James made his way down the corridor to Sirius's cabin, Lily behind him. The sun was just beginning to rise over the red, otherworldly desert landscape, and the view out the train windows was eerie, almost like it had been created through some obscure magics.

He knocked on Sirius's door, and after a few moments, the door slid open. Sirius was still in his pyjamas, his hair messy. The bed had already been turned back into a seat, and the sheets folded and tucked away on the luggage rack.

'Good morning, Padfoot,' James said lightly, consciously choosing to use his Marauder codename in hopes of keeping Sirius's seemingly good mood. 'Slept well?'

'Was okay,' Sirius replied, looking up at him. 'And you, Prongs?'

'Not bad,' James said. 'Are you dressed?'

Sirius looked at himself for a second. 'I'll have to change out of the pyjamas and brush my teeth.'

James nodded. 'Why don't you do that and meet us in our compartment?'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'For what?'

'We have something that we wanted to…discuss with you,' Lily supplied in a cautious voice.

'Fine,' Sirius said, a little darkly, perhaps realising what they wanted to talk to him about. 'I'll meet you there.'

James and Lily left and returned to their own compartment. They closed the door behind them and drew their wands to start casting the charms they would need for what they had planned to do. James cast an Undetectable Space-Expansion Charm, tripling the room available within the compartment, while Lily soundproofed the room and magically padded the floors and walls. Finally, James drew the blinds and locked them in place, casting the compartment into near darkness.

There was a knock on the door, and James peeked out to see Sirius standing in the corridor. He opened the door wider, allowing him to come in. As Sirius entered, his face quickly took on a look of shock and puzzlement when he saw what they had prepared.

'What's going on?' he asked, sounding a little alarmed.

'Why don't you take a seat, Sirius?' Lily said kindly. 'We'll explain.'

Sirius gulped before marching over and plopping down on one of the seats, examining the space more carefully as he sat down. James could see his mind working behind his eyes, how he was already instinctively searching for an escape path.

James took a deep breath. He had rehearsed this conversation several times in his head already, but to actually have it felt like a whole different matter altogether. What he had planned to say felt stiff, impersonal, but he pressed on anyway, thinking that it was better to just get it over with.

'Sirius…well…thank you for telling me…what you told me…yesterday,' he began.

Sirius nodded, his face neither brightening nor darkening. James grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil from the small fold-out table before continuing.

'We…Lily and I…we thought that maybe…maybe, we could try something different…so that we can better help you.'

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 'And what is it that you wanted to try?'

'Remember what we did yesterday?' James asked, to which Sirius nodded. 'Well…I was thinking…we could try something similar…but closer to what you told us you dream about.'

There was a moment of silence as Sirius processed that. 'How did you want to do that?' he asked, sounding resigned and curious at the same time.

James took another deep breath. 'I think we should start slowly,' he answered. 'Lily and I could Disillusion ourselves…and we'll cast small flashes of light as we move around the room. We enlarged the compartment, as you see, so that we could do that. Once you feel okay with the lights, we can start adding sound, too. In the end…the goal is to get you to disassociate flashes and sudden loud noises with what happened…just like what we did before, but just approaching it a different way.'

The three of them looked at each other mutely for a long minute before Sirius broke the silence. 'I really don't fear it as much as I thought I would,' he whispered, his breath hoarse. 'The noises and the light, I mean.'

That unexpected statement caught James off-guard. 'Pardon?'

Sirius swallowed. 'I don't fear it as much as I thought I would when we talked about it yesterday,' he repeated. 'The fear seemed to go away after…it seemed to fade a little, somehow…after I…I spoke openly about it. If you asked me how much I fear those memories on that scale of yours…I'd give it a twenty-five, maybe.'

James exchanged a look with Lily. So that had been the cause of Sirius's miraculously good mood yesterday. For reasons that James did not understand, the conversation that they had had had taken Sirius a stride forward in the right direction. But as much as James wanted to celebrate the news, he knew that he had to be cautious. Sirius might not be fearing those memories consciously, but that did not mean that there would be no response to them still hardwired in his mind.

'That's…good,' James said carefully. 'Maybe…maybe we should put you through a test? With sound and light? Just to see how you would react?'

As soon as he said that, James wanted to slap himself. What he had proposed had not been suggested in any of the texts that he had consulted. He was purely going off of the intuition of an amateur, intuition that could end up hurting Sirius more than helping. Yet, at the same time, he also wanted to know that Sirius was truly all right, that he truly did not fear those memories, and at the same time, he felt irrationally that his intuition might, in fact, be right?

