A/N: A random plot bunny hopped through my head… Set after GoF, not OotP compliant. And, look… it's going to be DracoXHarry eventually, but this chapter… well, I gotta set up the concept, right? It'll work out, though. I promise!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not me. No money being made here.

Heavenly James

Chapter One

James sighed. In the fourteen years since Voldemort had killed him, he'd ridden the Phantom Knight Bus all over the United Kingdom, and he was bored.

What's the point of an afterlife if there's nothing to do? No Lily, can't even look in on Harry… At least Dumbledore told me that Harry lived. At least I know my death meant something.

It wasn't like he was alone on the bus. Wizards and witches from all different times were stuck on the bus, careening from Glasgow to Cardiff to London, picking up souls and waiting for a chance to prove they were ready to move on. The first couple years, James had tried talking to the other passengers, but he'd gradually fallen into the same apathy the rest suffered from.

Harry should be starting his fifth year at Hogwarts. I hope it's easier than his last…

That had been a surprise. The bus had been making a pick-up in Bath, and James had suddenly found himself pulled to a graveyard, squeezed through a wand, and face-to-face with his son, and Lily, and they were beautiful but Voldemort was there and there was just no time…

Somehow he'd known what had happened, knew what to say to Harry, and he and Lily had given everything they had to once again protect their son from the Dark Lord. And while there was nothing he wouldn't give his son, seeing Harry for that one brief moment made the tedium of the Phantom Knight Bus so much harder to endure.

A subtle shift in the tone of the engine was all the warning they got, but after so many years—centuries, in some cases—the passengers knew to brace themselves for a stop.

Wonder where we are this time? James looked out the window, frowning at the vaguely familiar town. The Three Broomsticks, Honeyduke's, Zonko's… this is Hogsmeade! It can't be… not Harry! Anyone but Harry…

He started pushing his way towards the front of the bus, ignoring the protests from a wizard in plate armor and a witch with a poodle appliqué running around her wide-skirted robes. When he got to the front, he found the driver—what was his name?—deep in conversation with Albus Dumbledore.

"I knew he wouldn't be with us too long. Work this gig as long as I have, you get a feel for people. Why, just last June, he went and disappeared right off the Bus! Came back with some story about that dark wizard what killed him, and seeing his son again, and I knew right then that he'd be sent off soon."

"Yes, yes. I am very happy to be able to bring him an assignment, especially after he saw his wife again."

"Oh, yes, and hasn't he been missing her every day? Yes, it's the ones with someone waiting for them in Uptown that get their assignments first. Oh, and here he is—James! James Potter, Albus here has great news for you! Great, wonderful news, and—"

"Yes, Michael, and I know how busy you are," Dumbledore said, placing his hand behind James' back and pushing him gently towards the exit. "I wouldn't want to take up any more of your time; I'm sure you must be dreadfully behind."

He was smiling at the driver as he stepped out of the bus, and Michael's reply was abruptly cut off as the door closed and the bus sped off, leaving James standing in the middle of Hogsmeade with Albus.

The old wizard looked at him, eyes twinkling as ever and smiling. James looked back, getting more and more agitated while he waited for Dumbledore to tell him what was up.

"My boy," Dumbledore said finally. "My dear, dear boy."

He fell silent, and James shifted from one foot to the other while he waited for the old man to continue.

"My dear James, it is so very good to see you once again. Of course you saw Harry only a few months ago, so you must know how he takes after you…" The headmaster's voice trailed off, apparently waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

"I saw him. He was fighting Voldemort before he turned fifteen! What are you thinking, putting my Harry in that sort of danger?" Able to vent his anger at the man who should have protected his son, James found it hard to stop once he'd begun. "How could you let him come so close to dying? It was luck; pure, random chance that Harry survived that day! How often have you let danger that close to my son? Why haven't you protected him better—and please, tell me Sirius has said something—"

"Why would Sirius have said anything?" Dumbledore interrupted gently.

