So, I was struck by some random inspiration today and wrote some more! (:

I know that it kind of shifts randomly between past and present tense, so... yeah. D:

Harry James Potter, otherwise known as the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One, paused at a shelf. His bright green eyes narrowed in concentration as he browsed leisurely through a section of books in a store in Muggle London. Harry had always made fun of Hermione for her love of them, but after everything that had happened lately he'd found himself turning to them as well.

Not that he would admit to anyone, even Ginny, but they provided a nice escape. He didn't care how childish it sounded at the moment.

Having decided that his mood was too melancholy to buy anything, Harry started making his way outside the store when he noticed a young Hispanic woman staring at him. She was very pretty; big, dark brown eyes, wavy dark hair and skin greeted him from the front door. But what she said made his heart clench and eyes widen as she whispered,

"James?"

He doesn't know what to say, what to do. There was no denying that between James and Albus, it was the former who everyone said looked the most like him. If someone didn't know any better...

He hasn't seen is firstborn in what felt like years, and his heart aches at the thought of James.

The girl was clearly very intuitive, as she quickly revised, "You know James?"

Harry can't speak; his mouth has gone dry and he has no fucking idea what to do. He hasn't felt like this - this deep, sick twisted feeling of horror since Voldemort was around. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights and he wants to puke.

"How do you know James?" he finally finds words, and Harry hates how weak and raspy his voice sounds. His mouth is dry, and he hates how his emotions bleed from his skin.

She licks her lips, a thoughtful, pensive look on her face as she says, "It's a long story. Who are you?"

Harry can't bring himself to say. It fucking hurts, and someone might as well have punched him in the gut. He wishes he had grabbed a book so his hands would have something to hold on to - something to keep his grasp on reality.

He stays silent as he searches for the words - the right words, because father and son doesn't seem like the right term to describe his and James's relationship anymore, so she keeps talking. "Are you… are you his father? You've got to be, you look exactly alike,"

He manages a brief, barely perceptible nod that one would have caught only if he or she were paying close attention.

Thankfully, Harry finally finds a wall to press his hand against, gripping it as if it were a lifeline.

His green eyes flickered distrustfully, warily, curiously at her. "How?" Harry repeats, stiffly. An intensity that wasn't there before.

The girl bites her lip, her eyes reflecting his own thoughts. "Why don't we take a walk down to a cafe I know of? You might want to sit down..." she trails off, a curious mixture of confidence and uncertainty plastered on her face.

But Harry can't take it anymore. This has to be an illusion; all the previous stress of Voldemort and now his job as an Auror must have led him down the crazy path. Did he have schizo? Had he finally lost it and gone off the deep end?

Harry shakes his head. "No, you're not real. You're not. I've finally lost it and you need to go because you. Don't. Exist."

He turns to walk away, but her voice stops him. It's the desperate measure of pleading, he thinks, that makes Harry pause and turn to look back at her.

"Do you know where he is? I haven't seen him since the Mexico incident... I thought he might have come back here to... for something, I don't know. Help me find him, Mr Potter. I think he might be in trouble,"

When he had discovered that James had gone, there had been no signs of a struggle. No note, most of his belongings gone from his apartment. They had assumed he left of his own accord, and after a heartbreaking discussion with Ginny, both of them had mutually agreed not to follow him.

For good measure, Harry grabbed a woman in a brown overcoat walking by. "Can you see her?" he asked, pointing at the girl.

She looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. "Of course, asshole," she said, before yanking her arm away and stalking off.

Said female was smirking at him now, all traces of uncertainty lost.

"What's your name?" he asked, glancing down at what she was wearing. Skinny jeans, black high heeled boots, black leather jacket over a white shirt.

"Maria."

"So, Maria. Why should I help my son, who left willingly on his own accord, who never wrote or showed any indication he wanted us in his life?"

She didn't hesitate in her reply. "Because you're a good man, Mr Potter. James pissed off the wrong people, and I think he's in really serious trouble," Her dark eyes bled into his soul, bargaining with him. Testing to see if he was the hero everyone claimed him to be.

Harry sighed heavily; to this day, his life was never easy.

"Where do we start?"

Maria smiled faintly, relief showing briefly in her eyes.

"Walk with me, Mr Potter," she said, leading the way down the sidewalk, gesturing for him to follow.

Harry did follow... because he was starting to get really curious as to what happened in Mexico.

"Please, call me Harry."

James ducked another spell, panting heavily as he rolled with the remaining momentum and hid behind a wall, because goddamn, did Kingsley have a grudge against him.

True to his word, the man in charge had made certain that James would be in the Auror's training room bright and early the following morning. His glamor was up, and he was supposedly sparring against two older aurors he didn't know.

This was nothing compared to anything he had faced with Muggles, although it was starting to inch it's way up there. James jumped as he avoided another curse, and sent one flying back in the direction it came from.

Maybe it was his time spent with Muggles rubbing off on him, but James really preferred hand-to-hand combat. This felt so much out of his element, it was a wonder he had lasted this long unscathed.

"Give it up, Jones!" one of them shouted.

Jones? Oh, yeah.

In response, he threw a dozen spells back at the two. Honestly, this training was really unnecessary and he was ready to murder Kingsley at this point. The guy knew he could handle it, and the only reason he had the sessions was to torture him... vengeful jackass.

Thankfully the timed buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the training session. He came out from behind the wall, relieved.

"Not bad for a newbie, Jones. I think you'll fit in just fine here," the blonde one said, clapping him on the back. James bit back a grimace because how much of an asshole would he be, then? and grinned at the compliment. Like father, like son. He resisted a shudder.

"So, are you excited to work with Harry?" the blonde one asked, genuinely curious. No I'm not, leave me alone to sulk and wallow in self-pity. But any other wizard would be ecstatic if they were in his shoes right now, so...

"Yeah, it'll be great working with him. My mum wanted an autograph when I told her the news," he replied, the lie flowing easily from his mouth as he feigned a smile.

"It'll be good to have you. We've been running short of new aurors as of late, so it'll be nice having some new faces around here," he said.

"I'm supposed to meet him today,"

The one with a buzz cut hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd arrived, but spoke up now. "I don't think that'll be happening. He called off sick today, Jones," he said, suddenly.

It's a miracle.

He tried not to look too relieved as he followed them down the hall towards the showers to clean up, bracing himself for Merlin-knows whatever else Kingsley had in stock for him.