Disclaimer: I still don't own a thing. I don't own the characters, the plot, or the magic. If I had a mind as creative as that then I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fan fiction.

Author's Note: What plot? Well, yes, it is rather plot-less. Please forgive that. It is, however, full of Potter/Weasley family fluff. Thank you all who have reviewed this so far. I'm really terrible at replying to reviews, but I promise I'll work on that. This one-shot is a standalone and is not a part two to the fourth chapter. It is another Harry, James, but I'm working on more one shots for the Weasleys. I am sorry I have not updated this as quickly as I would have liked, but I hope to change that asap! Thanks to all of you readers who have given your feedback on this so far. Hope you enjoy!

TO TELL THE TRUTH

Of course if you like your kids, if you love them from the moment they begin, you yourself begin all over again, in them and with them.

"James, Harry!"

Ginny's abrupt reminder rang through the bedroom, as she hastily slipped her feet into her high heeled shoes. Her disheveled red hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun, any application of makeup long forgotten with the limitation of time. One of her freckled arms reached over to the bed, a hand weaving underneath the strap of her purse, left unzipped from the previous night.

With a swinging motion, Ginny flung the purse up onto her shoulder causing its belongings to slip out, spiraling outward just to end up colliding with the floor.

"Shit."

The curse was muttered softly, nearly mute, as agitation stiffened Ginny's body and soured her already bad mood.

"I've got him covered Gin."

Harry knelt down to the ground next to Ginny, sweeping up what was left of the purse's sprawled contents.

"You do?"

Ginny took a moment to pause, searching Harry's eyes.

"He's spending the day with Neville. They're going to Diagon Alley for the day, while Al and Lily visit your parents."

Ginny gave him a questioning look as she zipped her purse firmly and stood up to leave. "Why didn't you send James over to Mum's too?"

"I figured she had enough on her hands without that one," he started with a smirk, bending slightly to place a brisk kiss on his wife's cheek. "You know how fidgety James gets over there now. Neville offered to take him, so I figured we'd give your poor mother a well deserved break."

A soft scoff came from the doorway, as Ginny turned to descend the stairs. "Some break we're giving her, pawning off two of our hellions on dear Mum."

The kitchen was left in a total disaster, dirty dishes everywhere, an open jar of jam laying on the counter, and the distinct smell of burning coming from the toaster oven. Ginny glanced around the room, a hand pulling at her hair at the sight. She turned around at the foot of the stairs, relieved to see Harry hot on her heels.

"Clean this up a bit before you head off to the Ministry?" She asked, a weary panic weaving its way into her voice.

He nodded his head solemnly as he turned the toaster to off, pulling out the charred remains of bread. "I don't think your breakfast will do much good."

Ginny gave him a sheepish smile, opening the refrigerator to grab a piece of fruit. Shaking it slightly, she leaned up to give Harry another kiss, one more firmly planted on the lips. Harry reciprocated immediately, his tongue flicking against his wife's sweet lips, Ginny graciously allowing him entry.

As the kiss escalated, Ginny pulled away, an apologetic look plastered on her face. "I don't have time for this right now. Hold that thought and we'll pick up where we left off tonight." With that, she was off, a quick flash of red zooming out the door. Harry heard the gentle pop, signaling Ginny's departure to the meeting she was surely going to be late to.

"Daddy, what smells so yucky?"

Harry turned immediately at the sound of his daughter's voice, seeing his five year old with hands scrubbing at her tired eyes.

"Mummy left the toast in a bit longer than she planned," Harry offered, opening the cabinets to pull out a box of cereal for his children.

"Yeah Lil, Mum forgot all about breakfast cause she was too busy eating Dad's face!"

Hearing the smart comment, Harry blushed slightly, his head whipping around to greet his eldest with a steely look. "James, that was hardly appropriate." The admonishment was gentle, but packed with meaning, as Harry divided the cereal into three bowls.

"Is Al up yet?"

"Right here, Dad!"

Harry nodded at the three, indicating them to take their respective seats at the kitchen table, before placing a bowl in front of each.

"After breakfast, you lot go up and get dressed. Grandma and Grandpa will be here soon to pick you two up." Harry swung his index finger back and forth between Al and Lily. "And Neville will be here within the next hour."

James stuck his tongue out playfully at his siblings, proud to have plans that didn't include them. Albus and Lily seemed oblivious to it, however. A day at the Burrow was much more enticing to them than a day out shopping. The Burrow was always filled with different people and fun things to do. Shopping was not only tiresome, but tedious as well.

"Dad, James got more cereal than me, I think!"