"He's Harry's godfather; Harry should be with him…" He stopped, confused at the look of apology in Dumbledore's eyes.

"I'm afraid that it was simply not possible for Harry to live with Sirius Black. Not only was Black incarcerated in Azkaban until he escaped when Harry was thirteen, but the blood sacrifice Lily gave ensures Harry's protection only so long as he considers his home to be with her kin. Harry has been living with Petunia, and so long as he does Voldemort will be unable to kill him. It has been for his protection, James."

James tried to process the information, but… each new piece was more terrible than the last! Sirius was an escaped convict; Harry was with Lily's horrid sister…

"Okay. I sort of get why you'd put Harry with Tuney. I don't like it, but I sort of get it. But what could Sirius have done to get sent to Azkaban? And how did he escape? And—"

"I know you have questions. I will endeavor to answer all of them. But first… You have been selected as being uniquely qualified for a very special and important assignment. It will help Harry, albeit indirectly, but you should not have any contact with Harry. You will be able to see him, but you must understand this, James—you cannot let him know that you're here. I know it will be hard—"

"Hard? To be near Harry, and not be able to tell him that I love him? He's my son, Dumbledore… Could you come up with a crueler fate?"

"Please, James—you will be helping Harry, and you will at least be able to see him. Will you let me tell you about this assignment, or shall I call the Phantom Bus back, and let you wait for your next chance to move Uptown? Of course, there's no telling when that will be…"

Damn him! James felt trapped, wanting to argue with Dumbledore, bargain for a chance to talk with his son, and desperate not to lose what he was being given. In the end, there was only one choice he could make.

"Fine. Tell me about this assignment, and I'll decide if it's really worth it." It'll be worth it… anything would be worth it to be able to watch over Harry.

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again, the corners crinkled with his smile. "Good. Very good, my boy. Well.

"As you must know, having seen Voldemort once again risen to power, the Death Eaters have been regrouping. They are, of course, anxious to strengthen their numbers, and many of them have children around Harry's age. One boy, in particular, has a great deal of influence with his classmates. If he were to turn down the… 'opportunity,' shall we say, I believe many of his friends would follow suit.

"We would like you to prevent this boy from becoming a Death Eater."

"Me? Well, I might… Wait. Who is this boy, and how exactly would I prevent him from following in his parents' footsteps?"

"It would, of course, be entirely up to you to work out the details. Indeed, if I knew how to prevent him from joining, we would hardly need your help. Naturally, you would not be allowed to show yourself to anyone else, but I'm sure you will come up with something. You've always been a bright boy, James." The old wizard was twinkling more than ever.

James felt himself start to puff up at the compliments, then forced himself to ignore the praise in favor of answers. "I'm not agreeing to do this until you tell me who I'm supposed to be helping. And who's on our side—you must have the Order back together again? I'll need to know everything, so I know who my kid can trust."

"Of course, of course. And yes, the Order is active once more. I'm the Secret Keeper for our headquarters—it's number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and you must only use that information in extreme emergencies. Sirius is there, by the way. He was completely innocent of the crime he was accused of, and it's really the safest place for him right now. Lupin's with us, and Moody. Shacklebolt. And a spy in Voldemort's camp—it's how we know that at the end of this year, many of the students here will be offered a chance to join Voldemort. They will be proving their worthiness over the next year, so—"

"So I'll have to work fast. I get it, Dumbledore. It's not all that different than what Lily and I were doing in our seventh year, anyway. Just tell me who I'm supposed to be influencing—"

"I was getting to that, James. I would have thought you'd learn some patience in the last fourteen years." Dumbledore looked at him reproachfully, clearly waiting for something…

Oh, bloody… fine. "I'm sorry, sir. I won't interrupt you again."

