25 December 1982
Penshaw Grove, Cokeworth

Where John O'Groats was an assortment of haphazard buildings chucked together along the Scottish highland's peninsula, Cokeworth was tightly packed rows of brick-encrusted houses that lined the narrow streets of the industrial mill town. Over the rooftops, far beyond the horizon, there sat the numerous factory buildings that puffed out plumes of choking smoke every day & night, and polluted the twisting river on which it ran. A sense of gloom and monotony might've once blanketed the area, if not for the Christmas decorations dotted about the place of each home.

Each dressed in their Sunday best, the Potters plus two, trickled in 62 Penshaw Grove, home of the Evans parriarchs and childhood home of the Evans sisters. Jean anxiously readjusted the grip on her walking cane as the hem of her floral button-downed dress fluttered about her knees, and splattered her shoulders in the carcass of Grandma Agatha Granger's floral couch. Hidden beneath the two-sizes-too big cardigan (which clashed horribly with the dress) and were both pastel in colour. At least her Mary Jane shoes and opaque tights were plain enough that she didn't look like a toddler's imaginary friend.

That's not to say that Jean didn't like the garments, she did in fact, tend to wear them & others like them (together) more often than not since she preferred comfort & practicality over fashion any day. But this would be the first time that she was meeting the Evans parriarchs, plus the Dursleys, and she wanted to make a good first impression. Maybe less so on the Dursleys' behalf as even in this timeline, their reputations preceded them, and not in a good way (plus, with the amount of food she expected to consume, she figured it was best to wear something without a waistline).

Next to her, Harry pulled irritably pulled at the hem of his own sweater vest as a cute pout settled upon his lips. The bespectacled boy had thrown one hell of a tantrum over the vest when he'd first been forced to put it on. Less so because it was uncomfortable, and more so because the vest covered up his favourite Christmas tie (a Snoopy-themed cravat that barely peered over the neckline of the sweater vest). It wasn't bad-looking, but the bigger half of the pattern led towards the point of the tie; which had been the whole point of the toddler's controversy.

But Lily had argued that the vest was a gift from Grandma Daisy Evans (her mother) and that it would make her unbearably happy to see her grandson wearing it. Once on, Lily had cooed that Harry looked like the spitting image of Grandpa Alfred Evans (her father) and insisted on several photos, which hadn't really helped matters. If Jean was being honest though, she would have of thought that the little boy would've been more upset about having to wear the tartan pants & matching suspenders. But apparently, those were okay because they matched (or were very similar to) his father's own ensemble.

The elder bespectacled wizard in question wore a tartan-on-tartan suit in maroon (because how could a Gryffindor be asked to wear anything other than red?) that clung close to quidditch-bound muscles; something which had Lily drooling at the sight of him whenever she thought that no one was looking. Thankfully, the vest—though florally patterned—was just as muted in colour and hidden beneath a large tweed overcoat (that Jean suspected was a part of his usual wizarding robes). And just like his son, James wore a Christmas-themed tie; only his was less boisterous and bore tiny little reindeers dotted about the material, in a more subtle pattern.

Then there was Lily who wore a similar get-up to Jean. Dressed in a button-down floral dress, the hem fell a little lower until it brushed up against her calves and hung over little oxfords. Although, unlike the younger witch, the redhead found herself enshrouded in a large tweed overcoat similarly fashioned to James' own. Again, Jean assumed that it had been a part of her regular wizarding robes. The only difference between the two, was because Lily had sewn or thrifted most of her own robes, so they were of a lower quality than the high-end store-bought ones that her pureblooded husband wore. Nevertheless, it suited her well; at least, Jean thought so.

And lastly, there was Padfoot who was adorned in a large Christmas bow & collar. The large animagus sat upon the steps of the front porch, eagerly glancing backwards at the little family that lined up like tin soldiers behind him. Apparition never sat well with animals or young children, which was why they had arrived by floor, earlier. The small patchwork family had tumbled out of a small forge that lay tucked between the old chapel and the bakery, before they trudged down the snow-laden path to the townhouse in question.

