Crunch.

Crack.

Slowly, the floorboards gave way when Philippe pulled them up with force. Some were even so old that they broke into pieces, and splinters flew around. Philippe grunted, feeling lucky that he had thought about donning protective gloves, because some of the splinters were sharp enough to not only scratch the skin lightly but draw blood. It was warm, and he was sweating and panting from the exercise, but he resisted the urge to wipe away the sweat from his forehead with his working pullover, fearing that there could be wooden splinters in the folds of his clothes.

'How is it going?' asked a female voice. Turning towards the door, he saw his wife standing on the threshold.

He smiled at her and went back to work. 'According to plan,' he replied. 'Are you already looking forward to when it's finished?'

'Can you read my mind?' She walked into the room, careful to not step onto any of the loose floorboards and slip accidentally.

'You really shouldn't -' he began, but she silenced him with a swift kiss. He was surprised, but returned the kiss, and Susan proceeded to dry his forehead with the towel she had brought along. 'Merci,' he whispered against her lips, and she smiled.

'You're welcome, ma cherry.'

He laughed. 'Your French is 'orrible. You need to practise more if you want to sound like a real French lady.'

'Well, if my French is horrible, you'll have to remedy that, won't you? I'm learning French from what you teach, and if I can't speak your language properly, then you're not very good as a teacher.' Susan grinned victoriously.

'Touche,' Philippe murmured, and Susan laughed.

'Can I help you?'

'Non, impossible! You won't touch a zing here, Susan. I don't want you to be 'urt or somezing else.' He looked at her with a thoughtful expression.

Susan put a hand on her stomach. 'Honestly, Philippe, I'm fine. I've never felt better.' She proceeded to bend down and lift up a loose floorboard to show - and prove - to him just how fine she felt, but Philippe grabbed her wrists and brought her into an upright position. He stepped behind her and crossed her hands in front of her stomach, his hands coming to lie on hers. He put his chin onto her shoulder and whispered into her ear, 'I don't want our child to come to 'arm.'

Susan sighed quietly, but accepted his wish. 'I'll go and make tea then.' She turned her head until she could look into his eyes. 'Okay, honey?'

'D'accord,' Philippe agreed, kissing her cheek. 'Zank you, cherie.' Susan smiled and wriggled out of his embrace, then turned towards the door. Philippe went back to work right away, and lifted another floorboard that promptly broke through in the middle. However, what Philippe then saw made him call for his wife, who was still in the hallway in front of the room. 'Susan, wait! Look at zat!'

She came back. 'What is it? Need my help?' she joked.

Philippe shot her an exasperated look, but didn't say anything. Instead, he pointed to something in the floor. 'Look at zat. What do you zink is it?'

Susan came closer and crouched down, careful to not get any splinters on herself. Peeking over the floorboard, she saw a wooden box standing in a lacuna beneath the floor. The box looked old, the wood partly mouldy, and the iron lock appeared rusty. Philippe got onto his knees next to Susan and proceeded to get the box out. He groaned under its weight and had visible difficulties lifting it; he had to let go rather quickly once he had the box out of the lacuna.

'Wow,' Susan breathed, her cheeks coloured in a soft rose from excitement. 'Maybe there's a treasure hidden in it,' she mused, as Philippe busied himself with opening the box. After a while, he succeeded in removing the lid, and then both he and Susan peeked inside.

The wooden box contained several smaller boxes. Susan took one. 'Wait, let me do zat,' Philippe said quickly when his wife tried to open it. The small box proved to be easier to open, however, mainly because it wasn't locked.

What Susan and Philippe Bones Gardien then discovered, they couldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams.

'A box that contained smaller boxes was in a lacuna under the floorboards?' Hannah asked curiously. Susan nodded. 'That's... wow, interesting.'

'I agree,' Megan said, pouring herself some more coffee.

Susan and her friends Hannah Abbott and Megan Jones had met each other the other day in Diagon Alley after at least three years. But, since none of them had had much time to stay and chat, Hannah had invited the other two women for coffee and cake on Saturday afternoon. Saturday had finally come, and the three women sat in Hannah's kitchen, reminiscing about old days, discussing current events, and planning the future.

'And you found them in that house you and Philippe bought?' Hannah asked while serving some more cake. Megan declined, stating that three pieces were too much.