Sirius grunted and rose. 'Fine. What do I need to do?'

Lily led him over to the centre of the expanded compartment and bade him to stand still. She and James exchanged a look before Disillusioning themselves. They had gone through the plan several times already. He trusted that she knew what to do, and she him.

They started pacing around the compartment, firing off flashes of colour from their wands, occasionally mixing in loud cracks or bangs. James noticed that Sirius jumped a little at the first flashes and especially at the first explosion-like sound, but still stood stiffly, rooted to the spot. His face paled slightly as he held a look of intense concentration, as if working hard to convince himself that it was all a simulation, that he was not really in a battle…

James and Lily kept it up for nearly ten minutes. As James continued casting spells, he also tried to concentrate on monitoring Sirius. Seven or eight minutes in, he seemed slightly shaken, but otherwise almost…okay. His pupils had returned to their normal size, and his countenance was not as pale as it had been during their first sessions. Finally, supposing that Sirius had 'stabilised', James stopped his casting and dispelled the Disillusionment, panting slightly as he sat back down.

'How do you feel, Padfoot?' Lily asked gently, cancelling her own Disillusionment Charm.

Sirius collapsed into his own seat. 'Not terrible,' he answered breathlessly.

'Compared to our first day with the Pettigrew memory?' James inquired.

Sirius shrugged. 'Not as bad.'

'How so?' James pressed for more.

Sirius sighed, looking hesitant for several seconds before opening his mouth. 'I'm…I guess I'm not seeing the scenes right in my head like I used to. When we did the Pettigrew memory…I always saw it pictured clearly in my mind…and this…this feels different. When I saw it again…it was just lights and sounds…nothing more.'

James nodded and made a mental note to write that observation down. 'Do you still dream about it often?' he asked. 'The war?'

Sirius tried to look out the window, but with the blinds drawn, he could not see anything to occupy himself with. 'Less since we started,' he admitted, sounding reluctant. 'Well…I've dreamt less in general. But it's just the…' His face grew terribly grim. 'The dreams about those…other things…'

There was no need to ask what the 'other things' were. 'What about Pettigrew?' James asked, directing the conversation away from the touchy subject. For the meantime, at least.

Sirius's expression told James that he was trying to recall. 'Only once,' he replied. 'After the first day.'

James nodded. Intuitively, that seemed as good of a sign as any that what they were doing was yielding results, though clinically, it still might be too early to draw a conclusion. Sirius seemed to have managed to suppress his nightmares of Pettigrew, with the exception of that first night, though even that seemed understandable, given that they had just dredged up old traumas…

'Is there anything else you dream frequently of?' James asked, looking down the list. 'Or memories that seem to get brought back often?'

Sirius thought silently. 'No,' he answered in a whisper. 'Not really. It's only...that…'

James gulped and felt blood flow from his face. Despite them all seemingly trying their best to put it off, they had arrived at the inevitability that was Sirius's memories of Azkaban. James felt the familiar feeling of being lost. He could not bring Sirius in front of a dementor, nor, obviously, could he lock him in a small, dark room. But just plain talking through it…would it be enough? Azkaban was completely different from the Pettigrew encounter, after all.

But he would not try now. As with so many things, he needed to think it through, preferably with Lily, and perhaps consult his materials once again. He glanced down at his watch. They had to get going, anyway.

He and Lily began dispelling the charms that they had cast, and the room shrank back down to the normal-looking muggle compartment. They proceeded down to the restaurant car for breakfast, and when they arrived, they found Helen and Josh already sitting at one of the tables. Harry and Hermione, however, were nowhere to be seen.

James did not think too much of it as he sat down. The two of them were often the last ones to come down, and today was simply no different. He ordered a hearty breakfast, complete with a cup of coffee, and ate slowly, looking out the window at the Outback flying past their window.

It was not until James was almost finished with his breakfast that Harry and Hermione showed up. Even at first glance, something seemed…off. They were clinging to each other more tightly than usual – and that was saying something, James thought with a touch of humour.

'How was your night?' Helen asked, pulling out two chairs. The two separated, a little reluctantly, and sat down tiredly.

'Fine,' Harry mumbled, taking a piece of toast.

James examined his son more closely. There were obvious shadows under his eyes, and his countenance looked almost sallow. He picked up his butter knife, and James noticed that his movements seemed weak and lethargic.

His gaze shifted over to Hermione. She looked a little better, though that was not saying much. There were clumps of her hair sticking up on end. Her face did not look as sickly as Harry's, but it was still obvious that she had not slept much the previous night.

