Mischief Not Managed Yet

Chapter 11: James Potter

Harry and James Potter were strolling through the castle's hallways, trying to catch up on all the lost time.

It had been Remus' idea, actually, that everyone would separate to talk to their respective relatives. Remus was catching up with Andromeda, Fred was spending time with his family, James was with Harry and only Sirius was still in the common room, waiting for Hermione. He had instructed Harry to spend privat time with his father first, then he could catch up with his 'good old godfather'.

Harry and James both hadn't spoken up yet, after agreeing to Remus' plan.
But at last, James broke the silence. The ghost had racked his brain, trying to think of something nice to say. He didn't want to ruin things, so he wanted to be careful with his words.
"I am so proud of you, Harry."

According to Harry's smile, James didn't say something wrong, so he continued.
"And I'm so sorry for everything you've had to go through, alone."

"I wasn't alone," Harry interjected, without thinking too much. He was nervous, but he thought that a normal conversation was better than constantly trying to think of something to say. "I've always had Ron and Hermione by my side. And Mr and Mrs Weasley take care of me as if I am their child. Of course I missed you, but I wasn't alone."

Although James knew almost everything about Harry's life, including that, he was relieved to hear Harry say that. Not because he didn't know that Harry's friends and the Weasleys cared for him, but because James still hadn't known whether Harry had felt lonely despite his company.

"And I am so thankful for them," James added, smiling at Harry. "They've all taken very good care of you. Lily and I couldn't have done it better." Too late, James realised what he had said. His smile dropped and a curious, yet a little sad expression appeared on Harry's face.

"She's not with you because Hogwarts' ghosts haven't invocated her spirit, is she?"

James' gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry. She would've loved to talk to you properly."

"Properly?" Harry repeated. "Does that mean that my previous encounters with your spirits have actually happened to you, too?"

James scrunched his eyebrows and returned his gaze towards his son. "Why, of course. You've met our ghosts, and that's literally what I am right now." They stopped and James looked Harry straight in the eyes. "I remember your first real duell with Voldemort and I remember the talk we've had when you'd used the stone of resurrection. And even when you didn't see my spirit, I've always looked over you. Which is why I know of your adventures and why I am so fricking proud of you."

Harry smiled at his father. His vision was blurry, but Harry didn't care. His father was actually there. His ghost, at least. To Harry, it didn't matter how, all he could think of was the fact that his father was here to stay. He wouldn't disappear again, for the first time ever in Harry's life. The feeling was indescribable. "Thanks, dad."
The only thing missing was the ability to hug.

"I know you've heard it a lot," James smiled and traced the air very close to Harry's cheek. He didn't touch him. "But you really do have your mother's eyes." Then a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. "And my father's and grandfather's and great-grandfather's hair." His transparent hand glided through Harry's messy black hair. If James concentrated enough, he could almost feet it tickle his hand.

Harry's smile widened. He had the possibility to ask questions that he didn't even know he'd had! "What were they like?" He asked, curious. "My grandparents, I mean."

James smiled, lost in memories. "They were wonderful. Fleamont and Euphemia, in case you didn't know their names. They were quite old when they had me, and they were so happy they had managed to get a child that they spoiled me quite a bit. In hindsight, maybe a little too much. I had the best childhood, and they didn't even ask questions when Sirius randomly appeared on our doorstep and asked if he could stay with us. But my dad caught the Dragon Pox and passed them on to my mother when I was nineteen. They didn't make it, but they would've loved to meet you."