A/N:This was originally two-chaptered, but I had trouble with formatting, so it is back to 1 chapter again. I do apologize to those who have already left feedback.

Once again, I took some technical liberties with this fic – I have the vaguest impression that I read somewhere, in a Post-DH interview with Jo, that McGonagall has retired from Hogwarts. As I couldn't find that interview, I decided to retain her in her old position, which I hope is not too far off accuracy. And McLaggen Jr. is completely a (crazed) invention of my own – I thought it makes perfect sense for someone as self-involved as McLaggen to name his child after himself.

Anyway, kindly read and review? Thank you!

Copyright: Harry Potter does not belong to me.

Light as Ghosts, Heavy as Love

The much-dreaded letter arrived two days before the Christmas break, when James was due home and the family had plans to visit Charlie and the dragons in sunny Romania. As Harry skimmed through the parchment, Ginny looked up from her cereal, distracted by the billowy flaps of the stern, official looking Hogwarts owl, and understanding dawned on her like white lightning. She replaced her spoon heavily in the bowl, breakfast completely forgotten, and wordlessly held out her hand for the letter. Harry passed the parchment to his wife, and half-heartedly wondered if he should be grateful that James had at least lasted 4 months before the inevitable disciplinary summons, whose presence the couple had always expected the minute the Hogwarts Express pulled out of King's Cross.

"Duelling and muggle fighting?" Ginny was saying now, her tone incredulous and disbelieving.

"Even for this family, this has to be an unprecedented first."

Harry pulled her discarded cereal towards himself, and muttered, "Given my dad and Sirius' track records, I wouldn't bet on it."

The red-haired woman stared at him, and Harry was forcibly reminded of Mrs. Weasley, whose expression of motherly fury had undoubtedly found its way through the gene pool to her only daughter.

"Regretting marrying into the family now?" he asked, only half-joking, earning himself the reward of a teasing smile from his wife, even as she reached across the table to steal back her breakfast.

"Not especially, Mr. Potter, seeing as how you have so thoughtfully offered to do the dishes as repayment for saddling me with marauder-aspirants for children."

"But I have not offered – " At a look from his wife, Harry allowed his words to die unfinished, holding up his hands in mock surrender, even as he reminded himself to take George up on Weasley Wizarding Wheezes' new line of housekeeping aids.

He chuckled, low, and a little strained, as though his laughter was borrowed. There was only time now for mirth, he thought grimly, for what awaited them at Hogwarts would definitely make even amusement difficult to bear. He looked briefly at Ginny, and the tense slope of her clenched jaw told him that she was entertaining the same thoughts, a realization that did little to comfort Harry.

*

It was a little after noon when the couple arrived in the Hogsmeade branch of George Weasley's wildly successful joke shop, now the cornerstone of Hogwarts student life and the sorest source of annoyance for professors everywhere.

Harry unconsciously reached for Ginny's hand the moment her apparation was completed, which was but a mere heartbeats after his own, and the couple was quickly greeted by the boisterous welcomes of the one-eared Weasley twin, who appeared determined to make it his responsibility to similarly deafen everyone else with his loud cheer.

"Harry! And my favourite sister!"

Harry tried not to wince as George grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug, even as his retinas flashed alarmingly at George's blinding purple and orange cloak, making his red hair pale impossibly in comparison. Ginny, on the other hand, as though used to her brother's random madness, merely looked around the newly expanded store in interest. The shop breathed its own life, full of intriguing murmurs of little magics and more potent charms, and all around them, colours in every hue popped and shimmered, making it easy to comprehend why this brainchild of the Weasley twins was so popularly received by children and adults alike.

"What brings the both of you here? Picking James up for the Christmas break?"

"Something to that end," Ginny muttered darkly, and Harry sent his brother-in-law a look of warning that went largely ignored as George's eyes widened in understanding.

"Did James get into trouble?" he asked, a little too eagerly to Harry's ears, causing the Potter to cringe even as Ginny visibly bristled.

"Yes," she half-snarled, "dueling and muggle fighting," and as George's grin widened, snapped, "and it is nothing to be proud of!"

George attempted poorly to rearrange his features into a suitable mask of reproach, but even before a minute could pass, asked eagerly, "Did James win? And who did he fight?"

"George!"

Harry, sensing that his intervention was needed before Ginny could bat bogey hex her brother, quickly interrupted. "McGonagall wrote to say he had a … disagreement with Cormac McLaggen Jr., and that McLaggen is in the hospital with some broken bones and residual side-effects from hexes, including," he winced, "pink hair."

"That means our James won, doesn't it?"

A dangerous pause, in which Harry could swear Ginny swelled to twice her size, and then George, noticing his sister's indignation, pointed out reasonably, "If McLaggen Jr. is anything like his old dad, it is likely he deserved what he got."

