November 3rd, 1969

"James Fleamont Potter get yourself in this house and properly dressed this instant!" Admonished the distinguished woman standing at the back stoop. Her ink black hair up in a tight chignon with elegant burgundy robes accentuating her tall figure. Brandishing warm towels in one hand and a pair of clean outfits in the other, Mrs. Euphemia Potter was a woman not many dared cross, the wand restraining her long locks was by no means for show, after all.
"Sirius dear, I trust you'll make sure you're both presentable?" She called as the two snow covered boys bolted past, in a beeline for their shared room now grasping the items. Of the two, her acquired son, Sirius Orion Black, was the most trustworthy in matters of time and cleanliness, although even that at times could be considered a stretch.
With a small smile now emerging on her face she turned about face and letting her tresses free, began orchestrating streamers, banners, pennant flags and the like to their appropriate positions, the cake she had skilfully hidden from the ravenous boys began assembling itself and the balloons inflated, rising to the roof, and lifting with them the entire energy of the house.

A gush of chilled air followed by a bustling at the doorway announced the early arrival of her husband. Letting out a harried breath the tall, auburn-haired man, unburdened himself of the packages shrunken into his pockets, removed his hat, coat, and gloves, and brought said items into the now lively room, setting them on the coffee table that had moved itself off to the side.
"Nine years old, can you believe it, Mia?!" Fleamont exclaimed softly to his bride as he pulled her to his side, his hazel eyes drinking her in. "Where has the time gone, next we know they'll be eleven and writing of their adventures from school."
Easing into his embrace she kissed his cheek and looked at her handiwork as the fire warmed their souls, "Oh hush darling let's get through this birthday first before we start talking about the years to come."

"HAPPY 9th BIRTHDAY!"

"...Happy birthday dear Sirius,
Happy Birthday to you"
The small gathering ended their rendition of the birthday song as the warm candlelight glowed lovingly over the young boy at the head table. A bitterly stark contrast to the cold leather of the "History of The Wizengamot" left at his place on the dining room table that morning. Here, he was accepted, loved happy and wanted. Here surrounded by the Potters, he had family and was home.
Cake, tea, and presents were passed out, and before dinner to boot! A joyous cacophony of noise filled Potter Hall that afternoon and well into the night. The fire roared keeping the bitter cold of the November snowstorms away, and as the hours waned further towards the morning, both the Potters knew that even though they had fought to give James siblings, their son would be the one to grow their family, starting with the boy curled up with him asleep on the rug, the one he called brother.

-ABWII-

"And in other news tonight, the death toll in Northern Ireland has risen again after the fatal wounding of a fourteen-year-old youth who was today caught in the crossfire between British soldiers and the IRA. This now brings the total to one hundred deaths over the past three years as what has been dubbed "The Troubles" continues. Further details will be released as they are made known to the public. We at the BBC urge our listeners to stay vigilant and care for your neighbors in this difficult time."

The television set in the commons was playing in the background as students milled about between the dining hall and the dorms, all eager to eat and be ready for their first official day back to classes.
Frazzled first years overladen with textbooks were making sure they had everything while their upperclassmen looked on in exhausted remembrance of their own youthfulness.
Blearily dragging himself from the depths of his own slumber a young man with light brown curls dangling every which way ambled precariously towards what he could only hope to be the coffee pot. Tea was just not going to cut it this morning for he feared without the added caffeine he may fall asleep in his first class. Just as he was about to grasp the handle of the pot, it was as though it had disappeared entirely. He swiveled abruptly in an attempt to determine who had gathered the courage to face a granger without coffee, only to find a tiny slip of a thing. Soft curls pulled up in what had at one time been a bun, now resembled somewhat of a ponytail. A few stray tendrils framed the whisp's face as she poured the liquid gold into the largest mug Damian had ever seen.
As she replaced the cannister on the bench before her, drew the large mug to her face and took her first sip of the bitter elixir, Damian couldn't help but become entranced by the beautiful witch before him. That is, after all, what he figured she must be, to steal his attention, heart and coffee all in one go without even so much as a moment of recognition on her part beyond the liquid she craved. He watched in awe as the tiny thing in an oversized jumper, yoga pants, a pencil protruding from her crown, and gently fogging glasses made her way back towards the main hall and out the doors into the foggy, brusque morning that awaited him.
Blinking back to reality he noticed the bookbag that lay on the table before him. Adriana Moore. So his witch did have a name after all.
Grabbing the bag he darted out the heavy doors, not even bothering to pull his jacket around him. Across the quad, he spotted her distinctive curls bouncing as she floated towards her first class. He mustered all the speed he could manage and miraculously unscathed, reached out to gently grasp her shoulder as her name fell breathlessly from his lips.

Startled Adriana broke from her thoughts at the almost whisper of her name from behind her. She'd worked very hard to get top scores in all her A levels in an attempt to escape her past as completely as possible. Had someone truly followed her all the way here?
She turned at the touch of a large hand on her shoulder and looked up in alarm only to find a face she did not recognize.
"Yes?" she asked, guarded
"Your name is Adriana? Adriana Moore?" Asked the gentleman before her. His face was flushed as though he had been running, easily explaining his breathlessness.
"Aye, can I help you?", she asked again as her nose and cheeks started to pink up, from the cold of course
"I, ah, your bag, you left it, my coffee, you stole my coffee and left your bag" stammered the handsome man as he stared into her soul.
"I, thanks, thank you" she uttered, overcome with embarrassment at the realization of her folly.
"Could I maybe walk you to class miss Moore?" he asked still grasping her bag in his hand, her 'Introduction to Chemistry' book peeking from the open corner.
"I don't see why that should be a problem" she responded, moving the arm that still rested comfortingly on her shoulder to interlock it with her own, "It's lovely to meet you ..."
"Damian, my name is Damian Granger, and I do believe you mademoiselle, have stolen my coffee"