30 June 1981
Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow

Sirius had scarcely moved from the confines of the couch, entrapped in blankets, since the discovery of the note about his brother. Occasionally he would stand in the nursery and just stare at granger, as if trying to divine any answers from the unconscious with about the whereabout of his little brother, and how the two were connected. Honestly, it was something that they were all curious about, but none knew quite what to say or even how to broach the topic. It wasn't like Sirius could very well confront his family about the matter, or even the other Death Eaters whom his brother had so foolishly gotten involved in. He was just glad that his brother had finally seen the light, he'd only wished it wasn't at the cost of his life.

Other times he would rage about the garden, snapping at any critter that dared to go near him. But never once did he change from the comforts of his wolfhound half, nor did he dare to leave the Potter property; no matter how many of the Order's summons he received to the contrary. Remus had left earlier, in his stead, to pass on certain sentiments before left for the Moors and the Packs with worry about his friend still clear in his expression as he left.

Lily was starting get to worried about the wolfhound. It had been almost a week since the discovery, and he was nowhere near coming to terms with what had (supposedly) happened. Nor was he ready, she was starting to think, of approaching the subject of finishing the task of organising the mess in their living room. They'd gotten through a pretty decent amount on the first day, but there was still a way's to go. She watched from the window as padfoot wound himself securely around Harry in the garden, protecting him and glared daringly at the house-elf who seemed put-out by the mage's antics. "Alright…" She sighed, leaning into James, "What now?"

"I guess we should probably finish sorting through it all" He replied, his breath tickling her ear. "Although there's not much left"

"What about Pads?"

The sound of a baby cackling joyfully echoed out across the backyard, drowning out both the frustrated mutterings of the Potter house-elf and the incessant barking from the wolfhound as he tried to fend her off. Harry seemed to think that they were playing a game. Sirius, on the other hand, had been overprotective of him—of everyone—since the note; almost as if he were afraid that letting them out of his sight would mean that they met Death sooner than expected. Which was why Remus had snuck out whilst he slept, why he had been staring down Granger or gnawing at his dog toys in worry over the still radio-silent Peter and why he was currently wound so tightly around the infant. Lily wasn't worried about the canine hurting her son—he'd sooner hurt himself than the baby—and Tilly had the fastest reflexes around, should anything even remotely happen in that direction (she'd had to, raising several generations of boisterous Potters).

"I think Tilly can handle him" James replied, although he sounded as unsure as she felt. As he spoke, the bespectacled wizard made his way back over to the diminished pile where a certain gilded frame had been bothering him for some time. He couldn't tell who was the owner of the portrait (the same one who'd cussed out Sirius almost a week prior), but from the amount of detail engraved into the gold plating it was clear that this wasn't just some run-of-the-mill painting. With an almighty heave, James pulled the painting out and when he did, he reared back in shock, startling Lily who'd come up beside him.

The man in the portrait, a clever-looking man with shrewd eyes, glared arrogantly back at them. "You are not Ms Granger" He sneered, a suspicious gaze darting between the two mages. "You, however, look like a Potter, boy"

James nodded slowly, "I am a Potter, sir"

"You cannot possibly be a Potter, all of the Potters are dead" He snorted. "Well, 'cept for that boy, but who cares about him?"

"Dead?" Lily mouthed, not quite sure she could understand what was just said.

"And you are, I believe, Phineas Nigellus Black" James retorted in kind, as he read off the label on the frame. "Headmaster of Hogwarts, from 1807 to 1925"

"Yes, that's right" Phineas huffed, "Waste of time, that was"

"Headmaster Black?" Lily puzzled, before she turned to whisper in James' ear. "Wasn't that the one that everyone hated?"

Unfortunately, the portrait still caught it and he sneered derisively up at the redhead. His shrewd eyes roving up and down with this stare that set hair raising. "How'd a Potter get involved with a mudblood, like this one?"

"Excuse me?!" Lily seethed, growing as red as her hair. Unlike the last time when she had been called such a thing, there was less tears and more rage. Of course, she'd grown a thicker skin since the last time.

"Do you not know your manners, girl?" Phineas sneered, "You do not speak to your betters like that" He turned back to James, "You'd best get that waif under control"

"Waif?!"

"Anyway" James ground his teeth together at his blatant disrespect. He so desperately wanted to watch the painting burn right in that moment, but they needed answers and the old headmaster might be able to give them that. "Could you please explain to us how you came to be stored in a handbag, Headmaster?"

Phineas' suspicious gaze then turned from the witch to the wizard. "At least one Potter was not cursed with the jinx of obliviousness" He muttered, before puffing up his chest rather proudly. "Yes, I am indeed, Phineas Nigellus Black, twenty-fourth Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft & Wizardry. As to how I came to be in the handbag, that bold mudblood chit kidnapped me from the Black Household and dared to take me gallivanting across the countryside with her, and those stupid boys of hers!"

