James groaned and slowly peeled back his heavy eyelids. Immediately, he snapped them shut again, momentarily blinded by an overwhelming brightness. Hesitantly, he reopened them, allowing himself to take in his surroundings, and it was, with some confusion, that he realised he was in the hospital wing.

Once the light had returned to a normal level, he slowly turned his head to the left – his neck stiff from lack of movement – and was met by the even gaze of his father. A slow smile spread across Harry's tired face, and he visibly relaxed.

"Wha-?" began James, his voice breaking slightly. Harry simply smiled once more, before leaning forwards to help James sit up and passing him the glass of water which sat beside the hospital bed.

"How about I talk, and you drink?" he suggested, both Potter men slipping easily into their familiarity, where words seemed excessive at times. James simply raised the glass to his lips, and looked at his father with raised eyebrows.

"You were heading out towards the grounds," Harry began, watching his son's reaction carefully, "When you were set upon by some Slytherin Fourth years. Luckily, your friend – Ali, I think? – went to fetch a teacher, and so when you were hexed, she and Neville had arrived in time to witness it, and he ensured nothing more happened. They're up in McGonagall's office now."

James stared at his father with disbelief – why on earth would these boys have taken such a dislike towards him? Unless, of course, the book…

Apparently reading his sons thoughts, Harry spoke again. "Did you do anything to aggravate them?" he asked, a trace of humour in voice, absently turning the book in his hands, causing James to notice is for the first time.

Eyes trained on the book, James tried to form a coherent sentence, which would convey the confusion which was swirling through his mind. Raising his gaze to his father's face, his train of thought ground to a halt as he registered the amused smirk on his father's face. Irritation flared; why couldn't his dad see how confused he was? Wasn't he at all concerned to see his eldest son in the hospital wing?

Lashing out verbally, he snapped at Harry with more venom than he meant, "No, Dad, I have no idea why someone who doesn't know me would want to attack me. I'm a little confused you see, because it seems like my family has been keeping secrets from me. But that can't possibly be true, can it? Why would you feel the need to do that?" Taking a deep breath, James folded his arms over his chest, and turned his face away from his father.

They sat in stony silence for what felt like hours, before James' temper finally settled, and with some regret turned his face back to his father. Upon seeing Harry however, he almost wished he was still looking away.

Because his father looked broken. His head was turned down, and he gazed without seeing at Skeeter's book, which was now lying discarded on his son's legs. There were no tears, but there was a raw sense of vulnerability exuding from the man whom James had always believed could fix any given situation. The realisation that his dad - regardless of whether what Skeeter had written was true or not - was only human, struck James like a ton of bricks. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort, but whatever words he might have summoned caught in his throat, and so, with some awkwardness, James settled for resting his hand on his father's shoulder.

They sat like that for an indefinable length of time – their roles of father and son reversed in a cruel twist of fate. Finally, after hours or mere moments, Harry raised his head, and met his son's guilty eyes. Swallowing nervously, he murmured, "I thought I was doing the right thing." There was a sense of asking for forgiveness, for approval, in his father's speech, and as James stared wordlessly at him, he saw, for the first time, the lonely boy who had found his first home at the age of eleven.

James' eyelids were starting to droop by the time his father had regained his usual demeanour. Smiling, he lifted his son's hand from his shoulder, and leaning over, kissed him on the forehead.

James smiled; relieved his father was back to man he looked up to. Glad though he was that his father was back to normal, it still didn't rectify the problem that they face. "You owe me an explanation," he said seriously.

"Yes," his dad responded equally seriously, "I do. But for now you need to sleep."

The next time James awoke, the first thing he saw was the tear-stained face of his little sister. With alarm, he sat up straight – pleased that the stiffness he had experienced earlier had disappeared – and pulled his sister into a hug.

"Hey, hey Lils," he said soothingly, smoothing down her hair. "What's wrong?" Lily just sniffed noisily in response, and pulled herself closer to her big brother.

"I think she was worried about you," he heard his mother respond, before she moved into his line of vision as she came to sit at the end of his bed. She smiled warmly at her son, before leaning back, and calling across the hospital wing. "He's awake."

James barely had time to register the sudden sound of footfalls hurrying through the hospital, before a dark haired blur hurtled into his side unoccupied by Lily. He smiled fondly at Albus, knowing that he would have claimed to be unconcerned, whilst worrying secretly – James would have done the same thing. He wrapped a comforting arm around his little brother, before nudging him off the edge of the bed.

Albus picked himself off the floor and scowled at James, settling into an unoccupied chair. James just winked at him, and spread out into the recently vacated space. Lily giggled, her tears apparently overcome, and both boys suppressed fond smiles; neither noticed their mother's smile.

Two pairs of footsteps announced Harry and Mme Pomfrey's arrival. The nurse smiled warmly at the family gathered around the bed, and turned to Harry.

"At least it's not you, this time," she said. Harry just smiled wanly and looked down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly. James wondered abstractly if these moments which had always caused him so much confusion would soon make sense.

The matron bustled over to James, checking his pulse, and pressing a cool hand to his forehead to check his temperature. "Well, all seems normal," she said smiling at him, "You're free to leave now. You should be fine – just come back if you get any headaches, or the such. I'll leave you to get changed."

Ginny rose from the end of her son's bed, and moved round to give him a kiss on the forehead, like her husband's earlier action.

"I'm glad you're okay, honey," she said, tucking down a strand of his hair, whilst he batted her hand away half-heartedly. "Not that I had any doubt in Mme Pomfrey's abilities. We do really need to be getting back home now, though. And make sure you write soon."

James watched as his mother gathered up her bag, and as his siblings hopped off the bed and chair they occupied. Like his mother, Lily offered him a kiss on his forehead, and, true to form, his brother punched him on the arm.

As they made their way towards the door, James realised how much he had missed his family. He unconsciously shifted back into the cushions, allowing them to engulf him, and trained his eyes on his mother's retreating figure. She paused in the doorway, and turned to smile at her eldest child fondly.

"They really were worried about you, you know – they look up to you."

James smiled, and turned to look for his clothes, jumping when he noticed his Dad sat on the chair beside his bed.

"What?" he screeched, his shock getting the better of him.

"I thought you wanted an explanation?" he smiled.