A/N: So recently I have been making myself cry by thinking about James and Harry as a father-son team. As such, I've decided to have a go writing it myself. Obviously there will be several questions about how they came to be in this situation, but all will be revealed as the story unfolds. For the most part this will follow James, as we kind of know what happens to Harry while he's at Hogwarts. I'm not 100% sure how canon divergent this will get but I imagine it will be more so as we get further into the story.

Enjoy :)

That Good Night

Mr Potter of Puddletown, Dorset lived a perfectly extraordinary life, thank you very much. He owned an extraordinary house, which received extraordinarily longwinded letters of complaint from the parish council about his out of control garden and climbing ivy. His teapot whistled at extraordinary times, such as when somebody put too many teabags in it or walked through the back door and he had an extraordinary collection of moving photographs, most of them portraying an extraordinary lady with long red hair and vibrant green eyes. He held an extraordinary job as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic and he could do the most extraordinary voices when reading a storybook at bedtime. Most importantly he had an extraordinary son called Harry.

In that very moment he was arguing with his extraordinary son.

"But I don't want to go see the Dursleys!" Harry whined. He was stood across from James, his balled up fists barely visible beneath too long sleeves that James insisted he would grow into because that was what parents were meant to say.

"I don't care." James said, this time not even looking up from what he was doing. They had replayed this argument more times than either could count and now James was far more interested in getting the tomato sauce stain off the kitchen worktop.

"I don't understand why I have to go see them."

"Because." James cringed at his own reasoning, having broken one of the first parenting rules he had set himself when Harry was born. 'Because what?' he could hear his younger self protest.

"It's not like they even like me, and neither of us like them."

Eager not to break another parenting rule, this time lying, James kept his mouth shut. However, his son was not deterred by his silence.

"Seriously, Dad, could you at least tell me properly why I have to go?" Harry's voice had steadied now and taken on a slightly pleading tone. James sighed and turned to face him.

"Look," he said, kneeling down so that their faces were level, "they're your Mum's only family. She never got the chance to make up with them so it's our job to do that for her."

It felt morally questionable to attempt emotional blackmail on a ten year old, but it was his final option. Harry looked down at his father's hand on his shoulder then turned his green eyes to James' hazel ones. "Fine," he said, defeated, "I'll go but I won't enjoy it."

James smiled gently, "I'd be worried if you did. Now, let's go see if you can beat me at chess yet."

As it turned out Harry could not beat James at chess yet, but he was losing less spectacularly with each succeeding game James would remark encouragingly. Harry wondered aloud if parents were not meant to let their children win at least occasionally to build confidence.

"Nah." James answered, "Parents only say they do that to get over the embarrassment of losing to ten year olds."

"So you genuinely missed that goal I scored against you yesterday?" Harry asked with an impish grin.

"Well there are exceptions to every rule. Like you said, I'm meant to build your confidence up."

They played another game of chess with Harry losing again. As a consolation for his impending trip to the Dursley's, James allowed Harry a half pint of butterbeer. Slowly the sky grew darker and conversation turned to Lily as it often did. They were midway through discussing Lily's talent, or lack thereof, at Quidditch when Harry asked a difficult question.

"Why did Mum and Aunt Petunia fall out?"

James shifted uncomfortably. They were sat on the living room floor; the abandoned chess set separating them. He picked up a knight before speaking.

"Your…your Aunt wasn't too big on magic." He began to explain. Harry thought this was rather obvious, having inferred from Petunia's previous reactions to his mentions of flying and talking mirrors that his Aunt was not a fan of the wizarding world. "And your Uncle doesn't particularly like it either so they really just encourage each other. I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but they can be quite disagreeable when they don't like something."

Harry returned James' smile then continued with his questioning, "But why do they hate magic so much?"

"Well Vernon just seems to hate anything that isn't to do with golfing, work, or complaining, so that's his reason."

"What about Aunt Petunia?" Harry pressed.

James pondered for a moment then began to speak slowly, "I don't know. I suppose, I mean I've always suspected, that she was jealous. You know because your mum got to go to this wonderful school and have all these adventures while she just stayed stuck in Lincolnshire."

