DISCLAIMER: The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of JK Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

Godric's Hollow

24 July 1978

Charlus appeared on a corner in Godric's Hollow with a small pop. The normally reserved Wizarding town was alive with early morning shoppers moving about open aired stalls selling fresh produce and household goods alongside purveyors of potions ingredients, pre-made remedies, and Wizarding novelties. The shoppers paid him no mind as he wove between vendors, quickly making his way up the lane, his destination clear in mind.

As he turned onto a narrow side street, the object of his query stood just as he remembered it; the last in a line of sturdy homes that spoke of old money and hard times. The garden was overgrown, yet the ornately carved front door stood strong and firm on its hinge, the morning light glinting off shining hardware. Charlus made his way up the dense path, kicking aside flutterby bushes and dirigible plums as he went before reaching out his wand and tapping the large brass knocker. Barely a moment passed before the door was opened wide, and he was met with a familiar set of stern, blue eyes.

"You're looking well. Enjoying your time away from Hogwarts?"

Albus Dumbledore barely restrained his grimace as he took in the sight of the man standing on his doorstep. "What can I do for you today, Fleamont?"

"Now, now, Albus," Charlus chided him with a toothy grin. "You know I haven't used that moniker since I left Hogwarts."

"Haven't you? And here I have such fond memories of your mother calling out over the streets for you as a child."

Charlus chuckled humourlessly. "I'm sure. I have many a memory of names your dear mother used to call you and that brother of yours when you were off galavanting with those . . . goats."

Albus narrowed bright blue eyes into cool slits, glaring at the man on the stoop. "What is it you want Mr. Potter?"

Charlus watched as two young witches turned onto the lane. "Perhaps we could take this inside, Albus? Wouldn't want to draw the attention of the younger residents; the Great Professor Dumbledore living amongst them. Can't have that, can we?"

"Pleasant as always," Albus drawled as he stepped aside with a wave of his arm. "Do come in."

Dumbledore led Charlus silently into a sparsely furnished receiving room and watched coolly as he made himself comfortable in the room's only chair. "I hear you have found yourself a new ward; suffering an empty nest so soon?"

"Heard, have you now?" Charlus asked as he pointed his wand at the hearth's smouldering fire. "Seems news does travel fast."

As Charlus sent renewing spells into the fire's coal, Dumbledore conjured a large tufted wing chair for himself. "Yes, well I do like to keep abreast of changes that might affect my younger charges."

Charlus visibly stiffened, lowering his wand slowly at the other wizard's words. "If you mean my sons, I assure you, Albus my family is always my first priority."

"Is it? Well, I wouldn't have it any other way," Dumbledore calmly cooed.. "Now, tell me, Charlus, what has brought you here today?"

Settling back into the worn leather armchair, Charlus perused a small candy dish on the nearby table, casually flicking aside the bright yellow sweets. Only after coming across a deep red morsel and popping into his mouth did he meet the other wizard's cool glare with one of his own. "It's come to my knowledge that your . . . fellowship . . . has been having a hard time finding a safe meeting place of late."

Albus stilled, his eyes narrowing. "And how have you come to know this? The workings of the group of which you speak are meant to be secret, even from family."

Charlus thought briefly of his recent conversations with Marlene and shook his head at this wizard's own presumed greatness. If Albus Dumbledore had but one flaw it was certainly his lack of humility; he was willing to bet there were quite a few more. "Don't worry yourself, Albus. James had nothing to do with this. Though, perhaps your association would do with better vows to assure no . . . loose lips."

"Was there a point to all this? I have business to attend to. Is there something specific you wanted?"

"It's not what I want but rather what I have to offer."

The older man's curiosity was evident for a moment before his perfected mask of wisened headmaster slipped into place. "Go on."

"The Potter Grange has lain empty for some years now, and I thought to offer its use as a safe house for The Greater Good," Charlus said the last words scathingly.

"I didn't choose the appellation," Dumbledore replied in a tone that one might mistake for regret, had they not known him; Charlus, however, knew him far too well.

"No, I suppose that was more his job, was it?" Charlus coldly asked, his gaze pausing briefly on the mantlepiece and a smiling photo of two young wizards, one ginger the other blond. "You have a lot of good men and women invested in the cause this time; the only family I have left." He growled angrily. "You remember what it's like to lose family, don't you, Albus?"

Dumbledore followed the gaze of his unwanted visitor before turning on the man, his fair blue eyes cold and deadly. "DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT LOSS!"

"AND WHY NOT!?" Charlus challenged. "You are not the only one that has ever lost someone, Albus." His voice unwillingly cracked with emotion as he thought of a similar photo on his own mantle, one with a dark haired woman in its frame, soundlessly twirling in a lightly falling snow. "You have entire families backing you in this endeavour. This sociopath needs to be taken down permanently, not safely ensconced in some high tower. He needs to be finished!"

