah, yeah. Just let me know if Miranda shows up, ok?" he said, searching the desk drawers for a quill and bottle of ink.

"No problem. I'll be sure to send your little girlfriend back to see you," she teased. "Alright, Victoria, are you ready for the rest of the tour?"

"Sure," she answered, walking into the main part of the café, falling in love with the atmosphere immediately.

The walls were painted a warm yellow gold, which reflected the candlelight of the wall sconces and tables beautifully. About a dozen tables were strewn haphazardly throughout the room, surrounded by comfortable-looking red art deco chairs. At one end of the room was a makeshift stage, with a stool in the center of the platform. A guitar was propped up on the stool.

What struck Victoria the most, however, were the massive amounts of art that filled the walls from floor to ceiling. She was amazed at the eclectic variety of styles and themes. But somehow, it all managed to come together. She discreetly pointed to a painting.

"How did you get a reproduction of that Picasso over there? I've been after one for months, and haven't found one," she asked. Juliana gave her a funny look.

"Reproduction? No, mi amiga, there are no reproductions here. All of these paintings are gifts to my family. They're here because I thought it was a shame not to share such lovely art with the world. You see, this café is my version of a charitable institution," she explained.

"Charitable institution?"

"Uh-huh. I bought this place a couple of months ago and made it profitable. So, I give the proceeds to charity. If I asked the beatniks and gypsies who frequent this place for money for the poor, they'd tell me no way because they are the poor. But, they have no problem paying a pound or two for a cup of coffee."

"That's a really good idea," she said, mostly to herself. Something clicked in her head. "Pardon me, but what's your last name?"

"Piedra. Juliana Piedra Delgado from Granada, Spain. Yes, I'm one of those Piedras," she answered while quickly clearing a table, seeing Victoria's inquisitive look out of the corner of her eye.

"Wow." Victoria couldn't believe her luck. The Piedra family was incredibly well known in artistic circles, and knew the type of people that she really wanted to be around.

"So, what do you think of the place? Not exactly the posh surroundings you're used to, but I think it's pretty cozy."

"I think it's perfect. Do I start working tonight?" She grinned happily. Life has definitely taken a turn for the better, she thought.

"Sure."

Juliana showed her the café's menu, where everything was located, and gave a brief description of what her job would entail. Frankly, she was impressed at how quickly Victoria caught on, and the level of energy she had. Between the two of them, they easily managed the room's orders.

"What can I get for you?" she asked briskly, pulling out a short quill and scrap of parchment paper.

"Just a cup of coffee," a deep voice replied.

"That's it?" she teased, looking up. She completely lost her train of thought as she stared at the man in front of her.

"Yeah, that's it." He smiled crookedly. Without a word, she headed back to the kitchen, lightheaded.

Oh, come on, Juliana told herself firmly. No way a man that good-looking would be interested in a cripple like you. She sighed sadly as she delivered his coffee, noticing a wand sticking out of his cloak pocket. Intrigued, she wheeled over to Victoria, who was loading a tray full of desserts.

"Hey," she hissed, pointing. "Do you know that bloke over there?"

Victoria causally glanced across the room. "Actually, I do."

"Well, who is he?" Juliana asked impatiently.

"William Black. His parents were friends with mine before they were killed."

"Killed?"

"Yes, in a really awful accident. I don't know all the details." She shrugged. "He was a few years ahead of me at Hogwarts, so I don't know him very well."

"My papa was killed, too. So, that's one thing in common." Juliana narrowed her eyes. There was something about this man that fascinated her.

"Oh, no. You don't want to get mixed up with a Black. They have wicked tempers and are horrible brooders. Best to give any Black a very wide berth," Victoria warned, knowing her words fell on deaf ears.

"Passionate, huh?" Juliana's face lit up in a wicked grin as a plan formed in her mind.

"That's one way of putting it."

Victoria shook her head as Juliana winked and wheeled into the back room, calling out Diego's name. A few minutes later, she walked into the main café, dragging him reluctantly to the stage. As the patrons cheered and catcalled, she gave a sweeping bow and gracefully sat on the stool.

"Good evening, everyone," she spoke over the crowd.

"You better be singing, Liana!" a loud male voice screamed from the far right corner.

"That's the plan," she replied, nodding to Diego, who began playing a baby grand piano at the rear of the stage.

You could buy me diamonds
You could buy me pearls
Take me on a cruise around the world
Baby you know I'm worth it

Victoria clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping at the rowdy, bordering on bawdy, response by the café patrons. Obviously this wasn't the first time she'd sung this song, and it appeared to be a real crowd pleaser.

Dinner lit by candles
Run my bubble bath
Make love tenderly to last, to last
Cause baby you know I'm worth it

"Anytime, Liana! I'll show you what you're worth!" A blonde man called from the front of the room.

Juliana winked in response and mouthed, "In your dreams," before continuing.

Cause a real man, knows a real woman when he sees her
And a real woman knows a real man ain't afraid to please her
And a real woman knows a real man always comes first
And a real man just can't deny a womans worth

To Victoria's incredible surprise, her new friend stood up and began mingling among the crowd. Juliana didn't look the least bit handicapped as she sashayed her way around the café, microphone in hand. However, it didn't shock Victoria in the slightest when she stopped right in front of William Black and leaned over the table seductively to serenade him.

If you treat me fairly
I'll give you all my goods
Treat you like a real woman should
Baby I know you're worth it

The young man flushed bright red, especially when he looked up and saw the extremely jealous glares on every other man's face. He had to admit that Juliana was enchanting; in fact, he couldn't take his eyes off her.