Ginny spluttered, and Harry tried to hide a smile, and George continued slyly, "Unless you disagree that McLaggen was a snot. Ginny?"

"It doesn't excuse what James did, George," Harry replied, placing a conciliatory hand on Ginny's back, "He did inflict a lot of hurt, too much for a prank or a brawl. McGonagall was right to send for us."

"And McLaggen Jr. is 2 years older than our James! James should know better than to be picking fights like this! He was irresponsible, and rash!" Ginny added, furiously.

George stared at the pair before him, and shrugged briefly. "I still say James wouldn't have attacked without provocation. Remember – "

"It does not matter!" Ginny cut across her brother, actually stamping her feet in frustration.

George ignored his sister, and continued, "Remember fifth year, Harry? What Malfoy said about our families?"

Harry cringed, recalling the fistfight both George and him had been involved in, and the heavy price to pay afterwards.

"Some berks just deserve a pounding, is all I am saying. James might or might not have been justified, but you should know your son better than me."

Harry kept quiet, and let George's mild admonishment find home, not attempting to tell the other man that he does know his child, and was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Next to him, Ginny had stopped struggling, and was glaring at her brother. It was a tense goodbye the siblings exchanged as Harry and Ginny headed up for Hogwarts, and it was a quiet journey up towards the castle, which beckoned to Harry in its snow-capped glory, like a second home revisited.

*

James was waiting for the both of them on a bench outside McGonagall's office, his arms crossed tersely in front of him, looking much too angry for an eleven year old. He had a cut lip that was still bleeding, and his legs twitched occasionally, giving Harry the impression that McLaggen Jr. had successfully used the Tarantallegra curse. James made no attempt to justify his own actions to his parents, only sullenly informing them that the head of the Gryffindor House was waiting to see them in her office. Harry and Ginny left their eldest child on the bench, and entered their old professor's quarters, where she awaited them with a thin smile.

McGonagall looked even older than Harry remembered, and it had only been a few years since he had last seen her, at Lily's first birthday. Inwardly, he wondered when the impressive woman before him would step down from her responsibilities as head of the Gryffindor house, a position she has occupied with indefinite ability and fearsome grace.

"Ginny, Harry, it is good to see the both of you again," a small smile, with warm sincerity that lifted even Ginny's dark mood, "I do wish it could have been under different circumstances, however."

"How is McLaggen Jr., Professor?"

McGonagall paused before answering Harry's quick question, but her tone was reassuring.

"He is going to need to stay overnight in the hospital wing, but apart for some side-effects from James' hexes, he has been healed by Madam Pomfrey. The only real concern is that his face is still swollen from the bat bogey hex."

She paused, and looked towards Ginny, who flushed scarlet.

"What happened that instigated the fight?" Ginny asked, her voice decidedly weak.

McGonagall frowned, an intimidating sight that reminded Harry uncomfortably of his own misdeeds back in his school days, and admitted, "I do not really know. James refused to explain himself, and McLaggen was in no situation to talk. The professor who found them and broke them apart was Professor Longbottom, and he hasn't said anything about the cause of the brawl."

A swish of tartan robes as McGonagall sat down, "I sent for the both of you because you would have to pick James up for the holidays tomorrow, as it is. But I hope you would be able to get the child to explain his actions."

She paused, and looked seriously at Harry over her glasses, "James is not a child capable of this manner of violence. The occasional pranks, yes, and inevitable disruptions of classes, but nothing on this scale. I hoped that the both of you might have more luck understanding his actions than I did."

Husband and wife were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts, and they exited McGonagall's office shortly, her reedy voice following them with the information that James has been given a month's worth of detentions. Their son was still sitting on the bench outside the office, now attracting noisy attention as students emptied out of classes on their way to their next lessons. James' arms were still tightly and defensively crossed over his chest, and his face creased even further when a number of students stopped to stare at his parents, the legendary Harry Potter and his famous Quidditch player wife. The Potters waited until the hallways emptied and the echoes of the last footstep died away before Ginny spoke, in a tone that was deathly serious.

"Why did you start the fight?"

James looked up at his mother, but did not answer, his face determinedly blank.

"James Sirius Potter. Why did you start the fight?"

Once again, silence greeted Ginny's answer, and she threw up her hands in exasperation and disbelief.

"Are you even sorry?" she demanded, looking even angrier than the time James and Albus had decided it would be a good idea to catch the Knight's Bus on their own to attend a Chudley Canons' match.

"No," James replied, his voice hoarse from un-use but nonetheless certain, defiant.

"What?"

Ginny's voice had risen at the response, and Harry spoke, quietly.

