25 December 1982
Potter Manor, John O'Groats
Christmas hit the Scottish highlands in a whirlwind of brightly coloured lights and tinsel. Doorways were kissed with mistletoe, boughs laded with glittering baubles, windows lined with candles and the scent of gingerbread mixed with sea salt wafted throughout every building. Frosted doors bore wreaths of evergreen & holly, with some baring shiny ribbons and others wore small pinecones & cottages decorated in multicoloured lights with snow-dusted rooftops. Christmas Sale stickers were plastered along store windows and the nearby lighthouse had switched out its usual bulb for something a little more festive.
In the Potter household, the lights & decorations blanketed every available surface of both the houses & the garden. Sirius, James & Remus had had a laugh & a half putting those up as soon as December had hit. Sirius kept wanting to (jokingly) put the light-up reindeer into lewd positions and Remus kept coming up behind him & setting them to rights. James, on the other hand, insisted on putting up the lights by himself, no matter how many times he ended up entangled in the twisty cables. Eventually, Lily had had to step in; but not without perfectly capturing the scene in all of its enchanted polaroid glory, which included a healthy dumping of snow which fell from the overhanging canopy as the cherry on top.
Every day of the merry month, Harry had run about the manor kitted out in felted reindeer antlers that sang an instrumental We Wish You a Merry Christmas whenever you pushed a button on the headband, and the little jingle bells tinkled whenever he moved an inch. So, suffice to say, they had no trouble keeping track of the rambunctious child. Not to mention all the songs he'd learnt during kindergarten down in the local village, with Grandma got Run Over by a Reindeer, being a particular favourite. It was certainly a far cry from Sirius' beloved & risqué, God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs which he sang on repeat whenever the occasion arose.
On the matter of Harry's pre-Hogwarts schooling, Lily had all but commanded that he have the same education as herself and all the trimmings that came along with it; including kindergarten & primary school. Even with the war still going on, they were far enough from the main event that Lily felt they were okay enough to enrol Harry in such endeavours. It certainly helped matters that Dumbledore had let up on his spies trying to infiltrate the manor; although that could've just been the result of fewer numbers in the Order of the Phoenix than there had previously been.
The redhead's idea was that in a house full of magic, her son would still be able to experience the different facets of his muggle heritage, as well as his magical one. Not that Harry seemed to be able to grasp the difference between the two worlds at this age, only that everyone around him could do cool and amazing things; some with Play Doh and others with wands. James had eventually agreed, but only because he added the stipulation that Harry would have to learn the intricacies that came with being the scion to the revered House of Potter, as well. Jean had taken almost vindictive pleasure in watching the former Boy-Who-Lived struggle to remember which fork was used for which meal, and watching him practically snore his way through the Family Charters, particularly when she recalled the many times he & Ron had pestered for help (read: copy) with their homework.
Sunken back against her pillows, Jean basked in the not-quite-awake glow of early morning. The morning birds had yet started to sing, waves crashed relentlessly against the cliffside and snow dusted the garden like icing sugar. Lethargic limbs stretched out before flopping bonelessly back against the mattress (she reckoned if she'd been conscious when she had first placed in his opulent bed, that she would've found it far too soft after growing used to camp beds & sleeping bags. As it was, her body had grown used to the softness, even if her mind had not).
Sleep-encrusted lids peeled open to mere slits and momentarily glared at the overhanging curtains surrounding the bed, as toddler feet thundered back & forth. The neighbouring bedroom practically hummed with the barely-contained excitement of a certain bespectacled toddler as the daylight hours neared ever closer. As she watched his shadow race about beneath the crack of the door, Jean could only guess as to what Harry was up to. Even in her past life, she could never claim to know what was going on in that head of his; it was much safer not to.
Next to her Crookshanks—the ever-rumbling motor—huddled further beneath the warmth of her duvet and burrowed further into her side, if that was at all possible. The little ginger tom had become a constant & welcomed fixture in her new life, and though he wasn't (yet) the grouchy old feline whom she'd plucked from the cages of the Magical Menagerie, she was just glad to have a piece of her old life still in one piece. Untouched & untainted as he was.
