I'm really sorry for the wait on this one. It would've been up last night, but Fanfiction was being wonky and irritating.

So some things to know about this chapter-

Kobe is pronounced Kobie, and

Prynhawn means afternoon in Welsh

I'll let you figure out what nunc viator means for yourself :)

I also apologize if the fonts or formatting come out weird.

Disclaimer-I don't own Harry Potter, nor any characters and plots from the book, including the note Lupin gives to Albus.

1995

Even though it was technically the summer, England, being England, was damp and cold. The air tore at the skin of Albus's face, making him wince and shut his eyes for a few moments at a time. He was afraid that he wasn't living up to his father's reputation for flying, as every time he adjusted his broom, he accounted for four inches more than he had to. He had forgotten how annoying being fifteen was.

Moody, who Al had managed to remember by one line, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" seemed to be as paranoid as his father made him out to be. He took them up into another cloud, justifying it with "Getting any followers off our tail!" By that point, Albus's glasses had frozen over, and his hands were beginning to stick to the broom handle from freezing mist. Not to mention, he couldn't exactly feel his toes.

"For Godric's sake, Mad-Eye!" Tonks finally shouted. "We'll be halfway to Iceland if you don't bloody quit taking detours."

"When we're attacked, you'll wish we had!" Moody replied, banking left and aiming downwards.

"Iceland's actually very green. It's a misnomer," Albus said, before he could stop himself. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he winced as his broom threw him a bit. He supposed if James was in his place, there wouldn't have been a doubt that he was Harry. Albus wasn't so sure he was pulling it off, what with the hard flying and unfamiliar broom.

"Odd, Harry," Lupin said, pulling up next to Al. "I didn't think you paid attention to things like that."

"Erm, I dunno," he replied, too quickly to seem entirely truthful. "It's erm, a bit boring down in…" Whose house was it? "The, erm, house."

Lupin shrugged before widening his eyes and taking a deep dive. Albus followed, glad that maneuver was simple enough on an old broom.

They landed in a small park in what Al figured to be London. The park could hardly be called a green, seeing as the grass was brown and brittle under his sneakers. Surrounding it were several rows of modest brick townhouses, with small yards guarded by wrought iron fences. Albus caught a bit of an infomercial through one of the windows before Moody prodded him in the shoulder-blade.

"Quit staring, boy," he said in his gravelly voice. Gulping, Al followed Lupin and Hestia Jones to one of the townhouses.

As the number of the townhouse came into sight, Albus realized exactly where he was. Number 12, Gimmauld Place… This was his father's godfather's house.

"Slow down there, Harry," Tonks said, smiling. "We're not going into any of those houses."

They weren't? But why else would they be here?

"Read this, but don't speak," Lupin said, handing him a small note.

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place.

What was going on? Albus racked his brain for answers, frowning at the piece of paper. He looked up at Lupin in confusion.

He was smirking. "Look," he said, pointing at number 12.

For a moment Al stared at the unremarkable townhouse, though it was a good deal shabbier than those around it, and then something clicked. Hadn't his father said it had once been under the Fidelius charm? And if so, since he had been to the house, he would be able to see it.

But Lupin and the rest of the Order didn't know that. Realizing a split second later that he ought to hope he was a good actor, Albus feigned amazement, staring at the building as if it was… doing whatever charmed buildings do when you're given clearance by the Secret-Keeper.

"We go inside that one," Tonks said, stepping forward. The rest of the group followed, Albus along with them.

Moody knocked on the thick looking wooden door with the odd brass knocker. Al shivered, the house smelled like dark magic, something that he often smelled when hanging out with Teddy in his office at the Misuse of Magic Department of the Ministry. He dealt with tampered charms.

Every time Albus breathed in, the odd smell caught a hitch in his throat, making a clicking sound that he was pretty sure only he could hear.

The hall was dark and dingy, but he had expected that of a house that smelled like dark magic. What he wasn't prepared for were the decapitated heads of house elves mounted on the walls, nor the old portraits that had faded so much only the blackened silhouettes of their residents were still visible.

"Harry!" A familiar voice exclaimed. Al recognized a younger version of his Gran, her red hair graying but still vibrant. Her eyes shone with the same love she showed in 2022, which surprised him for a moment, as Molly Weasley had only known Harry for a few years now.

Albus stopped himself before a "Gran!" could slip out, and instead settled for, "Mrs. Weasley!" She smiled, and he knew he hadn't messed up horribly yet.

"Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you!" She smiled at him, motioning to the staircase. "Hermione and Ron are just upstairs. On you go, then."

"But what's-" Al started.

"Order meeting. Members only," Gran said, trying to look remorseful. Albus doubted it; she was probably glad that he didn't have the opportunity to get himself killed.

Though, knowing his Dad, he had found some way to almost die regardless.

Reluctantly, Albus walked slowly up the stairs, preparing himself to meet the Weasleys and his aunt.

Don't call her Aunt. Don't mention an uncle. And Salazar's saddlebags, don't wig out about Uncle Fred!