"James, are you saying that you do not feel the least bit sorry for landing another student in the hospital wing with two broken bones, a swollen face, and a variety of other injuries?"

The child opened his mouth, but Harry interrupted him, his next words slow and deliberate.

"And I suggest you think carefully before you reply, for your winter plans with Uncle Charlie depends on it."

James looked at his father, and held his gaze steadily.

"I am not sorry," he repeated, his face slightly red but his chin still raised in resolve.

A few moments of tense silence followed his proclamation, during which none of the three spoke, but continued to stare at each other, exchanging looks of disappointment, of anger, of determination.

"James Sirius Potter," his mother finally said, her voice low.

"The reason why your father and I taught you those spells was for you to protect yourself, and to protect those you loved. They are not to help you be a bully."

James looked from his mother to his father, and Harry saw that his brown eyes were now swimming with tears.

The child swallowed, and vehemently retorted, "I am not a bully!", even as he turned and ran down the corridor, away from his parents, his footsteps small and fragile to Harry's ears.

Ginny turned to her husband, and her face was a desperate mask of blind despair, and Harry pulled her to himself, his own heart beating wildly.

"We should let him alone for now," he murmured, although he wasn't certain for whose benefit he had spoken those words.

Ginny closed her eyes, thin regret washing over her, and for the briefest moments, she saw the laughing face of her other older twin brother. Her oldest son had eyes like Fred's, warm like milk chocolate, and sticky too, with permanent mischief and glee, making her feel like a child again in his presence. She had taught him her bat bogey hex, and had watched in pride as he learnt it with single-minded determination. Now she wondered if she had been wrong, if she had been too carried away by James' resemblance to Fred, blurred the lines between the child she loved so dearly and the brother she still mourned. She wondered if she had truly taught James the spell for self-protection, and not for the simple joy of watching his young face light up in joy, reminding her of everything she loved as a girl and loved even more fiercely now as a mother.

As though reading her mind, Harry kissed the top of her head, with the whisper of "It is not your fault."

Ginny tried to quiet the storm pounding in her ears, and felt tears rise to her closed eyes instead, and she remained quiet, seeking her own peace the only way she knew how.

*

Suddenly, loud footsteps thundered down the corridor, and Harry looked towards the source, and found himself smiling against his will. Ginny detached herself from her husband and turned, her own smile slightly watery when it found its way to her face.

Hagrid was coming down the hallway towards them, his huge grin visible even under his wild mane, and beside him, matching him stride for stride, was Neville, carrying an enormous and vicious looking plant in his arms.

"Professor Longbottom," Harry greeted Neville, smiling, and Neville grinned back.

Hagrid slapped Harry on the back, and the grown man stumbled forwards, much like he always had when he was a child, a rueful expression on his face.

"Harry, yer shoulda been down ta visit more often", the half-giant admonished, turning to kiss Ginny on the cheek, with a tenderness that Harry decided was unfair, given his own rather violent welcome.

Hagrid took in Ginny's weak smile, and exchanged a fleeting look with Neville, one that did not escape Harry's attention.

"How about a cuppa tea, Ginny?" Hagrid rumbled, and Neville nodded his agreement, shifting the Venomous Tentaculato his other arm, and wincing as he flexed his sore muscles.

Harry raised an eyebrow at his old friend, and Neville explained, in dubiously excited tones, "I've been experimenting with compost from Hagrid's garden. For some unexplainable reason, my plants all take to the soil remarkably well. The Venomous Tentacula has grown nearly a foot overnight!"

Hagrid chuckled, a little embarrassedly, and Harry knew he was thinking of the many secret creatures that have passed through his garden, including Norbert the Dragon and Buckbeak, all of which have undoubtedly contributed to the "unexplainable" quality of the soil. He caught Hagrid's eye and grinned, and the big man smiled sheepishly in return, before gently steering Ginny down the hallway.

"Hagrid –" the red-haired woman protested, which the other man waved away, with the comforting insistence of "Let Harry take care of this," and continued to shepherd her down the corridor.

Ginny twisted around to look at Harry helplessly, but her husband only waved at her, mouthing the word, "Go", and bringing a small smile to her lips.

"Neville, yer coming?" Hagrid yelled, and the other professor quickly turned to Harry, uncertainty flickering briefly in his eyes.

Harry waited, and not for the first time, marveled at the change in Neville. His old classmate was no longer the awkward Neville of their shared past, now wearing his black Professor robes with a quiet confidence, his face still as open and kind as before, leaving Harry in no doubt of his popularity with the students.

"This is possibly not my story to tell, but Minerva mentioned that James refused to speak of the fight, and you should know this," Neville began, looking troubled.

"When I broke James and Cormac apart, I overheard some of their exchange, and Cormac," a pause as Neville looked directly at Harry, "Cormac was talking about Sirius Black. He was your godfather, wasn't he, Harry?"