The two wizards glared at each other across the length of the room before Dumbledore straightened his shoulders, his features slipping into mocking calm once more.

"Indeed. What part do you play in this?"

Charlus matched his posture, willing calmness into his tone. "I will join this group of yours and ensure all the Potter blood wards keep your motley crew safe."

"And . . .?"

Relaxing into the softly cushioned chair, Charlus crossed his ankle over his knee and watched as Dumbledore's own patience waned before continuing calmly, "And . . . I make sure your endeavours are adequately funded."

The old Professor contemplated the words for a moment as he twirled his long silver beard idly. "I see. Does James know about this?"

"He is my son, Albus, not my keeper. When James and Lily return from honeymooning, they will have their choice of Potter homes to choose from, and family vaults to meet their needs."

"And your newest ward?" He asked with a raised brow. "What of her?"

Charlus barely restrained his own grimace at the question, even with all he was offering, he hated to ask anything of the wizard before him and the thought of placing his young witch within arms reach of this man, light side or not, worried him. "She will relocate to the Grange. She hasn't yet finished her schooling and I was hopeful that some of your members might be willing to offer her tutelage."

"You want me to take a stranger into the heart of the resistance?" Albus scoffed. "On what? Your word that she doesn't pose a threat?"

"What would you have me do? Submit her to you for legilimency? She's barely more than a child, Albus." He could hear a pleading note enter his voice and forced it back. "She has suffered at the hands of Voldemort's followers and she is scared; I won't have you digging through the one escape that is hers and hers alone."

"Hogwarts then. If she wishes to continue her education as you say, arrangements can be made."

"And draw unwanted attention to her? No, it is not a possibility. That would be like waving a red flag. People would ask too many questions, and His servants would notice."

"There's nothing for it then. I can't expose my men and women like that. What is it about this girl that makes her so important?"

"A vow then." He argued, ignoring the question. "To me. I won't ask her to make pledges to fight your cause. She is too young and should never have seen what she already has at her age. I will ask her to make a vow to me of her honest intentions . . . you may stand witness."

Albus laughed coldly. "A vow to you, that's all you suggest? No. Simply not good enough."

"What else is there? I will not have you invading her mind."

"Veritaserum."

Veritaserum. Charlus stood from the armchair and paced before the fire as he considered the option. He knew it was risky for the girl, as her secrets could spill forth with devastating consequences if the appropriate questions were asked. Still, there seemed little choice, for all he may fault Albus Dumbledore, the man was no fool and letting an unknown variable lose within the resistance was foolish by anyone's standard.

"I will speak to her about the Veritaserum. If she agrees, I must insist that you and I are to be the only ones present."

"Alastor—"

"You and I," Charlus insisted firmly, "will be the only ones present, and I am to be the only one to question her."

"You just expect me to agree?"

"I expect you to see reason!" Charlus bellowed. "You are responsible for lives, Albus. This isn't a game. You need a safe place to meet and a shelter for those at risk; I can give you that, but you need to trust me in this. My own son will be one of those men at your meetings. He, his new wife, the only family I have left in this world. You think I would risk their safety?"

"If the Grange does serve as safe house and headquarters, she will see things."

"Yes." Charlus sighed heavily as he sank into the plush chair feeling every one of his ninety-nine years seeping into his bones. "Yes, but she won't have to fight."

The air was heavy with unspoken words, hazel eyes meeting blue across the dimly lit room, both worn and tired.

"Fine," Albus conceded. "But let it be known that this is against my better judgement." -

24 July 1978

A loud crack echoed through the highland valley as a lone man appeared on a well-worn road. Shoulders hunching against the summer rain, he made his way swiftly over the boggy path before disappearing into the tree line.

The path was a familiar one for young Remus Lupin, for seven years it had meant he was heading home, to a place where he was welcomed, admired, and even envied. Now, as he made his way up the steeply inclining trail, the creeping shadows and eerie silence reminded him of what he truly was. He knew it, just as the creatures now hiding away in the surrounding dark forest knew: he was the predator here; he was the one to be feared. He lowered his head now out of shame more than for shelter, and hefted his way through the silent wood, on towards the looming castle in the distance.

The falling rains grew lighter, and the gates of Hogwarts Castle showed themselves through the parting trees. Remus pulled his wand from beneath the dripping sleeve of his threadbare robes to cast a quick Drying Charm along with a Warming Spell to ease his aching muscles, before casting one last spell: a wisp of silvery smoke to alert the groundskeeper of his arrival.

He reached the gates just as Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys, heaved open the heavy ironwork, and he passed through with a polite nod to the friendly half-giant.

"Back again so soon? Miss the ol' place, did yeh?" The burly man laughed as he placed a large hand on Remus's thin shoulder, causing him to sag slightly under its weight.