Snow & soot still clung to Padfoot's fur despite the number of attempts to shake and/or clean it off, and it made him appear all the more speckled than he usually was. At first, Jean assumed that Sirius would be spending Christmas with Remus & his family as those two were more or less involved with each other, even if they had yet to state it outright. But here he was, garbed in his canine coat as Padfoot, and sat upon the front steps of the Evans townhouse as he guarded their entrance to, what promised to be, a fiasco of a Christmas. (Inwardly, Jean found herself referring to the wizard more & more as "Padfoot the Dog" instead of "Sirius Black the Wizard" She wasn't sure if she should be concerned about that or not).

The Evans' townhouse was sweet, both inside and out. Laid with stone bricks to match the other houses on the street, the two storey building sat nestled between the other townhouses on either side. A small garden enshrouded by sweet-smelling lavender busheries, a wrought iron fence that divided the properties and the single path that led up to the front door easy-as-you-please. And then there was the interior itself, something that was just as homely as the exterior. From what little Jean had seen as they bustled through the door, the Evans' house was not that different from her own grandparents' house.

A selection of comfy couches lined the living room with the patented armchair belong to Grandpa Alfred, taking pride of place between the fireplace and the television. A large dining table, layered beneath an exquisite spread of appetisers and a tartan table cloth which outlined the dining room. There was a drinks cabinet of some kind, lain in mahogany in one corner and several shelves that displayed trinkets of every kind; mostly though, they held family photos and porcelain figurines. It wasn't hard to see where Lily got her decorating aesthetic from.

Following the succulent scent of roasted honey-glazed ham past the stairs which led up to the bedrooms and into the living room, Jean & the Potters soon found themselves accosted by the Evans grandparents. "…Flower! It's so good to see you!" Grandma Daisy cooed as she squeezed her daughter so tight that Jean could hear her bones creak. Grandma Daisy Evans was a slight woman; wrinkled & weathered by age, but apparently far stronger than she appeared. The threadbare blouse that she wore beneath open-knit layers of wool gave Jean just enough of an impression for her to see the outline of a St. John's Voluntary Aid Detachment tattoo burning bright against her shoulder.

She was a war nurse? Jean blinked as James pulled back from his welcoming hug & jovial greeting next.

"…And who's this?" Grandma Daisy turned to Jean who still stood on the fringes.

James placed a comforting hand on Jean's shoulder, keeping her in place. "This, is my niece, Jean. She's been staying with us for a while"

"…Hello" Jean waved shyly in greeting, at a loss for what to do. She wasn't sure just how much of the magical events that the Evans parriarchs knew about, nor how much they knew about what had happened to her. She only knew that James was going to say that she was his niece, who was staying with them for the time being, and that was it.

"Ah~! Yes, I see it now" Grandma Daisy hummed pleasantly as she took up Jean in her arms, inspecting her this way and that.

Jean didn't know if the old woman was just being polite in that pinched-lip sort of way; the one that you get through saying things that you don't actually mean, or if she could actually see a resemblance between the muggleborn and the aforementioned wizard. Then again, most wizarding families (like the Dagworth-Grangers and the Potters) were almost always connected in some sort of convoluted way, so it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility.

"Are you lot gonna spend the whole day standing in the doorway?" Grandpa Alfred groused from where he sat languishing in his armchair; a beer already cracked open in his calloused hands. Grandpa Alfred Evans was a burly sort of bloke with a head speckled by liver spots & cut up by old scars. Permanent crows' feet were etched into his face and a certain hardness could be found gleaming behind those wireframe glasses. All in all, he appeared to be your typical soldier-turned-factory-worker. "Or are we gonna eat?"

"Soon as the ham's done, dear" Grandma Daisy replied pleasantly as she turned to retreat into the kitchen, where Jean swore she saw Petunia Dursley's neatly tucked bun, flitter passed. Which would make sense, considering the child seat clipped into the Chrysler parked out on the street.