Harry nodded, suddenly numb as he began to understand James' anger and his stubborn silence.

"Cormac also spoke of Professor Lupin," Neville continued quietly, an audible sigh in his words.

"I could hardly make out what he said about them, but the word 'werewolf' came up, and then it was almost impossible to pull James off that boy."

"Thank you," a brief acknowledgement and a thin smile, and Harry was vaguely aware that his right hand had curled into a fist, his knuckles white with tension and some of the raging anger James must have felt.

Neville clapped Harry on the shoulder, and hurried after Hagrid and Ginny, leaving the other man to his own tumult of sensations. The hallways of Hogwarts suddenly seemed enormous to him, echoing in their crushing silence, and he turned and hurried towards the seventh floor landing, back towards the place he had called home for the best part of his childhood. He knew, with blind certainty, that he would find James in the Gryffindor Tower, now mercifully empty as the rest of the school attended to their lessons. James would be in the tower, because that was where Harry would have thought to hide as well, and father and son shared more than just their messy black hair – they shared the unspeakable inheritance of loneliness.

*

The Fat Lady studied Harry as he came up to her portrait, and realizing his lack of the password, Harry cursed under his breath.

"The password is 'wolf moon'", she informed him, laughter and knowing in her voice.

Harry started, and looked at the portrait gratefully, mumbling "wolf moon" as the door of the Gryffindor Tower swung open. The common room was as Harry remembered, red upholstered armchairs inviting in the afternoon glow, a fire crackling in the hearth, with forgotten pieces of homework laying around on the carpet before it. He reminded himself to let Ron and Hermione know their favourite position is similarly appreciated by students today, and made his way up towards the boys' sleeping quarters.

James was perched on the windowsill as his father entered the room, and he did not look surprised at having been found so easily. He turned to look back out the window, his shoulders slightly hunched, an unconscious act of defense and apprehension.

"Professor Longbottom told me what happened, James," Harry said, his voice carrying in that quiet room.

The young boy did not react, but his shoulders sagged slightly, and his father took it as an unspeaking invitation to cross the room and stand behind him. The both of them watched as groups of students trudged to the nearest greenhouse for Herbology, kicking up showers of fine white snow as they did so, their laughter shrill in the crisp air.

"It's lonely, Dad," James said, turning to his father, his young face bewildered and crumbling.

He swallowed hard, and forced himself to continue, looking up at his father.

"Sometimes people don't see me at all, even when they are looking at me. They see you, or they see granddad, or Sirius."

Silence fell like thick snow as James paused, and cold wind whistled through Harry's bones, bringing with it a sharp ache.

"But I am so proud of our family, of being told I am like granddad or Sirius," the boy confessed, straightening just ever so slightly, as though on instinct.

"When McLaggen insulted Sirius – he said Sirius was guilty, because he was a Black, like the rest of his family who supported Voldermort!"

James' brown eyes flared with remembered indignation, temporarily sidetracked from what he meant to tell his father.

"He called Sirius names, and he laughed about Remus being a werewolf, and how granddad must have been stupid to choose friends like them," fists clenched and eyes narrowed, "When I heard him say that, I got so angry, and I didn't know why."

Harry sat down opposite his son on the windowsill, contemplative and trying to push down his own anger at McLaggen Jr.

"It is strange, isn't it, to be remembered for what someone else did?" he asked his son, pointing to his own scar and sharing a conspirational grin with James.

James nodded fervently, his eyes wide.

"There is never much you can do to change the way people look at you, James, but you can decide to be yourself, and wait for them to stop being so stupid."

The young child laughed, his closed expression clearing for the first time that whole day, and asked, "Is that what you did, Dad?"

Harry nodded, remembering all the stares and all the whispers during his schooldays, and even now, when his name is still suffixed by inevitable breaths of awe and curiosity.

"Albus and Lily are going to have to go through the same thing, I am afraid," he informed James, reaching over to ruffle his son's already messy hair.

"Maybe by next September, they will have to live up to your name as well," Harry teased, and James' eyes glowed at the thought.

"I don't mind being remembered for granddad, and Padfoot, and Moony," he whispered, "I want to protect their names. I can do that, can't I, Dad?"

Harry simply nodded, his chest too tight for him to speak, and reached over to pull his son into a one-armed hug.

"Is Mom still very angry at me?"

A meek whisper, and Harry laughed.

"I don't think so, no. You should talk to her though."

James nodded, his movements against his father's shoulder, where he leaned his head. The both of them continued to watch the snow fall thickly outside the window, their eyes following the sudden arc of an rainbow as light fragmented off the powdery wet, casting their faces in its soft, brief glow.

*

Fin