Chapter Text
The first place they'd gone to was the bar to buy some drinks, upon his insistence.
Peter looked almost as uneasy as James felt, was drinking just as much, which was saying something and genuinely surprising.
There was a reason being in Godric's Hollow was so hard for him.
There was no such thing for Peter.
Although, given how much he'd tried to keep this trip from happening, to sabotage it, maybe he did have something.
Who knew?
James certainly didn't have the energy to think about.
"How about there?" Remus tried to be helpful and pointed at somewhere they could eat.
James' stomach sank as he took in the shopfront, but he unenthusiastically followed his bandmates anyway.
"James, my boy!" He closed his eyes in defeat and turned to face his old headmaster. He did not look particularly friendly.
He wondered why. He'd never been a model student, but that had never stopped the headmaster from liking him before.
"It's good to see nyou revisiting your roots," Dumbledore said, peering at him over his glasses. "Or perhaps you have … some other reason for coming here?"
"It's good to see you too, Professor," James said politely, too tired to let his mind whir and figure out exactly what Dumbledore meant by that.
Just being here, in this town, exhausted him.
Dumbledore frowned and left, without even asking for an autograph.
In fact, it was odd—everyone here seemed to dislike him, either ignorant of or ignoring his fame.
Usually he had the press and fans hounding him all the time, had to go around wearing terrible disguises like a baseball hat and sunglasses to avoid them.
It was a refreshing change, but he couldn't help but wonder why this was the case.
Sirius slung an arm around his shoulder. "C'mon."
He let his best friend drag him to the cafe and seat him at a table. Also unusual—no fawning, no being escorted to the best seats available, even unavailable.
He stared at the menu, desperately scanning for something appealing—but all the available options seemed terrible.
Other than the alcohol sitting next to him, amber in the sunlight streaming through the wide windows.
Godric's Hollow somehow, despite constant, everpresent gentrification, had remained unchanged.
This diner was essentially a throwback into the past. This whole place was.
And not just specifically his past.
Although it was that too.
This menu still contained his parents' favourites.
"Well, Prongsie?" Sirius asked lazily, but his eyes were sharp, as always undulled by the drink, scanning him up and down. James sometimes thought he just pretended to drink, to keep up the playboy act their fans expected from him. "Feeling inspired yet?"
Their fucking manager had sent them here—to his hometown, in the hope this would magically produce a new album from thin air.
James had been struggling recently, to come out with the lyrics that had come so easily to him once upon a time.
That time felt like a long bloody time ago.
Before he had been shoved into the place where his parents had lived and died.
He was sitting in the cafe where his father had proposed to his mother, where they'd frequently brought him to spoil him, in the town where they had lived their lives and he had buried them.
Their graves were a stone's throw away.
A place he'd sworn he would never set foot in again after their funerals.
The anger that had been simmering exploded into a full broil.
"No," he said shortly. "Why are we here, anyway? This place has absolutely nothing of worth."
He heard a scoff from behind him. "Wow."
Not in the mood for guilt or apologizing, he decided he'd just give a big tip to the server.
He sighed and turned slowly.
Who was a young boy, probably still school-aged, and was glaring at him with more ferocity than that jab deserved, he thought. The notepad in his hand was crumpling from the force exerted on it.
Weirdly, it was like looking into a slightly distorted mirror. Like one in those funhouse mirror mazes.
They had the same wide foreheads, high and angular cheekbones. Their noses were a little different, and the kid's ears were lower set than his were.
James supposed everyone's doppelgangers existed out there—he'd just met his.
Who was incredibly unimpressed with him.
Amazing. He'd never met someone who he couldn't charm either with his stardom or his wit.
Even Lily. . .
But he set that thought aside. It was almost more painful than being in Godric's Hollow again.
Peter squeaked—he hated insulting anyone.
He gave him a dazzling smile, hoping it would soften him. "We're ready to order."
"You seem ready for more than that. Why are you even here, if you hate this place so much?"
"None of your business, kid," Sirius sounded annoyed.
