A/N
Hello,
And welcome to Chapter Eight of RWIF.
Once again I would like to take the time to offer my warmest thanks to those of you who are still reading, reviewing, favouriting and following.
I read every one of your reviews and they neve fail to encourage me to continue the story.
You make it much more rewarding to write. So, have all my thanks from the bottom of my heart.
Chapter Nine isn't far away.
Cheers,
ATG
PS: This has now taken over as the longest chapter in RWIF.
SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING.
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Chapter Eight
Sunday 2nd September 2012
Albert Jeska struggled, but it was useless. Chains, both magical and physical strapped him down tightly to his chair. He could try all he liked; he was not going anywhere.
The three men and one woman that were standing around paid no mind to his struggling and His cursing. He threw out all manner of insults, and offered all manner of threats, but it did him no good.
Ron yawned. He had heard it all before, but somehow, he was still alive, and his mother was unmolested. Granted, this time was slightly different to those other times. But even Ron Weasley, famous for the Weasley temper, had learnt to let the proverbial water wash off the proverbial Ducks back. They were idle threats from a powerless man.
Jeska had been caught the day before. He had been found attempting to buy food in downtown London. An off duty Hitwitch had stumbled upon him, looking for a quick feed of a delicious curry. A struggle had broken out and the Hitwitch had prevailed.
It had likely helped that Jeska was not in possession of a wand.
Jeska had been brought back to the Ministry, where he had immediately interned in the cells.
It had been sheer dumb luck. Sheer dumb bloody luck.
He was only the fourth Death Eater to be recaptured. Ron had spent day after day after frustrating day searching for any clues of any Death Eaters whereabouts and coming up empty.
They had been remarkably good at covering their tracks. Almost too good. Especially considering that they only had a few wands to share amongst them. It was widely believed that they had not been able to acquire a full compliment of wands to arm each and every Death Eater that had escaped.
That said, someone had bailed them out. There was no way they escaped of their own volition. That was being investigated by another team. He still didn't know where they were at in that investigation as it was being kept closely under wraps.
Jeska had not been important enough to have a wand. He was too low on the hierarchy. He didn't rate high enough to warrant one. He was hardly the biggest fish getting around, but he was something.
"What are you staring at Weasel? Blood traitor filth! Look at you. Betraying every part of your blood line."
Ron just yawned.
He checked his watch. It was early. Too early. Where was Gyrek?
Van Guereck stretched her neck next to him. They had been putting in some long hours and it was starting to wear them down. Ron was concerned that if they didn't take a rest day soon, they would burn out.
Burn out would lead to mistakes. Mistakes that could prove fatal, especially considering the calibre of opposition they were up against. Not Jeska of course, but those above him.
"What about you, hun?" Jeska turned on Van Guereck. "Why don't you unstrap me, and I'll show you a thing or two about blood relations."
Van Guereck just rolled her eyes.
"Come on love. Gimme a go. I'll show you a thing or two you ain't never seen before."
"I've seen plenty of quills before, Jeska," Van Guereck finally responded tiredly. "What I really need is a wand."
Ron couldn't help the big grin that broke across his face. While yes, they should by rights maintain a sense of professional and decorum, even when dealing with scum of the earth like Jeska, he would never admonish another Auror for holding their own.
Letting them walk all over you only encouraged that kind of behaviour. That was Ron's philosophy. As long as it didn't get worse, he would allow his Junior Team member to get her own back.
There came a knock on the door. Ron got up and opened it.
Gyrek stepped in. He was red in the face; he had rushed as promised.
"You get it?" Ron grunted. He was tired. He knew he was tired. And as much as he would have liked to be more polite, he didn't think he had it in him.
Gyrek nodded handed the parchment over to Ron. "Here's the duplicate. The original is being filed as we speak. You're all set."
Ron nodded as Gyrek handed over a small vial.
Ron turned around and nodded at his team. Drisco ran his hands through his hair. He looked as fresh and bored as when they had started shift the day before. Ron could no longer recall when that was.
Jones stood from his chair and stretched.
He nodded at Van Guereck. She tapped her wand to the three pieces of parchment in front of her, causing three quills to stand up and hover over the top of each one. The record would be taken in triplicate. Sending one file to the Wizengamot, one copy to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and one copy would be filed until claimed by the Defence.
"Albert Jeska," Ron began, opening the parchment and beginning to read. "You are hereby found, by Writ of Wizengamot, to have been charged with serious offences against all Wizardkind."
Ron paused. "Your charges are numerous, and I won't read them out. You know what you did." He was just too bloody tired to read the two whole pages of charges against the man.
Jeska just looked at him with contempt.
"You are hereby demanded, by Warrant from the Highest table of the Wizengamot, to submit to questioning under Veritaserum. It is further demanded upon you that you participate and assist the investigating Aurors in their investigation. Resisting or fighting the authorised Aurors from the conduct of their duties will constitute further charges. The Veritaserum will be administered in the presence of at least one other, and a record shall be kept of the conversation. You have a right that the record kept of the conversation will be provided to your defence, at least one week prior to you standing trial. Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah. Yeah I do." Jeska sneered.
Here we go.
"I question whether a blood traitor like yourself even has the capacity to impregnate your wife. Did you get someone else to do it for you?"
Ron sighed. He refused to let the temper show. He had no time for this.
He nodded at Drisco.
Drisco stepped forward and seized Jeska's jaw. He used one hand to hold Jeska's nose closed, the other hand pulled his mouth open.
Jeska struggled as much as he could against his restraints.
Ron stepped forward and poured the contents into Jeska's mouth. It wasn't much. It didn't take much. Jeska choked. They forced his mouth closed until he swallowed.
Ron hated administering Veritaserum. But it had to be done.
Jeska coughed rapidly, but they watched carefully. Nothing came out.
He sat back in his chains and Ron watched as his eyes dulled. He looked at Ron with the familiar blank look of someone that was well under the influence of the truth serum.
At least it was fast acting.
"For the benefit of the recording, Auror – Gold Class, Ronald Weasley, identification Number 7234567 will be the lead in this interrogation. By way of witness, I have Auror – Silver Class, Bevin Jones, identification number 8344231. I intend to ask several control questions in the first instance to determine the effects of the induced Veritaserum."
The quills darted across the page, making notes.
"What is your full name and date of birth?"
"Albert Silicious Jeska. 13th June 1980."
"As of this date. How old are you?"
"32."
"Where are you?"
"Prison Cells, British Ministry of Magic, London, United Kingdom."
"What is the colour of my shirt."
"Auror Robes. Red."
"For the purpose of the recording, I am satisfied that Mr Jeska has provided true and accurate answers to the above question. I intend to start the interrogation."
"Have you ever been a Death Eater?"
"Yes."
"Time of service?"
"1998 to present."
"Have you ever been to Azkaban Prison?"
"Yes."
Ron had done this dance before. He thought about his questions before he asked them to ensure he got the correct information.
"Time of internment?"
"2002 to 2012."
"Why are you not there now?"
"Someone broke into the High Security Wing and set us free."
"Who did that?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
"I don't know."
This was the problem with Veritaserum. It never compelled them to provide anything more than simple answers. You had to ask all the correct questions.
"Where did you flee to."
"London, England."
"Where in London?"
Jeska's mouth curled. His mouth opened and twitched. He was trying to speak at the same time as he was trying to not speak. It made it look like he was having a form of seizure.
Ron frowned. The Death Eaters had accounted for this. Clearly they had placed control methods in place. Those control measures were working against the Veritaserum and preventing him from providing the answer. He was the same as the last three they had attempted to interrogate. The same reaction was yielded. They were magically prevented from sharing that information.
"What was your purpose of your mission?"
