Sirius began by clearing his throat slightly, "Headmaster Dumbledore!" he then exclaimed with confidence, his tone light and cheerful as though he was greeting an old comrade. Clapping the older man's arm in a friendly manner, Sirius continued, giving off a cheeky grin from which many a girl had sighed dreamily. Dumbledore's mustache twitched discreetly, the muscles in charge of his mouth struggling not to smile or laugh in amusement.

Over the years of his reign over Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore remembered every single one of his previous students- whether it be with contempt or admiration. Children- people, in general- fascinated him. Like a Bertie jelly bean, no one person was the same. And, while some shared general characteristics, be they studious, procrastinators, or just plain absent-minded, each was interesting in their own way.

Sirius Black and James Potter completely topped them all, though, in a matter of minutes upon their arrival at Hogwarts. Facial expressions, audible and inaudible jokes, and regular antics made those two quite popular with any fun-loving person. Albus greatly admired the two, and not only because of their love of making people laugh (a lost sport, some might say), but because of their nobility and friendship. Never, in all his years, had Dumbledore come across a pair so tightknit in friendship. They were closer than brothers.

And, these closer-than-brothers friends were just about to protect their mischievous reputation.

"Now, see, we were just about to see you," Sirius went on with a grin. It was surprising his nose wasn't turned a permanent brown the way he laid it on thick with every elder he came across.

"It's really been too long," James put in, shaking his head, and softly smiling, "We really should keep in touch, sir. Why, I don't think we've seen you for a good week."

"Ah, yes," Albus nodded, his glasses catching the moonlight's reflection for a moment, "Well, allow me to change that."

"Detention tomorrow night?" Sirius cut in, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms casually.

"In your office for the next two days?" James put in instantly, mimicking Sirius' actions with a lopsided grin.

Sirius turned to face his partner in crime and mumbled loudly, "Four days, remember?"

James' face scrunched up in thought, "Four days?" he mumbled, concentrating. A dawning look hit his face, "Oh right. I believe it's swimming in the lake, and four tardies in class that calls for a two-day detention, yes?"

"Right you are, James m'boy," Sirius said, nodding, "Out past curfew, and hexing first years in the corridor count for four-day detentions."

"Actually," Dumbledore spoke, putting his two-cents in, "A four-day detention would count for hexing a person of any age in the corridors."

James grinned and said, "We're just basing our information off of past occurrences, Professor."

Dumbledore nodded, "Of course, my apologies, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, no apologies needed, sir," Sirius smirked.

"So," James said, "We'll see you tomorrow at. . ." he turned to Sirius.

"Let's say about five," Sirius finished with a nod, looking to Dumbledore.

"That works for me, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling fiercely behind his glasses. All three just stared at one another for a few moments after that: Dumbledore, expectantly. James and Sirius, pressing their luck.

James cleared his throat and pushed himself off the stone wall, soon followed by Sirius, "Well, er, sir, we'll just escort ourselves back to our dormitory."

"No worries, Professor," Sirius said, waving farewell as the two made their way down the hall. Dumbledore watched them pass wordlessly, the smile never wavering.

James turned around abruptly, walking backwards as he said as though he just thought of it, "Oh! And we'll never do it again, either."

Sirius' sudden snicker was chorused with James'.

The soft shuffling of tiny feet was vaguely registering in the five year old occupant half-sleeping in his darkened room. Shuffling, then a stumbled, followed by a child's whimper. The five year old took in a deep breath and sighed as he turned in his slumber. Within seconds, his eyes were pulled open as the door to his room screeched. The fireplace in the living room of the home was still burning, making for a soft glow to trail in his room once the door had been pushed inward slightly. The dark silhouette of a child's head peeked inside the room.

Hesitantly, the head turned into the silhouette of a child's body. The little redhead slowly shut the door, then grasped on to the torso of her raggedly teddy bear tighter than before.

"Remmie?" she whispered.

Sluggishly, said five year old pushed his head up and rubbed his tired eyes. Looking over at the other girl, his eyes narrowed slightly, be it from annoyance or blurry vision.

"What?" he whispered back.