"Padfoot," Remus chided. "We apologize. . ." He glanced at the nametag. "Harry. We were sent here, we didn't choose to come, which is why some of us are a little, uh, antsy."
"Well, we don't want you here anymore than you want us," he snapped and even Remus was taken aback by the blatant rudeness.
"Listen, Harry," Sirius started, now seeming genuinely angry.
"Let's just go," Peter urged, hating conflict.
"Alright!" James said loudly. "I apologize for insulting your home, Harry. Is that enough?"
"No," he snapped back. "Nothing you do will ever be enough."
He blinked. Painful memories lanced through his mind, making his chest hurt.
It was so close to what Lily had said the day she had broken up with him.
Well, not said, per se.
But what she had implied.
"We'd like to talk to your manager," Remus said coldly, throwing down the menu, and glaring at the kid.
And it took a lot to make him openly angry.
"Sure," the kid said with a shrug, and running his hand through his wild hair—hair that was on his own head, untamed and wild in every possible direction..
An insouciant gesture that, again, he thought he'd seen before.
In the mirror.
"You can call him yourselves, he'll probably be out in a minute," he continued conversationally, as though he wasn't going to have a complaint lodged against him and possibly lose his job when it came out how famous they were and their disappointment and anger were appropriately loaded and fired.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Sirius demanded, enraged.
The boy smiled, all teeth, the oddly familiar green eyes glittering with hatred. "His fucking son," he replied, nodding in James' direction.
"Oh, a paternity claim," Sirius rolled his eyes. "Here's something we've never heard before, Prongs."
If it was possible, the kid looked even angrier. He tossed the napkin down and called to the manager—who had, indeed, made his way out as Harry had promised: "Tom, I changed my mind. Give me another table. I'm not helping them." He nodded at their beers. "Outside stuff isn't allowed, by the way."
"Of course, Harry."
"No, you will not," Sirius burst out. His expression was ugly. "That kid was just rude as sin to us, and you're just going to excuse it?"
The manager sighed: "Harry, go to the back."
Harry didn't move, leaning against the register with an arrogant tilt to his head.
Also familiar.
James' mind slowly ticked back into consciousness, registering what all this disturbing similarity and the kid's claim meant.
"Given the circumstances," Tom said slowly, ignoring the disobedience. "I think that it's excusable."
"Given what circumstances?" Remus demanded.
Peter, uncharacteristically, hadn't said a word. He was trembling in his seat, James noted absent-mindedly, concernedly.
Tom looked awkward. "Do I really have to explain them to you?"
"Yes, you really do, because we have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Sirius snapped, losing his temper.
"Why, given the circumstances of Mr. Potter being his father, of course," Tom said blankly.
A moment. Then Sirius laughed. Remus and Peter joined in nervously.
James didn't. He looked at the kid again.
"What, just because they have a passing resemblance, everyone's decided they're father and son?" Sirius scoffed.
"It's more than a passing resemblance," Remus pointed out uncertainly.
"That's ridiculous," Peter said twitchily. "Let's just go, Prongs. We can eat somewhere else. Tell Benjy this isn't working out."
The idea was immensely appealing, but James' attention had been caught. "What is your mother's name?"
"Bet we've never met in our lives," Sirius quipped.
Harry's fist clenched like he was resisting the urge to punch him. "You don't deserve to hear her name," he said flatly.
Sirius made an angry noise. "What, the name of the woman who lied to you so that you could be satisfied knowiung your father was someone famous as a reason for your dad being a deadbeat?"
Harry was in his face in an instant. "Don't fucking talk about my mother like that," he hissed.
Tom cried out his name, but he gave no heed to it.
"What is her name?" James persisted, an awful feeling percolating in his stomach. He stepped in front of his best mate, and came face to face with Harry—all the identical features and characteristics he'd catalogued running through his mind.
Harry stepped back, looking more uncertain now. "You really don't know?"
"How would he know?" Sirius said, but was ignored.
"No," James replied quietly. "I don't."
Harry stared at him for a moment, obviously gauging his sincerity. Finally, he nodded.
"Lily Evans," he stated simply.
And James' world shattered.