"To get food."
Ron groaned. He despised these interviews for this exact purpose. The affected party had to tell the truth. That did not mean they had to tell the truth that you were looking for.
Ron stretched his neck back and forth.
"What were you seeking in London?"
"The master."
Ron's almost bored countenance stopped immediately. Jones looked at him. Even Drisco looked like he was dialling into the conversation more now.
"The master?"
"The master."
"Who is the master?"
Jeska's mouth twitched. A small part of him that was aware of what was happening forced his mouth into a sneer.
"The Dark Lord."
Ron's hand found his wand in its holster. He maintained a sense of countenance. He had to maintain it in front of his team. Inside though, his stomach was churning. The world was not ready for another dark lord, let alone the last one. They had built, and rebuilt, too much for it all to come crumbling down now.
Ron hated himself for how hard it was for him to ask the next question.
"Which dark lord?"
"The Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort."
Drisco looked at his boots.
Jones looked at Ron.
Van Gueren stopped leaning back in her chair. She brought her boots down from the table and sat up a little straighter.
"Voldemort is dead."
Jeska didn't speak. Ron scowled.
"Is Voldemort dead?"
"Yes."
Ron breathed out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It was collective. It felt like everyone in the room let out that same breath.
"But you have found his body?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Bloody hell.
"Why do you want Voldemort's body?"
"The Dark Lord will rise again."
Ron scratched his neck. It wasn't the first time that people had said such things. But there was something different about this. Something was going on that he could not put his finger on. Something that was bigger than the usual crackpot who had ideas that they could not accomplish.
This was something he didn't like. He didn't like this at all.
Ron leaned forward now. He chose his next words very carefully.
"What about Harry Potter."
Jeska's blank eyes matched Ron's bright blue ones.
"Maybe."
Maybe wasn't an answer. But Ron hadn't exactly asked a direct question. Ron licked his lips. The eyes of his teammates were facing him now. They were all staring at him. They knew what question was coming next. Ron was almost too afraid to ask it.
"Is Harry Potter alive?"
"I don't know."
Ron stared at Jeska for a long moment. That anger built up inside of him. The temper he was famous for, his family was famous for. He ran a hand over his face, and scratched his jaw, lost in thought.
Something stirred inside of him. Hope maybe? No. Not hope. Harry Potter was dead. No low ranked Death Eater was going to tell him any different. He had died. He missed him every day. He had mourned him for Merlin's sake.
"Are you looking for Harry Potter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"If he lives, he must die."
He was a mad man. Jeska was mentally ill. Surely. Surely this hadn't all happened to reopen these old wounds. They had been closed. They had healed as best they could. But Ron detected no lie in him, he was under Veritaserum for Merlin's sake.
Mentally ill aside, Jeska genuinely believed that there was a chance that Harry Potter was alive.
"Bloody hell."
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Sunday 2nd September 2012
It was after midnight when the taxi pulled up at James's place.
They had spent the rest of the night on the porch, drinking red wine and laughing. Lily hadn't stirred and the adults were able to just enjoy the evening.
Hermione had watched as Peyton had cuddled up to Lucky, who was only too happy to pull her in close.
She had taken her cue and put her legs over the top of James's lap. He had started drawing little shapes and circles on her back as she lowered her head onto his chest.
She was a willing contributor in the conversation for maybe an hour before she had felt her eyelids get heavy. They were so, so heavy. She had fought it though. She didn't want the night to end. It was just entirely too…
Perfect.
It was perfect.
She stirred slightly, her head on James's shoulder.
"Hey." He said softly.
"Hmmmm." She had replied sleepily. "What?"
"Let me make you some tea?" James was looking at her with a small smile on his face. It was so genuine, so, affectionate. She nodded.
He smiled broader and reached over and paid the taxi driver, before they climbed out of the taxi.
Hermione was so tired she barely had any sense in her to take in the front of the house. She looped her arm around James's and enjoyed the comfort of his warmth as they walked inside. She was only aware of being inside when she found herself sitting on a comfortable couch, without his warmth.
Hermione blinked, long tired blinks.
"I'll get you some tea."
She felt him lean down and kiss her on the top of her head. It felt so very right.
Hermione smiled a sleepy smile at him as he disappeared.
She yawned. She was so tired. While she didn't feel all that drunk, she cast a weak sobriety charm on herself. She just wanted some clarity. Some awareness of her surroundings.
She looked around.
This is James's house?
It was - well, it was not at all as she expected. It was homely. The sitting room she found herself in was bright under the lighting. The walls were a nice, clean, white colour. There was dark wooden furniture scattered around. It was neat and tidy, as she knew Harry to be, but there was still a measure of the place that looked lived in.
There was no sterility to the house. It was a home.
She offered a small smile to the bookshelf that was tucked in a corner. It was full of books and odds and ends. Souvenirs from ten years of a life well lived.
She began to explore, her tiredness forgotten ash she softly padded around the room.
The comfortable couch she had been on faced a beautiful fireplace. Several photographs sat on the mantle piece over the top.
Hermione approached it, her well known curiosity getting the better of her.
She saw it sitting there, amongst all the photographs. It drew her eye because of how innocently it was positioned. Just waiting. Waiting to be picked up again and brought to use.
Whatever inebriation she hadn't magicked away, was banished as she looked upon it, sitting there in its stand.
She hadn't seen it in ten years. Ten long years.
She wanted to reach for it. She wanted to pick it up. She wanted to handle it. It was a much apart of him as his scar and his eyes. It had solved so many problems for him as a youth, but had caused so many, especially in his battles with Voldemort.
It was eleven inches, holly, and Hermione knew that it had a core of Phoenix feather.
Fawkes's tail feather.
"When I was found by the paramedics, they found that on me."
Hermione spun around to see James was holding two mugs of tea in his hands. She felt guilty. Like she had been caught prying. Like she had been caught in the restricted section of the library by Madam Pince.
Hermione found herself speechless. It was his wand. No one had ever known what had happened to him, let alone his wand. Yet here it sat on his mantlepiece, a tribute to a past of which he knew not.
"No idea what it is. But apparently, I didn't want to let it go. They had to pry it out of my hands."
He handed one of the mugs to Hermione. She took a sip and immediately felt relaxed.
"Good?" He asked.
"Amazing." She said softly.
"Good."
He placed his own tea down on the coffee table and picked his wand up from the mantle. He held it gingerly, between two hands, as if it was precious to him. It was most certainly precious to him.
Hermione looked at his face as it slightly screwed up a bit in confusion. He bit his lip as he looked at it, as if it was the first time he had ever seen it.
"Weird." He said softly.
Hermione placed her own tea on the table and gently put both of her arms around him. She leaned her head against his arm.
"What's weird?" She asked, softly. She was doing her best not to let the tension she felt in her chest show as she held him tight.
"It's really warm. Like it feels warm in my hands. Not hot, or unpleasantly so. Just warm. I haven't really ever felt it like that."
Hermione could tell that something of significance was happening here. Something that might help her in the future.
She could almost feel his magic building up inside of him. Something dormant that had finally awoken. Well, not awoken. Channelled. She looked at him. He was struggling with something, something he couldn't understand or explain.
Hermione could feel it within him. She could feel it washing over her.
She studied his face as he seemed to feel something, something he couldn't explain. Something that she desperately wanted to.
Finally, he shrugged. The moment had passed. The magic faded away. It didn't disappear into nothing, just into a more noticeable and apparent dormant state.
"Would you like a hold? I've no idea what it is. A token of the past, I guess."
She stared at him before gently shaking her head. She didn't know why, but she felt like she shouldn't. Like she would be intruding if she was to handle his wand like that.
With great care he put it back on its display stand.