'They were truly delicious, Hannah, but if I eat one more, you'll have to roll me out of here.' She laughed, and Susan joined in.

Hannah joked, 'I could get Neville to help us there,' while winking at Susan, who added, 'And I don't think Philippe would mind if I asked him for his help, too.'

'Haha, you're so funny, girls,' Megan replied, acting the pouting friend. Hannah and Susan knew she didn't mean it like that, however, as the amused sparkle in her eyes proved. 'We shouldn't talk about me and cake though,' Megan then said, 'but rather about what Susan found in her new house.'

'Right,' Hannah agreed. 'Go on, Susan, and tell us.'

'Well, the boxes contained a lot of personal stuff, like rings and old bracelets. One box held lots of letters.'

'How do you think those came down there?' Megan inquired.

Susan shook her head. 'I have no idea. Philippe contacted the estate agent, and he told us that the houses had been in the previous owner's family's possession for centuries. Unfortunately, that's all he could tell us. The former owner died, and his great-niece - his closest relative still alive - sold the houses, as she wanted to move to Australia. She doesn't know anything apart from what the estate agent told us.'

Hannah and Megan shared a long gaze. 'Maybe it's haunted,' Hannah whispered conspiringly. Megan's eyes went wide, speculation and a little bit fear shining strongly in them, while Susan snorted into her cup of coffee.

'Oh please,' she scoffed. 'Honestly, haunted? You read too much Muggle fiction, Hannah.'

Hannah only shrugged. 'What explanation do you have?' It was Susan's turn to shrug. 'My theory is at least possible, seeing that we know ghosts exist.'

'True, but why would the ghost not show itself to me, seeing that I'm a witch?'

Megan put down her cup. 'Philippe is a Muggle, and if it is a ghost, it might not show itself, believing that Philippe doesn't know about our world.'

'Point taken,' Susan admitted, pensive.

'So this is it? This is your new house?'

Susan had invited Hannah and Megan to her and Philippe's new house in Wingfield Road in Kingston-upon-Thames, a suburb in the south-west of London. Philippe and Susan had purchased a row house with a direct view of the Richmond Park. Both had wanted something very rural, but in London, one of the world's largest cities. Philippe came from a village in rural France, so he naturally wasn't quite happy with them living in the heat of a metropolis, but the park redeemed their house a lot in his eyes. Susan had suggested moving into a quiet suburb with a forest or park nearby, as she herself longed for some recreation areas in close proximity.

Number nine, Wingfield Road, had looked like the perfect opportunity. There was some refurbishment needed, but Philippe didn't mind doing the work. They had bought the house.

'This here is the living room, and over there is the kitchen,' Susan explained, showing her friends around. They enjoyed the small tour. They then proceeded to the second storey. 'Up here, we have the bedroom,' she pointed, 'a big bathroom -'

'Woah,' both Megan and Hannah exclaimed when peeking into the already fashionably equipped bathroom.

'- and the bedroom for our child.' Susan opened the door to a smaller room, still large enough, however, to fit as a child's room. The walls were painted in a pastel apricot, eliciting a warm feeling and helping the light to spread through the room. A couple of pieces of baby furniture stood already, but it was apparent that some were still missing.

'This looks absolutely lovely, Susan,' Megan gushed, and Susan smiled at the compliment.

Half an hour later, the three women sat in the kitchen with tea and cake and were looking at the letters Susan and Philippe had found when starting to redecorate the living room. They discussed what kind of woman the author of the letters had been, as well as who Sybilla's mother could have been. However, all Susan, Hannah and Megan could do was theorise, unless they found some proofs or facts.

Which Philippe soon provided. 'I found 'er!' he called when he came home an hour after Susan had shown her friends the house.

The three women turned towards Philippe, who had just entered the kitchen - a little surprised at the sudden guests. He caught himself quickly, however, greeting Megan and Hannah warmly, and then waved a piece of paper.

'Who?' Susan asked curiously while Hannah blurted, 'What?'

Philippe smiled triumphantly. 'I found Sybilla, ze one who wrote ze letters.'

Hannah, Susan and Megan jumped up from their seats and rushed over to Philippe. 'Please tell us,' they begged excitedly.