Salazar's saddlebags. James would be ashamed.

The moment he stepped into the small room, Albus was ambushed by a curly, brown-haired mass of person who threw her arms around his neck. Albus held his breath, engulfed by the witch's bushy brown hair, before realizing that it was merely his fifteen year old aunt and that he oughtn't to draw his wand. Awkwardly he strung his arms around her waist.

"Oh, Harry, we're so glad you're here! We're sorry we couldn't right, Dumbledore wouldn't let us, we promise!"

"Sheesh, Hermione, give the guy a break." A voice Al recognized as his Uncle Ron's said. Albus could hear the smile behind the boy's words. For a moment he felt a sense of elation; he was no longer alone with strangers who, for all he knew of 1995, could be Death Eaters in disguise, but with people his father had trusted completely. Unfortunately, the rational side of his mind had to step in and remind his that Voldemort was still alive and that this year was going to be rubbish for him if he couldn't get home.

"Hello t'you too," Al managed, smiling at his aunt and uncle. They smiled back, Ron's grin slightly crooked and Hermione's grin slightly over-enthusiastic.

"We thought you were going to kill us, the way you sent Hedwig and told her not leave without a full reply. Ron's got the scars-see?" Hermione had seized Ron's right index finger, pulling it up to Albus. It was covered in small scars the shape of an owl's beak.

He winced, ducking backward. "Yes, erm, I'm uh, sorry about that." Why had his Dad told Hedwig to attack his best friends? Albus, who had never been a particularly good actor, simply nodded wordlessly to Hermione and hoped he looked convincing.

Lily would be so much better than him at this. Or even James, who would fit confidently into his apparent new personality. Acting was hard.

Just as Albus was reaching up to run his twitching fingers through his hair, a loud crack! engulfed the room.

1975

It took all of Lily's willpower not to turn down toward the dungeons when Marlene suggested they go to the common room. She had taken two steps in the wrong direction before noticing the confused looks Alice and Hestia were sending here. Shaking her head, she cursed the fact that Lily had to be a Gryffindor. Being Slytherin would make everything so much simpler.

Or would it? Hadn't the Slytherins actually been the bad guys during the 70s?

Running a hand through her hair, (a habit she had picked up from her oldest brother) Lily checked to make sure she was in step with Marlene, just in case. She examined the faces of the other students as they passed by, some faces bringing up fuzzy memories of her school friends, while others dredged up nothing from the deepest pits of her brain.

They were the ones that worried her. At least if she recognized students from the faces of her own peers, she would know they survived.

"You sure you're okay, Lily?" Alice asked, nudging her gently on the elbow. Alice seemed like the gentlest of the three girls Lily had met so far, quiet and bookish. Marlene exuded the air of the headstrong and daring Gryffindor. Though, not all students fit into their house stereotypes. Anyone who had met her Aunt Hermione could tell you that.

"Fine," she replied. Lily pressed her sweaty palms into her shorts, desperately wishing that Dumbledore would return soon. She had no idea how to get home.

The four girls made their way up the staircase, stopping at the fat lady. Lily expected the typical glare from the painting, who was particularly adverse to Slytherins, but to her surprise, the painted woman gave her a warm smile.

"Nice afternoon, girls. Password, if you will?"

"Nunc viator," Hestia provided, stepping through the portrait hole.

Alice murmured a quiet, "Nice afternoon as well," following the other two girls. Lily entered last.

The common room was nearly exactly as she remembered, though lacking the memorial pictures for the Gryffindors who had perished in the Battle of Hogwarts. Despite that it was late May and nearing summer, the fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, giving off virtually no heat. Rugs covered the floor, the same patterns that lurked in Lily's memory from the many times she had entered with James.

Speaking of Jameses, the one who currently resided in 1975 hopped over the back of the antique couch and enveloped Lily in a hug before she could open her mouth.

"Merlin, Lily! Don't do that! Gave me quite a fright, you did."

Lily froze, her joints locking and her throat closing up momentarily. It's alright. You're alright. Just hugging your dead grandfather. No big deal.

She gritted her teeth. "Potter, get off of me. Nice to see that you're worried over a bloody prank." The words physically hurt her tongue to say, her prior ferocity in the courtyard worn off with her panic. She shouldn't be yelling at her own grandfather, not the man who had died for her father. It didn't feel right.

"Called it!" Sirius shouted from behind the couch, the top of his dark haired head peeking out above the upholstery. James sent him a ferocious glare, and Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry, mate."

"Hey, what's that?" James asked, momentarily getting a grip on the edge of the photograph Lily still carried. She had forgotten about it on the walk up, absentmindedly twisting in her nervous hands. None of the girls had asked.

"Is it your business?" The words came easier this time, but they still sent a pang to both her head and her heart. It's not right.

But what was she supposed to do? Should she feel happy or sad? The emotions muddled up in her brain made the world twist and turn in front of her eyes. She desperately wished for the panic and adrenaline of an unexpected time travel to overtake her again. Preferably, she would end back at home.

