Well this was going to be a oneshot. Oops. Likely two or three shot - it still won't be long. The next chapter of Telling Time (and final one before the Epilogue!) is taking a TON of research and work to get it put together. It was giving me a headache and it has been ages since I worked on anything OTHER than Lost Founder... so I got permission from la Beta to write something else. Still deals with Time Travel, because I'm the first to admit I'm a quantum theory nerd, but it's very different than the concepts used in Telling Time. I do hope you enjoy installment one!

Minerva McGonagall's step was light as she moved from the Hospital Wing toward her own quarters, having just finished checking on her third year Gryffindor, Hermione Granger. Miss Granger had been in possession of a time-turner all year long, the ambitious girl wanting to take more classes this term than time would feasibly allow. That said, the girl in question had just returned the device with a cryptic comment that had an eerie Albus-like quality to it. "It's a dangerous thing, meddling with time," the young Gryffindor had told her.

She was nearly back to her quarters, intent on placing the time-turner in a safe location until she could return it to the Ministry this coming weekend. Of course, she was not expecting a large, orange, half-kneazle to come careening into her feet just as she stepped into her quarters. A tumble, a crash, and loud hiss from Miss Granger's familiar later, and the world went black. Still, Minerva did not feel as if she'd lost consciousness, and a moment after, the world began spinning around her in every color imaginable, until it finally stilled and she sat up, set on untangling herself from the creature which had tripped her up.

"Sorry Crookshanks," Minerva apologized to the feline. "I did not intend to sit on your tail, though I do say it serves you right for knocking me over."

"Meow…" the great ball of fur replied, looking less disgruntled about his tail as Minerva reached out and began stroking behind his ears.

"Yes, that's it," she said softly. "Now, how about we get you back to Gryffindor Tower? Your mistress will be in the Hospital Wing, but I'd be willing to bet she strong-armed Mister Potter or Mister Weasley into leaving out some dinner for you in the Common Room."

Crookshanks stood and stretched, and Minerva moved to do the same, not taking note of the shattered glass and sand that now filled her pocket in place of the time-turner that had been there moments before, by her reckoning. In fact, Minerva did not notice anything was amiss at all until she reached the portrait guarding her House and and was surprised to find that the Fat Lady was not there. She wasn't missing, but rather had seemingly been replaced by the portrait of a dark-haired young man who she'd know anywhere. "James Potter?" she asked, jaw dropping.

The young man's expression went from startled, to outright shocked, to utterly amused in a matter of seconds. "McGonagall?" he whispered. "Is that you?"

Minerva frowned. "You seem surprised. For that matter, I'm surprised to find you here. What happened to the Fat Lady? And since when did you have a portrait?"

"Harry had me commissioned at the Headmistress' suggestion. Well, she wasn't Headmistress then… I've been guarding the Gryffindor Tower since the year after old Voldy finally bit the dust. She was just the Transfiguration Professor back then, and newly so. Still, last term marked forty years for me, here. The Fat Lady was destroyed during one of the battles here, toward the end of the war. Of course, you've been missing, presumed dead since the mid nineteen nineties so I'm guessing you have no idea what I'm going on about."

"War?" Minerva gaped. "Voldy… as in Voldemort? Forty years… James, what year is it?"

"Twenty-thirty-nine," he said with a frown. "Where have you been, and how the hell do you look that good for a woman who should be over a hundred years old? You don't look a day over forty. Of course, I'm still as dashing as always but that's the Potter genes for you. Harry's starting to go grey, but I'm guessing he got that from Lily's side."

How the hell had she gone forty-five years into the future in the blink of an eye? A sharp gasp and a hand reaching into her pocket carefully revealed the broken glass and rough sand, along with several pieces of this and that which had formerly been the sum of parts that made up a time-turner. "Shite."

James Potter's portrait got wide-eyed. "You just swore, Professor."

"Well I'm hardly a professor in the here and now, am I?" she snapped. "Dare I ask who is Head of Hogwarts now? Are any of the professors from the nineties still here?"

"Let's see. Who was here back then? It's been ages, and my memory is good, but not that good," James replied.

"Albus Dumbledore was still Headmaster."

"He died in ninety-seven. Killed by Snape, technically, but turns out the git was actually a spy, and Dumbledore told him to do it so the Malfoy kid wouldn't have to, yada yada."

"What happened to Severus?" Minerva said as her gut lurched. Forty years was a long time, and it was just really hitting her that many of her friends were likely dead, especially given that there was apparently a war going on in the midst of all this insanity.

"Died during the final battle of the war, here at Hogwarts," James reported. "Year after Dumbledore did his swan dive off the Astronomy Tower. Of course, Harry had a belated teenage rebellion, per the war and all that, and used parenthood as a way to stick one to his old man. I've got three grandkids, well, hardly kids anymore. Firstborn was James Sirius Potter. That I approved of. The third one, only girl, he called Lily. His mum would have been furious at him which may be why he's never had a portrait of her made, at least not that I know of. His middle kid, however, is named Albus Severus Potter. Like what the bloody hell was Harry thinking? Severus? It's a horrid name to start with but given how me and Snape got on, and then how Snape and Harry got on, it seems utterly ridiculous that he'd name a kid after the greasy git!"

"If you're quite finished with an obviously well-practiced rant, I'd like to know what happened to Pomona, Filius, and Poppy if you'd be so kind," she said quietly. "You can regale me with the woes of life as a grandparent at a later date, assuming I don't spontaneously expire as a result of suddenly being thrust forward several decades in time."

