It wasn't exactly blackness.

James had only been "here" – wherever "here" was – for a short while, but he was already quite sure of that. At first, it had seemed like utter, unending darkness, and he'd been a bit afraid of it. And then, after a few minutes, when nothing had happened to him, he'd relaxed, and wondered if he was dead. He found himself surprisingly rational about the idea, considering, though he hoped not, as this place was pretty boring. It was like – like when you close your eyes, and try to see something in the blackness.

"That's a good analogy." Came a voice, sounding oddly familiar, perhaps a little like his father's. "Surprisingly good, actually."

"Um… Hello?" James called out, nervously, to whomever-it-was. He really rather wished he could see.

"But you can." The voice responded.

James was confused, for a moment, before he realized he must have projected his thoughts again.

"No, actually, you didn't. But, yes, I'll stop answering your thoughts. You're quite right - you're not going to be able to sort out a conversation if I don't. And no, that doesn't mean you're easily confused." Came the voice, sounding amused.

James couldn't figure out where to start in his questioning of the other who was here with him. He knew what was foremost in his mind, but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know if he was dead or not. Choosing to go back to his first question, he asked, "Er – you said I could see?"

"Of course. And, to answer your other question – I promise it's the last time I'll do it - you're not dead."

Feeling grossly relieved, though still a little frustrated (after all, if this fellow could read his mind, why not just answer all his questions and have done with it?) James repeated, "Lights, please."

Immediately, the darkness turned to light, as though it had simply been awaiting his command.

"H-h- how did I… Did I do that?"

"Yes, you did that. And you did it by determining that you would, for lack of a better explanation."

"I… I what? Where are… Why am I..."

"I do believe I'll count those as questions." The voice seemed almost to be laughing at him. "We're in your mind. You're able to control things here because, frankly, here isn't anywhere, and if it's anything at all, it's a space that only you can manipulate."

Suddenly, a room came into being around them, and James found himself seated on a plain, dark brown leather sofa, in a rather cozy wood-walled room, with a huge stone fireplace taking up the better part of the wall he was facing. On the other side of the couch was a man that did, indeed, resemble James' father. Perhaps forty-some years old, and regarding him with the same level-but-comfortable Potter gaze that James had thought only his father and uncles were capable of.

Then, realizing something, James put in, "I thought you said no-one but me could do anything here?"

The speaker frowned, considering for a moment, and then amended, "For the most part, they can't. Unless, of course, you allow someone else in, or you have insufficient mental barriers and someone is skilled enough in any of the mind-reading or mind-altering skills to influence some part of what is here. But even then, they cannot create or destroy anything here. They can only influence you towards creating or destroying something yourself."

James felt a little overwhelmed. "But then, how is it that there's a room here? Are you an – exception, or something?"

"I'm you, actually." The man said. "Though, yes, there is one exception. Your bonded – that is, Hermione – can influence things here as well. Except for the fact that –"

"Hang on a second, what? How can you be me?" James asked, then held up a hand to think it all through. "Are you the future-me? The one from the bond?"

"Ah –" At this, the older man gave him a look that was rather shifty. "Sort of."

"It's no point lying to me." James said. "Though I never believed Remus when he said I was so obvious."

Older James smiled sadly. "Yes, listen to Remus." He fixed his gaze determinedly upon his younger self. "He will never lead you wrong, James."

"Of course he won't. None of my friends –"

"You know full well that Peter will turn traitor. But don't let it cause you to doubt your other friends. Now and again, Sirius will do something stupid, I'll give you that. But you can always trust Remus, do you hear me?"

"Alright." Younger James replied. He couldn't really think of anything else to say to that. Instead, he changed the topic. "So, you made this room, then?" He asked, curious.

"Of course. You could have made it, as well, but I thought it would save us some time, while you come to an understanding of all this–" He waved his hand expansively, indicating their environment. "Otherwise, it might have taken all day, just to have four walls and a place to sit down."

James Potter the younger blushed furiously. "Hey, now, you're me, you're not allowed to crack jokes about my mental capabilities!" He said defensively.