Harry eyed his son's filled bowl, sighing heavily as he tried to keep his patience under wraps. "Just eat it, Al." The command was stern and non-negotiable, Harry's temples already throbbing even though it was just the beginning of what was sure to be a long day.

Thus began yet another morning at the Potter house.

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"So James, what do you say about getting some ice cream after browsing through the owls?"

Neville's voice was jovial, a hand clamped good-naturedly on James' left shoulder. He kept the pressure light enough to make it feel like James had full rein, but firm enough to handle the nine year old in the crowd. While Neville was yet to become a father himself, the experience he had with the children at Hogwarts and his friends' children, made him competent in most parental situations, although he lacked the instincts.

"Sounds good, Neville," James grinned at one of his father's oldest friends, as they turned into Eeylops Owl Emporium.

For some reason no Weasley could explain, James was obsessed with owls. From just two years of age, the child had been fascinated with the flying, mail carrying creatures. He would beg for hours to have a magnificent owl of his own, but with little success. Ginny tried to sooth her wailing son, comforting him with promises of his own owl once he started Hogwarts. Although the initial burning desire to own an owl had worn off considerably as James matured, he never passed up an opportunity to watch them at Eeylops. After all, he did have to pick the perfect owl in just two short years.

Neville took his hand off of James' shoulder, allowing the boy to browse to his liking. He couldn't say he was as fond of the animals as much as James, or even that he enjoyed the side trips to the emporium. Neville did it, the trooper he was, for James' pleasure alone. The boy rarely got to go to Diagon Alley, and when he did, Albus and Lily itched at staying inside an owlery too long. Neville understood that instances like these were few and in between, so under the circumstances, a bit of owl gawking wouldn't hurt.

"She's a beauty, huh?"

Neville snapped his attention back to James, a small smile resting easily on his face at the child's excitement.

"She sure is. Reminds me of your father's old owl when he went to Hogwarts."

"Really? Dad had an owl?"

"He sure did. A snowy one, just like this."

"What happened to her?"

Clearing his throat, Neville turned away from James, with sudden regret for bringing up the topic.

"Well, owls can't live forever, James," was his subtle reply, spoken as a gentle reminder.

With sobriety Neville had rarely seen exhibited by the eldest Potter child, James reached out to give the owl a gentle stroke. "He loved her."

"Yes, I suppose he did, James."

James turned around to Neville and beamed at him. "I want an owl just like Dad's when I go to Hogwarts. Think he'll let me?"

"I don't know James. You'll have to check with your parents when we get back."

Satisfied with Neville's answer, James nodded and moved on to the other owl cages. He'd look into some, turn away from others, cooing and clucking at the It didn't take long before he tired from his antics, tugging on Neville's shirt hem to signal that he was ready for departure.

Neville happily obliged, seeking out the door and steering them back onto the bustling alley.

"Ice cream, then?"

"Yes, please."

James', in a moment of rarity, remembered his manners without being probed for them. Appreciating the display, Neville wrapped his arm around the boy loosely, carefully easing them through the crowd.

"So, what kind of ice cream do you like?"

"Vanilla! It's the best."

"I think so too."

"Really?"

Neville was about to respond, when a sickly sweet voice cut through the suffocating summer air.

"Oh Charlotte, isn't that Potter's boy? He's so precious, so much like his Daddy!"

James stopped abruptly, staring down at the two gossiping women with some alarm. Both of Neville's hands found their way onto James' shoulders, squeezing them gently to provide reassurance.

"Yes, Judy, I think it is! The Boy Who Lived, almost an exact replica, I do say! Except without that foolish scar."

The first woman bent down, leaned in close to James, who backed away straight into Neville's knees. He felt foolish, being nine, and afraid of strangers. But they knew him, and James was certain that he didn't know who they were at all. James could feel his pulse quicken, smell the champagne perfume the woman in front of him had drowned herself in. He couldn't help but feel repulsed, sickened, almost to the point where he lost control of the contents of his stomach.

Neville leveled the lady with a glare, trying to guide James away from her in her current kneeling position.

"You grow up to be a savior, just like your Daddy. Make us proud, dumpling."

James' eyes grew wide, as Neville uneasily excused them, briskly finding the way to the ice cream shop. He noticed with regret that James was quiet, almost scared into silence by the sudden disturbance.

Not even ice cream seemed to make James' mood brighten any. By the time they were done eating, Neville threw out the trash, and suggested they head back to the Potter residence.

James gave a sullen nod of his head to acknowledge his consent, allowing Neville to floo them back home. Neville wanted to be able to offer answers to the questions he knew must have been swarming the nine year old's head. But he couldn't do that, it just wasn't his place. This job was designed for Harry or Ginny, not an outsider who didn't really have all the information to give in the first place.

