It is not like this at all

"Satisfied? You can let me go now," James said with a self-satisfied smile, wriggling his arms impatiently.

Remus stumbled a few steps back, grabbing Tonks by the shoulder at the last second before he could crumble down like a dry autumn leaf.

"That—" Tonks stammered, turning her wide eyes from James Potter to Remus Lupin's trembling form. "Let me cast again," she said, hope mingled with incredulity making itself clear in the tone of her voice.

Despite James' wriggling, the ropes weren't budging, and James began to consider trying a wandless Finite now. He honestly didn't have time for any of this. Whatever was going on, he was going through that damned archway back to his family. Lily and Harry needed him, and Sirius…No one had given him the time to ask about him now that he thought about it! Everyone was busy trying to verify he really was James Potter. Why the usual code they used wasn't enough for Moony, he had no idea. It was Death Eater proof. Only Remus, Sirius and Peter knew what were the very first words they had said to each other on the Hogwarts Express.

Now that he reflected on it, maybe the mission Dumbledore sent Remus on had taken a toll on poor Remus. It definitely made him age ten years, didn't it? Sirius was going to give him hell for it when he saw the state he was in, eh!

To be serious, it was obvious Remus had gone through something terrible. He thought James had been dead for fourteen years, for Merlin's beard! That was too much…he should say to Sirius and Peter to take it easy on poor Moony. His memories were all jumbled together.

And then there was the teenager with Remus, was he a werewolf too? If he was the only one Remus could convince to leave the pack, to leave You-Know-Who's army, the mission could be considered failed. But—it didn't make sense. How could that young bloke know Sirius, if he'd been living outside of Wizarding Society, for Merlin knew how long! No—he wasn't a werewolf.

Just as James had finished that thought, the teenager in question, closed his opened mouth with an audible click. Before James could venture to ask why Moony was on the verge of fainting, the teen had blocked James' view of Remus.

"You really haven't seen Sirius, have you?" James noticed his bright green eyes crinkle with such worry, that he was taken aback for a second or two.

"Er, no. If he went through that thing maybe he could be in Godric's Hollow…" he trailed off, spying confusion on the teen's face. "That's where my house is—Wait a moment! I shouldn't have been able to say it, should I."

Panic started to mount in James' stomach. He had to go. Now. If he could say the location of his house with no problem, it could only mean one thing; The Fidelius Charm had fallen and his family, his Lily and Harry, were being attacked by Voldemort.

"Get me out of this, boy. I have to go! Don't you get it?!" he spat, wriggling wildly in his restrictions. When he saw the boy just standing there, looking at him dully, he tried to will the right words out of his mouth, tried to put on a veneer of reasonableness in his voice. "Voldemort," the boy's eyes widened, "good, you know who he is, you see," he tried to swallow around his dry mouth. "He's probably on his merry way to attack my family, so you have to let me go back!"

The boy simply looked confused, okay, he wasn't exactly being his usual charming self, but he was sure he was being direct and clear enough.

"I can't," the boy said, swallowing thickly and glancing back to Remus and Tonks still in deep conversation.

"Come on, they won't know it was you, you can just say I escaped," James whispered searching for the boy's eyes, making him see he was honest. To convince him. Anything. But the boy squared his jaw and with the determination of someone with a precise objective in mind, said something that made James feel numb all over.

"You can't save them anyway."

"You…you– what."

"I know that you've been dead for fourteen years."

James let out a huff of air through his nose. He had no idea what that nonsense was about. Especially, why was Moony in on it?

"I'm sorry, James, but it's the truth." A voice interrupted them. Moony. Moony getting closer to them. Moony with deep lines under his eyes and on his forehead. Moony with more grey hair than blond. Fourteen years. Moony with fourteen years added onto his face since the last time he saw him. Real. It was real.

James could have probably stumbled if he hadn't been held upright by the Incarcerous.

"I know this must be very confusing and abrupt, James. Er, but the Aurors will still need to confirm your identity and —" Lily, Harry, Sirius…What happened?! He had to know. "—can't stay. I need to get the students back to Hogwarts."

The boy. His name…No way. Right? James glanced at him, awkwardly standing around, looking away from him. Messy black hair. Glasses. Those could be coincidences. But his profile. That sharp chin. That was Lily's. As were his eyes. No. Bloody. Way.

"Harry?" the name escaped his mouth, softly. Something akin to fear and hope was wrangling his insides tightly.

The boy — Harry — jumped out of his skin, his green eyes widened with surprise. No doubt, they were the same shade as Lily's.

He wanted to say something, but words wouldn't leave his mouth and Harry, his son for Merlin's sake, was looking like a Niffler caught with his hands in someone's wallet.

"I think, uh, It might be better to have this conversation later," Remus said with all the smoothness and firmness of the twenty-one-year-old James remembered.

Despite the absolutely bonkers situation he was in, James took comfort in the familiar admonition coming from Remus.

Tonks murmured a Finite, the restraints disappeared and he was free, well, free to follow Remus and Tonks to the Auror office. Harry in tow, at the opposite end of the queue they had fallen in to exit the weird circular room. So that James didn't get a chance to say anything to Harry, or anyone else for that matter. He had so many questions! Did that mean that Harry had grown up with just Lily? If he truly had died at the hands of Voldemort, protecting his family, Sirius must have been there for them, just like Remus. Honestly, he didn't regret it one bit. If his death had saved his wife and child, it was right. It was good. Good.