"Nothing wrong with your capabilities, just your desire to learn. And don't even bother protesting, you know you'd rather be playing Quidditch."

The response to this was a half-hearted shrug, but then the younger James stiffened. "You can't be me." He said, sharp and accusing.

"Oh, and why not?" The other James said, sounding curious.

"Because I died at Nineteen. I can't remember quite all of it, but I know that much."

"That's quite right." The older James got that same, shifty look.

"Out with it."

"Well, I'm not exactly you from the… well, it's not really going to be the future, not anymore, but from – I could say from your new memories, perhaps. And – well, it doesn't really have a great deal to do with the bond."

"So you're me from the real future?"

Another shifty look was the reply, but younger-James would have none of it, and glared at him.

"Oh, alright, fine, I'll tell you, but it's not going to be easy to explain."

"So, who are you?"

"I'm still you."

Younger James snorted. "Right. Because I'm a forty year old man."

"I'm not forty, either."

"Huh?" Was young James' eloquent reply.

"I'm sort of – your spirit, I guess you could say."

"What do you take me for?" Young James demanded. "If you were my spirit, then I'd know the same things you know."

Older-James sighed. "I told you it wouldn't be easy to explain. I'm your spirit, but I'm not inside of the timeline, like you are. Well, actually, I am, for right now, but in - general, I'm not."

The response to this was a very confused look.

"A person's spirit exists outside of time. When you're born, you "enter" the time line, and become subject to its constraints – for the most part. But your spirit still exists outside of this – er… "this". And your spirit doesn't ever change – it's you, that fundamental part of yourself that makes you who you are."

"So… you're saying people don't change?"

"No, that's not it at all. People change, but their spirits don't. Life as you know it is based on time, and time allows different aspects of a person to show separately, by their choices, instead of all of them being seen at once. It breaks things down into events, interactions, that allow for things like "change". But even inside of the timeline, one person, presented with a specific situation, will only make one choice, and, if presented the exact same circumstances again, would make the choice the same way – that's what makes a person an individual, and it's those choices that … define… the spirit itself."

"So Hermione's whole thingy about other dimensions is wrong?"

"Unfortunately, yes, her theory is incorrect. Don't go spoiling it and telling her right away, though. She'll find it out on her own, in a few… in a while. Besides which, she needs to believe that, just now. She's having rather a hard time with leaving everyone and everything behind, as well as with suddenly being the "leader" of your little group. She needs to think that there's a way for it all to go back to normal."

"I don't believe that she's having so hard a time of it. It seems like she's used to bossing everyone around. Granted, Harry's a bit younger, for the moment, but she was telling him what to do, even before he drank that potion."

"She's only used to leading when it comes to things that demand thinking through – which their recent situation most definitely has. In most things, Hermione's used to being lead by my – by, er, "our" son. Even though right now, if Harry were in his right form, she'd be researching, planning and plotting, it would be him that would tell her which plan to actually go with, or what to actually do with this or the other bit of research. She'd have the comfort of not really being in charge, if you see what I'm saying."

"I guess I do." There was a long pause of silence, while young James sorted everything out, filing away this and that. "Still, I don't think you brought me here just for that."

Older James laughed. "Well, actually, I didn't 'bring' you anywhere at all. If you remember, you fell about fifty feet from a broomstick."

"Oh. Er – yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Still, I can't imagine you came to talk to me just to pass the time."

"Mostly, actually, that was the reason." He shrugged. "I also came to teach you a bit about yourself, give you a bit of advice, and give you a bit of help with your new abilities, so you're not unconscious all week."

"You're going to train me how to use them?"

"Oh, no." Older James said, grinning. "That's against the rules – I can't do that. You have to find most of that out on your own. Though –" his grin turned mischievous, "I imagine you'll have a bit of help."

"Wait a minute. What do you mean, 'imagine'? If you're really outside of time, then you already know what's going to happen, don't you?"

