A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience and support. This will be worth it, I promise.

36

Lying awake in his bed, staring at his ceiling, James was worried.

It was well past midnight. The party that was thrown to celebrate Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin had died down shortly after the clock struck 12, and everyone had ambled to their dormitories. Sirius had been the first to drop, flopping onto his bed unceremoniously and nearly instantly beginning to snore. For Sirius, the sound was akin to someone very slowly taking a saw and cutting into a tree with it. It was a sound that James normally found soothing, and easy to fall asleep to. Remus and Peter did not share this opinion. Peter had stuffed cotton into his ears, while Remus took the more practical step of charming his bed curtains to be soundproof, thus negating the noise.

But it was not soothing for James on this night. Too much was going through his head. There were warnings, now too many of them to ignore, that something bad was set to happen inside the walls of Hogwarts, and James would bet galleons that it was set to happen soon. Snape had said so, and now Zharkov had hinted at is as well. And Zharkov…James no longer knew what to make of the mercurial Defense professor. He was certain that Zharkov had inadvertently revealed a connection to Rochefort, but what was the connection? And how was it established? It made James wonder just who's side Zharkov was on. Surely he had to be one of the good guys, elsewise Dumbledore never would have allowed him into Hogwarts.

But what if Dumbledore was wrong?

That was an uncomfortable thought. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive. Voldemort feared him—maybe even respected him. But one of the things that made Dumbledore so formidable was his intelligence, that ever present sense that he knew exactly what was going on at all times. Could it bee possible to hoodwink the Headmaster? Sighing, James rolled out of bed and silently walked out of the dormitory, descending the stairs into the Gryffindor common room. It wasn't until he was at the bottom of the staircase that he realized someone was standing by the window, gazing out over the castle grounds.

It was Professor Dumbledore.

'Professor?' James asked in surprise.

Dumbledore turned from the window, looking none the worse for wear. If he were tired due to the late hour, he did an exceptional job of hiding it. He tilted his head down to James, peering at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. His eyes twinkled in the light and shadows cast by the gently flickering flames in the fireplace. 'Good morning, James,' he said softly. 'Trouble sleeping?'

James regarded him with wonder. It was as though Dumbledore were here to see specifically him, as though he'd known James would be awake. 'Yeah, actually,' James said. 'You?'

'I actually find this hour to be both extraordinarily restful and productive,' Dumbledore said, moving away from the window to stand by the fireplace. He indicated one of the comfortable chairs to James, who moved over to sit in it. Dumbledore sat across from him. 'My days can be so busy, that I oftentimes find myself struggling to keep up not only with my tasks, but with my thoughts.'

'I think I know the feeling,' James said.

'What's troubling you, James?' Dumbledore asked softly.

James hesitated. 'I think you know the answer,' he replied slowly.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'Do I?' he echoed.

'I'm racking my brain, Professor, and I can't really recall a time where you've been in the Gryffindor Dormitories,' James said.

'Perhaps I have become somewhat transparent in my old age,' Dumbledore said with a soft chuckle. 'Yes, James. I have some inclination of what it is that troubles you.'

'Professor Zharkov spoke to you came and spoke to you, didn't he?' James asked.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'Yes,' he replied. 'He came to me to express concern after your Quidditch Match had ended.'

'So maybe I should be the one asking you; what's troubling you?' James asked.

For a moment, it looked as though Dumbledore were going to burst out laughing. But the moment passed and he looked merely bemused once more. 'You have certainly inherited your father's ability to steer a conversation, James,' he said. 'Many students have passed through these halls, many with a great number of talents. But your father could get anyone to talk about anything he wanted to, and he also possessed the gift of letting that person believe that it was because they wanted to be speaking about that subject that they were indeed speaking of it.'

James wrinkled his eyebrows. 'That sounds complicated.'

'Quite right,' Dumbledore said. 'But your father had mastered that talent from a very young age. And whether you realize it or not, James, it is a talent that you also possess. You are very charming, convincing and charismatic. It is why others look to you as a leader.'

'Is this a compliment?' James asked.

'What else would it be?' Dumbledore replied, his face suddenly an impassive mask.

'A lesson,' James offered.

The impassive mask remained. 'And what lesson could I possibly be here to try and teach you?'

James considered that. 'If others look to me as a leader,' he said slowly, 'and I can convince them to follow my lead…that I might not lead them in the right direction?'

Now, Dumbledore smiled. 'Your father's son,' he said in a manner of fact tone.

'So you think I'm leading people in the wrong direction,' James replied, not feeling as pleased as Dumbledore apparently was.

The Headmaster turned his head and gazed into the gently crackling flames of the fire in the common room. 'I don't know that I can truthfully say that, James,' he said softly. 'The difference between right and wrong is not so clear as it once was. The wrong direction can also sometimes be the right way to go.'

