The Third and Possibly Very Last Interlude-87 years ago. (1915)

Harold Potter sat with his five year old grandson on his lap, reminiscing.

"I remember when your father was your age, young Ralphie, he used to sit on my lap just like this." He coughed into his hand and wiped it onto his trousers, then looked down at his frowning grandson.

"What's wrong, grandpa?"

"Nothing, my dear boy, nothing, just a cough, that's all. Did I ever tell you about the time your grandmother dropped your father in the lake by our county house? No? Oh, that was a good summer... she disappeared a month later…" tears filled his eyes, and try as he might, he couldn't stop them falling down his cheeks.

"Grandpa, what happened to grandma?" the boy, inquisitive for his age, didn't like to see his grandad cry.

"No one knows, my boy, no one knows. I would give anything for her to be here, here to watch you grow older, and-" he coughed again into his hand, this time a little blood spilling on his collar "-grow old with me…"

"But, she didn't tell you where she went? Grandpa?"

"No, no Ralph Junior, no, I don't know if she died, or just decided to go. You would have liked her. Fun, she was. She was lovely, my Callie, bright green eyes, beautiful…"

Ralph Junior climbed down off his grandad's knee. "I'm going to play outside grandpa, until mum and dad get home." He ran outside.

Harold watched him go through tired, old eyes. He watched the child of his child, seeing no traits of the wife he missed. She was completely gone, from his life, from his children and their children's minds and faces. But he would never forget her. Never.

"Callie…why did you go…?" he whispered, and sobbed into his hands, until he broke into a coughing fit, spraying blood everywhere, as he had done every day since she disappeared.

A week later, he was dead.

Ralph Junior never forgot the day his grandad cried. He held it in his memory through the birth of his son, James, and his marriage to Lily. And when his first and only grandson was born, and everybody said how he had his mother's eyes, only Ralph knew. They were his great-great grandmother's. Callie's.