Jean absently fiddled with his bottle-brush tail as she thought over the amalgamation of Yuletide & Christmas traditions that she had been ambushed with. From the magical side, where the Potter-Black family observed the more classical traditions of Yule; with the Yule Log forever burning in the hearth and the stocking-studded mantelpiece. To the muggle side, where the Evans wrapped the doorways with boughs of tinsel and lined the tables with Christmas crackers. Even the Potter house-elves, who had switched out their usual sunshine pillows cases for something a little festively red (but still keeping to the Potter colours), had busied themselves with a stead stream of holiday-themed goodies all solstice-long.
The night before, on Christmas Eve, Harry & Jean had started off the evening by watching A Charlie Brown's Christmas on BBC, completely captivated by the animated movie as it flickered across the screen. Whilst the Potters busied themselves with the comings & goings of the remaining (active) Marauders. They'd stay for a drink & quick anecdote or two, before disappearing again in a flurry of drunken holiday greetings; pulled away by slave-driving bosses and nosy spymasters.
Of course, both canines could've sent an owl or two (as some in the Order had already done), but just as they had done for pretty much every other day since the war began, they'd chosen almost any little incident or notion to see each other in person. There was no sense of any convenience, more so, to assuage any lingering fears that they might've had (not that Jean could've of blamed them, seeing as they had done the same in her time, afterall). Even if it meant they had to floo and/or walk the few hundred metres between the two estates to see them.
After supper had left the Potters gathered about the blazing hearth with mugs that teemed with eggnog & hot chocolate. Nestled between the gaudy tree and the warm hearth stones, where both of the cats had sprawled out upon them, creating a carpet of golden fluff. Over on the couch, James held a beloved book aloft as Lily cuddled into his side and the words of Dickens' A Christmas Carol fell from his lips.
Next to her, Harry had cuddled up next to Padfoot and was forever switching between listening to the story, checking the chimney for Santa Claus (the toddler had been rather concerned when he'd hard that the holly man would be coming down the chimney whilst the Yule Log was lit. The 'Exploding Santa Meltdown' was legendary, as was the explosive accidental and it proved to Jean just why Harry had so loved to use the Stupefy charm). The bespectacled toddler kept trying to fight the pull of his tired lids as he listened to the lilting sounds of his father's voice, but it was not a fight that he would win. Jean's lips twitched upwards when she recalled how the toddler had all but collapsed onto Padfoot, much to his amusement, fast asleep.
"BRIGHT YULETIDE, FAMILY!" Sirius bellowed from outside as he flounced passed the window on his broom, arms cast heavenward as he hovered outside in the cold.
"Mother—!" Jean quietly cursed, hand flying up to calm her racing heart. All she caught of him was a glimpse of shaggy speckled hair and dog-patterned boxer shorts as he passed. Sirius, who had spent most of his days split between hunting down Peter & being the family dog, had seemed to age far beyond his years and was already greying around the edges, much to his despair. But no matter how stressful the whole ordeal was, he refused to hand it off to anyone else and had become almost obsessive over the whole hunting-down-the-rat thing. Even Moody had put the case on the back burner and that man was like a dog with a bone (pun intended).
"MERRY CHRISTMAS, UNCA PADDY!" Harry roared as he shoved over the closet window and waved enthusiastically at the broom-bound canine in a flash of scarlet pyjamas, arms laden with shoddily-wrapped presents and glasses haphazardly skewered across his face. A low pitiful groan sounded from somewhere downstairs, but no other movements were heard.
"And a merry Christmas to you too, Prongslette!" Sirius replied, lowering his tone slightly. "Whatcha got there?"
"Prezzies!" Harry chirped gleefully, "We made 'em at school!"
"I'm sure they'll be great! Why don't you go put them under the tree?"
"Okay!"
"BRIGHT YULETIDE, WONKY—!"
Lily suddenly threw open a window and yelled out into the air, hair a mess and eyes blazing with fury. "—BLACK! I SWEAR TO GOD—!" Below, Wonky appeared from the depths of the garden as if on cue and whacked the aforementioned wizard with the backend of a rake.
