A/N: Well this is it, the last chapter before I run out of the prewritten stuff and start posting new stuff again (yay!). This may mean that updating times are longer again (exams, school etc - I'm sure you've read it before). Enjoy!

James slept in the next morning, taking advantage of the lack of lessons. There was nothing he needed to be present at until the afternoon, so in the late morning, after a leisurely breakfast in the kitchens, he went outside to think. His favourite place was a spot overlooking the lake, back to an ancient tree growing next to it and hidden from general view by the reeds and willow trees that surrounded his small clearing. It was a sunny but chilly day, crisp air making it pleasant, although he noted that very few unaccompanied students were around.

After a while, he had drifted off into a kind of trance, mind lost in his imagination. He snapped awake as he heard rustling footsteps behind him.

"I'm sorry," the arrival said after a few seconds, sounding apologetic. "I didn't realise someone was here."

James turned to see a tall man, close on 6'6", looking at him curiously. His hair was neatly trimmed and orange and he was wearing blue dress robes.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm not doing anything important, Mr Weasley."

"How?"

"You look like your brothers," James explained, only Ron wouldn't have worked that one out. "I'm James Evans."

"Ron Weasley."

They shook hands.

"So, you teach here then? I think Charlie mentioned you."

"Yes, Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's . . . different. Not what I expected at all, but then, nothing would be really. I'm coaching the veteran Quidditch team this year."

"Now I remember."

"So, why are you out here?" James asked. He was curious, and thought that Ron would probably tell him even if he was a complete stranger, for a sympathetic ear. There was no way his old friend would have been caught out of bed at this time when he didn't have to be. Still, they weren't teenagers any more. Time had moved on, though sometimes he wished it hadn't.

"Hermione - my wife - gave me my instructions. It's my turn to do the speech this year about Harry."

"Harry Potter?"

"Yes. We were friends in school. We've organised it amongst us so that its always one of his friends who speaks about him, who knows what a Ministry official would say, and this year its my turn. What's worse no one's willing to help me write it."

"I didn't know him, of course," James said. "But what do you think he would have thought of all this, the holiday in honour of him, the speeches and everything."

Ron thought for a moment.

"He'd have hated it, really. All the media around and the attention. He just wanted to be a normal kid at school. A three day festival, well, he'd probably have left the country!"

"There you go, you've got something to talk about."

"Huh?"

"People aren't interested it what he did, you can read that in any history book if you didn't already know. They want to know what he was like. If he didn't like the attention, tell us."

"Were you a Ravenclaw in school?"

"I didn't come to Hogwarts," James lied easily. "But I was in Merlin House at University, two years behind Draco."

"You know Malfoy, then?"

"How many Dracos do you know?"

Ron laughed. James grinned, yes, he was older, taller, more confident and much better looking, but he was still the same.

"You know, you reminded me of him for a minute, when I first came down. We used to come here a lot when we were in school."

"So I looked like Harry Potter?" James asked, amused.

"Well, it was just at first, from the back. You've got black hair, and you were sitting the same way. Now I see you properly, its not such a strong resemblance. You look older, and your eyes are different."

"Everyone tells me I look like Salazar Slytherin," he said absently, knowing what the reaction would be.

"Nah, everyone knows Slytherin was a Dark Wizard. He looked more like You-Know-Who. Anyway, Fred and George say you're coaching the veterans' Quidditch team. Do you play a lot?"

"Sure, Seeker mostly, or beater. I'm not bad, really. You?"

"Keeper. It was the only position not taken when I played Quidditch with my family, and I guess I just got to like it."
"What do you think about the Chudley Cannons' chances this season?"

That afternoon, James took his seat in the teachers' area of the Quidditch stands. All around him were witches and wizards from all houses, all countries and all walks of life. Some were school children, some were ancient old men, scarcely walking, but making this pilgrimage of sorts to honour their dead family and friends.

Severus looked irritated as he sat down.

"Damn travesty," he muttered.

"What?"

"Do you know how many people aren't on their list? Mostly the victims who came from the old, pureblood families normally classed as dark. Narcissa Malfoy for one."

"The joys of our ministry," James said. "Shh now, I haven't seen this before."

Albus Dumbledore was standing in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, dressed in his best formal robes, flanked by Arthur Weasley (the Minister for Magic), and Magnus Stebbins (an Unspeakable). Casting a quick sonorus charm, he looked around at the stands. He spoke for a while on the war and the efforts of people to end it, then was passed a large roll of parchment.

"Now I ask you for silence as I read the names of those who lost their lives during the first rising of Voldemort."

James closed his eyes, thinking about the memories each familiar name brought up. He was surprised to hear the names Harold and Margaret Potter and Simon and Rosemary Evans read out one after the other. They were probably his grandparents, together when they died. At last, Dumbledore neared the end of an impossibly long list. James was sober, he hadn't realised before quite the scale of the deaths.

"Fabian Prewitt, Gideon Prewitt, James Potter, Lily Potter," he finished, looking up at them once more. "And it was the sacrifice of Lily Potter, the mother of Harry Potter, which defeated Voldemort and allowed us thirteen years of relative peace. After that time, Voldemort rose again and his second rising began. His first casualty was Cedric Diggory, then came . . ."

James stopped listening. He knew of all of these deaths, and relived many of them in his nightmares. He didn't need this reminder to remember them. Cedric, Sirius, Seamus - they all haunted his mind.

"Dean Thomas, Emmeline Vance, Alastor Moody and finally Harry Potter, the boy who killed Voldemort, destroyed him and died, we presume, from using up his life energy in the last blast of magic that saved us all. Now, let us have a minute's silence while we think of those we lost."

The huge crowd, wizards and muggle parents alike, was quiet. Not a baby stirred. When the headmaster spoke again, he had their complete attention, not that he'd ever been lacking it.

"Before we end and go to prepare ourselves for the banquet to come, Arthur Weasley, a former Order of the Phoenix member and our current minister of Magic, has asked to say something."

"Thank you Albus," Mr Weasley said, his voice, though quieter, still carrying. "I fought through both wars and have never regretted it. Should I have been called on to do so, I would gladly have given my life. However, I was not. It does not do to dwell overmuch on those who have passed away, but we should always be aware of the sacrifice they made. They wanted us to have a peaceful life, free from fear, and that it what we must strive to do. In their memory, we must do our utmost to prevent the rising of new Dark Lord, so that their deaths were not in vain. Thank you."

Thoughtfully, James back down to his dungeon rooms to think, reading to try and escape from the gruesome memories the afternoon had recalled. Thinking back he, like Severus, noted the large gaps in the list. He would have thought Albus would have done better, but maybe the list had been compiled by Fudge's ministry There was no way of knowing and, as he had once been told, it did not good to dwell on dreams.