He shook his head, looking like he was trying to clear his mind.
He turned around and pulled her close to his chest. She rested her head on his chest and let out a sigh. He rested his head on top of hers.
She felt his hand come up and start to play with her hair. She sighed again.
That felt nice. Really nice. His touch felt amazing. She closed her eyes as she felt him place another kiss on the top of her head.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Searchingly. All she could see in his eyes was passion, desire, affection – love? Maybe.
For the second time that night she found herself lost in those green pools. As lost as she could ever be. And she was glad. Very glad. It felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
She saw his eyes dart again to her lips. As hers darted to his.
"I'm glad you came today." He said softly. "It was a wonderful even –" Was all he got out before her lips crashed into his.
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They were a mess of limbs and anatomy as they kissed their way up his stairs to the second floor.
One of her shoes ended up on the bottom floor, so did his over shirt.
Her other shoe could be found at the bottom of the stairs. One of his halfway up. His second one perched precariously on the top stair.
His white T shirt hadn't made it inside the bedroom.
Her necklace was hanging halfway off the bedside table. That had been taken off with care.
His shorts had made it to the bed. But not by much.
Her dress, unbuttoned clumsily by needy hands, was still on the bed too.
Her bra hung from the bed head.
They were tangled up in the bed. Their lips refusing to break unless the need for air was desperate. And they would frequently get to that stage, neither one of them wanting to separate for any more time than was absolutely, biologically necessary,
They were wandering hands and heat. They were lips down necks, across collarbones and chests. Moans into ears.
They were all want.
They were all need.
James kissed down Hermione's neck and across her collarbone, soliciting sounds from her that only fuelled his desire for more.
One of his hands moved down from her neck. He cupped her breast within the palm of his hand, running her nipples through his fingers. She moaned in delight. One of her hands coming up to run through his raven hair.
His hand moved down further, across her lightly toned stomach until it came to the band of her knickers.
He hooked his thumb around her knickers, and he fiddled with it. He had been all want, need and confidence. But now a hint of uncertainty creeped in.
He broke his lips from where they had returned to hers. She grumbled at the broken contact and arched her back in order to kiss him again, deeply, needily, greedily.
He broke the kiss again put his forehead to hers, desperately trying to catch his breath.
"Hermione-" He tried to start, but stopped when she lifted her head and started kissing his neck.
"Mmmm?" She didn't bother to take her lips from his neck in order to ask.
"Are you suuu…Oh fuck." She was gently bitting his neck at that point.
She slowly stopped kissing him and lowered herself back onto the pillow.
He looked at her. All he could feel was desire. Need. Want.
But also, care. Love. Affection.
He was worried about her.
She smiled up at him.
Look at that smile.
It was a heart stopper.
She lifted her hand to his face and cupped it.
"I just." He swallowed; he found himself unable to look into her eyes. "I just, you know. I'd rather you found our first time to be - well to be a bit special."
His cheeks, already flushed with colour from the passion that had got them to this point, seemed to shine just that little bit more red.
Hermione looked at him with pure adoration at that point. He could feel her heart beating in her chest, beating hard against his own that was pressed to hers.
"James, look at me." She said gently, steering his eyes back to hers. "It's the person that should be special. And I think you've got that well and truly covered."
James's eyes immediately brightened, as he took in what she said.
His lips re-joined her with a level of passion that triumphed over everything they had thus far managed to display.
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His thump pulled at her knickers.
Hermione lifted her bum accordingly, allowing James to slide her knickers out from beneath her.
He went to reach for his own briefs, but they were just plain gone. He didn't know when or how they had come off, but they had. And he didn't mind in the slightest.
He could feel the heat coming from between her legs. It was radiating off his own very hard member. His member was so hard with want and desire that it almost hurt.
Hermione wiggled her hips slightly, aligning herself under him.
He looked in her eyes searchingly, and saw that same want, that same desire, that need, reflecting in her gorgeous brown eyes.
He hesitated.
Hermione made a noise that sounded like "Hmmpf", before he felt her hand lightly guide him inside of her.
James lost all ability to have rational thought as he felt it slide into her warmth. His only thought was that her arousal must have matched his for it to feel that fucking good.
He again looked searchingly into her eyes. He saw that she seemed to be looking through him at that moment. She seemed to be millions of miles away.
Slowly but surely, he began moving his hips back and forth, feeling how wonderful it felt to be inside of her. He lowered his head and kissed her neck.
One of her hands darted up and began playing with his hair. He felt the other lightly pushing against his stomach. Guiding him. Getting them into rhythm.
He did his best to follow the guidance of her hand, the last thing he wanted to do was cause her any discomfort, particularly considering how good it felt for him.
Finally, she moved her hand from his stomach to his back. James felt her matching his rhythm.
James felt her hot breath, coming in gasps on his ear. She gently bit down on his ear.
James's hips moved quicker now, with more intensity, with more desire than ever before.
"Please. Please. Don't stop James." She voiced a breathy moan into his ear, which only served to encourage him.
They moved like that, two bodies in the same rhythm. Two bodies on the same plane of existence.
The crescendo rose between them as their bodies matched rhythms. As their breaths came in gasps, their voices in moans. As they felt the build-up rise to its peak. As it got close, it was all James could do to try and breathe.
A climax.
James heard Hermione let out a half-strangled moan into his ear, and it set him over the edge. He let out a long groan as he joined her. He felt her clenching around him, and his own body tensed, as the relief flowed through him.
He collapsed on top of her, all heaving breaths and whispered compliments. He could feel the sweat between them, sticking their bodies together as if they were joined.
They were drenched. Completely and utterly drenched.
And satisfied. Fuck, was he satisfied.
He put his forehead to hers. Her eyes were still closed. She was breathing heavily. Occasionally another look of pleasure flew across her face, and her breath caught.
James realised that in his ten years on earth, he had never quite seen anything as mesmerising as that.
Finally. Her eyes fluttered open and joined his. He was not the most eloquent of people and found it hard to put into words what he saw there. But he liked it. He loved it. He wanted to see those eyes look at him like that for the rest of his life.
She smiled. Her cheeks were red. His cheeks were red. He smiled.
"Hey." She said simply, softly.
"Hey." He said back softly.
"That was incredible." She smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
"That was unbelievable." He smiled and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
James didn't know how long they lay like that, body's intwined, reading the stories of each other's eyes, but in his opinion, it was not nearly long enough.
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Hermione played with his hair as he slept. His head was resting between her naked breasts, neither of them having bothered to get dressed following their activities that night.
She was content.
He was not an uncomfortable weight. Not in the slightest. In fact, he felt amazing, cuddled up to her like that. His even breathing across her exposed skin. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly.
She felt like she was supposed to be exactly where she was. Even if she felt like he wasn't. Wasn't quite.
The only thing missing was that he didn't know. He didn't know things he should know.
Tell him.
She loved his hair. Well, she loved everything about him. She couldn't believe how long it had taken to admit it to herself. She couldn't believe how much that concept explained the last ten years of her life.
If you love him. Tell him.
Her other hand gently played with his back. She found her fingers ran frequently over the small tattoo he had on his back. She had been surprised to find it. She had never known James, or Harry for that matter, to be the heavily invested in body art types.
But when she had finally been able to make out what it was, she had understood.
It was simple. Not overly ornate. Just a series of number. Listed, From his right shoulder, down his back.
She absentmindedly stroked it as she got lost in her own thoughts.
She also noted the scars. Sure, he had the usual scars on his forehead and his hand, but she couldn't help but see the others.
She had seen one on his lower stomach, which had a matching scar on his lower back.
There was one on his right shoulder that had just managed to mar the edges of the tattooed numbers.