"Keep an eye on them, Headmaster?" Lily questioned, still upset about being demeaned, but happy for the answers.

He pulled his lips back in disgust at being addressed by the muggleborn, but his pride begged him to still answer anyhow. "Yes, keep an eye on them, in the hopes of ensuring their safety. Believe you, me, if the Headmaster, himself, hadn't asked me to keep an eye on those brats, then I most certainly would've permanently left my frame in protest!"

James and Lily shared a look, an entire conversation passing between them without words. Those answers raised even more questions, most pertaining to the mysterious Ms Granger who lay upstairs in their nursery. A muggleborn, for sure, as stated by this pompously bigoted headmaster and…something more. At Lily's quirked brow, James turned back to the irate portrait before he ventured. "This Ms Granger…stole your portrait from Black House at—at Grimmauld Place? And Dumbledore asked you to keep an eye on them?"

"That's what I said, was it not?" The portrait rolled his eyes in exasperation, as if he couldn't believe they were stupid enough to even ask such a thing. "And don't be absurd, boy! Have you been living under a rock? Dumbledore is dead! Headmaster Snape asked me to keep an eye on that irritating trio. If he hadn't been a fellow Slytherin, I'd never have agreed!"

James felt the world stop spinning for just a moment as the world around him seemed to freeze; the sound of a record scratch echoing in his brain. Next to him, Lily stood wide-eyed and gaping at what they had been told. Seems like she wasn't having any greater luck swallowing the information the had just been told. Sucking in a deep breath that seemed to rattle his very bones, the cervine tried to bring his brain back online and bring back calm, rational thought. But trying to corral his thoughts into some semblance of order, felt like trying to herd a flock of snitches into their various quidditch cases and James quickly found himself jumping between each wild thought.

Snape? Severus Snape? As headmaster? The thought was laughable. Whose grand idea was it to put that greasy-haired git in charge of impressionable children?And if Dumbledore had died (which would be prosperous, considering Remus had just left to go see the man—the same man, mind you, who'd summoned him to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix) and even if he was dead, they would know. No one would be able to keep that quiet. The sudden & unexplained death of the Grand Sorcerer, beloved Headmaster of Hogwarts and the (former) Supreme Mugwump? The Daily Prophet would've been swarming all over that like flies on dragonshit.

Not to mention, if Dumbledore had been dead long enough for a new headmaster to be appointed, they wouldn't have been able to escape the fanfare; especially if it was a Slytherin. Aside from the fact that there hadn't been a Slytherin headmaster in quite some years, Severus Snape as far as he was aware, hadn't even started his career as a teacher, let alone, headmaster. And he would know, because Slytherins were very good at keeping track of notable members of the Houses (and they would tell you). Just ask Professor Slughorn; he collected them like trading cards.

Next to him, Lily—who'd been able to gather enough of herself—cleared her throat, although her face remained utterly blank. "Forgive me, headmaster, may I ask exactly when did Dumbledore die? It appears that we are worryingly out of the loop"

The portrait turned his suspicious glare back on the witch, shrewd eyes narrowing to a slit. "Don't you pay any attention, girl?"

"Grrr!" Lily audibly growled at being addressed as such, James physically restraining her from jumping the painting.

"He died on the 30th of June, in the year 1997" Phineas continued on, unbothered as he entered that lecturer mode all teachers seemed to have. "Who precisely did you say were? And what have you done the deplorable children? The headmaster will surely have my frame if something has happened to them! And I refuse to be put in that blasted room with that tone-deaf hag…!"

"Children? We only have the girl…?"

"Ms Granger? Ha! Good luck with her, that mudblood is as neurotic as they come—!"

James choked on his spit. "—Wait! Wait, wait, wait—hold on!" He interjected with a wheeze, as he pounded on his chest in an effort to regain his breath. "Did you just say 1997?"

"And now you're not listening, boy? Open your ears and listen when I instruct you! Dumbledore passed in 1997, and Headmaster Snape took office in 1998. It was he who instructed me to watch the children, and he struck down Dumbledore! Honestly, children's education these days have gone to the dogs…!"