"Can't tell you that." Looking decidedly uncomfortable, he added, "Actually, I wasn't supposed to tell you much of what I did, either. I was really just supposed to help you. But" And here he grinned again, "We've never been so good with rules. I can't tell you the future, though. Otherwise, something might change – and then you get a time paradox, and –" James broke off, and snorted. "Just ask Hermione, alright? She'll even enjoy the explaining."

Younger James was willing to take his other-self at his word (or something like that. Referring to himself was getting confusing). Really, though, he'd had enough theory for one day. It was almost as bad as classes. "So, about my new powers…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Of all the idiotic, foolish, idle-minded things to do, I can't believe I–"

"Don't, Hermione. You're not going to get anything accomplished that way." Remus responded, collapsed forward, hands-on-knees, trying to catch his breath, but still panting from the long run carrying James. They'd brought him straight up to James' room, considering it was the only place they could settle him on a couch, where they could keep an eye on him, which still offered some privacy.

"Dumbledore's on his way." Neville cut in, pulling his head from the fireplace. "It'll be fine, Hermione, the Headmaster will sort everything out. You'll see."

"But I should never have shut him out!" Hermione responded, beginning to pace in the space between the three couches and the fireplace, as though these made up the walls of a cage she couldn't wait to be free of.

"'Nuff." Sirius grunted. He was sprawled on the floor, taking great, gasping breaths in an attempt to recover from his run; obviously, a great deal more out-of-breath than Remus, not having the advantage of being a werewolf. "Wha's – wrong - withim?" He squeezed out, between breaths.

Remus would have grinned at his friends' predicament, and his half-breathless sentences, but the situation was entirely too serious – and Hermione's nervous pacing and incoherent ramblings weren't helping any. "Hermione!" Stopping the girl from her pacing, he turned her to face him, forcing her to look him in the eye. "What's wrong with James?"

"Overload." Hermione said, simply, as though that explained it all. Over her shoulder, Remus could see Neville nod as though this made sense, flopping down on the couch opposite James'.

Letting go of the nervous girl, who immediately returned to her pacing, Remus merely stared at Sirius in confusion.

"Overload?" He ventured.

"It means that your young friend has encountered a new ability, and has not yet adjusted to its presence." Came a steady voice from the doorway.

"Professor! Is it permanent? Is he going to be alright?" Peter asked, jumping up.

"James will be just fine, Mr. Pettigrew." Remarked the headmaster, settling himself onto the remaining couch. "We simply have to wait for him to… become accustomed to his new ability. It may take a while for him to sort things out."

Remus breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing the normally level-headed Hermione unhinged like that was more than somewhat disconcerting, especially when his friend was at risk.

"I must ask, though." The professor continued, peering over his spectacles. "Why it is Mr. Potter encountered such a situation in the first place."

Hermione froze mid-pace. "I …I… Professor, I, I mean –"

"It was my understanding" Dumbledore continued, in a voice of deep, eternal patience, "that you were aware of the risks of this venture. It was also my understanding that you would be keeping careful eye on the situation."

"I'm sorry." Hermione's voice came out as a whisper. "I just – sir, I don't know what to do, without Harry's advice."

"That is neither here nor there, Miss Granger. You put a young man's life in danger today, needlessly. That action was entirely of your own doing, and you cannot place the blame on any other."

Hermione merely bowed her head, meekly. It seemed as though she believed that assessment entirely. Remus could hardly agree. If this whole thing was anyone's fault, it was James'. James ought to have known better than to go out flying, of all things, in the middle of a life-and-death situation, only barely having completed a blood-magic bonding ceremony the day before.

"I'm afraid you children haven't been taking this bond seriously enough. I expected better, especially of you, Miss Granger. From now on, you will inform me of every potential development with the bonds. I also wish to be present for all of the future bonding ceremonies, until such time as you've proven I can trust you."

All four boys looked taken aback at this news. It was a rare thing for the Headmaster to express disappointment, even when his students got up to a great deal of mischief – as the Marauders were well aware. For him to outright say that he no longer trusted a student … something serious, life threatening or perhaps even worse, must have occurred. Hermione was obviously aware of this, however, as she looked ready to break down and sob.

