AN: VERY LAST CHANCE TO VOTE!

Thank you again to all you lovely people who have followed and reviewed and all that! Keep your eyes open for part two; it may appear when you least expect it...

-IrrLog

The corridors, James had always noticed, sounded hollow when all the students left. It was worse than night-time; at night, the castle merely slept. Now it seemed to ache and moan for its missing occupants.

His footsteps rang against the stone and the portraits turned to look at him. He had always hated the dungeons; he avoided them whenever he could. It brought back altogether too many memories, for one thing. But he had to know for sure.

He rapped three times on the door; even his knock boomed oddly in the stillness. Thank God I'm off for Godric's Hollow in an hour, he thought, thinking of his walk into Hogsmeade in the summer sunshine. Maybe he'd stop for a pint at the Three Broomsticks.

"Enter," said a voice inside.

The office was in a state of painfully organised chaos. It looked like a cubist painting—random stacks of books and papers dotted the room in precise little arrangements without a page out of place; a rectangular trunk stood open in the corner and sharply creased robes and shirts and shoes had been fitted in to the corners with geometrical efficiency; even the bags and alphabetised lines of Potions ingredients and equipment had a square look.

"Ah, Professor Potter," said Arbutus, straightening up. His dark eyes gleamed from behind his spectacles.

"Hello, Professor," said Coach casually. "How are things?"

"Things are rather haphazard at the moment. I am packing. Did you wish to see me about something?"

"I guess I did." James looked at the floor and bit the inside of his cheek. "I just wanted to know…well, that Malfoy boy said you went to fetch Snape, that you wanted to keep him safe."

"Naturally."

"How did you know he was in danger?"

"When I heard that an owl had arrived for Dumbledore summoning him to London, I remembered your suspicions about the Stone's safety. I had also made note of the fact that you seemed very anxious of late about the boy Snape, and recalling several other details of the past few months, I put, as they say, two and two together."

"Did Dumbledore confide in you?"

"A little, yes."

"Trusts you, I guess."

"Of course." Arbutus looked puzzled. "May I ask to what these questions tend, Professor? You see, I am quite occupied with…"

"If you wanted to keep him safe, how come you led him right to Quirrell?" James demanded, finally looking up. "I saw you…I mean, where you were…you could have been taking him any number of places, it wouldn't have taken that long to get him out of harm's way, but you didn't get him out of harm's way, all you did was get him away from everyone else. Why? Why?"

"Are you implying that I was somehow associated with the plot?" asked Arbutus, quite calmly.

"No," said James. "No. That's what I thought at first. And then I thought…well, I thought a lot of things. But it seems to me you really care about Harry. And you must have known that Voldemort couldn't hurt him, Dumbledore would have told you, and if you'd wanted to hurt him yourself you'd have just done it as soon as you got him away from prying eyes. And then I realised…there is an explanation that makes sense. I didn't want it to. But it makes everything make sense."

There was a long silence. Arbutus and James looked at each other, and as they did, as he looked into those dark eyes glittering with intellect and pride and dignity—in that moment, James was sure.

"You?" he said, but it wasn't really a question.

Arbutus lifted his head.

"Good day, Professor. I hope you have a pleasant holiday."

James didn't reply. He swallowed once, turned on his heel, and left the office, his robes flapping behind him.

END PART I