SMACK!
"Ow…!" Sirius whined, nursing the spot where the house-elf had whacked him with the wooden handle of the rake.
"Shhhhh!" Wonky hissed, "Messrs Black should quietened down! Peoples bes still sleeping, they is!"
"You up already, Pads?"James mumbled blindly coming to stand behind his wife and looped his arms around her waist, pulling her close as he rested his head in the crook of her neck. Both men may have only been in their early twenties, but they still acted like they were spry & lovesick sixteen year olds.
"C'me on, Prongsie!" Sirius sang, "Say it! It's trad~ition!"
James bemusedly grumbled under his breath as he buried his face into his wife's shoulder. "…And Circe bless us, everyone"
"WHAT'S TAKING YOU SO LONG?!" Harry cried from the bottom of the stairs, little feet thundering across the floor as fast as his little legs could take him. "SANTA WAS HERE! IT'S PREZZIE TIME! SISSY! WAKE UP!"
Breakfast was a simple affair, easy and light as lunch with the full family (both Potters, Evans and Dursleys) was bound to be filled with more food than any of them could possibly stomach (at least, that's what the Dagworth-Granger family reunions and the Weasley dinners had been like). Jean found herself wondering though if they were even allowed or supposed to be out of hiding, but at this point she would've taken any chance to escape the Potter property (aside from her own morning escapades).
She wasn't the only one. Lily downright refused to listen to anything the old headmaster had to say—including whether or not they should stay in hiding. Her reasoning being, You-Know-Who was going to come for them, he would have already, so what was the point in hiding any more when they could fight just as well, if not better, than some of their peers. And quite frankly, the Marauders were clearly going stir-crazy trapped inside the Potter Manor. So, for their first outing since the time of isolation began, the Potters (plus Padfoot) were headed to the Evans' family home for Christmas dinner.
Though, Jean didn't know what to expect of that. That is to say, aside from her own personal experiences with integrating her own muggle family with her magical one, she didn't exactly know how much Lily's parents knew about the Wizarding War their daughter was embroiled in. Or if the redhead had kept them at arm's length for their own safety, just like Jean had done with her own parents. From what she knew of Harry's (previous) childhood, the Dursleys, at least, had had some semblance of what was going on. But who knows what would happen in this timeline? Guess she'd find out soon enough.
Across the table Harry (and Sirius) practically vibrated in their seats as they inhaled their respective breakfasts in order to get to the tree and their presents, faster. So, still dressed in their respective pyjamas, cheeks dusted with sticky toast crumbs and lips adorned in jam & marmalade moustaches; they dropped to the floor by the tree to exchange presents, popped cracked and strewn the colourful wrappings across the floor. Jean had been pleased to note that even she had been gifted with a selection of goodies; generic, but still welcomed. From the assortment of Honeydukes sweets, Harry's handmade trinkets, a selection of muggle & magical books and a variety of clothes as her own time-period appropriate wardrobe was currently deplorable.
Jean could never really brag about being fashion-forward (even her Yule ball dress had been more of a "fuck you" than anything fashionable), in this life of the previous one. But she liked to think that, at the very least, that her previous (and current) wardrobe would fit rather nicely into the 80s grunge aesthetic. This was because most of her current wardrobe consisted of hand-me-downs and pieces stolen from either Ron or Harry's closet (not to mention the annual Weasley knitwear); leaving her with only two kinds of styles: oversized comfort and prim businesswoman.
In this time, however, her wardrobe had been given a little bit of an update thanks Lily's influence and the house-elves skilled hands. 80s fashion was big, bright, loud and loose so a lot of vibrant pieces had been added to her growing collection; including (but not limited to) several pinafores—some handed down, others bought off of the rack—patchwork dungarees and floral skirts. Lily could admit that she had never been the best tailor—even with the aid of magic—and relied heavily on simple patterns such as the circle skirt and the square skirt. Thankfully the billowy-ness of either patterns allowed her to pass off most of the outfits as some sort of wizarding robes. And for everything else? The house-elves were more than happy to help out.
