Chapter Text
October 31, 1981
Enola Goldhorn was twenty three years old the night that Potter and Black survived the attack on their home by the Dark Lord. She was a junior Auror.
She remembered James Potter from her time at school, of course. Everyone worth their salt knew the young man, mostly for the pranks that he and his friends so often pulled. Enola was never particularly fond of Potter, having been on the receiving end of such pranks many a time before.
Not that she was unfunny, of course. She just wished that she had more time to study in peace between the corridors turning to swamps, the whole school being charmed to have animal noises come from their mouths, and Sirius Black flirting whenever he had the chance.
She had never been so happy as when she had graduated Hogwarts and left Potter and his friends behind, assuming that she would never have to see them again. But only two years later, both Potter and Black had joined the Aurors, and she was once more forced to work with them.
But now, as she stood on the front lawn of a home cleverly hidden with the Fidelius charm in the middle of Godric’s Hollow, she breathed a sigh of relief. However horrible she had found them during school, she was glad that Potter and Black had both survived.
Her eyes landed on a young woman, around two years younger than her, who she vaguely remembered from Hogwarts as well. Her name was Ardella or Alice or something like that. She stood talking to another one of Potter’s friends, Remus Lupin, a hand on the young man’s arm. As Enola watched, he pulled the young woman into a hug, clutching her to him as though she was his lifeline.
The young woman pulled away and patted Lupin’s face, then stalked towards the house, where Potter and Black sat on the steps. Even from here, Enola could hear the raised voice of the young woman, and she could see Black flinch away in protest.
Potter stood, gathering the woman in his arms as she burst into tears. Enola was flummoxed. The men seemed as though they held a great affection for her. Who was she?
As she watched, the young woman’s tears subsided and she tilted her head up, looking at Potter in a way that was unmistakably loving. And Potter returned the gaze with one of equal feeling.
Enola turned away, feeling that the look was too private to stare at, and went about her business, putting it out of mind. After all, she wasn’t being paid to stand around gawking. She was an Auror, and she’d had a job to do.