He didn't have a right to complain or have any righteous thoughts of good prevailing on evil anymore. He had done some growing up since graduation and marriage. Since the war. He knew perfectly well sometimes — he refused to think always, he wasn't a cynic — evil prevailed and he was lucky to be the only one to have died. Yes, lucky.

His family hadn't been wiped out completely. Harry and Lily had continued living like he'd secretly hoped. Unlike many of his fellow Order of the Phoenix members, James was lucky. That was it. There was no use thinking anything else.

As soon as they made their way to the end of the corridor, in front of the elevators, a group of Aurors James didn't recognise turned their heads all at once towards their little groups. Their frantic conversation was silenced like a Silencio had been placed on them. Many gasped and widened their eyes, others furrowed their eyebrows and grasped their wands a little tighter.

So, it was real, uh. James thought absent-mindedly. It didn't take an Auror to gauge their reactions as those of people seeing a ghost or an enemy.

"Auror Tonks," said a voice coming from a tall black man towering over the groups even as he stood at the back. He turned his steely dark eyes at him, examining him like he was a dirty bug.

"We might need to call on the Unspeakable, Shacklebolt." Tonks sent him an uneasy glance, before speaking again. "He, er, came out from the Veil." The spoken sentence sounded more like a question.

The Auror called Shacklebolt didn't show much of a reaction on his broad, stony face. The only visible sign that he had heard Tonks was his dark brows furrowing.

"Find a quiet room," he said from the corner of his mouth to the closest wizard, who had been hanging at his elbow all this time. James knew a very long, extensive interrogation was going to occupy the next few hours. Auror Shacklebolt didn't need to whisper, he knew Auror's procedure. His impatient nature was screaming at him to do something, say anything, but James had long learned to bite his tongue and see how things proceeded, so he simply pressed his lips together.

Tonks was at his elbow, wand at the ready by her side, but not trained on him anymore. Soon enough they were travelling the familiar halls of the Ministry but not too long after stepping into the elevator, James was lost. A sort of heavy stone descended into James' stomach. That had cemented what he knew already was the truth.

It wasn't 1981 anymore.

And even the Ministry, despite its seemingly immutable appearances, had moved on. Changed.

Auror Shacklebolt led their little group to a dead-end corridor, twirled on the spot to face him and pushed an invisible door that manifested from thin air as soon as his hand touched the wooden boiserie. Uh, that was new too.

"Moving interview rooms?"

"Have been implemented for some time now," he said, pulling a chair from under the table in the centre of the small room and gesturing for James to sit. "Lowered the escape rate of about 30%." The force with which he pushed the chair James was sitting on, made him suspect he wasn't giving him that information just to talk.

"Er, glad to know the Department of Magical Law Enforcement continues to improve."

Shacklebolt gave him a tight smile, his eyes were still as hard as lead.

"Listen, I know how these interviews work, nobody wants to spend eight hours in a tiny room." He lifted a corner of his mouth, relaxing in his seat. "I promise we could make it a lot shorter if you could just—"

"I'm sorry, Mr—"

"Potter."

"Mr. Potter." Shacklebolt lifted one corner of his mouth in a sarcastic imitation of James. The stony expression came back just as quickly. "I promise I can make this longer than needed if you don't collaborate."

He had to give it to him, he wasn't easily swayed. James would have thought it a great quality for an Auror to have if it wasn't directed at him at the moment. Either that or James' natural charisma was a lot more rustier than he thought.

"Since you say you know how the procedure works, I'm sure you'll know we will start with a series of—"

"Questions."

"Precisely." Shacklebolt gave him another fake smile before assuming his stony expression again.

"Will you state your name out loud, please? Your full name, if you please."

James eyed the bit of parchment and the red quill rising to attention as soon as James' mouth parted to answer. At least some things didn't change.

"James Charlus Potter."

"Date of birth."

"27th of March, 1960."

"Congratulations," he inclined his head. "You passed the basics."

"Right," he said, grimacing. "I can sense the sarcasm. Auror Tonks already cast the Revelio—"

"Auror Tonks has been serving as an Auror for just under a year, so you understand as a fellow Auror yourself, Mr. Potter." Great, James had managed to get on his bad side in less than five minutes. "Everything she does on her own has to go through me."

"Yes, I do understand." James understood he had to comply with this Auror in particular if he wanted to avoid trouble.

"Good. After the interview is finished, we will need to run some other tests."

Which in James' experience meant they were really just stalling, probably waiting to hear back from the Unspeakable. From what he gathered it wasn't usual for people to simply appear into the Ministry, especially from unknown artefacts in sealed rooms.

The interview went on for what seemed like hours. More and more questions were asked about his life, his days at Hogwarts, and his parents. For James it just confirmed what he thought; they were buying time.

"Err, I think my first girlfriend's name was Mindy?" James talked through his hand, covering half his mouth and supporting his head. The damn red quill seemed to be perfectly able to interpret his half-slurred words.

Just like it has for the last fifty questions, Shacklebolt's only answer was a rumbling 'Mhm'. Which honestly wasn't very helpful for James but was the best approach to keep in an interview with a suspect. James had to give him that. Again.

"Right," Shacklebolt said just as someone knocked on the door with two short raps. Even James straightened at that, surreptitiously wiping the sweat off his hands on his green corduroy trousers.

"I'll be back in a moment, you sit tight." Shacklebolt exited the room, without saying anything more. James slid down the chair, sighing quietly. The wait was maddening, and the longer he was there the sooner he wanted this to be over. He never had so much contempt for Auror procedure as now.