See previous chapters for disclaimer-type things.
It had taken some work, but he'd managed to convince all involved. He really was James Potter and the father of Harry Potter. And he really was from a dimensional offshoot.
Harry'd explained it to him once, after a night spent in the library... but the Auror barely remembered anything more of the whole drawn out theory than 'different choice, different result, different existence'. He was fairly sure it involved rocks in ponds and ripples or something like that.
They'd given him rooms. Guest rooms that looked disused, but were clean and the fireplace was warm. Not much to complain about, unless one wanted to consider the Weasley parked outside his room as a guard. Charlie if he wasn't wrong, and misremembering the name.
So many people. So many plaques in the main hall comemorating people who hadn't made it. The biggest in the middle had been to Harry Potter-- the Boy Who Died Fighting. The drivel made his lips curl.
Harry wouldn't want to be remembered like that. Maybe the boy was right an he was better off hiding in the past.
Then he saw the pale boy almost hidden in Snape's shadow.
He'd taken a double take. The young man-- not a boy as he'd first thought-- was delicate and frail looking... but beautiful like the last flower hanging on after the first frost.
Silver eyes had lit with surprise, then dulled-- James wasn't who he'd thought he was... Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Harry'd only spoken of him once.
He'd been in one of his resting modes-- he took them every week or so to 'recharge'. The ghost's tone had been soft, pleading, apparently dreaming. It had been startling, hearing the softness of the boy's voice, emotion obvious. He'd sat down, listening for more from the spectre... watching near see-through features for any sign of information...
None had been forthcoming.
But this boy looked like a Malfoy. Even if he did look near to breaking.
"What have you been feeding him, Snivellus?" He sneers as Snape settles at the dining table, the boy on his other side. "Looks about half-starved."
The Potion's Master doesn't respond, making James suspicious. So, being the Gryffindor he was, he simply plowed on, spending a few moments coming up with something else. "It's nice to see that someone isn't celebrating the death of the 'Boy Who Died Fighting'," he comments seemingly idly, drawing a glare of death from the PM and a blink from liquid silver eyes.
He sighs, shaking his head. "Look guys, I just came here to see who survived the war for him. He wants to know before he fades out completely."
The former gryffindor meets unyielding stares and growls, tossing his hands in the air and rising, deciding to make a stand. He was tired of sitting around and helping them rebuild already. "Why have I wasted my time here?!" HE huffs, shaking unruly hair and heading for the door.
"If you people don't bloody well care, then I'll just--" he gasps, colliding with a person just entering.
"James! Thank Merlin I found you!"
The dark haired man blinks owlishly up at the dirty and rumpled visage of Sirius Black, "Why the hell are you here?!"
"Because, James, I've just come from your home... Remus and I found Pettigrew... He.. he destroyed your flat." The auror and animagus frowns, holding out a hand to help his friend up. "And do you know how bloody hard it is to find you?! Hells man! If you were going to do something stupid like this you could have brought me and Moony with you!"