It was certainly not usual. The two of them, judging from the limited time that James had spent together with them, at least, were almost always energised and animated – when they were around each other. Something had shaken both of them last night, and James deduced what it was in an instant. It was disturbingly similar to the expression that Sirius had borne on his face the mornings after their first sessions together.

James remembered his conversation with Helen the day before, and the promise that he had made, and knew instantly that he needed to act…do something. He stood up, not having finished his breakfast, but excused himself from the table, muttering an excuse about needing to 'get ready'. He walked back down the corridor to his compartment and pushed open his compartment door before sitting down on his seat, his eyes looking out the window at the desert landscape but not quite taking anything in as his thoughts absorbed him.

It was obvious that despite all assurances and appearances, Harry was not all right. He and Hermione helped each other with their presence, James did not doubt that, but could they truly heal each other? What if they were suffering more than they let on?

James stood up decisively. He had a duty to find out. Not only was he now perhaps the only person in all of Magical Britain who knew anything about PTSD, but he was also Harry's father, and, he hoped, a friend of Hermione's parents. Even without the promise that he had made to Helen the day before, he would have done anything he could to investigate further. Those titles – 'father', 'friend' – were not simply something to be taken for granted, after all. They had to be earned, and he would do his best to earn them.

He checked his watch. It was almost nine. The train was due to arrive in Alice Springs in half an hour, and he decided that this was not the time to have this conversation with either of them. Harry and Hermione should have time to process what had happened before he went to them. Perhaps he was being a fool, but James also thought that they should have the opportunity to explore the desert town without him hanging yet another morsel of dread over their heads.

He would keep a close eye on them during the day excursion, James decided, and check in on them after they had returned to their compartment for the night. A day of sightseeing and good food might make the conversation easier for everyone.

He hoped that he was making the right choice…

Harry threw open his compartment door and fell limply onto his bed, which still sat unmade from the previous night. His legs were sore from a day of walking, his face and arms slightly red from being under the burning desert sun all day, and his eyes were constantly drooping. The disrupted sleep of the night before was catching up to him.

Hermione staggered through after him, threw her bag onto the luggage rack, and collapsed on top of him, her face impacting the soft pillow with a thud. Struggling a little, he brought his arms up and wrapped them around her weakly.

'How do you feel?' Harry whispered, clumsily trying to stroke her hair.

'Tired,' Hermione mumbled into the pillow, not bothering to pick her head up.

'Then sleep.'

'The lights are on.'

Harry grunted, trying to reach for the light switch on the opposite wall, before giving up and going for his wand. With a single fatigued flick, the lights in the compartment shut off, and the window blinds closed.

'Good night, Hermione,' he murmured, closing his eyes.

'Good night, Harry,' he thought he heard her voice say.

The next thing Harry heard was a knocking on the compartment door. He shifted on his bed, and found that Hermione's weight was still draped over him, pinning him to the bed and tangling his limbs. He opened his eyes. It was morning, evidenced by the sunlight filtering through the window blinds. He peeked out. The landscape outside was still the familiar extraplanetary red, though a small town could be seen off in the far distance.

There was a knock on the door again. 'Who is it?' Harry called, his voice a little hoarse.

'It's me,' came his father's voice. 'You're awake, Harry?'

'I am,' Harry replied, an irrational feeling of anxiety coming over him as he reached for his wand. 'What happened?'

'Nothing,' James replied. 'I didn't see you at all after dinner last night and wanted to make sure everything was okay. Also, I wanted to talk to you for a minute.'

'Talk to me?'

'Yes, you and Hermione. Are you decent?'

'Uh…no,' Harry answered. 'Hermione's still asleep.'

'I'm awake,' Hermione moaned quietly. 'Who is it?'

'It's my dad,' Harry whispered before turning his face back towards the door. 'What did you want to talk to us about?'

'Harry, could you get ready?' James asked. 'I'll come back in twenty minutes.'

'Fine,' Harry replied, half grumbling. Reluctantly, he and Hermione disentangled their bodies, clothes, and hair and headed down to the washroom. He turned the shower on as hot as he could handle and stepped under the stream of water, scrubbing off the sleep and grime of yesterday. He then quickly brushed his teeth and magically dried his hair, before returning to his compartment.

Hermione had already cleaned up and reset the beds to their sitting configuration. She gave him a small smile when she saw him. The night's sleep seemed to have done wonders. The colour of her countenance looked far healthier, and her eyes shined once again, if in a subdued fashion.

