A new sort of respect for Harry blossomed in James, deep in the part of him that told him it was his responsibility to look after Sirius and Remus. Harry had stepped up when it mattered, he'd filled James' role when he wasn't able to. Maybe not in the same way, maybe with different reasons. His somber expression quirked into more of a smirk. My dad wouldn't have wanted his two best friends to become killers. He didn't know how Harry would have known that about him, or maybe it was just... Harry, who knew that it was wrong. Appearances aside, he'd never quite seen so much of himself in his son. Perhaps that was why he was comfortable enough to ask the next question that popped into his head.
"How did he die?" It wasn't vicious, or eager. It sounded almost tired to his ears, but part of him needed to know.
He nodded, as if trying to resign himself to talking about this... it wasn't that it was difficult... well, no more so than talking about anything revolving around the war was.
"I turned up at Malfoy Manor, and he was there. Found me and was ready to kill me, but I reminded him of the life debt he owned me for saving him from Remus and Sirius. By that time, he'd lost his hand. Well, not lost so much as gave it up to resurrect Voldemort." he bit his lip and took a long drink of his beer, pausing to mull things over.
Of all the things he'd seen through the war, the death of Cedric Digory, such a good and innocent young man, haunted him more than most things. That night in the graveyard, the return of Voldemort... it was still enough to cause a bit of tightness in his chest, which he washed down with a fair amount of beer before continuing.
"Well, his hand was replaced by Voldemort with a silver hand, which turned on him and strangled him when he wouldn't kill me." He took another drink of beer, finishing it off rather quicker than he'd anticipated.
Quietly, he watched Harry talk, brace himself, and talk again. James had developed quite a knack for depressing conversations, hadn't he? Finishing off his own beer, he was satisfied with the matter. Giving a nod, he reckoned it was time to plow ahead.
"At least it's done with," he announced. "Dwelling on the past- well, the bad parts of the past, it doesn't do anyone much good." And that was true enough. Through whatever miracle had brought them all together, he wasn't about to let the time they'd been gifted be wasted on the likes of Peter and Voldemort. "Oi! Graciela!" he called over his shoulder with a grin. "Más cerveza!"
He was in Ibiza with his son, and they were going to do it right. He refused to let this dampen their outing, especially given how clearly Harry didn't care for the subject matter. Only a few moments later, Graciela was stepping outside, her sandals clicking along the concrete floor.
"Su deseo? Mi comando," she cooed with a bit of mockery, an open beer in each hand. And then her eyes fell on Harry. "Mi dios, quién es este?"
And just like that, his broad grin returned. He suspected she thought this was some brother he'd never had the sense to bring 'round. "Mi hijo, Harry. Harry, this is Graciela, she owns the place now."
Blinking just a bit she looked back and forth between Harry and James a few times. With a chuckle, she placed the beers on the table. Maybe she thought he was pulling her leg, from the way she was quirking a brow in his direction.
"Di hola," he instructed, quite amused by the whole thing. Quickly he added, "No español. Su Inglés mal... todavía?"
She shot him a critical look when he suggested her English was poor, smacking him on the shoulder. James barked out a small laugh at that. Somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten the escapism in muggle culture. Graciela didn't know he was supposed to be dead, didn't know Harry was famous. They could just be regular, normal, notable only for who they were, not what their names were. After all, name or no, he was still James Potter - and remarkably charming when he wanted to be. This fact was reinforced when Graciela attempted to mollify his mock offense by ruffling his hair a bit before turning back to Harry.
"Hello mister Harry," she greeted quite graciously, her thick accent doing nothing to mask her smugness. "Your first time here?"