'I'm going to, I'm going to, just let me sit down and take a deep breaz before I lunge into my story.' The three women allowed him that, and sat back down at the table. Philippe joined Susan on one side, laying an arm around her shoulders and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. ''ello zere, cherie. 'ow was your day?'

'Lovely, sweetheart. I spent some time with Megan and Hannah.' She smiled at her friends, who returned it.

'Zat's really great,' Philippe said, smiling. He then changed the topic, saying, 'Well, it is clear zat ze auzor of the letters is someone named Sybilla. On one of ze letters we found a weird scribble. It wasn't easy to discern zat, but with the help of a microscope, a friend and I could bring out ze scribble's line. It was a date, identifying ze letter to 'ave been sent on twenty-nine December 1665. I zen used the internet and found a list of victims of ze Great Plague of London of ze seventeenz century. One of zem was a Sybilla Anne Collins, died on third January 1666. She was only twelve years old.'

Susan's mouth had fallen open in shock. 'That's horrible.'

Megan pondered and remarked, pensively, 'The letter you mean, the one with the scribble, wasn't the last, however. There were letters that - from the content - were written at a later date, after she was supposedly dead already.' She looked at each of the other three. 'How do you explain that?'

None of them had an answer.

'If we found Sybilla's letters in that house, do you think it's where her family lived?' Susan asked.

'Most likely. Is Collins the name of the previous owner?' Hannah asked Philippe and Susan. Both shook their heads.

'No, it's Ravenstone. But, what I found more interesting was that Sybilla was a witch.'

All three women stared at Philippe. 'Why do you think that?'

Philippe pulled out a letter and pointed to the word 'Healer'. 'In the Muggle world, zey're called doctors. In the Middle Ages, people used to call everyone working in ze field of medicine a 'ealer because zey didn't know any differently. But, we're talking about ze seventeenz century here. I doubt Muggles would still call zeir doctors 'ealers zen.'

'He has a point,' Megan said. 'I suppose we never thought of that because we didn't know about doctors being called doctors. We're just used to saying 'Healers'.'

'Which leads me to believe zat Sybilla 'ad been in Saint Mungos for 'er treatment,' Philippe concluded, 'whatever 'er illness 'ad been.'

'Well, one illness was the plague.' Hannah showed the others what she meant. 'She says herself in her letters that she developed blisters all over her body. Aren't blisters a sign of the plague?'

'Zat's correct,' Philippe remarked. He looked at each of the women pointedly. 'Do you zink you could find out about Sybilla? Could you go to Saint Mungos and ask?'

Megan smiled. 'Leave that to me. I know someone there who can help us.'

'Who?' Hannah inquired curiously.

'It's Terry Boot. He is a Healer there, in the still relatively new Muggle diseases ward. I think he is the right contact when we want to find out about a witch who died of the plague.'

The other three nodded.

'You're looking for whom?'

Susan and Megan had taken the opportunity of a prenatal check-up for Susan to approach Terry with their request. They had found the former Ravenclaw in his office; Terry had been appointed Head of the new ward.

'Her name was Sybilla Anne Collins,' Megan replied.

Terry looked around for a moment, deep in thought, then shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but we don't have anyone here with that name. And I can't remember ever having heard of her, not since I started working here.'

'Well, she was in St. Mungo's - or at least that's what we assume - in 1665, around Christmas,' Susan clarified.

Terry raised his eyebrows. 'And you think we still have information from such a long time ago in here somewhere?' He laughed. 'Megan, Susan, it's impossible to find something about Sibel -'

'Sybilla,' Susan corrected, but Terry ignored her.

'- even if she had been here.'

Susan looked positively disappointed, but Megan had an idea. 'What about portraits? Maybe they remember something.' Hope returned into Susan's eyes when she heard that suggestion; she was very much interested in resolving the mystery behind the letters and Sybilla. She suspected it was due to her hormones, but she didn't care. Sybilla had only been a child when she died, and that made Susan profoundly sad.

'I'll talk to a few portraits that have been around for centuries already and see what I can find out. I'll contact you if I find something,' Terry promised.

'Thank you,' Susan said passionately. Terry smiled at her warmly in response.

Terry met Megan and Susan in Diagon Alley about two weeks after their visit in St. Mungo's. He invited them to ice cream in Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and, once they had ordered, Terry reported what he had learnt.