Its final new addition was on his left leg. Another neat hole.
She had seen him shirtless before when they were young and had noticed that he already had an impressive litany of scars. Hermione had never asked, as much as she had wanted to, but she assumed that many were momentos of a life lived at the mercy of the Dursleys.
Several rough years at Hogwarts, a dragon adventure or two and a battle with Voldemort that seemed to happen almost yearly, had also assisted in the creation of further scar tissue.
Even now, seeing them still upon his back, Hermione couldn't help but feel the anger start to rise up inside the pit of her stomach.
She did her best to let it go. Letting her mind continue to wander.
Looking back on the month she had, she couldn't help but marvel about what a difference a little bit of time could make. One month ago, she had been living her life. Focussing on her career. Trying to help people as best she could, carrying around a dull ache that never mended.
Now, she was lying here with the cause of and cure for, that dull ache in her arms. The dull ache was gone, it had been replaced by something else. By feelings she never knew she was even capable of. Feeling she was still unsure were new or old.
Having him there, it was like a massive weight had lifted off her chest. It was like she could see again, like she could breathe again.
She remembered the crushes she had on him when they were eleven. She remembered opening the door to the Hogwarts Express and linking eyes with a nervous, green-eyed boy who had been in the process of making his first friend.
She remembered when he and Ron saved her from the troll. How that had only made her crush grow. She never said anything, of course, they were young. She didn't know how to handle such emotions back then.
She could still remember waking up after having been petrified. Finding out that Harry had solved the problem through her. She remembered how proud she was of Harry. How much her heart had hurt from that pride.
She remembered the ride with Buckbeak when they were 13. How she had clung to him. He had been so determined. She had only served to fall deeper into her crush.
The Triwizard tournament had done nothing to temper her feelings. It had been a year of confusion with his feud with Ron and Harry's crush on Cho Chang. That had stung, but she had persevered.
Then the anger as he dealt with the loss of the next few years. He had been furious. There had been times when Ron and she had almost quaked with fear from his built-up anger. She had been proud that she had been able to get through to him, especially when no one else could.
Come six year, and the Ron's feelings had reared their head. That year had been an emotional and hormonal wreck of year. She remembered just figuring that Harry would never see her as a viable interest and trying to reciprocate Ron's feelings. It hadn't worked for her. It hadn't worked for him. It hadn't worked for anyone.
Then the Horcrux hunt and the war. There really wasn't much time to think about such things. She tried to push them down, she had to help him. Help him survive. If he managed to survive then it could all be addressed after. She could finally deal with it all later.
But he hadn't. Well, he had. But he hadn't.
She still remembered the look on Lestrange's face as she had gloated. As they had exchanged spell, after spell, after spell. Near misses and narrow deflections. The horrible things that Lestrange had barked at her, the attempts to get under her skin.
But it hadn't worked. Hermione had triumphed. She had captured the bitch.
The bitch, who now walked free.
She was content to let the Auror's handle that. She had had her fill of battle. Now she was much happier just trying to help people. She was just trying to help people live fuller, healthier lives. Muggle or Magical, she didn't mind. She just wanted to do what she could.
Like she wanted to do for him.
She sighed and looked down at his sleeping face. He seemed so at peace. Sleeping so peacefully on her breast. That gaping hole that had been there. Those feeling she had tried to bury beneath her hard work and long hours of study. All those feelings that she had used for fuel, were mostly filled.
Mostly. There was something that still needed to be done.
She leant down and kissed him on the top of his head.
Her mind wandered back to the task at the hand. He was still frustratingly obstinate. But there was something about what Peyton had said. Something that stuck with her.
She couldn't help but believe that they had known he was a wizard and had tried to coax his magic out of him. But that led to some deeper and more disturbing realisations. Was the muggle government studying wizards?
Had he shown any magical reaction? Did they know what he was capable of?
She pondered it for a moment, then shelved the idea. She would have to talk about that with Ron, or even Draco, when she got a chance. For now, restoring James's memory was her priority.
And on that point.
The night had been a hopeful one for her.
She felt it safe to rule out that he had been obliviated. Obliviated people generally didn't retain hints of memory. James using the phrase 'muggle' and his bedtime story showed hints that there was still something in there.
It gave further credence with what her scan had determined. Something magical was occurring that was blocking his memory. But what? If he had been obliviated, it would have been a magical deletion of memory. It would be all gone. No trace of anything that would inspire a turn of phrase or a bedtime story.
Despite herself, she started to smile when she thought of his story. The way he had been around Lily. She would have to ask James about the story, see if he could figure out where it came from.
"Mmmm"
Hermione looked down and saw James had stirred slightly. She continued to stroke his hair.
She watched his face twist up.
"Shhh" She tried to soothe him, running her hand gently through his hair.
"Mmmm." It was louder this time. More insistent.
His head adjusted on her breast. She continued to soothe him, humming to him.
"Hmmm!" This time he bucked in his sleep. Pulling himself back and pushing her away.
She immediately missed him. She took him back into his arms. "Shhh."
He seemed to settle for just a moment. Hermione had a quick hope that it was just a nightmare, and that it had passed. She hoped it was just a normal nightmare, not a normal for Harry nightmare.
Suddenly he bolted up right.
"Rafe! No!" He screamed.
Hermione shot herself up and kneeled in front of him. Her hand took a gentle hold of his face. His eyes were wide, panicked, darting around the room.
"Hey, Hey, Hey." She crooned. "It's me. It's Hermione. It's okay. You're okay." She said gently.
He took a few shuddering breaths and blinked.
"Hermione?" He looked questioningly into her eyes.
She nodded. "It's me."
He exhaled a deep breath.
"Sorry. I-." He started. "Sorry." He repeatedly lamely.
"Don't be silly. You've got nothing to be sorry for. Come. Lie down." She pulled him back down
She started to pull him back on top of her, but he took her into his arms instead. He ended up spooning her.
She felt snug and warm and safe in his hold. His arms wrapped contentedly around her. His warm breath on her neck, which she noted was still quickened. He pulled his legs up to hers. She felt completely cocooned within his hold.
She could almost feel like he was holding onto her for dear life.
She felt like she had been made to fit so perfectly within his arms.
She could get used to this. Oh, indeed she could.
Hermione started to draw little doodles on his arm with her hands.
She let him settle, which he gradually did.
"Want to tell me about it?" She asked gently.
"Tomorrow." He sighed into her back. She could tell he was still worked up. But she knew not pry.
But that didn't mean he would let him off the hook.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Sunday 2nd September 2012
"I understand what you're saying Weasley. But it isn't exactly actionable intelligence." Robards leaned back into his chair, placing the report down upon his desk. When he had found out that they had gotten a Warrant for Veritaserum with Jeska, Robards had owled to say he was coming into work to see what could be learnt, so he could act as quickly as required.
"But surely we need to investigate this further?" Ron said hotly. He needed sleep. He knew he needed sleep. Refreshening charms and coffee were no longer holding him together. He was flattened, and he knew it.
"The only think you need to investigate at the moment Weasley," Robards said, ignoring the heat in his subordinate's voice. "Is a rest day, before you get back at it. How long have you been going for? 18 hours? 20? I need you at your peak."
Robards had not been unkind in how he addressed Ron. He knew that his Auror's had been putting in ludicrous hours trying to get a handle of the situation. They were feeling the burn. His Gold's, even more so.
Robalds had found himself incredibly proud of how everyone had taken the task. Some of his younger people, who would have been only entering Hogwarts at the time that Voldemort had been at war with the Wizarding World, were working even harder than the old hands that had survived it.
"But look at what he said. They are hunting Voldemort's body."