Harry nodded. He too would be rather jealous if he were Petunia Dursley. It would be like Neville Longbottom getting to go to Hogwarts in September and he, Harry, having to stay at home. He shuddered slightly at the thought, having heard such wonderful tales about the castle from his father and his Uncle Remus.

After bidding James a goodnight Harry went to bed with thoughts of Hogwarts pushing his dread of the next day out of his mind.

James laid in bed with similar thoughts, though the prospect of Harry going to Hogwarts in less than two months only added to his growing sense of unhappiness.

The next morning Harry entered the kitchen with an expression of grim resignation that was far too mature for a ten year old to have etched onto his face. By way of apology James had cooked a full fry up for breakfast but it did not stop Harry from looking like a soldier about to be court-marshalled. He sat in silence for much of breakfast, only giving one-word replies to James' forced cheery observations.

In the afternoon they arrived in Surrey via side-along apparition, something that James and Harry hated in equal measure but that was unavoidable due to the Dursleys' refusal to let James install a floo-powder accommodating fireplace.

"This is it." Harry remarked darkly under his breath.

"Come on, mate, it's only for one night." James said, trying hard not to laugh at the sight of a little boy wearing speaking with such an ominous sense of foreboding.

This did not appear to alleviate Harry's melancholia. "I can't believe you're abandoning me. I thought you loved me." He glared up at James from under his fringe.

"I'm doing this because I love you." James said quietly.

"No you don't. You wouldn't do this if you did." All talk of doing it for his mother seemed to have been forgotten.

James was beginning to grow bored of Harry's sulk. "You're too young to understand just yet. I'll explain to you when you're older." Another parenting rule broken.

Harry scowled. He loathed it when adults told him he would not understand, as though being ten made him stupid. He was about to retort but James had begun to steer him to Privet Drive by the shoulder and had that look on his face that meant he would start getting snappy if Harry pushed it.

Once they were at number four, Privet Drive they stood staring at it for several moments. James told himself it was to let Harry calm down before going in but in truth it was just as much for his own benefit. It would not do to lose his temper with Vernon Dursley. Even an Auror would be prosecuted for hexing a muggle, no matter how much said muggle was asking for it.

Finally James clapped Harry bracingly on the shoulder. "Right," he said, "let's go do this."

James knocked, careful to use the doorknocker because Petunia had specifically told him not to for fear of it scuffing the paint beneath. As they waited for signs of a skinny figure to come rippling towards the glass, Harry tried not wrinkle his nose at the prospect of a full night with the Dursleys.

The door was prised open almost tentatively to reveal a tall, horsey woman clad in peach. Petunia Dursley greeted them stiffly, lips pursed, and asked them to take their shoes off before they stepped inside.

She led them through to the neatly ordered living room where her beefy husband and wobbly pink son were stood side-by-side. James wondered dryly if Petunia had told her family to stand dead in the centre of the room so as not to mess up the symetricality of it.

"Potter." Vernon Dursley growled, holding a ham-like hand out.

"Vernon." James replied, grasping it with his own much slimmer one. Vernon pulled away almost immediately as though scared of catching magic from James. On his part James was incredibly tempted not to let go of his hand and keep holding it to see just how much Vernon would panic. Instead he turned to the Dursley's son, "Hello, Dudley," he said, offering his hand.

"Hello, Mr Potter." Dudley shook James' hand before either of his parents could stop him. Honestly Dudley could not fully understand why he was meant to hate Mr Potter. He knew his parents could not stand James but Dudley personally quite liked that he always shook Dudley's hand like a he would a grown-up's.

"Pot – Harry." Vernon said with a nod in Harry's direction.

"Durs – Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, about to add a similar jerk of the head before he caught James' eye.

With the pleasantries over the little group stood with nothing but dead air passing between them. James began to fidget.

"Right, erm, Harry why don't you and Dudley go up to Dudley's bedroom and play while I talk with your Aunt and Uncle?"

Vernon bristled at that man ordering his son about in Vernon's own house but bit his tongue at the warning glance that Petunia sent him.

"I'll come up before I go." Assured James.