"Good. Very good. Where was I? Ah, yes! Our spy is your charge's godfather, so it is important for you to know his identity. It is imperative that you do not endanger his cover—he's been able to warn us of many plots against Harry, and has saved Harry's life more than once. Severus Snape has proven himself invaluable—"

"Severus?" James tried not to interrupt, but couldn't help himself. Of all the people to be grateful to, to have to help, to work with (indirectly, but still...), why did it have to be Snivellus?

"James. He risks much for our cause, and he has protected Harry to the best of his abilities. You must let go of your schoolboy grudges."

"Fine," James said, holding back his sneer. "He's keeping Harry safe, I have no problem with him. But who would ever make him a godfather?"

"The Malfoys. I need you to keep their son from joining the Dark Lord next summer. James Potter, will you accept this task, and all responsibilities relating to it?"

The words had the weight of ceremony, and James couldn't help wincing as he gave the answer dictated by tradition:

"I accept the task offered me, freely and by my own will. I swear by my magic and my love to carry it out, or perish in the attempt."

"Then, James Potter, you are bound to this. If Draco Malfoy has not become a Death Eater by his eighteenth year, your debt will be discharged, and you will be free."

James closed his eyes, feeling the powerful magic bond settling into his soul. It seemed heavier than it should—probably because I'm just a soul, not a whole person—and weighed him down. He had to lighten it…

"Dumbledore?" He kept his voice serious, aware of the deep magic taking up residence in the depths of his soul.

"Yes, James?"

"How can I perish in the attempt? I'm already dead."

James watched the headmaster closely. Dumbledore's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be struggling to breathe. Finally, his eyes opened. "Just go find Draco. Don't fail me, James."

James smiled, and started walking towards Hogwarts. He'd find this Draco Malfoy, and soon… but not before he'd had a chance to see Harry!

xxxxx

As luck would have it, James found Harry and his charge in the same room.

Potions. Disgusting. And Sniv—Severus is teaching it. Git.

The favoritism was obvious. Why didn't Dumbledore stop it? First, Malfoy—should try to think of him as Draco; I have to be nice to the little brat—would hiss insults at Harry, at his housemates, at his friends, and then finally Draco would insult Harry's parents—what did Lily ever do to him? What did I ever do to him?—and then Harry would finally snap. His whisper of "Shut up, Malfoy," was of course noticed by Snape, who had been deaf to Draco's taunts, and Gryffindor would lose points. By the time class was half over, James was shocked to see his house down by fifty points, and Harry in detention for the week. All right, that detention was deserved. Harry shouldn't have shouted at his teacher, no matter how unprofessional and grudge-holding that greasy git was being. Slytherin, on the other hand, was up twenty points. If it weren't for the task James had been set, he'd have set to work haunting Snape, and maybe all the Slytherins, in retaliation for their treatment of his son.

Suppose that would be counter-productive, he thought, floating near the exit as far away from the fumes as he could get. The class was making a particularly noxious potion, and while Lily would have known exactly what it was, James was completely lost. I guess I should try to observe for a bit—get a feel for how much work keeping Draco good will be. If I hadn't promised Dumbledore, I'd give up right now.

It seemed like an impossible task. The child was whiny, spoilt, and had lived under the influence of Lucius Malfoy for fifteen years. But, if Dumbledore thought he could be saved, there had to be a way.

Couldn't give me a hint, though. Oh, no, that would make things easy. And—hey, now, what's this?

James shot to Draco's side, where the blond boy was shooting a rather curious look over at Harry. Harry was ignoring him in favor of completing his potion with help from a witch with rather bushy brown hair, and talking and laughing with a couple boys at the table behind his. And the look on Draco's face was… almost longing. Painful, really. Like a starving man looking at a feast that he couldn't partake of…

James felt an idea bubbling up inside him. He'd felt it before, when he'd known how to help Harry in the graveyard the previous spring. And just as then, he knew what was happening, and what he would have to do.

Draco wants to be part of that. He just doesn't know how.

I have to make Harry his friend.