'Many portraits don't remember her; they've seen so much people pass over the centuries, and several of the paintings have been hung at other places when St. Mungo's expanded and reorganised its wards. However, I found one portrait that does remember. It's a wizard called Myrddyn.'

Susan and Megan shared a long look. 'Never heard of him,' Megan eventually said, and Susan affirmed with a nod.

Terry smiled. 'Actually, I think you have. Myrddyn is his name in old English. He's pretty famous, with many portraits in many places. He played a huge role in the fight against a witch named Morgan Le Fay.'

'Morgana?' Megan blurted out, while Susan asked, 'Merlin?'

Terry nodded. 'Yes to both. Merlin - or, rather, his portrait - remembers your Sibel.'

'Sybilla,' Susan corrected.

'Whatever,' Terry remarked, then said, 'The girl had been in St. Mungo's because of Dragon Pox. She was already getting better when she started developing blisters on her skin, all over her body. She complained about them itching.'

'The plague,' Susan threw in, and Megan nodded. Terry continued.

'She had been put into quarantine already, due to the Dragon Pox, and the only person allowed to her was Healer Salver. Sibel died five days after the first blister appeared, and the Healer was found dead two days later. That was on fifth January 1666.

'Sibel was a sweet girl. She talked a lot with Merlin; that's why he remembers her so well. She told him she had only her parents. Her father worked for the Ministry and was abroad a lot, so she saw him only on very rare occasions. Her mother took care of her, but she never visited her because Sibel was under quarantine.'

'Does Merlin know what happened to her mother when Sybilla died?' Susan asked.

Terry shook his head. 'No. Once the girl and the Healer were gone, no one ever spoke of them again.'

'Your baby is healthy, Mrs Gardien,' the midwife said. 'It's going to be a strong girl, too.'

Susan straightened her clothes after her regular check, but stopped when the words of the midwife registered. 'I'm having a girl?' she asked, completely surprised.

The midwife smiled. 'Congratulations. Now you know what gender to look out for when choosing a name.'

'Yes.'

'Any ideas already?' Megan asked. She had met Susan in Diagon Alley, once again.

'No. Philippe keeps suggesting French girls' names, but I'm not sure it would be good to name her Antoinette or Gabrielle.'

Megan laughed. 'No,' she agreed.

'Although Isabelle or Marie sounded quite nice,' Susan mused, while looking for a book with baby stories she could read to her daughter once she was born.

'I agree. They do have a nice ring to them.' Megan smiled widely when she saw the book Susan had picked up and showed her. 'Cute. I'm sure she'll like it.'

Once Megan and Susan had settled into Fortescue's Parlour after finishing with their shopping, Megan told her friend what she had found out. 'I discovered an article with the header 'Tragedy Strikes at Ministry'. It spoke of the suicide of a Minister for Magic - a really great one, too. He had been Minister for nearly twenty years already, and was foretold to stay in that position for at least another twenty years. People loved him. But then, his wife died and he couldn't bear her loss, so he followed her.'

'Oh my Helga,' Susan murmured. 'That's truly horrible.'

Megan took a sip of the coffee that had been brought to them a moment ago, then continued with her story. 'That's not all. I dug a little deeper and found that several months earlier, his daughter had also died.' She leaned forwards and looked excitedly into Susan's eyes. 'His daughter's name had been Sybilla Anne Collins, and the Minister was Everard Collins.'

Susan gasped. 'Are you really sure?' When Megan nodded, she asked, 'How did you find that out?'

'I was in the archives the other day, looking up something for an article I wrote. I literally stumbled over a stack of old Prophets from 1668, and luck would have it that the one with that headline lay right on top.'

'Was there something about Sybilla's mother?'

Megan shook her head. 'No, unfortunately not. I asked Mum, though; she works at the Ministry, and may find something out when going through the death registers. It may take a while, however.'

'Oh, okay. Well, I hope we find the last piece to the puzzle.'

'I'm sure we will, Susan. I have this feeling that we will.'

'Keep breathing, Mrs Gardien, keep breathing,' the midwife urged.

Susan panted, near to a panic when the pain of the contraction didn't fade like the previous times. She grabbed the bed bar on one side and Philippe's hand with her left one, squeezing both with enough force to have the bed bar squeak in protest and Philippe shout out in pain. His cry mingled with Susan's, but after a moment that felt like eternity to her, Susan sank back into the pillow, her face ashen.