Robalds nodded. "Yes. And that is good intelligence, we already have our friends in the Department of Law Enforcement looking into it. Hell, I've heard the even the Unspeakables are delving into old files regarding what could have happened to Voldemort's body."
"And what about Harry Potter?"
Robalds sighed.
He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. He poured Ron a drink, and then himself. He slid it across his desk to Ron, who caught it automatically.
Ron took a sip. It wasn't firewhiskey, but it was good.
"Single malt Scotch. 10 years old. Say what you like about Muggles, but they do know their whisky's."
Ron took another sip. It was smokey. He liked it.
"There is a department that sits under the purview of the Department of Mysteries." Robalds began, cradling his drink in his hands and leaning back into his chair. "It's called the 'Cabinet of the Dead'. Frequently, people who work there are just called 'Undertakers.' They used to be called 'Deathies' but, well, Voldemort really ruined that nickname for them. Am I telling you something you already know?"
Ron shook his head.
"Didn't think so. It's not common knowledge. Effectively they are a state secret."
Robalds paused to look at Ron.
"Dating back hundreds of years, Witches and Wizards would fall ill and die. Well, truth be told they would die of any number of causes, from trauma, to magic, to muggle. People die, and magic folk are no different. The problem we had, was that from time-to-time Witches and Wizards would enter a purely catatonic state whereby they would appear for all intents and purposes to be dead. It was a problem suffered by muggles as well. Hence the purpose of a 'wake', seeing if they would 'wake' up. With magic folk however, there would be no pulse. No signs of life. No nothing."
He paused as he took a sip.
"But magic is a powerful thing. While in this state, their magic will work to heal them. Did you know that your magic forms a part of you in a symbiotic relationship?"
Again, Ron shook his head.
"Well, it does. It works with and for you. But it wants to survive. Like the human immune system, it works to ensure that the body and the mind perseveres. So that it can survive. We don't completely understand it. But then, much of our understanding of our own magic is limited."
Ron wondered why he had never been taught this.
"When a young wizard signs their intent to go to Hogwarts, a sample of their magical essence is taken from the return letter and stored. The young student has no idea that their signature provides this sample, but it does. It's ancient magic. That essence is stored with the 'Undertakers' under a lock and key. It cannot be touched. It cannot be disturbed. It cannot be used in any way. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't use the magical essence of Dolohov for example, to track him. It doesn't work that way."
"Then what good does it do?"
"We can't use it to track you in life. Only in death. If you die, then your magical essence will fade out, and the undertakers can confirm your death. If we think you are dead, but your magical essence still kicks, well then likely the body has entered a death like state in order to heal. For this purpose, the 'undertakers' work closely with Healers on particularly troublesome cases."
"What has this got to do with anything sir?"
"When Harry Potter disappeared at the end of his battle with Voldemort. They checked his magical essence. It had gone. He was dead. That's how we confirmed his death."
Ron nodded. He was disappointed. For a moment, just a moment. He had started to believe.
Robalds could see the disappointment in the young man's face.
"I'm sorry, lad. Merlin knows there's a lot going on at the moment."
Ron finished his scotch and looked pensively down at the glass.
"Take tomorrow off. Your team could use the rest. You've brought us some good stuff here. We at least have a possible objective for the fugitives now. Something more strategic than 'reignite the blood war' or 'enslave all muggles.' Come back in Monday, I'll see if any intelligence comes from what you've brought us. If it does, I'll prioritise your team for taskings. Happy?"
"Happy."
"Good lad. Go get some sleep."
Ron shuffled off out of his office, stifling a yawn.
Robalds poured himself another nip. A thought occurred to him, swirling around in his mind as he swirled the amber fluid in his glass. It was a long shot. But if it was true, then maybe there would be a way to determine the intentions of the fugitives.
He pulled out a memo and a quill and began to write.
Now all he had to do was fight the bureaucracy.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Sunday 2nd September 2012
The bed was disappointingly empty when Hermione woke in the morning. His warmth was gone, missing. She found herself reaching for him in the bed, refusing to open her eyes, but being bitterly disappointed to find him gone.
She stretched as she sat up.
Nightmares aside, it had been a lovely evening. She smiled as she stretched out her neck.
Her feet hit the ground when she realised her predicament. She was completely naked. Her memory flashed to the desperate struggle to get out of her clothes last night. As much as she had enjoyed herself, she wasn't ready to just waltz around James's house naked, letting it all hang out.
She bit her lip as she looked around James's bedroom. It matched the rest of the house that she had seen so far, with its light walls, light carpet and dark wooden furniture.
There was a dark chest of drawers that sat near the door. Sitting on top were her clothes, neatly folded and stacked. Then she saw what James had done.
Next to her clothes, was a comfy looking grey pair of sweat pants, and a shirt. She rolled her eyes.
As she got dressed she noticed a bit of tenderness between her legs. She wasn't in pain, by any stretch of the imagination, but she definitely felt - well - tender.
It has been a while, I suppose.
She chose the loose-fitting shirt. She was embarrassed to find her knickers and her bra had been neatly folded in amongst her clothes. She dutifully threw her knickers on and disregarded the bra.
Honestly, she didn't know how long she'd be dressed for anyway, especially if she had her way. The tenderness be damned.
Really Granger? You just woke up.
Sometimes you couldn't deny the needs of the flesh. Especially when they were that amazing.
The shirt was a simple grey shirt with a 'Winged Dagger' over the breast. It was a work shirt. Hermione thought it was probably too large for him, let alone her, but it covered down to about mid-thigh. It was comfortable. It flowed loosely around her.
She was going to have to steal some of his shirts, and when the weather turned, some of his jumpers.
She padded down the stairs, seeing his house truly as it was meant to be. It was very well lit, the natural light from the big windows meant that the place felt open and airy.
His home was truly beautiful. She found herself admiring the décor as she wandered down the stairs, there wasn't too much. It was tasteful, maybe slightly simplified. But it was very him.
She could hear a soft music coming from the kitchen. Her mouth started to water as she picked up the delightful aroma of cooking bacon.
So, she followed her nose and ears into the kitchen.
There he was. Singing off key to the music but completely wrapped up in what he was doing. He was standing by the stove, working on the pan.
He wore no shirt, and long pyjama bottoms.
Hermione's first thought, as was like to be, was how stupid it was for him to be frying bacon on a pan without a shirt. But she quickly pushed it away.
She padded straight up to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He tensed for only a second, then relaxed into the hug.
"Morning Beautiful." He said in a sing song voice, all traces of the nightmare gone.
"Morning Handsome." She said, content to just hold onto him from behind. She never wanted to let him go. Never, ever. She was having a moment and she was content to just enjoy holding him.
"Ah, Hermione?" He said.
"Mmmm?" She grumbled into his back.
"I'm going to need to move if you don't want your breakfast burnt." He said, laughter evident in his voice.
She reluctantly let him go.
"Coffees on the table." She smiled at him as she padded over and poured herself a mug.
She glanced at him, just in time to catch him looking at her legs as she walked away. She couldn't help but smirk.
"See something you like, James?" She said, the smirk spreading to his face.
"I see a lot of something I like, Hermione." He replied with a wink. "That shirt looks amazing on you, by the way."
She smiled brightly as she took a sip of coffee and sighed. That was just plain good for the soul.
But not as good as he was.
"Thanks. And thanks for – uh – collecting all my clothes." She smiled at him again.
"No problem. They took some finding, that's for sure. I haven't' been able to find my briefs. No idea where they've gotten to."
Hermione nearly choked on her coffee. A vague memory came back to her of vanishing his briefs in her need to get him inside of her.
She made a mental note that she would have to 'find' them, for him.
"I'm sure they'll turn up."
James just shrugged as he took a sip of her own coffee.