"Don't do that," James said firmly. "The Headmistress would be devastated. Everyone thought she was nuts for thinking you'd show back up one day, but she was certain. Even made sure your quarters remained untouched, all these years. And Sprout lived for ages after the war, and kept on teaching too. Just died, oh, Easter break five years back or so. Flitwick is still kicking, though he retired right after we lost Sprout. Same with Poppy. Neither of them could stand being here anymore after… well, Pomona Sprout was one of the most respected Professors to ever teach here. She's the one who kept things here at Hogwarts up and running after Dumbledore died. Told me once that she did it - and it was hard back then - because she knew you'd have done the same if you'd been here. You'd have stayed, to protect the students. Flitwick, Poppy, and most of the other Professors back then followed her lead, though I wasn't actually made yet so this is just heresay. Headmistress can give you more details, if you like."

"Who is the Headmistress?" Minerva asked. "You keep talking about her like she walks on bloody water but you have yet to mention her by name."

"Sorry, Minnie, but she scares me a hell of a lot more than you ever did and I'm not about to rob her the look on your face when you realize who she is," James said firmly. "You'll just have to go on up to the office, it's still early so she'll be up there - bloody workaholic - and find out yourself."

"Will you allow him," she said, pointing to Crookshanks, "in the Common Room? I'll have to find out what's become of Hermione Granger and return him to her but in the meantime, he'd feel at home in the Tower."

James got a smug look on his face. "Not without the password," he said as snottily as he could manage. "Which I know you'd never guess."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll take some solace in the knowledge that certain things will never, ever change."

The young man who'd once been her student and proverbial thorn in her side attempted to look affronted at her comment, but he burst out laughing a minute later. "You know, when you're more settled, you'll have to stop in on Harry. He's missed you a great deal. Almost as much as she has."

Minerva wracked her brains, the innuendo in James' tone for the last bit he'd said before she'd glared and stormed off not lost on her. Was the Headmistress someone she knew well? A former lover? Perhaps someone she'd been friends with back then who had secretly wanted more from their relationship but never had the chance to speak up? Amelia Bones had been who she'd been involved with when she'd evidently vanished, though Amelia was certainly not the sort to pine away and more than that, Amelia had expressed on many occasions that she couldn't fathom how Minerva could stand teaching, so it was unlikely that she'd gotten into teaching herself at any point. Besides, Amelia was shite at Transfiguration and James had let it slip that the current Headmistress had started her teaching career at the Transfiguration post.

Still lost in thought and not coming up with any possible candidates for who this Headmistress might be, Minerva arrived at a familiar door, but paused before knocking when she heard a stern, English-sounding woman speaking.

"Remus. Just because you are my godson does not mean that you can get away with putting yourself and others in danger without consequences," the voice - likely the Headmistress - said. "What do you think your parents are going to do when I tell them what you did?"

"Oh, come on!" a young man's voice ground out. "I just wanted to see where my granddad used to, you know…"

"Transform?" the Headmistress finished. Ah, Minerva mused. This teenager must be Remus Lupin's grandson. She found herself wondering who on earth the werewolf - her friend - had eventually married. She knew the man well enough to know he'd never have had a child out of wedlock. He was just the traditional sort like that.

"Yeah. Uncle Harry said we could…"

"Yes, I'm sure he did," the woman said crisply. "I'll have to owl Harry and remind him that I'm not too old to hex him within an inch of his life. Merlin knows how he managed to survive long enough to reproduce with his penchant for getting into danger!"

"Okay, fine, I won't go down there again," the boy groaned. "Now will you stop flicking your wand around? You're making me nervous."

There was a pause, and Minerva couldn't help but wonder what was going through this woman's mind right now. If it was her, she'd be putting this boy in detention, godson or not.

"Detention with Professor Malfoy," the Headmistress stated firmly. "Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday."

"Aw man! Malfoy? Really!"

"Would you like me to make it all week?" the Headmistress inquired loftily.

"No ma'am," the boy - Remus - sulked. "Can I go now?"

"Directly back to your dorm, Mister Lupin," she replied. "And it's Professor Malfoy, Remus. Honestly, didn't your father teach you any manners?"

"Not really," Remus said, his voice becoming more jovial. "He kind of figured I'd come by it naturally from Mum's side. The French and their etiquette, you know."

"Well, as your mum is half French, half Weasley, we can hardly expect your chances at instant manners to be very high."

"Ouch, the snark."

"Get out of here, cub," the Headmistress ordered, her voice now soft and tender as one might expect from a godmother to her godson.

Minerva cast a quick disillusionment charm on herself to avoid being noticed by the boy. As much as she was curious about this sandy-haired teenager, who looked so much like the original Remus Lupin it was almost scary, she was moreso curious to find out who the bloody hell this Headmistress of James' was. She waited another minute, heart beating wildly at the notion of some blast from the past she never did live through, and then she raised her hand to knock on the door.

"Enter!" came a sharp order.

One more deep breath, and Minerva pushed open the door to reveal a woman about her own age, with brown hair pulled up into a neat bun, black robes that gave no hint of what Hogwarts House she might have once belonged to, and chocolate eyes that widened at the sight of her. "My god. Minerva."

The Scottish witch tilted her head slightly, still not recognizing the woman before her. She did admit, however, that if James' insinuation that the Headmistress had more than platonic feelings toward her were in fact founded in some truth, she was not complaining. This woman was attractive. Very attractive. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Minerva replied. "A portrait of James Potter informed me that somehow, what was a few seconds for me was forty-five years to the rest of the world, but he refused to tell me your name."

The Headmistress chuckled. "I do suppose I'd be difficult to recognize, as I was only a child in nineteen ninety-four. Even if I was the last person to see you before you vanished."

Minerva's jaw dropped as the attractive woman before her offered a grin she'd recognize anywhere, anytime. "Hermione Granger."

The woman in question nodded. "Welcome home, Minerva. You have been missed."

PLEASE REVIEW!