Shaking her head the slightest bit, Lily wrenched the photograph from James's grip. Luckily he hadn't gotten a chance to look at it. Her sight cleared, and she noticed Hestia, Marlene, and Alice glaring at the two boys.

"C'mon, Lily," Hestia said. Alice sent a disappointed look toward James. Marlene sent a harsh glare.

Lily followed them up the steps, glancing backward once at the boys. Sirius caught her gaze, smirked and raised his eyebrows. She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes before turning back to the girl's dormitories.

The dorm nearly mirrored her own, with rich, dark wooden floors and hangings with witch's hats and wands on them. However, instead of a window with green light spilling in from the underwater view of the lake, Lily caught a glance of the Quidditch field through the glass. The hangings were scarlet and gold instead of emerald and silver, and the whole room in general was brighter.

She wasn't sure if it was nicer than her own dormitory or not. The lake view had always been comforting, and the brief glimpses of mermen had fascinated her first year self.

Another girl was sprawled out on the bed nearest to the door, the hangings flipped above the canopy. Her eyes scanned a note written in expensive looking stationary, her honey blond hair falling into her eyes.

"'Lo, Mary," Hestia greeted, flopping down on her own bed.

"Prynhawn," Mary replied back. Lily, still standing in the doorway, frowned. What language was that?

"You're speaking Welsh again, Mary," Marlene said with a roll of her eyes.

"Right. Sorry, I was writing a letter to my mam."

"That what you're reading?" Alice asked, kicking off one of her shoes. "That paper looks awfully expensive for a weekly letter."

"No," she said with a sigh. "Seems Kobe Boot's asked me out, with this nice little letter and all." The four other girls turned to look at Lily, who had gravitated over to what she assumed was Lily Evans's bed, judging from the pictures on the nightstand.

"What?" Lily asked, frowning at her new dorm-mates.

"Kobe Boot?" Mary inquired. "You don't mind he's asked me out?"

Kobe Boot? There was a Jennifer Boot in her history of magic class. Must be an ancestor. "No. Should I?"

Marlene sat up straight, fixing Lily with a stare. "Should you? He's only been the boy you've been waiting to ask you out since third year!"

My grandmother liked a boy named Kobe Boot? Really? She cleared her throat. No dating during her time here, she decided immediately. The fact that all of these people would be in their sixties during her time was fresh on her mind. "Well, I don't mind." Lily didn't address anyone, but Mary just shrugged and glanced back at the note.

"I think I'll say yes."

Lily turned her attention back to her grandmother's nightstand. Two main pictures took up the space of the nightstand, along with an alarm clock she assumed ran on magic, seeing as it had no plug.

The first picture she examined was a muggle one, the children in the photo's smiles frozen on their faces. One was obviously Lily Evans, she could see the same emerald eyes that she, her father, and Albus possessed. Her grandmother had dimples, carving small holes in her freckle covered cheeks. Her bright red hair blew in the wind behind her, seemingly about shoulder length. The second girl in the photo was blond, her long neck making her about two inches taller than Lily. Her blue eyes looked less trustful than the bright, innocent girl next to her.

It was her father's Aunt Petunia, Lily realized. She turned to the next photo, a picture of what she supposed was her great-grandparents. Mr. Evans had bright red hair just like his youngest daughter, though Petunia had inherited his eyes. Laugh lines circled around the corners of his mouth. Overall, he looked rather pleasant, and Lily would have liked to meet him.

Maybe you will. She shook the thought off. Going to her grandmother's house for the summer was something she definitely wasn't comfortable doing. Hogwarts 1975 was bad enough.

Mrs. Evans had blond hair, like Petunia, and the stunning emerald eyes that Lily saw when she looked into the mirror. Her smile looked a bit more strained than her husbands, and for a moment Lily wondered why. Still, they both looked normal and happy.

Examining the rest of the stand, Lily opened the first drawer, finding various broken quills and returned homework assignments.(All of them O's, of course.) The second drawer held neatly organized lip balm and one tube of mascara, which Lily decided immediately she wasn't going to use. She hated makeup, unless she needed it to get something done. It had been extremely helpful when two seventh year Ravenclaw boys had thought she had stolen their remembrall, but other than that, she didn't see much use.

The third drawer held the jackpot. It was empty except for one thin notebook and a discarded picture. Turning it over, she saw a Lily Evans that looked about her age, smiling next to a Slytherin boy with a hooked nose and greasy hair about the length of Sirius's. He was smiling hesitantly, though he kept glancing behind him at the corridor.

Severus Snape, Lily realized. The man her brother was named after. Putting the picture back, along with the frame she had brought with her, she picked up the small notebook.

Penciled in neat handwriting, read. Property of Lily Marie Evans.

A diary! If Lily was going to survive here, though she was still holding on to the hope that Dumbledore could send her home, she would need to know a bit more about her grandmother.

Shutting out the other girl's hushed conversations, Lily opened the notebook and began to read.