Whilst the former headmaster drifted off into his own bemoaning ramblings, Lily promptly choked on her spit. Both of the Potters appeared as equally distraught as the other, and James—who had frozen solid at that—reached blindly for his wife's hand to anchor himself, as the world seemed to tip sideways for a moment. He clutched her hand so tight, her fingers were starting to lose circulation. Dumbledore dead, Snape as headmaster, and all bar one Potter dead? Is this what their future was to be? Nothing but misery and suffering? And then there was the matter of the year. 1997. 1997. 1-9-9-7

It was common knowledge that portraits—only mere echoes of their living selves—had no imagination, whatsoever; not even the Fat Lady could boast such a thing. And Merlin knows, that based on the stories they'd been told, Headmaster Black had held no sense of humour in this life or the last; certainly not enough to imbue his portrait with a single ounce of something even remotely akin to humour. James briefly considered whether or not the portrait had descended into the family-patented Black madness that most of that ilk seemed to bare. Bellatrix certainly had it, but it was still up for debate about whether or not Sirius did as well. With his own grandmother, Dorea, being a Black; James could probably boast an increment of that madness as well. It certainly felt like it in that moment. It was only Lily's hand that gripped his just as tightly, that James was able to ground himself.

"Head-Headmaster Black" He began haltingly, "My name is James Fleamont Potter, and this is my wife, Lily Josephine Potter. I don't really know how to say this…"

"Well? Spit it out, boy!" Phineas huffed, growing impatient. "We don't have all day"

James shared a look with Lily, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What I'm trying to say is—"

"—We're not in 1997" Lily blurted out, "We're in 1981"

"And" Jame continued, sparing a mild glare at his wife. "Your great, great grandsons, Sirius Orion III and Regulus Arcturus are the latest known Blacks in the family tree. As for what happened to…Ms Granger, I'm afraid we have no idea"

"Did she have any children?" Lily added, grasping for straws.

The portrait blinked slowly up at them, "The stupid chit time travelled? Of course she did, never could leave well enough alone!" He hissed, before turning to the two at large. "The year 1981, you say?"

"Yessir" James nodded.

"That blasted woman! She as meant to go to 1994, not 1981! I warned her—I did! Ask anyone!—I told her! I said that it wasn't tested thoroughly enough, but no! The Brightest Witch of her Age doesn't make mistakes—!" He paused mid rant and considered them. "Where did you find the mudblood's bag? She had no children of her own, so it couldn't have been passed down or forward, or what have you"

Quirking a brow in question, James decided to put the rest of the rant in a box in the back of his mind to crack open later when he could panic away from watching eyes. "We found it in her pocket, sir"

"Her pocket? Well, what else did you find?" Phineas eagerly pursued.

"What didn't we find?" He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "There's so much stuff in there!"

"Of course there was! I could've told you that!" He scolded them, disappointedly. "Chit had everything plus the kitchen sink in there! At least I was able to occupy my time with that daft book of hers; I've memorised some of those passages, you know, that I intend to recount to Albus' portrait when I return. That man and his damn "greater good" Ha! Well, let's see how greater his good is when I remind his dark, Dark past!"

"I'm sorry, headmaster" Lily interjected, "But what book?"

"Ah, that would be THE LIFE AND LIES OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE" He promptly replied, "By Rita Skeeter"

Lily shared another look with James, and letting go of his hand, went to retrieve the book in question. Rita Skeeter had been one of Bellatrix's classmates, if he remember rightly, some blonde harpy with a penchant for snooping. It would be interesting to see what she had dug up about the headmaster's life and if there were any more clues inside those pages that could help them. "This one?" She asked, holding up the garishly decorated novel, pink & green with Dumbledore's portrait placed in the centre when she returned.

"Yes! Yes, that's the one!" He chirped, pointing to the book. "Pitiful woman, of course, but at least it made for a humourous read. And who knew that Dumbledore was always so Dark? So ambitious? Why, I'd probably would've made him my apprentice had he ever sought that path. I always thought he would've been a good little Slytherin, pity he was taken by the lion"

"And the girl?"

"The girl?"

"Ms Granger?"

"What of her?"

"What's her story?"

"Bah! Just another Gryffindor playing Merlin; although these days, I s'pose she's more of a Morgana. Brightest Witch of her Age, and all that; thought she knew better than anyone else! Ha! Look at her now! In the past! Brightest Witch of her Age? What a load of crock! Can you believe she…?"

Both Lily & James stood there just stunned at all that had been thrown at them, and trying to process the portrait's rant was like watching a computer screen buffer before going blank. Dumbledore dead, Snape as headmaster, all bar one Potter gone and now? A time travelling tot to top it all off. Time travel was considered to be a purely theoretical—almost fictional—art at that point in time; only the Unspeakables truly knew how it worked and they were as tight-lipped about it as always.

Of course, there was that well-known case of Madam Eloise Mintumble, who travelled back several centuries in her curiosity, only to cause more harm than good. The Unspeakables had clamped down on such ventures with an iron grip, ever since. So, it was hard to believe that one of them would just blab about such a thing as time travel to a child; let alone let that child run wild with one of the most dangerous magicks there ever was when they wouldn't even give Dumbledore the time of day. But however hard to believe, apparently it was the truth (and it would explain a few things), and, as they say, truth was always stranger than fiction.