"Professor." Remus found himself saying. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh? She didn't mean any harm."

"Mr. Lupin, I don't believe you grasp the situation. Should Ms. Granger not have attempted to re-establish her connection with Mr. Potter exactly when she did, not only might he have killed himself, but the mental backwash might well have driven everyone near him to insanity or even their own deaths. No matter her intentions, her actions were irresponsible. In the very least, I should have been made aware of a developing telepath within the walls of my school."

The room was silent for a moment, and the voice that broke that silence wasn't one that Remus had expected. "Sir, not to be disrespectful" Neville began, quietly, but with a hint of determination "but is there really anything you could have done about it?"

Dumbledore's gaze focused upon the normally shy boy, and didn't respond immediately, fixing him with a look that was so utterly piercing that most would have looked away without second thought. Surprisingly, Neville merely stared right back. After several moments of such, an expression of vague unbalance flashed across the headmasters' face, though only for an instant, before he spoke again. "The safety of the students within these walls is my responsibility. Placing the lives of those students in the hand of a child –"

Neville looked positively incensed. "She isn't a child, sir. Nor am I. We aren't –"

Remus was shocked when the Headmaster interrupted.

"You aren't capable of handling adult responsibilities, Mr. Longbottom. Nor is she. A barely twelve year old –"

The older man was obviously beginning to lose his temper, even if only slightly, and it was a sight the young werewolf had never thought he'd see.

"She's not twelve, sir. She's sixteen – seventeen or eighteen, actually, if the time-turner she's been carrying around these last few years is taken into account. And she's seen more in her life than most of the adult wizards of this time could claim. Not to mention that we, both of us, have been handling adult responsibilities, as full members of the Order, since the beginning of this summer. And we both, she more than I, have proven competent."

"Whether or not –"

Still not having raised his voice, Neville cut him off again. "I'm not quite finished, sir. While you may know more, and have more experience, in the end, the only one with a telepathic connection to James Potter is Hermione. You were also the one that suggested they perform the bond on their own, and you are the one who has left Hermione to sort all this out by herself. This, when you knew full well she was still dealing with both the strain of losing her entire world, and then the added problem of losing, in most senses, the only friend she still had with her. If you wanted to be involved, it was your responsibility to make that clear, and to be here."

Remus was rather surprised – if this boy was supposedly so much like Peter, such a tirade was simply unbelievable. But what he couldn't stop staring at was Hermione, who, in turn, was staring at Neville. Her mouth was just slightly open – not the dropped jaw of over-emphasized shock, but the slack expression of someone who is truly overwhelmed by the information suddenly presented. Slowly, though, she seemed to pull herself together, her expression becoming a mixture of surprise, pride, and concern.

Dumbledore regarded them each, in turn, quite seriously. "You are correct, Mr. Longbottom. In the end, the only one capable of handling this situation is Ms. Granger."

Hermione breathed a soft sigh of relief – one so soft that Remus was quite sure he was the only one to hear it. Straightening herself, she looked the headmaster in the eye. Remus was surprised to see an odd look flit across her face, of surprise and a vague sense of discomfort, which settled in anger.

Surprisingly, Professor Dumbledore then broke eye contact, his eyes falling instead, then, to the figure on the couch. "Mr. Longbottom is quite correct, Miss Granger. In this case, you are the only one capable of accessing Mr. Potter's thoughts. There is really very little that I can do, here."

Remus found himself disconcerted by whatever Dumbledore had done that was bothering Hermione. He was also rather upset by the fact that the Headmaster was both unwilling to once more meet the girl's gaze, and was seemingly both unable to do anything for James, and perfectly willing to once more leave everything to Hermione. Much as he thought Hermione capable, he did think that Neville had a point about the stress she was under. Although, if Dumbledore couldn't … "If you can't access his thoughts, how do you know he'll be alright, Professor?"

Hermione smiled at him weakly. "Because I'm still alive."