'Good morning,' Harry said, pecking her on the lips. He was altogether unprepared when Hermione gave a mischievous giggle and suddenly pulled him tightly to her. The kiss soon grew heated. Their lips parted, and tongues darted forward. His hand travelled up and down her back, before wrapping around to her front and beginning to slide under her shirt…

Hermione suddenly pulled apart, and Harry could not help but feel a little disappointed. 'Not now,' she panted, red in the face. 'Your dad.'

'Right,' Harry said dumbly, feeling his face burn a little. 'I'd rather him not catch us doing something compromising.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'It was just an innocent snog.'

'Give it another three minutes, and it wouldn't have been so innocent,' Harry muttered, combing a hand through his hair. Hermione backhanded him lightly across the chest and shot him a glare, but did not say anything in objection.

The compartment door opened a few minutes later, and James stepped in, his hair a mess and still wearing his pyjama bottoms.

'Hope you slept well,' he said with a smile. 'I came last night and nobody answered the door. I assumed you were already asleep.'

'I fell asleep within a minute of laying down,' Harry affirmed with a shy chuckle.

'I can't blame you,' James said, sitting down on the spare seat. 'You had a rough night the night before.'

'How did you know?' Harry asked, surprised.

'It's not hard to see,' James answered simply. 'What happened?'

Harry shrugged, gulping at the same time. 'Nothing, really. Just slept poorly.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Both of you?'

Harry did not answer.

'I know what's going on, you know,' James said, sounding a little uncomfortable as he wrung his hands. 'I know you're having nightmares.'

'We weren't – '

James shook his head sadly. 'You don't need to lie to me, Harry. Nor do you, Hermione. You two looked almost the same yesterday morning as Sirius does after a night of terrors.'

Harry looked at his father in mute silence for many long moments, debating with himself. His first instinct was to deny it, tell James that he had no reason to be worried. He did not need yet another case on his hands when he was already so busy with Sirius, after all.

But, on the other hand, if he denied that anything was wrong, would he not be implicitly speaking for Hermione, too, given how James had framed the question? It would be a terrible violation of her trust, the trust that Harry valued more than almost everything else in the world…

'Say something, please,' James said slowly, an unmistakable pleading in his voice. 'Harry…I might be able to do something to help. Everything…everything I've done…Lily's done…from the moment you came into this world was to help you…protect you…because we love you, Harry. I know that you don't need protecting anymore…I know Lily and I have missed all these years of your life, but…I hope you can trust us…trust me to let me at least try. There's nothing in the world that would make us think any differently of you.'

They stared at each other for several long minutes, James pleading silently with his eyes. Harry snuck a glance at Hermione, and she held an impassive expression on her face that for once, he could not read. Suddenly, he was reminded of how sickly she looked that night, when she had abruptly woken up from her nightmare, and that seemed to make his decision for him.

Harry looked back towards his father, though not quite meeting his eyes. He hesitated once more, but his father's words came back to him. It was the first time that he had said those words…said that he loved him, and somehow, those words seemed to make his decision for him.

Harry nodded slowly. 'Yes, we were,' he said, his voice barely audible, even to himself.

He could hear James gulp. 'For how long?' he asked. 'And how often?'

'Not too often.'

'Tell me more, please.'

Harry sighed. 'Maybe once a week,' he answered reluctantly.

'And you, Hermione?'

'Same,' she breathed back, staring blankly at the wall beyond James.

'How bad are they?' James asked. He started reaching for his bag, but seemed to decide otherwise and stopped, turning back to look at them.

'Not bad,' Harry replied automatically.

They fell into an awkward silence before James broke it with a sad sigh. 'Can you look me in the eye and tell me that they're "not bad", Harry?'

Perhaps trying to prove to himself that he was okay, Harry tried to raise his eyes to look into James's. Yet, the moment their eyes made contact, Harry felt a sudden discomfort, an urge to look away. He tried to open his mouth and repeat what he said, but found that no sound came out. Dejectedly, he looked back down at his lap and gave a tiny shake of his head in surrender.

'Is there anything I can do to help?' James asked quietly after a short while.

Harry shrugged. 'Is there?' he murmured doubtfully. 'It hasn't ever gone away. I've been having nightmares since the end of the second year. First it was about the basilisk, then Voldemort coming back, then everything that happened in the war…it's too late.'

James suddenly leaned towards him and put a hand on his knee. Harry automatically wanted to jerk away, but Hermione's hand on his left made him stay put. He was doing this for her, he reminded himself. Even if he could not be helped, she still had hope.

'Look at me, Harry,' James breathed. Harry's eyes, though, remained stubbornly trained on his lap. 'Please.'