'Now you're confusing me,' James said, rubbing his eyes.

'It is not a wrong path you are seeking, James,' Dumbledore said. 'But an extremely dangerous one. You seek to confront Rochefort—to defeat him.'

James looked squarely at the headmaster. 'Yes,' he replied. 'I do.'

'That is a dangerous journey, James. It will be frought with terrible risk, and possibly terrible costs, as well.'

'Do you plan to stop me?' James asked.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. 'I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts,' he replied. 'My jurisdiction—and therefore my ability to protect my students—lies within the walls of this school. What you do outside of it is, most sadly, beyond my control. But while you are in my school, I feel it prudent to tell you that I do not wish to see any Dark Wizard—Rochefort or otherwise—provoked into attacking my students.'

'I don't want him to come here,' James said.

'You are under the impression that if you issue this challenge, that you will be allowed to set the terms?' Dumbledore asked amiably. 'Rochefort would never allow for that. He has a passion for theatrics; you have successfully exploited that passion in each of your contests to this point. But at some point, James, you must allow for the possibility that Gilles Rochefort will learn from his mistakes and take a much more direct approach in dealing with you.'

James swallowed. His mouth had gone dry.

'You wish to stop a terrible man from doing terrible things, James,' Dumbledore said softly. 'I share this wish. And if there is someone among us who could defeat Rochefort, finally and for all, I believe it would be you. If you seek this contest, I wish for you to know only that he is exceptionally dangerous. And that I wish for none of my students—including you—to fall casualty to his whims.'

'I think I understand,' James said slowly. 'But what if he comes here anyway?'

'I believe the school to be well protected,' Dumbledore said softly. 'I do not take my students' safety lightly.'

James felt like he was pressing his luck, but he and Dumbledore were already venturing down the rabbit hole, so he plunged ahead and ask. 'Did Professor Zharkov know Rochefort?' he asked.

'Yes,' Dumbledore replied simply.

James was taken aback. He hadn't expected Dumbledore to answer that question at all, much less in the affirmative. 'How?' he asked, thunderstruck.

'Those are details, I think, I had best leave to Professor Zharkov to share. If he is so inclined.'

'Do you think we can trust him? Professor Zharkov?' James asked.

'I have told you, James,' Dumbledore said, the faintest trace of an edge entering his voice, 'that I do not take the safety of my students lightly. I would never employ an individual to work in this school whom I do not trust with not only my life, but the lives of my students.'

James looked down. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, but that almost made the comment worse. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to offend you.'

'I am not offended,' Dumbledore said, the edge now gone. 'Ah, James. You sit before me, alternating between emboldened and chastened. I ought to tell you that I find you to be an exceptional young man. I do not think I get to communicate this often enough to my charges,' he said, a smile on his face. 'You are a good person, with a good heart. And you are meaning well. My only true mission in coming to you tonight was to impress upon you that the safety of the students in my care is of utmost importance. I know what you are up to and why, and I do not disagree with your intentions. I only hope that you consider the implications.'

'I will,' James said. 'I—I was being a prat. I won't try to engage Rochefort. Not here.'

'I appreciate that, James,' Dumbledore said.

'But now, I believe I have bent your ear for far too long. If you fall asleep in Professor McGonagall's class tomorrow, I fear I would have a difficult time facing her wrath to explain that it was partially my fault.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said James, who was now beginning to feel tired once more.

'I have to admit some surprise,' Dumbledore said as he escorted James to the bottom of the stairs leading up to his dormitory, 'that you were still awake. I would have thought that with the excitement of the Quidditch Match and the rather rousing party that occurred after, that you would be quite exhausted.'

James smiled. 'In that case, what made you come anyway?'

'I have heard rumors that you enjoy late night chats by the fireplace in this common room,' Dumbledore said.

'Evans,' James said with a sigh.

'Indeed. So as you can see, I had an inclination,' Dumbledore said with another smile.

James let that sink in for a moment. 'She talks to you about me?'

'I believe that those are yet more details that are best left to the other party to share, if they are so inclined,' Dumbledore said.

James chuckled. 'Good night, Professor,' he said and he started up the stairway when he stopped and turned to face him once more, his laugh dying, and his face becoming serious. 'Is there a chance, though, that he could get into Hogwarts?' James asked. 'Rochefort, I mean? Is there a chance…' James gazed fiercely into the Headmaster's eyes. 'That he is already here?'

Dumbledore held James' gaze for a moment, and then looked out the window once more, casting his gaze over the dark school grounds. 'Nothing is impossible, James,' he said in a voice that was barely audible. 'You have been told to keep your wits about you. To stay on alert. Take that advice. I bid you a good night, James,' Dumbledore said, and he turned and strode from the common room, leaving James alone in the dark.

'Yeah,' James said quietly to no one. 'Good night.'