"GRAMPA ALFIE!" Harry cheered, rushing into the living room with hands above his head as he went to hug his grandfather's legs.

"Lo, munchkin" Grandpa Alfred patted the boy on his crown in greeting, messing up his already messy locks. "Good Christmas?"

"Uh huh!" Harry nodded enthusiastically, before trawling off into long run-in sentences about what had happened that morning. "…And look! We match!" He pulled them hem of his vest down to show his grandfather. Apparently, now that Harry's vest matched his grandfather's, things were all a-okay again.

After shucking off both their coats and shoes in the entry hallway, Jean & James trotted into the living room, proper, where they found Padfoot had already made himself at home in front of the flickering fireplace. With Petunia & Grandma Daisy occupied in the kitchen and Lily headed in that direction with a tray of bread & butter pudding under one arm, that left the men and the children to congregate around the living room. Since Grandpa Alfred had already claimed his armchair for the day and James had dropped down onto the couch, his other son-in-law, Vernon Dursley was slouched against the frillier armchair (the one belonging to Grandma Daisy). Vernon, whom Jean had had the displeasure of meeting only one in her previous life, appeared to be doomed to a little lump of a man in every timeline.

Harry's stories about his home life with the Dursleys had always made her stomach curl; from locking him up in the cupboard under the stairs, to the bars bolted across his window and just plain starving the boy. To be fair, Jean mused as she quietly pursued the Evans' bulging bookcase (because, of course, she did) under the watchful & knowing eyes of the Evans patriarch. They WERE living with a horcrux for seventeen-odd years—Not that that's ANY excuse, of course!—But it was difficult for US, and we were only living with them for ONE year.

As delicate fingers danced over the spines of Frank Herbert, Stephen King & Alice Walker, Jean found herself reminiscing on her own family Christmases. Something, that was turning out to be a rather dismal thought. Sure, there had been many Christmases after the war where she had spent time with family. But before the war, when her parents still had control of their mental capacities…those times turned out to be few and far between. In fact, if Jean really thought about it, she couldn't rightly say when the last time she'd had a proper family Christmas with all of the bells & whistles.

Back when she was surrounded by extended family who spared various (unwanted) anecdotes about the tidbits of family gossip, or teaching the younger generations about the ridiculousness of the family feud. Perhaps it was…was it back in third year? Fourth year was dedicated to the Triwizard Tournament & all that it entailed. Fifth year was spent at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters whilst Mr Weasley recovered from his attack. In sixth year, she had oblivated her parents, and by seventh year, they had gone on the run.

Hurried toddler footsteps pounded against the carpet pulled Jean from her stupor and she turned, just in time to see Harry make a beeline from his grandfather to the dog in front of the fireplace, where his cousin, the youngest of the Dursleys—Dudley—had already captained the dog's flanks and appeared to be trying to ride the canine like a horse. The "horse" in question, was having none of it, of course and stubbornly refused to move, much to the frustration of the toddler. But there's not much a two year old can do against a wolfhound; even one as large as Dudley.

And there was no denying the fact. Where Harry still bore the dregs of baby fat, Dudley was adorned in several layers of chubby fat brought on only by an overeager diet and whilst Jean had never personally met him in her previous life, she could already see the beginnings of a spoilt brat burgeoning in the boy; especially, if that sour scowl was anything to go by. Thankfully, this time around Harry was having none of his cousin's antics and proceeded to oh-so-eloquently shove his cousin off of Padfoot, only to smugly take his place.

"Bwaaaaaaaaaaa~!" Dudley immediately burst into crocodile tears as he hit the ground only mere centimetres away. It wasn't a far fall, even for a child. But Jean suspected that the toddler was hoping his mother would force his bespectacled cousin to get off of the dog, so he could play with him.

"Ooh! Duddekins!" Petunia immediately raced out into the living room and scooped up her son, before Jean could even blink. "Oh, my sweet boy! Where does it hurt? Tell Mummy—!"

"—Don't coddle the boy so much, Tuney" Grandpa Alfred gurgled through a mouthful of beer. "Boy needs to learn to toughen up"

"Dudley is a sensitive boy—!"