Hermione was content to get herself comfortable at the kitchen table and watch him move around the kitchen with fascination. There was no hesitation or pausing. He whispered to himself from time to time, but he cut, prepped and cooked the food with a well-practiced ease.
"How did you sleep?" He asked brightly seeing her watching him.
She smiled. "I slept fantastically. Just maybe not enough. You?"
"I slept okay." He said, giving her a gentle smile.
She bit her lip.
"Bit of a nightmare, though?" She said gently, careful to make it sound like an accusation.
He didn't speak for a long moment. Continuing to cook. She could hear the gears working in his mind. Finally, he sighed, as he started loading up two plates with food. Eggs Benedict and bacon, she was quickly realising that it was his favourite breakfast food.
"Yeah. Look. I'm sorry about that…"
"Don't be sorry. Please." Hermione said reassuringly. "I'm just worried about you."
James picked up the two plates with a tired smile. "No need to worry about me. I'm all good. Would you like to eat outside? It's a cracking day out there."
She nodded enthusiastically, grabbing her coffee and his and following him out the door.
The sight that greeted her as she stepped through the door took her breath away.
James's backyard was beautiful. He had a back deck with that was light stained wood, with a painted white banister that ran its length. The deck was covered, by a nice wooden roof to protect them England's famous inclement weather.
A small stone path led through his garden and to an open space of beautiful green grass, which was bordered by hedges, ending with a 6-foot white fence with a gate for his rear perimeter fence. Hermione could see a hammock was strung across two trees at the back of the grassy area.
The stone path separated and led to a shed that was located to the left-hand side of the back yard.
James was busy setting down the food at the outdoor setting that sat protected from the sun under his back deck.
"James. Wow. It's beautiful." She said, taking in the sights.
He looked around and nervously scratched the back of his neck.
"Oh, yeah, it goes alright."
"It goes better than alright." She said, moving over to join him and placing his coffee down in front of him.
"This is my favourite place in the whole world." James said, earnestly as he looked over his back yard.
She couldn't help herself, seeing that look on his face, she kissed him.
He smiled at her. "Your food is getting cold."
She bit into her bacon and eggs and sighed. His cooking skills were back on display. She looked up to see him watching her closely with a small lopsided grin on his face.
It just wasn't fair that he could cook like that. It wasn't fair that he could look like that.
"This is really good." She said with her mouth still full. Hermione never spoke with her mouth still full.
He laughed.
"I'm glad."
They ate, they laughed, and they chatted. They talked about everything. They talked about nothing.
That is of course, until Hermione broached the subject.
"Where did you come up with that bedtime story last night? That was really amazing James."
He sat back in his chair, cradling his coffee in his hand. She could see him thinking, he reached back and scratched his neck as he did so.
"I dunno, really."
"You don't know? It was very creative to have just come up with on the spot. Lily clearly loved it. I loved it."
James just let out a breath.
"It just came to me really. I must have seen it in a movie or read a book or something. Don't really know. It's a bit out there for me to have come up with."
Hermione nodded. Allowing him to continue.
"Lily loves those kinds of stories. And I love seeing her enjoy them. So, I guess I keep telling them. Honestly, I have no idea who I'm plagiarising!" He said with a bright smile.
She wanted to press him, but she knew when to back off. This was a marathon, not a sprint.
They settled back into their easy conversation. Laughing. Drinking. Holding hands across the table.
But as nice as it was. As wonderful as it felt to just spend a pleasant morning with her favourite person on earth, the back of Hermione's head continued to race.
But she did not forget the nightmare.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Hermione was content. She was dozing, cozied up to James on his hammock, content to lie in the shade of the trees that it hung from.
She had her head buried in his chest and was content to wile away the afternoon just cuddled up to him. They had already gone to Hermione's so that she could get changed and feed Crookshanks From there they had gone and gotten James's car, which had of course turned into a leftover lunch and a coffee at the Brookes's.
It had been lovely. Peyton had shot her a knowing look and Lucky had ribbed James mercilessly. He had done it out of her earshot for the most part, but there was no mistaking the pink that had covered James's cheeks during their conversation.
When they had gotten back to his place, Hermione had barely let him through the front door before she had jumped him. He never stood a chance. He had just opened the door for her, as happy as you like before Hermione had pounced on him like a cat on a dangling toy.
He didn't complain, why would he? Instead, he had just continued to whisper sweet nothings into her ear as the waves of orgasm washed away. She had smirked at him for that. She was not going to get tired of hearing those any time soon.
As much as they hadn't wanted to move from their tangle of body parts and half removed clothing on the entryway floor, they had settled in for a nap on the hammock out the back.
It had been a good day.
It had been a great day.
The best day she could remember.
She couldn't fathom just how perfectly she fit into the crook of his arm as she cuddled up to him. She couldn't fathom that level of comfort with him.
So, when his phone went off entirely too loudly and entirely too rudely, she was unimpressed to say the least.
She grumbled, as he mumbled. He had clearly been completely out of it. She could see by the confused and sleep drunk look in his half-cocked eyes as he reached for his phone.
Whispering his apologies to her, he answered.
"Lo" He murmured sleepily.
Hermione tuned in to half of a conversation.
"Yeah mate, just having a nap. Whassup." His voice was still addled with sleep. He started stroking her back mindlessly. His touch felt amazing.
"Well. Yeah I guess. No one's on leave. But it isn't on us in the ops rotation?"
Hermione was definitely tuning in now.
"Why would we be asked for specifically? This isn't some fucking medal show is it?" Hermione could hear an edge in his voice.
"Right. That's weird." Hermione didn't like weird.
"Any idea for how long?" Came out through yawned speech.
"Nah. Nah, we can brief when we get there. I'm not gunna take a Sunday off them just because we've got a fan." Hermione saw that he glanced at her when he said. She almost felt selfish, but she was okay with that. She wanted to be selfish.
Hell, she could see some selfishness in his own eyes.
"Yeah, that's early. Righto. I'll call the lads."
Hermione felt her heart beating. She knew he was about to get pulled away from her. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to leave.
She played with a bit of his shirt.
"Yeah mate. No worries. I'll see you then."
He hung up the phone with another great big yawn.
"No rest for the wicked." He said simply, continuing to stroke her back.
"You're going away, aren't you?" She asked softly, looking up at him.
He nodded at her. "Tomorrow. Hopefully it's only for a couple of days."
She nodded back and looked down, unable to reach his eyes.
His hand came and gently took a hold of her chin, pulling her face back up until she met his eyes.
"Hey. You okay?"
"I don't want you to go." She said softly. Hating herself for it. She wasn't used to missing someone before they even left.
He gave her a gentle smile.
"For the first time in my life, I don't want to go either."
He lent down and gave her a long kiss.
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
While James sat out in the back yard and began making his arrangements, Hermione fetched him a cup of tea. She then took her own and decided to explore his house.
She was delighted to find his study. It had a comfortably looking chair, a desk and a laptop computer. It was also surrounded by even more books. She ran her hand along their spines as she walked along. The books covered a range of topics, everything from carpentry and building, to firearms and military tactics.
There were even fiction books. Hermione saw that he had an old copy of the Lord of The Rings. She remembered how much she loved those novels herself as a child. She still did, come to think of it.
She ventured through his living room, which was neat and had a nice sized television. The coffee table had a few sports magazines lying on it haphazardly. Hermione learnt that James was more into contact sports like Rugby and Rugby League, than he was into the traditional British pursuits of football.
She also saw that he had a red and blue jersey up on the wall for an Australian rugby league side. It had a collection of signatures all over it. They had a knight's helmet as their logo, turned sideways with a red plume. Hermione saw that they hailed from Newcastle. She had briefly visited the coastal city during her time in Australia where she had gone to retrieve her parents after having obliviated them during the war with Voldemort.
