London. 40 years ago.

A man sat in a cheer near a bed a pale woman lay on. He was about 30 but looked a bit older then he was. He - fingered a document, she – looked at him with weariness.

- They told me that the birth had had complications.

- Yes… I saw them… Both our little ones.

- Have you thought about their names?

- Yes.

-Well?

- I'd like to give them flower names… Let the first one be… Lily. And the second… she is so pale… Jasmine.

- You are tired. You shouldn't talk so much.

- Do you… approve the names, Harry?

-Yes, Mrs. Evans, I do approve them. The only chance I wouldn't is having boys.

- You're still… waiting for a… heir…

- Don't worry. Petunia will be glad to have sisters.

- Yes…

- Now have a sleep, sweetheart… – just as he said this, a door opened and their doctor came in.

- Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I have to disappoint you. We can't allow you to take the second baby. She is too weak and cannot survive without our help. The help which only our hospital can provide. My advice: don't tell anybody you have twins. We can't guarantee her survival.

- Well… - the woman said after some minutes of silence. – Her name is Jasmine Evans. Remember that… Jasmine Evans.

- I will.