"I do miss the elves' cooking," Remus offered. "And the prefect's bath."

Hagrid scratched at his broad jaw as he peered into the forest beyond the gates. "It's not the same 'round here when yeh kids er' gone. Too quiet, yeh notice that?"

"Yeah, I noticed," Remus murmured. "I'm here to see Professor Dumbledore. He owled me earlier."

"Too right, he did. Came down fer tea and ter borrow me owl this mornin'. Told me ter be expecting yeh," Hagrid informed him proudly as he locked the gates and proceeded to lead Remus along the path to the school, which loomed ever larger in the twilit sky.

The two men walked side by side till they reached a split in the path, with a firm handshake and a quaking pat to the back Hagrid veered right heading for his hut as Remus continued on through the rapidly darkening grounds both eager and anxious to meet with his former headmaster.

Breathing deeply as he entered the familiar halls of Hogwarts Castle, Remus relaxed into the steady thrum of residual magic that places such as this tended to gather over the years. He would venture even a Muggle could pick up on its vibrations— were they able to find the castle in the first place.

The path up to the headmaster's office was a familiar one and, lost to his thoughts, Remus soon found himself standing upon the spiraling staircase as it slowly rotated upward, the familiar gargoyle leaping back into place below him. Reaching the top swiftly, Remus had barely lifted the brass knocker when the heavy oaken door swung open before him, revealing the headmaster's large circular office. It was just as he had last seen it, full of curious silver instruments on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting puffs of smoke and odd little noises, the air warm and rich with the earthy smell of burning peat. And there, beyond the walls, covered with the dozing portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, sat comfortably behind his enormous, claw-footed desk was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, absentmindedly picking through a small candy dish.

"Ah!" Dumbledore looked up with a twinkle in his blue eyes and a smile at his lips as he held up a small yellow sweet. "Always hidden so well among its fellows, but I find it every time . . . would you care for a sherbet lemon, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus considered the proffered treat curiously for a moment before shaking his head. "No thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore shrugged before popping the small sour confection into his mouth and settling himself back into a large floral wing-chair, gesturing to its mate opposite the large desk as he did so. "Please, sit Mr. Lupin. The elves have just brought up some tea. Won't you join me in a cup?"

The two men quietly sipped at their drinks for a time before the headmaster placed his teacup gently upon its saucer, levelling Remus with an intense look. "I was surprised not to have seen you Thursday evening."

The suddenly stern voice and cool eyes of his former headmaster caused Remus to falter slightly, his tea splashing over the sides of his cup to scald his fingers. "No. I . . . my father offered use of the old shed behind his house. It's . . . the Ministry placed very strong wards on it when I was . . . small."

"I see. Of course." The Headmaster's cool composition melted away smoothly leaving behind not a trace as he smiled warmly, eyes holding a familiar twinkle once more. "I seem to recall the event. Well, that sounds lovely, I'm sure it was nice to be so close to family."

Remus thought briefly of his father's drunken rantings filtering through the dilapidated old shed, held together with not much more than Auror level wardings, while he sat naked and alone waiting for the moon to take him. "Yes," he outwardly agreed. "Of course, It's always nice to be with family."

"Indeed. Though, in the future, I will need to know where you are during your monthly transformations. Some things have come to light as of late and, should they continue to progress, I'll need to reach you swiftly as I may have need of you for a . . . special task."

Remus felt a slight unease settle in his gut. There had been whispers in the Order, those suggesting something be done to tame the more wild of his kind. He'd hoped they were just rumours, ideas that would ultimately lead nowhere. The fact was, he feared being sent to interact with his own kind. He wasn't sure he would survive long amongst them. They didn't take well to wizards; surely, a werewolf playing wizard wouldn't sit well.

No, he thought, not well at all.

"I apologise," he said as he absentmindedly ran his thumb back and forth over a small chip in the handle of his cup. "I wasn't sure the Shrieking Shack was still available for my use, as I am no longer a student."

"Nonsense," Dumbledore insisted as he began to dig through his crystal candy dish once more. "As long as the Whomping Willow stands guard, you are welcome to make use of the home in Hogsmeade for your transformations. She will continue to offer her protections to the children of this school, as the Shrieking Shack will keep you safely contained."

Remus fidgeted in his seat as the elder wizard continued to dig through the small dish idly, the constant drone of the many small silver instruments blending neatly into white noise, leaving him to contemplate the headmaster's words.

"The special task, Professor, can you tell me anything about it? Are you sure you should entrust it to someone . . . like me?"

Dumbledore settled back into his chair slowly, placing a confection into his mouth as he did so, his wisened eyes never straying from the young werewolf. "Society may not be ready to recognise your talents at this time, but do not presume they are nonexistent."

