Title: It all starts here...

Disclaimer:

A/N: Gah! I'm SO freakin' NERVOUS!! - because, you see, this is where my plot is revealed (well, most of it, anyways) so please tell me (TELL ME!!) whether you like it or not...

Minerva McGonagall was not pleased.

She looked down at the boy in front of her. He looked so much alike...yet – so different. She frowned, disliking her ability of failing to grasp what was on his mind.

"Mr. Potter," she repeated, sternness echoing every syllable – "I will not ask again – what do you do in the Forest every Tuesday night?"

Crap. They know.

James looked up at his old Headmistress through his dark waves, quickly concealing his panic in a mask of innocence.

She wasn't fooled.

The old Headmistress had seen too much of that face in her life. Rather than cooling her down, as was intended, it brought back a parade of painful memories – It has indeed been many years, but two faces of her students swam in front of her eyes – no, she couldn't be distracted – the matter was too serious – distraction cannot be afforded –

She glared at the hazel eyes of James Potter.

At least his father did wrong things for a good cause –

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp intake of breath:

"I'm sorry Professor," he said, "but I can't tell you."

"Mr. Potter – "

"I haven't done anything wrong –"

"Mr. Potter! You are old enough to understand that your regular disappearances on Tuesday nights aren't only the reasons why I've called you here – how are you linked to the appearances of those 25 Muggles in Hogsmeade?"

"Professor, I didn't -"

"It was a Wednesday morning! In addition, Swayer has told me that you were never there in your dorm that Tuesday night!"

"Professor, I – no –"

"What did the new Department of Magical Law Enforcement want with you?"

"Nothing! They - er -"

"What did they tell you? Where is Shacklebolt?"

"I don't -"

"Enough."

Professor McGonagall whipped around. James leaned sideways behind her in his seat, only to find his eyes locked on a pair of piercing blue ones, twinkling from behind half moon spectacles in an old withered face, which smiled upon him from a golden framed portrait above the Head's chair.

"But – Albus - !" cried McGonagall, clearly displeased.

James scrambled up from his chair and stood, debating the thought of curtsying or saying something respectable – which, by the way, was very hard –

"Sit down, dear boy."

He sat.

Dumbledore glared at McGonagall, until she sat down too, exasperated. Then he beamed at James, and started to speak:

"Mr. James Potter – finally, a Potter in this office! How long has it been, Minerva? 20? 21 years?" he paused for a long moment, lost in thought, a smile lingering on his elderly face. James felt heat flush his cheeks as he lowered his eyes – never before had he wished that his father were a little bit inconspicuous...

McGonagall coughed pointedly – then coughed some more, until the ex-headmaster looked up innocently from his thoughts, then chuckled.

"Ah, done it again now, have I?" He grinned at James, who bit back a smile, and then continued:

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Harry – excuse me – James, my dear boy, you are at your fourth year, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then you should very well know what your father was up to when he was in his fourth year! Fighting off dragons, gambling with merpeople, dancing with charming young ladies, winning the Triwizard Tournament – the works. You do know it all, I presume?"

"Not the details, sir."

The old man laughed.

"Well, I do suppose that young Miss Weasley - excuse me again – your mother was never the boastful type, and neither was your father. Now your Uncle Ronald..." he let the sentence trail off, his eyebrows raised, the corner of his lips twitching upward – James suppressed the urge to smirk – he found that he quite liked the old ex-headmaster...too bad he was –

Concentrate James! You do not want to end up like your father, do you? Always praised for the wrong things, mixing with the wrong kind -

No, they weren't wrong –

YOU CANNOT LET OTHERS MANIPULATE YOU! STICK TO YOUR GOAL!

I should never have listened to you –

THE WIZARDING WORLD WILL BE SUPPRESSED NO LONGER! YOU WILL BRING US TO LIGHT!

No, I –

Conquer your fear, James; you will see that eventually, everyone will realize that it is indeed a blessing you will have granted. Do not pay any attention to these old fools – they don't care about you, no one does – stick to your goal, boy: bring us out of hiding, expose our power to them all –

"James?" asked a concerned Dumbledore, while Professor McGonagall shook his arm in an iron-steel grip, and there was also a sharp pain in his mouth - "Are you all right? Minerva, go fetch Madam Swan –"

"I'm fine!" gasped James, sweat faced and red, lips bloody from where he'd bitten. He wrenched himself free from the steely grasp of McGonagall, and with his heart pounding rather loudly, ran from the circular, airy office of golden instruments and a large, empty cage strangled with cobwebs and leaving behind a very confused McGonagall and a very worried Dumbledore.

A/N: Review, review, review!!