Neville allowed James to go to his room and hide away at James' muttered request. He took a seat in a plush chair, waiting for Harry to get home from work so he could inform him of the encounter, give him a quick warning.

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Harry flooed home from work, exhausted and feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Today hadn't been an easy day. He'd had to send three of his best Aurors on raids happening in Ireland, and one of his best Auror's was on sick leave due to a sudden death in the immediate family. Things had been hectic and Harry was ready to take a bath and settle down with the newspaper for the night.

Having three children and a lovely wife, Harry knew, before he even stepped foot out of the fireplace, that what he wanted wouldn't come true. He would end up having to cook dinner, tend to one of his kids, or coax one of them to get into bed. He knew that, but that didn't mean Harry had to accept it.

Seeing Neville immediately stand up upon his arrival, Harry sensed something was wrong. Neville began to pace, and Harry recognized the early signs of one of Neville's anxiety attacks.

"Neville, what is it?"

"Today we were walking over to get ice cream, and these two crotchety women recognized James as your son."

Harry's face paled. He knew he should have expected it, sooner rather than later, but that was a small comfort to him as he was forced to face the reality of his past. His hand felt the way to a seat, and he planted himself firmly so his knees wouldn't give out.

"What… uh… what did they say to him?"

Neville wasn't used to seeing Harry Potter so shaky, so unsure of himself.

"Just… just that you were the Boy Who Lived… I don't think that James knew what any of it meant, but he sure has been in a sulk since we got home."

Harry nodded his head, overwhelmed, and placed his face in his hands. "You didn't say anything to him, right?"

"No Harry, I'd never do that."

With a small nod, Harry knew that Neville wouldn't take such liberties upon himself, and found relief in that.

"I'm going to go home now, Harry, if you don't mind. You know how to reach me if you need me."

"Thanks, Neville."

Harry watched Neville leave through the floo, sitting quietly for a few minutes to decide how best to proceed. The biggest question was if he should tell nine year old James the truth or not. Harry and Ginny didn't want their children to know of their family's haunted past, about all the trials Harry had been forced to endure. They didn't want any of them to think of him differently, something Harry was positively petrified of. Harry couldn't rationalize telling one child without telling the others, to go through that painful experience more than once.

Telling Lily at five years old would have been completely out of the question. Harry thought nine was still too young to indulge his eldest with the secrets of Harry's past.

But Harry couldn't outright lie, tell James that those women knew nothing. Harry had to tell him something, anything, in order to make this okay. How he cursed those two gossiping women who didn't know exactly what they were forcing Harry to do. How would they know that they sparked such an internal battle in the great Harry Potter?

Shaking his head, he started to stand up, stopped only by his son's brown eyes, imploring him.

"James!"

Harry sat back, slightly taken aback at his son's sudden presence. "How long have you been there?"

"Not too long."

James climbed up onto his father's lap, something he had long ago prided himself to be too old for. Harry didn't let his surprise at the action come through, but wrapped his arms tightly around his son. He didn't dare drop a kiss on his son's forehead, although that's what he wanted to do. It reminded him of a time when James was young, and constantly sought his father's reassurance.

"These people knew me today, Dad. But I didn't know them. They called you things. Good things, I think. But I don't know why."

"James… there is no easy answer to this. I want to tell you. Your mother and I need to tell you and your brother and sister. But right now is not the time. When you're all a bit older, we can tell you. But not right now."

"But Dad…"

"James, don't fight me on this. Your mother and I will tell you everything when the time is right."

"But how come they called you the Boy Who Lived?"

"There was once a time when I was considered that, but it's a story for a different time."

"Dad, I can handle it! I'm mature enough."

Harry smiled gently at the use of the word, as James clung to his father seeking comfort. "You know how you can show me how mature you are, bud?"

James shook his head from side to side.

"You can wait until we are all ready to hear this story. You can accept that there is a story to tell and that I will tell you when the time is right. Can you do that for me, James?"

Reluctantly, James nodded his head, looking down at his hands. "I'll try hard, Dad. Promise."

"Good boy."

Harry let go of James with a final rub to his son's back. "I'm proud of you, James." He said softly, causing James to grin.

"We have to go get Albus and Lily, and make dinner. What do you say we all cook tonight, and surprise Mum?"

"Only if we can have dessert too!"

Laughing, Harry agreed, extending his hand to James and entering the fireplace. With a puff of dust, Harry and James, father and son, whirled off to the Burrow.

When the time came, it would be hard to deal with. Harry fully trusted his family to accept him, past or not, and that helped a great deal.

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Tell me if you hate it, or if you liked it.

- Mur