She had loved the coastal place.
She remembered with a smile the trip around the country after she had restored their memories.
She would have to ask James about the jersey.
Her feet then took her back into his sitting room where she wandered back to the mantle piece. She was sorely tempted to pick up his wand, but for a reason she couldn't explain, that still felt almost like too much of an intrusion. She knew she had been keeping a lot of secrets from James, and that she knew things he needed to know. But she felt like the intrusion of handling his wand without his permission would be too much.
Hermione couldn't help but smirk to herself over the thought of handling his wand.
Dirty witch.
For the first time she started to appreciate the photos that sat on the mantel piece.
James and Lucky standing in what she assumed was Afghanistan. They were both dressed in camouflage and holding rifles. They had longer beards and longer hair, and had a breathtaking view behind them.
James, standing with five other men in uniforms and rifles. Once again she assumed it was Afghanistan, as Lucky was there. It looked to have been taken before their hair had grown out in the first photo. Hermione had a feeling it was recent and was likely taken on his last rotation.
James and Peyton. They looked younger. Early twenties maybe? They were standing outside the Colosseum in Rome with big smiles on their faces. Hermione looked at the photo a second longer. James had his arm around Peyton, and she had hers around him. She didn't want to assume. But they looked slightly - well - couplie.
James with a newborn, Lily was her safe guess.
James with members of the Royal Family, his much-chagrined medal upon his chest, a chest that was already covered with medals.
She giggled at the next photo. James was standing in the full scarlet tunic of the Grenadier Guards. He was complete with a black bearskin that sat upon his head and obscured most of his face. He was standing next to another, identically dressed Guardsman.
She assumed it was the same person in the next photo. James and another soldier. James looked very young. Probably even younger than the photo with Peyton in Italy. He couldn't have been in the military for long. They were standing next to each other in their combat gear. They were clearly deployed at the time. They both had immaculately close-cropped hair cuts and were clean shaven. They both had big smiles on their face. Hermione could see that they were standing in front of a sign that said, '1st Battalion, Grenadier Guards. 'Evil Be to him who Evil thinks.'
She couldn't help herself. She picked up the photo.
"Hard to believe that was more than nine years ago now."
Hermione spun around to see James was watching her with his mug of tea in his hand and a slight smile on his face.
She had a flush of colour. How did he keep sneaking up on her like that? She was the sneaky one. She felt like she had been caught looking around the headmaster's office when she wasn't supposed to be.
"James. I'm sorry, I just got to exploring. Curiosity got the better of me."
James just waved her off with an easy smile. "Don't be. You're more than welcome to do whatever you like in my house.
Hermione felt a reaction between her legs from the almost unintended implications.
You dirty boy.
She looked down again at the young man in the photograph. The young man who now stood leaning on the door frame, fixing her with that knowing look.
"Who is he?" Hermione asked, pointing to the other man.
She saw his face fall slightly. "Rafe Sawyer." Was all he said.
The name wasn't lost on her.
She nodded. "Where is Rafe now?" She tensed as she asked, knowing the high likelihood of the answer.
"He's the first number on my back."
Hermione breathed out a heavy breath.
"You had a dream about him last night, didn't you?"
"I did. I do that sometimes."
Hermione walked over to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. She then took a hold of his free hand and pulled him to the couch. She placed her mostly drunk tea on the coffee table.
"Sit. Talk."
"Hermione, it's okay. That was a long time ago now."
Hermione sat down comfortably and rested her back on his armrest. She took a hold of his hand and pulled it to her stomach where she held it with both hands. He was sitting between her legs.
"Talk." She said, gently, in a tone that was kind but allowed no argument.
James ran his free hand nervously through his hair.
He took a long breath. A thoughtful breath.
"I first met Rafe in basic training. He was my pit buddy. My partner in everything we did. He was like me, he didn't exactly fit. He was tall and gangly, and he had grown up with overprotective parents. I didn't exactly know how I had grown up, but I think it might have been different to him."
Hermione felt her stomach tumble as James shot her a lopsided grin.
"He was a bit hopeless to start with, if I'm honest. Couldn't tell his arse from his elbow. Army life just didn't seem to fit for him. If there was a way to stuff something up, he found an even newer way to do it. But he persevered. I tried my hardest to teach him whatever I could, but that didn't stop him from catching all manner of bullocksings from the Recruit Instructors."
Hermione smiled.
"He had no confidence to start. But he built up. Every day he got better and better. He improved. He even told me that he was going to join the Regiment one day. The other lads found that funny. But I believed him."
James lay his head back on the couch smiling, as if lost in the memory.
"Then I started to lead him astray. We got into all kinds of trouble. For all I say that I helped him, he helped me even more. Where I had no family and no understanding of where I had come from, he refused to let me wallow. He refused to let me see that as a weakness. He constantly used it to help build me up. I had only one friend before Rafe, and what was Peyton. And she built me up as best she could, but there was something about Rafe's camaraderie. Him being another male maybe? Maybe I needed a positive male influence."
James looked thoughtful for a second.
"We were thick as thieves. We got posted to the Grenadiers together. Same platoon. Same section."
Hermione continued to stroke his hand, content to let him talk.
He pulled his head up and looked at the fireplace.
"We weren't long out of Infantry training when we got marshalled for deployment. We had to put away our scarlet tunics and bearskins. The western world was going to war with Iraq."
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
An unknown day in March, 2003
James's breath came heavy amongst the crackle of gunfire all around him. The lack of sleep over the previous 36 hours washed away as the adrenaline flowed through his body. He moved up to the side of the building, listening to the heavy footfalls of Rafe behind him.
He could feel the sweat running through his hair under his helmet. Running down his back under his body armour. He felt like he would never get used to this bloody heat.
He slid down to a knee next to the corner. Carefully. Gingerly. He leaned out from behind the building.
It immediately exploded as enemy gunfire hit it.
He stayed out long enough to sling some rounds back at the threat before a hand grabbed the back of his bulky body armour and pulled him back.
"What the fuck are you doing James?" Rafe's voice came from right next to his ear. He was screaming to be heard of the din of battle. "Stay in cover!"
"Scarhead? What did you see?" came a crackled from his section radio. His section commander, Nicholls, was talking to him.
"The road is covered. There's heavy enemy fire down the street."
He popped out from behind cover and fired a few more rounds down the road. He was immediately greeted by more gunfire that somehow missed him.
Rafe was pulled from behind him, and Nicholls was suddenly standing next to him.
He dropped to a knee again and popped out. The same result. A few shots from James, a lot of rounds from the enemy.
"Hog!" He heard over the radio. "Get that machine gun up here right-fuckin'-now".
Next thing he knew, a large soldier had joined him. He had cut the sleeves off of his uniform and his muscular arms had gotten tanned from the time spent out in the open in the sun.
He had a big dumb grin on his face.
He also carried the MAG 58, a large belt fed machine gun.
James popped out again, firing a few more aimed shots towards the muzzle flashes down the street.
Again, the wall exploded with return fire.
While James fired, Hog lay down on the ground and was busy setting up his machine gun to fire down the street.
"Smoke out!" Called Nicholls, as he threw a smoke grenade into the middle of the road.
James fired a few more shots while the smoke cleared. He darted back and changed his magazine, ready for what was to come.
"Hog! Now!"
The big man crawled out so that he was lying around the corner with the best angle he could get.
He started letting rip long bursts of machine gun fire down the road.
James didn't stop to think. He lept over the big gun and sprinted for all he was worth across the road.
He heard whizzes and snaps as rounds danced around him, but by some miracle, he made it to the next street.