The boys trooped upstairs. Harry thought it rather rich of his dad to insist that Harry make an effort with his mother's family when he himself would be leaving almost immediately. They soon stood awkwardly in Dudley's massive bedroom, which was littered with toys that Harry had never seen before. It was the only part of the house he could stand, not being disconcertingly clean and neat like the rest of it. Still, just because he did not hate it did not mean he liked it.

Dudley regarded his cousin with a mixture of suspicion and interest. His parents had told him to be careful around Harry because he was apparently dangerous and disturbed but to Dudley he appeared entirely harmless, if a bit weird and weedy. In fact he looked as if one strong gust of wind would blow him away. Actually Dudley secretly hoped that one day the wind would blow Harry away. His parents were always very on edge and prone to scolding during Harry's yearly visits.

"Okay," said James once he heard Dudley's bedroom door close, "I think you know what chat we're about to have."

"Yes, Potter, we already know. You don't have to remind us." Vernon snarled. He was eager to get the wizard and his magic out of Little Whinging before the neighbours noticed.

"Well it's nice to keep up with tradition, isn't it?"

Vernon knew better than to buy into his pleasant tone. Potter would use his – he hated to even think of the word - wand on the lot of them given the chance.

"If I hear that either of you are in anyway unpleasant to Harry, if you do anything to upset him, then I assure you that I won't be anywhere near the charming company that I usually am." James' tone was measured but there was an edge to his voice. Vernon let out an ugly snort, which went ignored. "And I don't want you saying anything about Lily," James continued, mainly aiming his speech towards Petunia, "unless it's to tell Harry how wonderful she was."

Petunia did not reply as she was too busy chewing on the inside of her cheek but she did meet James' eyes for a brief second.

Hardly fifteen minutes had passed before James came upstairs to find Harry and Dudley sat in silence as they watched Dudley's toy cars race around the track of their own accord. James was momentarily distracted by wondering how they did so without magic before he beckoned Harry over to him.

"Hey, come here for a moment."

They stood in the hallway.

"You're leaving me, aren't you?" Harry asked glumly.

"Afraid so, mate. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have a decent time –"

"I won't."

"-If you just try –"

"I refuse."

"- And the Dursley's will be nice – "

"They won't."

"- And I love you – "

"I feel like you don't."

"- And I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to pick you up."

"Can't you come sooner?"

James ruffled Harry's hair, "No, sorry but I have work. I promise I'll try to get out early, though. I love you."

Harry did not reply.

"Come on, what are you meant to say now?"

"I want to go live with Remus."

James laughed, "I don't think he'd take you."

"Fine," Harry relented, "I love you too."

They hugged and Harry squeezed so tightly that for a moment James thought he would never let go.

"Goodbye, Dudley." James called, poking his head through the door.

Dudley hardly looked up from his racetrack as he replied, "Bye, Mr Potter."

"Bye, mate."

"Bye, Dad."

James offered Harry one last encouraging smile, which was met with a solemn look, before leaving.

Harry sighed and, once he heard the front door shut behind his father, resigned himself to a miserable night.

For the most part the rest of the day went without argument. At dinner Uncle Vernon asked Harry about school but mainly just used his answers as an opportunity to show off how much better Dudley was. Aunt Petunia said very little, only choosing to speak when Harry did something particularly abhorrent such as let gravy drip from his plate onto the table cloth or place his knife and fork on the plate at the wrong angle.

In an attempt to keep the amount of time Harry and his magic spent in their house to a minimum, the Dursley's had decided to move up Dudley's birthday trip to the zoo by several days. Dudley did not mind as he knew that he would likely get to do something even better on his actual birthday, so in effect was getting two celebrations.

Harry himself was quite excited. He had loved it when James had taken him to the zoo and was hopeful that the Dursley's would continue their habit of leaving him to his own devices once out of the house. The only issue was that Dudley's friend, Piers Polkiss, would be accompanying them. Dudley was manageable by himself – generally he struggled to string too many words together to bother Harry – but around his friends he became downright horrific. Hopefully this time Harry would not end up half way up an oak tree in an attempt to avoid them.

No, he would not. After all, he was nearly eleven now - far too old to be letting accidental magic get the better of him.