"Sir, I—"

"You have a unique skill set, Mr. Lupin. Your condition gives you abilities other wizards have to use potions and spells to achieve. You are also vastly intelligent and, thanks to your choice in friends, quite addapt at going about unnoticed should the timing call for such a thing. These are all qualities that shall serve us well . . . should the need arise." The headmaster held his gaze for a moment before his mood seemed to shift once more. "Now then, tell me, when is the last time you payed a visit to Mr. Potter?"

"James?"

"No, no, no." Albus's laugh was hearty, if not a bit too loud. "I may be an old man, but even I know young people like to enjoy their honeymooning alone. I was enquiring as to the senior Mr. Potter. Word is he's not fairing too well since his wife's passing."

"Charlus? No, I haven't seen him since the wedding. With finding a job and the moons, I'm afraid I haven't given him much thought," Remus admitted as he felt a heavy guilt settle into his stomach at the thought of the man who had shown him such kindness through the years, suffering in that old house alone.

"Ah, I see. Well, I'm sure he is doing just fine," Albus assured him with a wide smile before reaching for the tea service "Another cup?"

28 July 1978

The road to Potter House was quiet as Hermione walked slowly along, head tipped back, basking in the warm rays of the afternoon sun. She had begun exploring the grounds of the old manor on her third day in this timeline, and eventually ventured past its meandering stone walls and down the lane to the small Muggle village nearby. What began as a sort of adventure, soon became habit as she found she could lose herself to the soothing rhythm of trainers on pavement, free to let her mind wander without constant reminders of just when she was and with whom she was living.

Mr. Potter . . . Charlus, she reminded herself once more, had proven to be a kind and welcoming host, allowing her free roam of his property and—to her surprise— expansive library. While he always welcomed her with a warm smile, his eyes held sadness. She had been in the 1970's for almost two weeks before Maisy had shared with her details regarding the unexpected passing of Mrs. Potter just a few months prior.

The woman, she was told, had always been fond of children, and as her own son grew and went off to Hogwarts, she began to visit the children's orphanage in the nearby village. It was here that she had contracted measles and, having already been on in her age, she had succumbed to the Muggle disease before the Healers at St. Mungo's had successfully managed to convert a cure for magical use. The Potters had been devastated. However, while James was left at Hogwarts with his friends and girlfriend to comfort him, Mr. Potter had been left alone, closing himself off to those around him and hiding away in his home hidden amongst the Muggles, safely tucked away from the Wizarding world.

Till I showed up.

She kicked absentmindedly at a loose stone lying on the pavement, watching as it skittered across the narrow lane before it was lost to the tall grass edging the road. Her brow furrowed as her mood darkened despite the beautiful cloudless skies.

So much for letting my mind wander from my problems.

She'd been here a month—just a month—and no matter how hard she tried, and as kind as Charlus was, her mind always found its way back to the same thoughts: she should be home with her parents, or making plans to visit the Burrow . . . anything. But here she stood, lost in 1978, wandering aimlessly along a rural country road. Her life as she had known it might as well have been a dream at this point; she saw no hope to return. Charlus had graced over the subject of possible return, urging her instead to embrace life in the 1970's as her new reality. The future was lost to her now, he'd said, because—as everybody knew—you could not go forward in time.

Hermione's fingers tingled and itched as magic flowed over her skin. Raw emotions forcing her magic into an upheaval, sending it washing over her in nauseating, pulsing waves. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Frustration.

If she had been stronger, she would have stopped Harry from going to the Ministry.

A better witch could have stopped the curse from shattering the Time-Turners.

Had she been smarter . . .

She smiled bitterly. Had she been smarter, she'd have found a way back.

She dropped her head back and screamed into the mockingly cheerful day. Falling to her knees in the long grass, she let the tears she had fought to overcome since her arrival here flow freely. The echoing sounds of her distress dissipated, hidden in the grasses and tall hedgerows that bordered the country road.

"Right on time. Good, that's very good," an unexpected voice spoke from behind her.

Hermione fell to her bottom at the sudden voice, struggling to pull her wand from its hidden sleeve as she spun around to face the voice coming from a young man she was sure had not been standing there a moment earlier.

He stood casually on the opposite side of the lane, eyes focused on an old pocket watch that occasionally let out small puffs of blue smoke.

Wizard, her startled mind supplied as her knuckles began to whiten in the grip with which she grasped her wand.

A mass of soft golden curls hung over his eyes and he huffed a breath of air trying to clear them from his vision.

Hermione was struck with the strangest sensation of deja vu at the small unconscious movement. "I-I know you . . ."

A/N: Wow, formating nightmare right here! For some reason every time this chapter was edited it decided to revert or some other nonsense, but there it is. Hope you all like it, please let me know! Your feed back is so important!