STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this universe that I am playing with. All canon characters are JK Rowling and the world is hers.

I am attempting to keep this canon-compliant although I will be writing about adult and/or explicit themes.

Enjoy!

May 1, 2001 Muggle London

"Look over there, back wall… what do you see"

"Kids, out for a drink and a snog. Well, that tall redhead is going to get laid tonight… but I see kids"

The two men drinking a pint of ale in a dark corner of the Copper Cauldron had their heads together and were whispering quietly. They had known each other for their entire adult lives. From afar, neither man was particularly notable. Both were in their late 40s or early 50s. They were fit but not amazingly so; it was not a fitness of the gym and low carb Mediterranean diets, but the fitness of daily doing. Their hair was short and well trimmed but it was not a banker's haircut or a crew cut of young men who had better things to do with their time than caring about their hair. The clothes were rightly forgettable. Comfortable slacks and a sweater on the taller man who had spoken first, while trousers and a button down covered by a cardigan were worn by the second man.

They were forgettable men. Or at least they were forgettable until one looked at their eyes and then they became completely unforgettable. Their eyes were alert and always moving. Relaxation could be seen in their bodies but not in their eyes. The taller man's green eyes scanned the room like he was an early warning radar looking for Russian bombers even as the average sized man's blue eyes inventoried everyone about as if he was a conman looking for his next mark.

"Look again, look hard…."

The short man looked again, and he looked hard. His eyes and his head never focused on the youngsters eleven meters away, but he never stopped noticing.

Across the room, about twenty young adults were raising their drinks and eating from a buffet table. None of them were over the age of twenty-five. Almost half of them were women and all of them were at least decent looking if not stunning. An ethereal blonde was in some ways the most attractive although the red head whose arm was on the shoulder of an average looking young man with brown hair and NHS glasses would have the most experience in causing a room of young men to shut up and pant.

Their clothes were well made. Most were dressed as either university students or junior assistant bankers. But on half of them, the well fitted sweaters and jackets and dresses were worn like costumes. This was not their regular mode of dress and presentation. This was public facing wear. The blonde had earrings that even from here looked off, round orange globes with green leaf work. A necklace on the brunette changed colors every few seconds; the light in the pub was not that variable and she did not strike him as one who would wear a childish mood ring for jewelry.

Far more importantly than the clothing or their jewelry were their eyes. Several of the party goers were continually scanning the room. They had taken one of the few places in the restaurant where eyes could be on the front door, the side door and the kitchen door. The probing eyes never stared at anyone, instead they catalogued the scene and a few seconds later, they only saw the differences. Sometimes they were laughing at a joke, or reaching for a glass, but their eyes never stopped. All of them were doing this without thinking.

Outside of the pub, a large bang was heard. The short man paused for a second as he catalogued the sound - not a bomb, and not a gunshot. An infinitesimal moment later, he classified the noise as a large truck backfiring. He relaxed. And as he was relaxing, he saw the youths across the room relax as well. Half of them had hands in their jackets or purses while at least three of them including the redhead who was destined to get laid had spread out and advanced towards the door.

"Ahh… I know what's bothering Sergeant Major Houlihan… they are veterans and you don't know who the hell they are…."

"Exactly Colonel, if you walk by them, their accents are all over Britain; the short guy closest to us has to be from Derry, while the two redheads are brother and sister from the south. The average looking guy in the middle is Surrey while the brunette spent too much time learning the Queen's English as a middle class striver from the Home Counties… We should know them. The Regiment is the only British unit that has seen significant combat time since those kids hit puberty. I've seen them in this pub last year on the 1st of May and a small group of them are almost regulars here. I should know them. "

The two men who had the scars to prove their friendship and loyalty to each other sipped their beers. They kept an eye on the crowds that were coming into the pub for an evening drink and then leaving. The mystery deepened as they observed more. The group was actually two different groups across the room. One group was clearly single combat warriors or commandos; their discipline was not deferential and they lived and breathed as a small trio. The participants in that trio were remarkably average; spectacled raven haired man, the lithe young woman with the flashy necklace and the tall redhead. The Sergeant Major had shared the same bond with the other four men who had spent weeks in a tiny hole near a major river crossing in the winter of 1991. The long wavy haired young woman and the tall redhead were an obvious couple but everyone around the group liked him, and respected if not slightly feared her. The others were soldiers, used to being under discipline and under command. The busty redhead or the thick set, heavily muscled man with a widow's peak were the obvious commanders although they deferred and consulted frequently with the blonde.

They had seen these breakdowns whenever the Regiment had a barbecue. The little cliques of experience from Goose Green to Basra and

the dozens of places that no one could officially discuss formed within a drink or two. It was natural that the people who one trusted one's life to and who trusted their life to you were the ones that you wanted to be around.

Another ale was ordered. The women were driving the sergeant major and the colonel nuts; the women at Regimental family events were peripheral. The children were extraneous. Usually everyone had a bite to eat and a drink before the men found their comrades in arms and the women clustered together and talked about the inanities of day to day life of being married into the regiment. The wives and girlfriends were used to their men disappearing for weeks if not months. They were used to seeing new scars on their men and then being told first not to ask and then not to worry. The sergeant major had a dozen scars from half a dozen bad days on his body, and his wife of twenty three years could guess without asking where most of them came from.

Here the women were just as involved in the conversations. Here the women had scars. A tall Desi girl had what looked like a gauntlet scar running from her chin to inches above her bicep. The brunette was obviously tortured with a very sharp knife. It took a while and a trip to the water closet for the colonel to see the details of the job that would have scared any surgeon in charge of reconstruction. At least four of the men had visible scars, the implicit leader had a collection of scars on his face, his arms and his hands that could rival that of most men in the Regiment. He was not surprised by the men bearing scars, but the women puzzled him.

"Just who are they Sergeant?"

"I don't know Colonel, but I think we should find out."