Hey. Here's my first little drabble. I am still writing my other story, if you're reading it – which you're probably not – but I've had a kind of writers' block and this came into my head – partly influenced by a picture I've seen – so I wrote it. I have written the next chapter of my other one now and I'm editing it so it should be up in the next few days.

So, starting with James. I kind of feel bad for him because for some reason I always imagine him as really mean but I don't think he seems that way in this.

I'm not sure about the title, so if you think of a better one, tell me.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter = Not mine.

Yes, there was a broad grin on James' face as he walked into the office. And, no he wasn't at all nervous as he stood waiting. The headmaster would be here soon, he had been told; maybe that should have made him worry. After all, he wasn't exactly here to be given a hundred house points. But he couldn't. All he could do was swell with pride at having managed to do something cool enough to get sent to the Headmaster's office in just his first year of school. In just his first month actually. And it wasn't as if what he'd done was that bad: probably just the kind of thing his namesakes – or his awesome uncles – would have done. That thought only made him swell with more pride.

He had been so proud, in fact, that he hadn't been able to take in the office immediately, but now he looked, he realised it looked magnificent. The desk and little tables, littered with fantastically elegant objects – including, in one case, a battered copy of a book called Lord of the Rings – the sorting hat, which had put him in Gryffindor a few weeks ago, earning a vast amount of respect from him; Gryffindor's sword – his dad had told him about that. The things that interested him the most, though, were the pictures, sleeping portraits lining the walls, filling a large amount of the circular room.

"Hm. It looks like another one of the Weasleys has decided to grace this office with their presence. I don't pretend I'm surprised," James whipped around, startled: he had been told the pictures didn't wake up, but glaring down a slimy-looking nose at him was a sour looking man. A vase of lilies graced his dark painting with a lonely splash of colour. Obviously, he had recognised the red hair.

"Well, technically, sir, I'm not a Weasley. I'm a Potter. But my mum was a Weasley,"

This seemed to only make the man even grumpier. "Well aren't I lucky to be in your company, Mr Potter. I'm even less surprised that you've found your way here: Potters seem to have an unfortunate attraction to trouble. I suppose you're just like your father and your grandfather," as he spoke, his eyes met James', seeming to study them for a second, then flicked quickly away, deliberately not meeting them again, but James ignored it, consumed by pride at the comparison he had made.

"Yes. Everyone says I'm like my grandfather. Well, everyone who knew him. And I'm quite like my dad too, but-"

The portrait cut him off "Arrogant toerags, the both of them. Your father may have had some shred of decency but if you're anything like them, I don't look forward to seeing you again," and he was going back to sleep before James realised he had finished speaking.

"Wait! You're Professor Snape aren't you? My dad wasn't an arrogant toerag. He named my little brother after you, but now I've met you, I wish he hadn't," he couldn't be sure that the picture had heard. By the time he'd finished, the sleep looked very convincing, but he had thought he saw a flicker pass across Snape's face as he had spoken.

Quickly, James abandoned his thoughts as he heard footsteps: the headmaster was finally approaching and as he did, a shred of worry finally made it into James' head, even as he told himself that what he did was worth it. But before the footsteps reached the door, he thought he heard a slight chuckle from a dozing, silver haired painting, and the portrait he had been speaking to allowed thoughts to pass through his head, wondering whether there was something behind what James had said, or whether it was just some twisted version of the old Potter arrogance.

Reviews would be awesome if you like. If you do want to read my other story, It's called Three Questions and Their Answers.