Hermione gave Harry's left hand a tiny squeeze, and that seemed to propel him into action. Slowly, his eyes travelled up to his father's face, before he gave himself one final push and forced himself to meet his gaze.

'Sirius had been bearing a heavy burden since before you were even born, Harry,' James said quietly. 'He thought that he was a lost cause, thought that the only thing he could do was to drink himself off the edge…but look at him now, Harry. He still has a long way to go, and I would never claim that I'm even good at what I'm doing, but…if Sirius can get better, maybe so can you. It's not too late. It's never too late.'

Harry found himself chuckling cynically. 'I don't know.'

'Then let's at least try,' James proposed. 'What I'm doing seems to be helping Sirius. Maybe it will help you, too.'

'What are you doing with Sirius?' Hermione asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

'We're trying exposure therapy,' James explained. 'Having him recount his traumatic memories…or relive them some other way. The idea is to desensitise him to it, disassociate what you experienced with the fear impulse.'

'Relive?' Harry gasped, aghast. 'That'll just make it worse. I don't want to relive – '

'You're not wrong,' James interrupted. 'For the first few days, it will be worse. It was for Sirius, at least. But it'll have to get worse before you get better. The plaster needs to be removed to heal what's underneath.'

'The plaster seems to be holding up pretty well right now,' Harry muttered.

James shook his head. 'Maybe, but you've seen how Sirius was the night you left. He thought his plaster could hold up forever, too – up until it landed him in St Mungo's.'

'It's relief,' Harry protested feebly. 'I feel okay most of the time already.'

'But temporary relief grants you only that – temporary relief,' James said firmly, sitting up. Harry could see his eyes shining with determination. 'Drinking gave Sirius temporary relief, so he began thinking that Firewhiskey was the answer to his problems. But it's not. That's like using a crutch for the rest of your life and not bothering with the broken bone. You won't truly be "better" unless you heal the root cause.'

'And you can "heal the root cause"?'

'I can promise to try my best.'

Harry looked at James in silence, remaining doubtful. He knew – even agreed with – James's reasoning, but if he had to be truthful with himself, he was almost satisfied with things the way they were and did not want to change them. Hermione's presence alone seemed enough to hold him up. Her words soothed him enough; her arms calmed him enough; going to bed with her numbed him enough. The plaster seemed to be holding well.

'Could you give us a minute?' Hermione asked quietly.

James gave a quick nod and stood up, leaving the compartment. When the door slid closed behind him, Hermione turned to Harry, her expression soft yet at the same time filled with resolve.

'You're going to tell me to say yes, aren't you?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I was,' she admitted stiffly. 'I think you should. I think we both should.'

'You heard him,' Harry replied tiredly. 'It'll get worse before it gets better. I feel fine. I don't need things to go backwards.'

'But you also didn't hear everything he said,' Hermione reasoned, determined. 'We're both relying on a crutch. The things we try to do might be satisfying enough, but…you know it's just temporary. If we go through with this, even if it feels worse momentarily…it's so that we can get better…really better…in the long run.'

'At least let him try, Harry,' she added, seeing what must have been a sceptical expression on Harry's face. She leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. 'Let him try…please…I wouldn't say this if I weren't concerned for you…'

'I'm concerned for you, too,' Harry breathed, looking deeply into her eyes. 'If I…'

Hermione gave a small nod. 'We'll get through this together.'

She stood up, walked over to the door, and opened it. James stepped in and sat down quietly, his eyes searching Harry's face momentarily before an impassive expression came over his face once again.

Hermione took a deep breath. 'You can help us?'

James nodded. 'To the best of my abilities.'

Hermione glanced over at Harry. 'Would you? Please?'

James's eyes flitted between the two of them. 'You'll let me try?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes,' he answered, his reluctance receding as he saw Hermione's beseeching look.

'Then…' James reached for his bag, a hopeful expression coming over his face. 'I'll try my best.'

A/N: Enormous thank-you's to Aani and maschl, without whose help this chapter would have been nowhere near as polished.

Important: James knows about as much as I know about PTSD and how to treat it (possibly at this point, a little more). He is not supposed to be a perfect therapist or even a good one. He is someone who is trying his best to help a friend in a world with no conception of mental health (remember that 'mind healers' are purely fanon) and where going to a muggle psychologist is completely out of the question for obvious reasons of Statute of Secrecy and believability.

If you or someone you know is suffering from PTSD or any mental health condition, please do not take this story as a guide or even a suggestion on how to treat it! Unlike the wizarding world, in the regular world, there are resources available that can help you. Please take care, especially during these recent times.