If you never play me
Promise not to bluff
I'll hold you down when shit gets rough
Cause baby I know you're worth it

She walked around the table as she sang. And, to everyone's astonishment, she moved the table with a quick swish of her cleverly hidden wand and sat down on his lap. A pair of stunned green eyes met her own.

"Good evening," she said in a sultry tone as Diego played an interlude. "Please excuse my forwardness, but my legs were getting tired. Do you mind if I rest for a bit?"

"No. Not at all," he replied, finding his voice.

"Thank you, uh--"

"William. William Black," he stuttered.

"Well, nice to meet you William Black," she whispered in his ear before beginning to sing again. Juliana smiled at him, and put her arms around his neck.

He tried as hard as he could not to openly stare at her, but he couldn't help himself. Especially since she made him feel like they were the only two people in the entire room. The world, for that matter. As the song ended and she stood up, he knew that he'd fallen for this mysterious siren. And that nothing could keep him from returning to the café the next night.



After cleaning up and closing up the café, Victoria trudged to the kitchen and dropped her apron in the laundry basket. She sadly gathered up her belongings and slowly dragged her feet to the back door.

As her hand grasped the door handle, she realized that she didn't know when she needed to be at work the next day. So, she turned and walked back into the main dining area, where Diego was teasing Juliana for her earlier musical performance.

"You did everything but invite him to your place for a little private fiesta, Liana. That was so unlike you. Whatever happened to 'I don't need men. I get by just fine on my own.'?" he teased.

"Well, I don't need men, and I do get by just fine on my own. It just that he was so--" she sighed dreamily, staring at the empty chair where William sat earlier. "It's not your business anyway. And besides, he wouldn't really be interested in someone like me, anyway."

"What do you mean, someone like you?" Diego asked sharply.

"You know, the non-walking kind of person. No man wants to be seen with a cripple." Her shoulders slumped, and Victoria saw her reach for a handkerchief and wipe a couple of tears away.

"You're not a cripple, Liana," he said gently. "And you can walk, just not as far as some people can. As for being seen with you, trust me, every man in that room would've given their eye teeth to be that redhead you parked yourself on."

"Really?" she smiled through her tears.

"Definitely. Bet your redheaded friend shows up tomorrow."

"Do you think he will?"

Diego scoffed. "He'd be a fool not to."

"Stop it! I can't take you being nice to me." Juliana put her hands over her ears and whirled her wheelchair around so that she was facing the door. "Oh, hi."

"Hi. I'm sorry, I was just wondering what time I needed to be at work tomorrow," Victoria said quietly.

"Probably around three o'clock in the afternoon. We open at five. Um, I know it's not my business, but is something wrong? Do you not like it here? Because you don't have to stay just to be polite," Juliana said quickly.

"Oh, no," she replied, a little more loudly than she intended. "I love it here already. You're wonderful to work for, and the pay's good. Not to mention all this art – it's inspiring. It's a different world than what I'm used to, which makes it that much harder to go home."

"Home?" Diego raised an eyebrow.

Everyone in the wizarding world had heard of the Gates mansion on the outskirts of London. The intimidating estate was hardly welcoming and homey. And no one knew that more than Victoria.

"Yeah." She ran her fingers through her sleek, jet-black hair distractedly. "I was planning to apartment shop this afternoon, but…"

"Well, what sort of place are you looking for?" Juliana inquired curiously.

"Oh, nothing too big. A studio flat will do. I just want enough space to set up an easel or two. Good lighting would be a plus, but not necessary. I usually painted in the dungeons at school, so I know how to make do with dim lighting conditions. Why, do you know anyone who's letting apartments around here?"

"Sort of," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The property's great, in Chelsea as a matter of fact. Beautiful garden in the backyard, excellent lighting. The rooms are quite large, certainly adequate for what you want. Rent's free, as long as you don't mind the constant comings and goings of artistic types."

"What's the catch?" Victoria asked skeptically.

"Landlord's a pain. Completely unbearable to live with," Diego said seriously.

"Diego, I'm trying to get a roommate here! Honestly, I think it would work out well. Mama's always worried about me living in that big house by myself. And, I think that your parents would be a little more amenable to your lifestyle choices if you were living with someone of your own social status."

She said the last part quietly, as if not to be offensive. But, both women knew the veracity of her statement. Victoria's family was well known as being elitist and disdainful of anyone who wasn't in their social circles. Although Juliana or her mother rarely attended any Society events, they were always welcome, mostly because they were quite wealthy and famous.

Victoria grinned. "Sounds good to me."

Still in partial shock about her sudden good fortune, she followed Juliana and Diego into the bustling night streets. After receiving very specific directions about the location of her new home, she took a deep breath and Disapparated.

She was almost afraid to open her eyes, worried that she'd landed in the wrong location. She peeked out cautiously. The eclectic colors and furnishings of the room informed her that this was the right place. Sure enough, Juliana wheeled into the doorway with a relieved look on her face.

"Good, glad you made your way here all right," she said, before leading the way up the sweeping staircase. "Ok, you have your choice of suites. Personally, I'd pick the one on the far right, but that's just me. Anyway, feel free to look around the house. If you need anything, my room's right here."

"Thanks. Goodnight," Victoria called out, as Juliana retreated into her own suite of rooms.

"Buenas noches," she yawned sleepily before closing the door. Luckily, things were quiet around the house for once. So, she was left alone with her thoughts of a certain redheaded café patron, who hadn't left her mind for a second all night.

"I think I'm going to like it here," Victoria said confidently to herself. This was undoubtedly one of the best days of her life.