"Dudley needs to lay off of the treacle tarts…" James muttered under his breath as he reached for a can from the pack at Grandpa Alfred's breath, though he was still heard. Grandpa Alfred chuckled heartily at the comment and Petunia squawked in protest, holding Dudley close to her bosom as if to protect him.

"I don't need parenting advice from the likes of you!" She sneered nastily at James.

Clearly the animosity between the two families (much like her own( had started long before either Harry or Dudley were born and wasn't particularly driven by Vernon, as she had first thought. Things had been tense between the two families the moment they'd arrived, but this was the first kind of attack from either side that Jean had ever seen. However, there was apparently some kind of truce lain out that stated whenever they were in the Evans parriarchs' household, everyone was to be on their best behaviours. Or, at the very least, not at each other's throats.

"Petunia!" Lily scolded, tone turning cold as she bustled about the dining room & set up the table for lunch. Unperturbed by what was going on, Harry flapped Padfoot's ears up & down like he was trying to make him fly.

"What? It's true!" Petunia huffed, "Your kind are always so backwards thinking!"

The redhead growled, narrowing her eyes at her elder sister. "Don't make me get my wand—!"

"Nah, s'alright, Lils" James waved it off (it clearly wasn't) as he tried to diffuse the tension. "S'nothing we haven't heard before. Right, Tuney?"

"You little—!" Petunia growled low in her throat; a noise which seemed to both frighten and fascinate Dudley.

"—Yes, Tuney?"

"I—"

"—I'ma asked you not to do that again, Tuney" Lily interjected, her accent growing thick in her anger.

"Why not?" Petunia purred, her voice turned soft & dangerous. "I think it's the perfect time for it"

"Why not? Why not? Because every time you start something up, shit inevitably hits the fan!"

"Every time I start up?" Petunia replied affronted, "I don't need to impress anybody with that—that filth!"

"You mean magic?" Lily sneered, "Because as I recall, it was you who demanded to be let into Hogwarts—!"

"—You right foul git!" Petunia screeched, this time it was her accent that made itself known. In her arms, Dudley squirmed to be let down, but it seemed that Petunia was far more focused on her younger sister.

"Alfred!" Grandma Daisy, having been drawing into the room by the unearthly screeches of her irate daughters, turned to her husband who had seemingly turned off his hearing aid, or was just ignoring the girls with practised ease. "Your old ass needs to do something, now! You can't just sit there like you don't give a shit!"

"Girls…" Grandpa Alfred sighed, not moving an inch from his chair but he still went unheard, much to his chagrin. "OI! GIRLS! CUT THAT SHIT OUT!"

"Ba…" Both sisters scowled in unison at their father, but kept quiet nonetheless. The same could not be said for Jean or the cousins, who jumped at the sudden call.

Grandpa Alfred quirked an inquisitive brow at his wife as he settled back in his chair like nothing was wrong. "Happy?" Apparently, this was a normal thing with the Evans sisters as neither husband really reacted, either.

"For now" Grandma daisy hummed, narrowing her eyes at everyone in the room. "Right! And on that note, lunch is ready"

"Yes!" James cheered as he jumped to his feet and not-so-subtly tugged Lily along by the elbow towards the table. "Let's eat!"

"Thanks for your help!" Petunia sneered in Vernon's direction as she (& Dudley) stomped passed.

The man in question hadn't so much as twisted whilst his wife and her sister went for each other's throats (not that James could boast any efforts on his part, either. But Lily could rightly hold her own as she had proven on many an occasion; actually, both Evans sisters could). Instead, he appeared far more interested in the Queen's Christmas Message that was being broadcast on the television (this year it appeared to be about lessons that adults could learn from their children) and the slightly crinkled beer can in his hand.

Uh…Jean, in the meantime, was left blinking dumbly in the corner as everyone else gravitated over towards the fully laid dining table. It wasn't until Harry's tiny hand tugged on her won that her leaden feet moved after them.

"Sissy! C'me on!"