When the boys approached the Castle, Hugo stopped Lysander. He asked him how on Earth they were going to sneak in to McGonagall's office unnoticed. Lysander shrugged, and suggested hiding behind the statue.

"We could borrow James' cloak?" Hugo suggested. Lysander paused. He was getting tired, and round about this time Mopsy was supposed to have her afternoon snack. Lorcan used to tease him and say she was getting fat, but Lysander had claimed it was just her winter coat.

"We should speak to James." Said Lysander with a sigh. "You and I are not cut out for sneaking around at dark. Myrtle was easy enough to fool, but I don't think we'd get even close to trucking McGonagall. And we only got to talk to the Centaurs by being honest. What are we going to do, just tell her everything?" Lysander moaned exasperatedly.

"They don't have to know about Lorcan, you know." Prompted Hugo, kindly.

Lysander had always been surprised at Hugo's tact, when most of the Weasleys, although lovable, were totally tactless. Hugo was sensitive, sensible, and a highly underrated character, in Lysander's opinion. But then he knew the rest of the world called him a bore.

The two of them made their way to the Gryffindor common room, and Hugo let him through to portrait to see James, who was chatting on the sofa with a few of his friends.

"James," announced Hugo, when he realised Lysander wasn't about to say anything.

"We need to talk."

In the following discourse, the two relayed the events of that afternoon to James.

"So let me get this straight, some Centaurs told you that Dumbledore knows the answers to our problems?"

"Well not exactly,"

"Fred, grab the cloak!" He called a little dramatically, before dismissing Lysander. Lysander couldn't have been more glad when in he stepped out of the portrait, and as soon as he got back to the Hufflepuff common room he fell asleep on the armchair with Mopsy nestled in his neck.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was nearly five o'clock when James, wrapped in his grandfather's invisibility cloak, map in hand, stood beneath the staircase that ascended to the Head's office. He had been waiting there for twenty minutes, and was starting to think he should try again tomorrow when two little black feet appeared on the map, labelled "Minerva McGonagall".

He had done this sort of thing a hundred times before, but it still gave him a rush each time. As McGonagall approached the Gargoyle, James stepped out swiftly by instinct. He now stood behind her, lips pursed together so she didn't feel the sensation of warm breath on the back of her neck. The thought of it made James wince.

When he returned his attention from that rather uncomfortable scenario, he realised he had missed the password, and McGonagall was stepping into the shaft. Out of pure instinct, he leapt onto the rising step. With a wobble, he managed to steady himself, but his heart was in his throat.

Well, that was his plan out of the window. He was going to catch the password, return at night with Cecily and Fred. Bugger that, he'd have to figure this one out alone.

Following the Headmistress through the door, he crept through the room, taking the sound of the portraits greeting McGonagall as an opportunity to find a hiding spot, beneath and old wooden cabinet. Cramped, Crammed up against the furniture, he began his wait, looking at the map to see when she'd retreated to her Quarters.

It seemed like hours later, when James was shocked back to reality. He'd fallen partially asleep, but he couldn't tell for how long. The room was dark now, which meant they were at least in to the evening hours. Stifling a grunt, he peered at the map. McGonagall was out of sight of the office. Shedding the cloak, James stepped out in to the office, ignoring the disapproving looks from the portraits.

"Just like your father, and his father. Up to no good" said a disapproving voice. James' head snapped around, but given the look upon the wizards' faces, it could have been any one of them. Eyeing the brass plaques on the bottom of the portrait, he finally found one that read 'Albus Dumbledore' and looked up, but his chair was empty.

"Dumbledore?" James asked, sheepishly, but there was no response.

James turned around, at a loss of how to summon him. He then took his wand out, and with a flick, shook the portrait gently. From the bottom corner of the painting, something purple emerged.

"I was just fetching my sherbet lemons," said a sagacious and surprisingly curious voice. He emerged from the bottom of the frame, popping a little yellow sweet through his thick white beard. James felt as though he knew him, but they had never spoken. He was one of the most infamous wizards of his age, and his father often talked about him.

"Hello James Potter, what can I do for you? I must say, you've grown. You look much like your grandfather; it's awfully curious. Did you know?"

James' eyebrows raised. He'd forgotten to expect pure eccentricity. "Uh, no." He responded, "don't think I've met anyone who actually knew grandad."

"Nonsense! You've met me, for starters. And I can tell this is far from the first time I've received an uninvited visit from a Potter, far from it."

James couldn't help but smile. He had an odd charisma too him, despite being half mad by the sounds of things.

"Well, actually, I've come to ask about the Centaurs, or what you might have learned from them?"

"Our forest-dwelling neighbours are very wise, you know. Much wiser than I ever assumed in my lifetime. It is such a shame portraits can't make journeys in to the woods. What is this concerning?" He asked, his blue eyes shining with a hint of solemnity.

"There's a movement, run by Selwyn. It's not good. Hogwarts is at risk."

Dumbledore nodded gravelly. "I knew there would be another, and the first time I saw that boy in this office I knew it would be him. But my time to act has passed. One finds meddling too much in the life of students can cause more harm than good." Said Dumbledore, looking down.

"As for centaurs," he said, breathing in. "Magorian and I had discourse many years ago about the harmony between Hogwarts and his heard. He was not particularly friendly. Hagrid has had much better luck, you'll find. And then there was Firenze, he was by far the most communicative. But Hagrid tells me he is with the stars now. Out with the old, and in with the new, eh!" He said with a warm wink.

James hadn't expected this to be so difficult. His dad had always described Dumbledore as the wisest man he ever knew. James was struggling to grasp it.

"You went through a lot." He offered, meditatively.

"C'est la vie, my boy." He said with a distant smile, popping another sweet into his mouth. "You want me to take a guess? I'd say the answer you're looking for, or rather, the 'person', is much closer than you think. There is many a wise face amongst your friends, James, don't forget that. Try me, only a little greener and far less handsome!" He declared, before stepping out of his chair and leaving the frame. James called out a few times, but to no avail; he was clearly gone for good.

How his Dad dealt with this on a daily basis, he did not know.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Question: who do you think Dumbledore is talking about?