After breakfast, Eliana plays alone under the shade of an olive tree in the children's garden. It isn't entirely that she chooses to play alone, the other children in the garden seem to regard her with an air of uncertainty. They stare a lot and they talk quietly amongst themselves much as they did the night before. So, Elia leaves them alone and plays in solitude and wishes that Daddy would come get her and take her home.

She plays with Alexis, her favorite doll, for an hour or more, until four of Olympus' children cautiously yet, bravely approach; a boy and three girls. The boy and one of the girls appear to be two or three years older than Eliana, while one girl is approximately her age and the last is maybe a year or two younger. They approach hand in hand, except for the boy who, may be the oldest, but is still much too young to be caught dead holding the hand of a girl. He approaches willingly enough but, at all times, he is careful to remain an arm's length away from the girls.

When they are near enough for their presence to make her mildly uncomfortable Eliana hugs her doll close.

"I like your doll; she's pretty." The girl about her age says.

Eliana eyes them warily. "She's mine. You can't have her."

The dark-haired girl with a bright lively green eyes shrugs easily. "I don't want to take her. I just think she's pretty, that's all. I'm Thalia, these are my sisters, Clio and Calliope. We are the muses. Well, three of them anyway. There are six more."

Eliana's eyes widen with curiosity and she tilts her head to one side. "You have a lot of sisters."

"I got tons more than just those."

"What's a muse?"

Thalia squints and shrugs before she offers, Dad says we inspire people to do stuff - art stuff – like writing and singing, playing music, or painting."

Eliana eyes the boy with equal curiosity. "Are you a muse, too."

He looks at his feet shyly and shakes his head.

Eliana returns her attention to the one who spoke to her. "Can't he talk?"

"Oh, sure. That's Eros. He's our nephew. He talks all the time. Usually he never shuts up. He mostly talks until he starts fights with other people."

The boy scowls at Thalia.

"What? It's true." She smiles sweetly but sticks her tongue out at the boy before telling Eliana, "He just ain't talkin' right now 'cause he likes your hair."

"Shut up. I do not!" Eros protests.

"Do too! I'm a muse; muses know stuff."

Eros digs the toe of one sandal into the ground. "Well, you're not my muse. So, you just be quiet, Tally. You don't have to go telling everybody everything you know."

Eliana smiles. "I like that mark on the side of your face."

Eros blushes and brushes dirt off the large oval-shaped birthmark on his right cheek that he usually wishes he could hide from the whole entire universe.

Clio fidgets nervously and speaks up suddenly, "We just wanted to ask you how you got here."

Eliana squints and shrugs. "My daddy brought me and Mummy here last night, remember?"

Clio shakes her head. "We just know you came last night. That's all."

Calliope looks as if she is either on the verge of vomiting, or fleeing in terror when she whispers, Mommy says your dad is our Uncle Hades, and he doesn't come to Olympus very often because he and Daddy had a big fight a long, long time ago."

Eliana shrugs again. "I don't know if he's your uncle, but he's my daddy."

Calliope trembles. "Is he mean?"

Eliana frowns and shakes her head. "He's nice to me. He lets me paint his toes purple whenever I want."

Clio and Calliope giggle "He does not! You're just joshing us."

Eliana shakes her head in earnest as Thalia reclaims the conversation with. "That means we're cousins."

"Like me and Norah?"

It's Thalia's turn to shrug. "Who's Norah? Is she a goddess?"

Eliana wrinkles her nose. "No, but she does have magic. She's pretty cool, I guess, for a girl who's just a witch. She's my cousin Her mum, is my Auntie Gina. Her dad is Robin Hood."

Eros perks up, setting a bit of his shyness aside. "I bet my dad can shoot arrows better than Robin Hood can."

Eliana gives him a look of uncertainty. "I don't know. Maybe. Uncle Robin's pretty good. I saw him split an arrow once."

"Only once?"

"I saw it once, but if he can do it once with people watching, he musta done it a whole bunch more when nobody was watching."

"Yeah," Calliope squeaks. "Sometimes it's hard to do magic; especially if other people's watching you."

Thalia declares. "Shooting arrows isn't magic, silly."

Calliope frowns until Eliana offers, "Auntie Gina says that shooting arrows is a skill; one that Uncle Robin is so good at, he makes it look like magic." When the littlest muse smiles, Eliana continues, "So, muses know stuff and inspire people to make art." She turned her gaze to Eros again. "What can you do?"

Eros gesticulates shyly. "Mom says I bring people's passions to the surface; whatever that means."

Thalia laughs. "You bring madness to the surface. Eliana, I'd told you already, he talks until he starts arguments and fights between other people. Can you throw blue fire, like Uncle Hades does?"

Eliana chews on her lower lip. "Mine's not blue, like my daddy's is. It's green and pink, and I can't throw it very good yet, but that's only because Mummy won't let me practice. She said I will burn the house down. But, I can do this instead…" Eliana closes her eyes and wrinkles her nose; concentrating intently until green flames that bleed into pink at the outer edges ignite and erupt from the top of her red head.

The two older girls stare in fascination, taking only a step or two back in surprise while little Calliope squeals and ducks behind a tree. Eros simply stares in complete and utter awe, silent for several long breaths, until the whispered words, "Totally cool." finally escape his lips.

Two hours later, when Zelena and Hades arrive at the children's garden to collect their daughter, they're both pleasantly shocked when Eliana, who has been unpleasant, if not outright combative for months, happily pleads to stay longer.