Either way, Jean found herself particularly drawing to the Celtic-looking dress; with its square-shaped skirt, the fitted hoodie shirt and the cord belt. And best of all? The thing had pockets! (Dresses were always made a hundred times better when they had pockets; that was just fact). And besides, it's not like Jean could boast her own fantastic sewing skills; hers had been born from years on the run & darning their weathered clothes. Sure, there was a part of her that figured she could have of (and probably still would) fashion something acceptable from the clothes she already had, hidden away inside her little beaded bag.
(Which was, surprisingly, still intact. This was thanks in part to all of the wards that she had placed on the purple cloth over the years, which made sure that it both sealed it tighter than a tick's anus and jinxed all that dared to probe further. Although, that might not have meant much to a former Brightest Witch of her Age if Lily had decided she wanted to peer inside and it most certainly would've explained why the bag wasn't amongst her other things when she'd awoken). Jean had originally planned to slowly interweave her own clothes in increments so as to not raise suspicions; now though, she could probably just wear whatever she pleased, so long as she made sure that they sort of fit the decade.
But it wasn't like she was complaining! Far from it, in fact, it seemed like they had been thinking along the same sort of lines because she had returned the gesture (with little thank yous for caring for her) in kind. Yes, they were generic-slash-slightly obvious presents and yes, she had had needed some outsider input to put it all together, but everyone appeared to like their gifts, nonetheless. Journeying into the village one day (John O'Groats Village was on the smaller side, but it held the necessities such as a cornerstore, a grocer's and a post shop), she'd managed to sweep through most of the family in one go and for those she didn't, she simply ordered via owl post.
For Harry, this was a dragon plushie that she had fashioned out of a school sock & an old purple rag; they'd been washed, of course, but it wasn't exactly your high-end department store teddy bear. Nevertheless, Harry seemed to love it all the same; eyes shining bright as he unwrapped the squat dragon and held it aloft, proclaiming "Ma'cent!" And yes, she'd taken note of his rampant love for the Disney fairytale (even after she'd woken), and under the careful eye of the elves, constructed the plushie for him, for Christmas.
As for the adults, Jean had struggled on finding something that would be suitable for both their tastes and her situation. She couldn't very well give them a gift like she knew them personally, despite having grown up listening to the tales of Lily & James Potter, the beloved star-crossed parents of her best friend, and the mischievous tales of the prankster geniuses that were the Marauders. And as far as they knew (at least to her knowledge), she was just some kid that they'd picked up and been saddled with for the better half of a year.
For James, this meant a Puddlemere United quidditch shirt that had been chosen with Lily's help, resized with Tilly's aid and his love for the team supported by the old quidditch duvet that had been wrapped around her when she'd awoken. The bespectacled wizard had seemed pleased, if a little surprised. Jean couldn't even wrap Lily's present as it consisted of another bushel of snapdragons (grown from a cutting taken from the neighbour's garden) that nipped & but anything within reach. Now, she had something else to add to her already overflowing & overwhelmed garden; much to Wonky's chagrin.
As for the canines, she had gotten both the wolfhound and the wolf several pairs of appropriately themed socks, plus a collection of sweets. Sirius had immediately pulled on the neon pink pair of dog socks, pronouncing them perfect as he pranced about. As for Remus (who was spending the holiday with his own family, back home), she'd sent his presents via the owl post; most of his presents had consisted of chocolates.
All in all, it wasn't the worst Christmas Jean had ever had. That one went to the very first Christmas she had had with her family after the war—after she had restored her parents' memories of their lives together—where she had discovered she now had two younger brothers. Twins, by the names of Julian & Romeo; named for the infamous star-crossed lovers (her family really loved Shakespeare). It had only just marginally beat out the one from when they were on the run, hunting horcruxes the first time around, and Ron had done a runner after cussing out Harry (under the influence of the current horcrux).
So, as she fingered the floral cloth of one of the button-down dresses she had been given, Jean could safely say that she was enjoying the day and, dare she say, even looking forward to the rest of it. But there were still hours left in the day and the full family lunch to come, and in the immortal words of Grandma Aggie "Christmas ain't Christmas, 'til somebody cries"