Growing incensed at their lack of interaction with his irate ramblings, the portrait quickly interrupted their silence once more. "The mudblood kept a diary, it might be in the bag, she had"

"Oh?" James hummed.

"Mm, kept meticulous notes on everything noteworthy" Phineas nodded, "It's about the only notable thing that the mudblood actually serves a purpose. The world runs on money and paperwork, you know?"

Nodding dumbly, the bespectacled wizard thanked the portrait with a weak promised to put him up somewhere in the house even as he ever so delicately stuffed the gilded frame back into the bag by hand. Mercifully, his protests were cut off by everything else that followed with a wave of his wand. All of the itemised items zoomed back into the beaded bag, for want of a better place to store them all. "I think that everything else in that bag can wait until we've unencrypted that diary" He murmured as he placed the bag high up in the cabinet, next to the other child-hazardous items.

"And read this book" Lily replied, holding up the novel in her hands. "I'm sure there are things in there that will give us more information, but it doesn't seem particularly important until we have a clear idea with what we're dealing with"

James nodded, clearly catching onto her line of thinking, and hummed in agreement. "Looks like you were right again, LIls, seems we'll be adding a new name to the Family Charters"

"At least for now" Lily acquiesced with a nod, "And like you said, we can get a blood test done to make sure"

"So, we read the diary and the memoir, and then make a plan" James ended, solidifying the plan with a slow nod.

Lily smiled tightly, mind already whirring with all of the information that had been thrown at them. Now aware that Ms Granger—the witch upstairs in their nursery—was a time travelling tot, made things a little more complicated. Sure, there was still that kinship between the two muggleborns, but now Lily found herself more concerned with other nuances. Like why the witch had felt the need to commit such a dangerous venture. Hopefully there would be answers in those books of hers.

"I'll put on the kettle"

Later, whilst all slept, the little Potter house-elf set about setting things back into working order. With the Missus and the Master passed out in their bed, and the wolfhound draped across the doorway of the nursery, there was much busywork to be done and Tilly would make sure that it was done. And all was going well (it was so much easier to get things done without people underfoot), at least until the lower levels of the cottage became illuminated in a very different kind of glow than the ones from the candlelight. Runes never seen since the old days appeared out of the blue, dictating a language that was so old Tilly had a hard time even translating one of them.

They leaked down the stairs like water pouring out of a faucet, and spread across every surface like rabid mold. They sunk into the floorboards and engraved themselves into the loud wallpaper with a luminous golden glow; the runes almost looked like something out of Master Moony's books. The thing that seemed to stick out to Tilly was just how old these runes were; but not just any old, they had to be old old—like older than Hooky, old.

The momentary confusion was broken by Elvendork who had emerged from the second floor whilst she had been gawking at the runes. She was puffed up like a pompom and hissed at the house-elf like a leaking balloon. Spiderwebbing runes beneath her paws made their way across the house—both inside and out—in which the house-elf tracked their trajectory with curious eyes. From the stairs with the irate & illuminated kneazle to the cozy kitchen behind the house-elf, and back to those golden runes that now encircled the entrance hall, and crept towards the living room. Some small part of Tilly wondered if the kneazle had somehow manifested the ability to perform such powerful and ancient magicks.

The whole process must've taken no more than a few minutes as the strange runes latched onto the wards that surrounded the house, and began to drink. Sapping all of the magic from the wards, runes and other such magical entities from the surrounding area. It was only thanks to her quickly thinking, that the rest of the occupants within the house did not find themselves succumbing to the strange magicks, and with a snap of her fingers, new—closer to home—wards sprang up into place. It was lucky that house-elf magic was so versatile, for Tilly was not quite sure what would have of happened to the cottage's occupants had she not been quite so on the ball.

"Mercies…!" Tilly held her breath as the new wards held—barely, but they held. The once luminous runes that had peppered the room were slowing starting to recede, disappearing back up the staircase as if they had never been there to begin with. She continued to stare in utter disbelief as Elvendork cautiously crept towards the place where a collection of runes had been, at the elf's feet, only to find nothing but floorboard & dust bunnies. Still, she thoroughly sniffed at the place where the runes had been, whiskers twitching wildly as if she was worried something was going to jump out of it. Honestly, so was she. After a few moments of just standing there in the quiet hallway, Tilly moved to wring out the young Missy's cloth, moving more on autopilot than anything else. Perhaps there would be answers in the morning, the young Missy's fever had finally broken, afterall.