He ran a few steps forward and stopped, rifle up, scanning this new section of urban hell for any threats.
He was immediately knocked forward and onto his face by a heavy weight from behind.
He let out an 'ooft' as the air was knocked out from him. But he quickly scurried back to a knee, grabbing his rifle and continuing to scan.
"Sorry mate!" Rafe screamed in his ear as he also collected himself from the ground in order to scan his own arc.
A short time later, the sound of machine gun fire came from closer, as Pig, Hog's best mate and the other machine gunner in the section, took up the fire. He knew from the sound that they were moving the last of the section across the street.
Hogs position would be taken up by the follow up section.
A man popped out of a doorway in front of him and James didn't hesitate.
James caught, in the split second that they faced each other, the man's camouflage uniform, his helmet, and his rifle.
James also caught the sweat on his cheeks and the fear in his eyes. Reflective of his own, he suspected. Not that the fear seemed to be affecting him. He was just aware of it. He could sense that it was there.
He squeezed of three rounds. Two of which hit the man in the chest. From the close distance, the rounds penetrated his body armour, as two puffs of blood sprayed out. The third him in the head as he reeled back in shock, spraying blood and brain matter to the rear.
James took several breaths. It didn't seem to affect him. Later, it would. He knew it would. But weirdly, it didn't feel entirely new.
"Contact front!" He screamed over his shoulder to the rest of his section.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, Nicholls leaned forward to scream in his ear.
"Fucking top job Scarhead. Keep stacking them up."
James didn't feel like there was anything to celebrate. The pat on the back did nothing but make him feel worst about feeling nothing. This was a big deal, but not in the way his fellow soldiers were making it out to be.
To his knowledge, he had never killed a man before.
Or had he?
"Push Scarhead! Push. We're going to clear that building that the dead cunt came out of!"
"Got that!" He yelled back and he pushed forward.
He came to the open door and being careful not to step on the now dead man. He moved around it, pointing his rifle into the door, expecting to see a whole bunch of the dead man's mates waiting for him. Waiting to get him back.
Waiting to even the score.
But it looked empty. There were signs of recent activity. The kettle was steaming.
James didn't know why he picked up on things like that. But he did.
He pulled a hand grenade form his vest and showed it to Rafe, who nodded.
James pulled the pin and slammed his arm against the door frame, releasing the little ball of death into the room.
He took a step back and counted down.
It exploded. A cloud of dust came streaming out the door.
And he went running into the room.
Just as he came around to the corner, he saw a small inlet had been cut into the room. And facing out of that inlet was the barrel of a PKM machine gun. It was lower than him, cut in so that the machine gun faced up to him, giving it the jump on anyone who came through that door. Anyone like James and Rafe.
James realised that the last thing he would ever see would be the barrel and sights of said machine gun that was pointed right at him. The anger and hatred in the eyes of the man behind it glaring out at him like the reflective eyes of a cat in the dark. Time seemed to slow as he took in the sight of his death.
Just as he tried to orientate his rifle in what he knew was a fruitless enterprise. Someone grabbed a hold of his body armour and threw him sideways.
He flew just as the machine gun burst to life. The contained room making the already too loud gun, deafening.
It sent rounds of hatred and death flying through the room at a rate so quick that even though time had slowed down, he couldn't make out the individual rounds.
James hit the ground with a heavy thud and quickly started firing his rifle into the inlet.
He heard something drop and the machine gun stopped firing.
He crawled over desperately to the inlet and continued to fire into it. Round after round after round.
He emptied his magazine into the very dead man.
Then he turned around.
"Rafe!" He screamed. Panic setting in.
The rest of the section had wisely stopped their entry when the machine gun had gone off.
He desperately crawled on hands and knees to the prostrate soldier on the ground.
Rafe was dead. Well and truly. Not wounded. No last words. He had been messed up. His face was barely intact from the many rounds of 7.62mm that had hit him.
"MEDIC" he screamed, the tears forming in his eyes. "MEDIC!"
Nicholls came barrelling in through the door and took in the sight before him.
"He's dead, James." The section commander said to him, gently, despite the adrenaline that was coursing through them both.
No, he wasn't. He couldn't be. He had just saved James's life. He couldn't be dead. He mustn't be.
"He's dead, mate." Nicholls reached down and pulled James back. James struggled. Tried to break free.
"He's dead, mate. I need you to get with it. The we've got 5 other blokes out there who need you on your game. We mourn later."
James would. James did. He still did.
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Sunday 2nd September 2012
"It should have been me." He said softly. The tears starting to run down his face. He breathed a heavy sigh.
"He deserved better. He had family. He had friends. I didn't."
Hermione didn't know what to say, which was unusual for her.
So instead, she pulled him down to her. Wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. Her hand found his hair as she began to gently stroke it. She kissed him on the top of his head.
"There's no glory in it." He said softly into her. "None. I just want my friend back."
Finally, she felt him shake. Like he finally started to let go. She felt his walls come crumbling down as the sobs started to wrack his body. She fought her own tears as he sobbed into her.
The pain, the trauma, the past all seemed to rush out of him as he all but bawled into her chest.
She consoled him. Soothed him. Stroked his hair and his face. She cradled him and hugged him.
She did something that he had deserved since his birth, over 28 years ago. She loved him.
She let him cry. She let him sob. She started to cry too. The injustices of the world, of his world, started to wash over her.
How much does one man have to suffer? How much shit does the universe have to heap onto one man? For the great sin of his own existence.
For the great sin of doing his best.
He cried for what felt like hours but was probably only half of one.
While he cried, Hermione couldn't help but feel a small manner of relief that his nightmares were almost normal. They weren't signs of dark magic at play, they were signs that could reasonably expected for a man who had been through that much.
Finally, he started to abate. He stopped sobbing and after a while his breath came in normal.
He sat back up and Hermione immediately missed his warmth on her.
"I'm sorry." He sniffed. "I – uh. Look." The words seemed to fail him. His red eyes wouldn't meet hers.
She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on his tear-stained cheek.
"You've nothing to be sorry for."
He sniffed again and wiped his cheeks with his arm.
"I understand if it's a bit much." He said, clearly embarrassed.
"What?" She said softly.
"You know. Like the crying and the nightmares and stuff. I get it if it's a bit much. Like I understand if you want to leave."
Ten years. Ten years in existence. Ten years without any memory of his past, and still this hang up persisted. This believe in his unworthiness to be loved. If there was any one thing she could have hoped he hadn't brought into this life, that was it.
"I'm not going anywhere James. I'll be here as long as you'll have me."
James turned and he smiled at her. It was a hopeful smile, with only a hint of doubt behind the eye.
He stood and walked over to the bookshelf, coming back with a set of keys.
He grabbed Hermione's hand and opened it, placing the keys into her palm.
She looked at James curiously.
"If you think I'm going to drive your monstrous lorry, you've got another thing coming. I'm very happy with my Audi, thank you very much." She smirked at him.
He laughed. "I wouldn't dream of it. The keys are for this place."
Hermione gave him a blank look.
"You're more than welcome to use it whenever you like. You can even bring Crookshanks over, I don't mind. I just figured while I'm gone, if you wanted to come and stay here, well. I'd like that. It would be nice to think about my home not sitting empty while I'm away."
Hermione looked down at the keys again and up at him.
"Are you sure James? What if I'm just using you to steal all your lovely stuff?" her lips turning upwards as she spoke.
"Then leave me some food in the pantry won't you? A scotch or two maybe?" He said with a lopsided grin back on his face.
"No promises." She said. Then he cracked. He laughed. It was like music to her ears. She laughed along with him and threw herself at him.
The only thing that stopped their laughter was when their lips came crashing together.
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