Robin and Regina step beyond the last vanishing tendrils of her customary swirling royal purple vortex hand in hand and walk down a secluded section of Diagon Alley onto a bustling city sidewalk somewhere reminiscent of downtown London. Largely unnoticed, they look around at the pedestrian traffic passing by and Robin suddenly understands why his wife insisted they wear clothing better suited for the Enchanted, or even Sherwood, Forest. Because, mixed in with people in everyday business attire similar to that of people who live beyond the Storybrooke town line, there are also people present in what most people of this world would consider to be antiquated clothing, hooded cloaks, and conical hats. Robin supposes, given the reason for their visit, that things might go a little better for them if they look a little less like they belong in modern-day Maine.

Robin stays at her side as they walk three blocks, weaving in and out of foot traffic bracketed by old-world buildings and arrive at an obscure location; a brightly painted red telephone kiosk. Regina steps inside and pulls him along with her. When she closes the door and he finds it odd to be crammed into such a small space with his wife in public, close enough to detect the rise and fall of her chest with every breath she takes, she smiles knowingly; even though he doesn't voice the thought.

"Here, let me see this." She says quietly, as she gently removes his wedding ring from his left hand. She holds her free hand over it, obviously about to cast some spell, and then stops; suddenly distracted. "Handkerchief, if you please, sir."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Robin fishes one out of his pocket and hands it over.

"You really should take this thing off every once in a while." She announces softly as she uses the handkerchief to clean and polish his ring."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Locksley?"

She chuckles quietly in response to the startled expression on his face and lightly brushes her lips against his. "I'm not suggesting you do anything inappropriate. Only that you should take it off long enough to clean it now and again. It's a bit dull. Jewelry should always shine; even a modest piece such as this."

"Yes, ma'am." He assures his newfound understanding as Regina gives him back his handkerchief and then returns to her original task. Waving a hand over the ring, it glows purple for an instant as she casts an obvious bit of magic, and then slides it back on his finger with an intriguing smile. "I'm pretty sure only magical folks visit this Ministry. I don't want us to get separated because of that. Don't take it off until we get back home, in fact, hold my hand anyway, and -" She offers him a playful nudge and jokes. "I'm sharing. Don't go using this tiny bit of power for anything – nefarious."

Robin chuckles dryly. "Says the woman who used to burn entire villages to the ground."

She nods "I know. It's hypocritical, but -

"That's not what I was trying to say, Regina. I was commenting on the fact that you don't do it anymore, and that makes me proud."

Smiling, she wraps an arm around his waist and raises a provocative eyebrow. "You know, I have no idea how this is going to go, don't you? I'm out of my depth here."

Robin returns her smile with a wink. "Is that a warning, or an invitation for adventure?"

"A bit of both, I guess. Are you ready?"

"As long as you're with me, lady."

As Regina removes the telephone handset from its cradle, she whispers in his ear. "Always."

Being sure to keep each other within arm's length, Regina and Robin look around in unabashed curiosity; taking in the sight of the reception area inside the Ministry of Magic. The place is crowded; people in all manner of dress coming and going every which direction. The grand fountain flows and bubbles at the center of the splendidly imposing, structure with its heavy marble and granite walls, floor, and vaulted ceilings. And when their eyes meet once more, Regina breathes quietly. "Five words I never thought I'd hear myself say – too much black, isn't there?"

Robin caresses her face as he chuckles.

"I'm serious, Robin. They need some gray, silver, or white to even things out; brighten the place up a bit. This place sits too heavy on the mind."

"Come on, Mi'lady." He says, pulling her gently by the hand toward the long lines at the reception desk. You're already mom, wife, mayor, and what was it that Henry called you a few years ago, bad-ass ninja witch? You don't have time to take on a job as the interior decorator for the Ministry of Magic."

Regina chuckles wryly. "Right you are, Mr. Locksley."

Forty-five minutes later 36-year-old Ronald Weasley catches sight of something that confuses him several floors below reception. "Hey there, hold up a minute, Harry!" He shouts after his longtime friend. "Mate, you're going the wrong way."

"Actually, I don't believe I am." Harry turns and beckons his friend to his side.

"Harry, have you gone mental? Hermione is going to laugh at you if you've broken your glasses again. That's the wrong bloody lift. That one won't take you anywhere except down to holding."

Harry motions again, more insistently. "I know that, Ron. And, as you can see, my glasses are just fine. Now, come on."

Ron politely pushes his way through the crowded corridor and joins Harry on the lift bound for security and holding.

Glad to find themselves alone on the lift, Ron complains comically. "There's a dementor missing at Azkaban. No one's picked it up on radar since yesterday." He hikes his thumb toward the ceiling. "Not that I'm thrilled to be going, but the front door is that way, and you're headed into the belly of the beast. Care to tell me why?"

"Because I'm going with my gut."

"Of course, you are. What's your gut got to say today? Mine's wishing Hugo hadn't helped himself to my bacon this morning at breakfast."

Harry shakes his head. "First, Hugo helps himself to your bacon every chance he gets. Maybe you need to either have Hermione cook more, or learn to do with less. Second, I just got a call from reception. I have a visitor. It seems one, Regina Mills, would like a word. She's waiting downstairs in holding."

Ron shrugs. "Who's she"

Harry stares incredulously at his redheaded friend like maybe he's the one who's gone mental and passes him a copy of a wanted poster that has gone severely yellow with age. "Regina Mills… Enchanted Forest Realm… Evil Queen… Disappeared about 35 years ago. No one saw her at all for 28 of those years. It was assumed she was dead, then about seven years ago, someone spotted her. Supposedly, she hasn't aged a day, and although she pops up from time to time in one realm or another, there's chatter that she may or may not have changed her ways. Some call her heartless, a few call her hero. Evil or not, I can't say yet, but I'm bloody well gonna go find out. It seems, the queen simply walked through the front door, strode right up to reception like she hasn't a care in the world and asked for me by name – the day after one of our dementors goes missing. Call me crazy, Ron, but I got a hunch that the two events, somehow, are related."