'It's getting worse,' she muttered, tears running down her cheeks. 'The pain is so strong.' She turned her face to Philippe whose hand had been healed by the Healer who was in the room as well. 'Something's wrong with the baby.'

'Shh.' Philippe tried to calm her. 'Zey'll fix it, je le sais.'

The midwife had completed her quick check on mother and child. 'The baby is fine, Mrs Gardien, don't worry. I'll get you a pain-killing potion, though. I will be back right away. It won't take long.' She smiled reassuringly, then bustled out of the room.

While the Healer bandaged Philippe's arm, Susan closed her eyes to get some rest before the next contraction hit, and with every contraction that came and went, she wished it was already over. The midwife came back, barely ten minutes later, offering Susan some pain-killing potion, which she gratefully took. When then the next contraction hit, she could deal with the pain in a much more agreeable way.

But, the baby wasn't to be born for several more hours. The time between the contractions shortened slowly but steadily. The potion's effect wore off after two hours, but Susan took some regularly and was relatively relaxed when the midwife announced that she was very close now. The baby was foretold to see the light of day within the hour.

Philippe alternated between stroking Susan's hair or her cheek and simply holding her hand with his unbandaged right one. Most of the time, they talked, discussing some more baby names without reaching a definite decision. It was then that Susan noticed an owl knock against the window.

'Could you let it in, please?' she asked Philippe, who looked up, surprised. He hadn't yet noticed the animal on the window sill. 'I think it's for me,' Susan said when she caught her husband's inquiring gaze.

The owl was indeed for Susan; it was from Megan. 'She writes from France,' Philippe said, reading the addresser line.

'Oh? Let me see, please.' As soon as she held the letter in her hands, however, another contraction hit, and this one was slightly different than the others. Susan gasped in surprise and let the parchment flutter to the ground. The midwife rushed towards Susan.

'Now it's the time, Mrs Gardien. Your daughter is ready to be born.' She smiled at the young soon-to-be mother. Susan grimaced, tightened her jaw, and started to push when the midwife told her to do so.

In a break where Susan gasped for air, she pressed out, 'Read the letter to me, Philippe, please.' Another contraction hit before she could say more.

Philippe bent down and picked up the piece of parchment. He sat down next to Susan and started to read.

A sudden cry disrupted the air, and the midwife gushed, 'Yes, what a lovely sweetheart you are already, little one.' She smiled warmly and widely while carefully laying the baby onto Susan's chest. The young mother was literally exhausted, and on the verge of dozing off to rest, but the little extra weight on her chest let her mind register that this little baby was indeed her daughter.

'Hey, honey,' she whispered, bringing up a hand to softly stroke the girl's head and cheeks. 'I'm your Mummy.'

'Elle est magnifique,' Philippe whispered. He had leant down next to Susan and stared, wide-eyed, at his little daughter. 'She's a princess.'

Susan was crying again, this time from happiness. 'Yes, she truly is.' She carefully cradled her daughter in her arms, and moved into a slightly more upright sitting position instead of lying down.

'What do you want to call her?' the midwife asked, making a clipboard and quill appear out of thin air.

Susan looked for some long moments at the baby girl, then shared another long look with Philippe before addressing the midwife. 'Sybilla. Sybilla Alice Bones Gardien.' A beaming smile spread on her face while the midwife noted down the name of Earth's newest inhabitant.

It was a sunny, albeit not yet warm, spring day. A young family was taking a walk in Petersham Park, the woman pushing a baby carriage. She used only one hand, because her other hand's fingers were intertwined with her husband's. They appeared to be enjoying the calm of the park and looked very happy.

They reached the church and entered the site, slowly making their way through the graveyard to an unmarked grave. For someone who did not know that people were buried beneath their feet, the meadow would look unharmed and virgin. But, the couple knew that they stood on three people's graves.

The man took a shovel and dug a small hole, big enough for the small chest his wife handed him. He sat the chest into the hole, then closed it again. Once the place was sealed shut, he stood up.

The woman took her husband's hand and leaned against him. 'Take back what belongs to you, and rest in peace,' she whispered, looking at the area in front of her feet.

The young family never returned, and they never learnt that, where the chest had been buried, sage grew forthwith.