The girl fidgeted apprehensively. When after a few moments no words had been spoken, Remmie shrugged his shoulders and flopped back to his sleeping position.

Finally, she spoke, "I had a bad dream…can I sleep in here tonight?"

Remmie frowned. Exhaling loudly, he turned to his side and looked over at her, pulled the covers up more. Reluctantly, he replied, "Sure."

She beamed, instantly rushing over and hopping into his bed, giving him a great bear hug. Remus stiffly returned it, trying to not be too girly and gushy. "Alright, Lily," he finally said with a small scowl. "Boys don't hug."

"They hug their twin sisters," she said matter-of-factly, suddenly leaning in a kissing his cheek before he could object.

"Lily!" Remus howled. Lily, giggling, covered his mouth with her hand.

"Quiet," she whispered, still laughing, "You'll wake mummy and daddy."

Remus glared out the window grumpily, "Fine," he grumbled. "What was your bad dream about, Lily?" he asked after a moment's silence.

"I can't really remember," she replied, her face scrunched up in concentration, "I know there was a popping sound."

Remus' brow furrowed, "A popping sound?"

"Yeah," Lily mumbled to him, snuggling against her bear, "And lotsa flashing lights. . .dark colors."

"Dark colors?" Remus inquired with a deeper voice.

"Ya," Lily sighed, slowly drifting, "lots of reds."

"What else?" Remus asked with serious interest.

Lily yawned, her eyes growing heavier, "I dunno. . .I can't remember."

"Try and focus, Lily," Remus said louder, with a lot more urgency. Lily's response was a mumble. "Lily, this is important, just focus." He started to shake her, "Lily foc-,"

"-us," breathed through her lips as an older version of Lily hurling up into a sitting position on her bed, her hand over her rapidly beating heart. Panting heavily, The Lily ran a hand through her red, limp hair and threw off the sheets of her bed. She stood and walked over to the window of her chambers.

Residing in the second topmost tower of her father's dark, gothic castle, The Lily- the birth name her father made sure stuck with her throughout her life- the name all her father's employees made sure to address her as- had a glorious view of the secluded land down below. Mountains surrounded the castle, most shorter than the topmost tower so she could see beyond the valley before her. At this most precise night, clouds and lightning shielded the sky, illuminating every ashlar and stone making up the twisted household.

This night, though, held a parallel that connected almost every other night she slumbered in her chambers. Her dreams. Different dreams holding similar characters. She was always in them, of course. And so was the same little boy. She had established that his name was Remmie after the first seven dreams he was in. Grey eyes, dirty blonde hair. A little boy, seeming wiser beyond his years. Each and every dream, there he was.

As thunder struck, Lily ran her fingers along the bars held within the stone of her window frame. She'd done this action so often, the bars were completely smoothed down to shine brilliantly, especially with the lightning reflecting off of it. Her first recollection of actually requesting they be removed from her window was her tenth birthday. The request had instantly been denied by her father. Apparently, Lily had been a natural klutz when she was younger. And, to quote her father without the uncanny hiss for a voice, "The kingdom would mourn greatly should your lovely face come in contact with the vicious rocks stretched up from below the castle's ground, My Lily."

As much as her father's blunt shrewdness scared her primarily upon her first awaking, Lily had grown accustomed to it, even comforted by it. For, as much as she knew her father loved her, Lily rarely had the chance to see him, let alone speak to him. So, really, any words directed to her were cherished. And, his words were taking to heart. If her father had told her she had been clumsy in her childhood, she had been clumsy.

Truthfully, she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything from her first eight years of life. Her father had told her everything. The mountain cliff. Her mother, holding on for her dear life, as a result of a trip of footing. And she herself, a six year old carrot-top, arm outstretched, hoping to be her mother's savior. Tragically, her wish had not been granted. Lily had lost her balance from sheer grief of witnessing her mother finally loose her grip on the edge and fall to her bloody demise. Only by luck had Lily remained living, falling a short distance onto a small horizontal part of the mountain, smashing her head on the hard surface.

Asleep for two whole years before stirring from her slumber and greeting the strange world around her.

A/N: Sorry about the long delay on this update. I hope you all enjoyed it by any means.