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James Potter had never felt more embarrassed, more ashamed, or more wronged, than when he walked in on his (straight! he's straight I tell you!) son having sex with a man. Not when he'd walked in on his own parents having sex, not when he failed a semester of Charms, and not even when his parents had all but magically disowned him for proposing to a muggleborn. It felt like the universe had conspired against him to make his life miserable, starting two minutes ago.
His day had started out normally. He'd woken up, kissed his amazing and beautiful wife, kissed his petulant and scowling son, and went to work. He worked a bit before deciding he was pants at detailed paperwork and shoved it onto his partner's desk. Perhaps this had propelled his karma state from neutral to 'needs a malevolent god to wreck his life', but James had no way of telling. He then, in utter, mortifying ignorance, decided to visit his son's flat for lunch. Harry had slept over the night before after a late dinner since Lily had insisted he not floo while tipsy, but James felt like seeing him again. Neither he nor Lily saw much of Harry now that he'd gone into curse breaking, so James felt justified in wanting to spend more time with his only son.
In hindsight, Harry's bedroom must have had one-way silencing wards. Also in hindsight, the moment he realized Harry must still be sleeping (a quick spell had indicated he was in the bedroom) had been the best moment for James to turn back. But, with all sorts of prank ideas running through his head, James had carefully opened his son's bedroom door, then promptly wished he hadn't.
It was like watching the Wronski feint performed by an amateur player: you knew you were going to see the player crash, possibly breaking his neck, but you can't bring yourself to look away or even stop him.
Harry was— was fucking a man. In the behind. A redhead that looked suspiciously like one of Arthur's sons, but James couldn't tell which one. Of course he couldn't see his face, James thought, knowing he was panicking but finding himself unable to stop. The man's face was buried in Harry's pillow, and James now knew the image of another man's arse more vividly than he'd ever admit.
And Lily, his dear sweet ignorant Lily had bought that pillowcase as a housewarming present, the one that man was fisting and moaning into.
"I want to hear you," Harry groaned out, and James realized he'd been standing in place for too long.
James swallowed, trying not to breathe in the heavy scent of sex and sweat and heat, and realized he had no idea what to say, how to interrupt them, but he couldn't just stand here anymore because that was his son, his son and a man.
He left the room, closed the door, and floo'd home, still shocked and angry and disgusted and feeling so many emotions at once that he just attributed the feeling to complete chaos.
Remus was sitting James' sofa, reading some book about old magics which James deemed completely unimportant in his current state. Not that he'd think much differently in his regular state, but the shell-shocked had much more leeway for rudeness. "Remus," he snapped, "your book is getting dust on the sofa."
Somehow, he stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed four vials of calming draught, and started pouring them down his throat.
"James, what happened?" Remus asked, sitting down across the table from him. It seemed he'd ignored James' comment. James glared at the world. "Should I floo-call Lily?"
"No." James finished off the fourth vial, waiting for the calmness to seep into his veins. "No— I— I—" He couldn't say it.
Remus nodded. "Do you want something stronger?"
"No. I need to go back. Later."
"Is this about a case? Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to shut up?"
James knew Remus wouldn't be upset if he said he wanted silence, but he needed to talk about it and Remus was the most level-headed man he knew. "I walked in on Harry."
"Right," Remus affirmed. "Naked? Having sex?"
"The second."
"What happened? You wouldn't be freaking out this much if it wasn't something major."
James stared at Remus, trying to make him see without James having to tell him. "With a man," he choked out.
Remus' face showed a more neutral shock, but enough so that James could tell he hadn't known. Who could have known? James told him the entire story from start to finish, and by the end, his potion started working enough to allow him to speak in complete sentences.
"I didn't interrupt them. They didn't even realize I was there. I messed up Harry's fireplace a bit, but that could've been a routine floo check or an accidental visitor. I could ignore it." He looked pleadingly at Remus. "I could think of it as a really bad dream and ignore it for the rest of my life."
Remus shook his head and patted James on the shoulder for comfort. "If Harry's really gay, you won't be able to ignore it, James."
James sighed. "I never imagined this would happen. Where did I go wrong?" He looked to Remus for answers, but for once, Remus didn't have them. "It's just that. . . Lily wasn't joking when she called Harry my little clone. He's so much like me, and I usually love that! He looks like me, he plays Quidditch like me, he acts like me a lot, he . . ." James ran his hand through his hair, then stared at his hand. "He runs his hand through his hair like me when he's stressed. He's masculine. I'm masculine. I'm the pinnacle of masculinity, in fact! He's practically me but he's gay and I'm not."
"James, go talk to him. This isn't the time for your own sexual identity crisis. Floo to his flat, loudly yell, 'Harry, Dad's here,' give him some time to get ready, then sit down and talk to him about this. And don't use your Auror voice. He's not a criminal and you love him, whatever his sexual preferences are." Remus stared at him appraisingly. "Right?"
"Right. He's not doing anything illegal and I love him. A lot." James accepted a cup of tea from Remus and noticed it was laced with another dose of calming draught. "He dated a redhead a few years ago. A female redhead!"
Remus sighed and directed James to his own floo. "And now he's dating—ah, having sex with, at least—a male redhead. You still have that in common."
James glowered at him a little, but stepped through the floo. When he arrived at Harry's flat again, he yelled, "Harry James Potter! Your father's here to see you! You better not be doing anything wrong and immoral!"