Remember What I Forgot

by AlwaysThatGuy

Ten years after the defeat of Voldemort and fall of Harry Potter, footage emerges of a friend long thought dead. Finding him alive and unaware of his past, Hermione does what she does best. But with other factions in play and with nothing as it seems, how far will she go to find out the truth of what happened? H/HR.

17. Chapter Sixteen

A/N:

Long Chapter warning.

Violent content warning.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Chapter Sixteen

Thursday September 10th, 2012

"So realistically, I don't have to do anything?" James asked, looking up at her from where he was lying on his back on the kept grass of his back yard.

"Pretty much." She said, as she rested back to get as comfortable as she could against the tree that provided the nice shady area they had chosen.

His head was nestled comfortably in her lap. His eyes bright and happy as he looked up at her while he crossed his hands across his belly and tried to settle in.

"I just need you to empty your mind and let me in."

"You want me to empty my mind when I'm between your legs like this?" He said, a mischievous grin crossing his face

She rolled her eyes.

"I thought we got that out of your system?"

"That's never out of my system." James's eyes flashed at her in mirth. "Besides, normally you jump me before I even get a chance."

She leaned down and kissed him on the scar. "Later. I promise."

He pouted at her, sticking out his bottom lip like a petulant child. She merely cocked an eyebrow at him in response.

"Are you done?" She asked with an amused sigh.

He winked at her. "I'm just getting started."

She wanted to act affronted or annoyed, as was her way, but she couldn't. She was too excited. They were here. It was happening. He was going to let her in.

She may soon have answers to questions. Questions that burned in her mind. Questions of what happened to get him here.

But also, he may have answers to damn near all his questions. And that feeling alone gave Hermione more of a reason to be excited than even her own answers.

She didn't want to get her hopes up too much. She knew that it may not be simple, it may be exhausting, painful, and she may find things in his mind that upset her, but it would be worth it.

She had found James, but today she was going to look for Harry.

She looked back down at his beautiful green eyes and found them looking up at her expectantly.

"Hmm?" She hummed at him.

A lopsided grin broke out on his face. "Where were you just now?" He asked with a hint of mirth in his tone.

"Getting ahead of myself." She answered honestly. Today was to be a day of honesty. It would be the only way this worked.

"Are you ready to get started?"

He nodded.

She was about to continue when he suddenly sat up and turned around, giving her a long and loving kiss. She tried not to lose herself in the warmth of his lips on hers. She tried very hard not to get completely lost in the feeling of his hands around her face, pulling her towards him. She tried her absolute best not to get lost in the need and the greed of a kiss like that one.

She definitely tried with everything she had not to get lost in the physical reactions she had to a kiss like that.

But it was useless.

With much chagrin and complaints from her body and her mind, she broke the kiss and pulled away. She again gave him a raised eyebrow.

"For luck." He whispered, through swollen lips.

He then lay back on the grass and rested his head in her lap.

She watched him settle and exhale a long breath.

Hermione did the same. She forced herself to throw aside the reactions she had to a kiss like that and focus in on the task at hand.

"I need you to empty your mind, and let me in." She said, as she picked up her wand and held it loosely in her hand. "Normally I would tell you to fight against my intrusion and to rid yourself of emotion, but what I need you to do is let your mind wander. But wait until I'm in it for that to happen. Don't worry, you'll know."

"So, you'll read my mind?" He asked.

"No." Hermione shook her head. "I will see what you allow me to see. Well, maybe allow in the wrong word. Your mind will show me what it shows me. It's why I need you to relax. That way I can try and find the magical block that is preventing you from remembering. I will try and navigate your mind as best as I can."

He looked nervous again.

"Don't worry, James. I will be as delicate as possible."

He offered her a small nod of his head. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he looked up at her with shining eyes.

"I trust you." He said finally.

She couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face. "I'm glad. You'll need to. But it may not be that simple. I need to try and avoid showing you my own memories that we share. Don't try to push back. If you see my memories of shared events, it may spoil your memory."

"I wouldn't even know how to do that." James said, that small smile playing back over his lips.

"I'm sure you could figure it out if you tried. Though, you never were very good at this part." She said with a wink, before leaning down and kissing him on the forehead. "Now relax, James."

She watched as he closed his eyes and take another long breath.

It took a moment before she realised what he was doing.

Circular breathing.

She watched the stead rise, hold, lower, hold of his chest.

She took a deep breath of her own and raised her wand to the side of James's head.

Here goes.

"Legilimens." She whispered.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Where time has no meaning.

Hermione could see nothing but grey. Grey clouds floating around her as she found herself in James's mind.

It was the nothing. The nothing that he was thinking of. The nothing that really could not be fathomed. Not by his mind or hers could they process nothing, so grey, loose flying clouds wasn't so bad.

She took a breath, despite the lack of oxygen and the lack of her need for it. Her actual physical body was perfectly capable of looking after itself outside of James's mind.

She had to be patient. She had to see where his mind went.

With a flash the clouds were gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

Instead, she was standing in the hospital. Her workplace. She recognised it instantly as the rehabilitation ward. The same ward where she had first met him.

This time around, anyway.

Something drew her attention, something that she didn't remember, that she took brief note of. A small green footlocker. Army green. It sat in the corner, not completely out of sight, but attempting to be kept out of mind.

Hermione was relieved to see that she was standing separately from James. He was standing in front of her. She could look around and move around. She was a ghost in a memory that even she had. It would have been something else having to see it directly through his eyes, especially if she was involved.

The separation between herself and him was good. If they weren't separated, that would have been harder.

That may have been too much.

It was almost like a pensieve.

She felt different somehow. Strange. Feelings that were unfamiliar to her flowed through her. She felt a mild discomfort in her left leg and her lower back. It was manageable. She was choosing to ignore it.

Was she?

It took her mind a moment to unjumble everything. To sort through these strange feelings.

It took a second for her to realise that they were not her own. She was feeling what James had been feeling.

Once she had that realisation, she was able to separate her emotions from his. It was a strange feeling, but one that she was not entirely unfamiliar with. She knew by the theory that sometimes that could happen in Legilimancy, but this was a first for her. She was usually more – controlled – than this.

Then again, she had never conducted this kind of exploration on someone she knew so well. Someone she loved so much.

Someone with whom shared so many memories.

She could see James. He was cranky. She could feel his frustration burning inside of her. It burnt wild and free like fiendfyre.

A rational part in the back of his brain couldn't even bring himself to control it. Even though he knew he had to.

No wonder he finds his temper so hard to control.

She had a startling realisation as she looked at James.

That's not even him angry. Just frustrated.

She shook her head.

How does he carry all this around all the time?

"James!" she heard a familiar voice call out. A voice that both her mind, and James's, knew was Peyton's.

He turned his head, and so did Hermione.

And he saw her, for the first time.

It floored her. Absolutely, positively, completely, floored her.

James looked upon Hermione for the first time, and Hermione could see what he saw, and feel what he felt.

And it nearly crumbled her right then and there.

She felt the air race from her lungs and she had to stop herself from bending over at the waist. It was like someone had delivered a solid punch, right into her stomach, knocking the wind right out of her.

It was like a golden light shone from the very core of her being, of his being. Like a warmth that spread from deep within her heart – his heart – and out to her fingertips. And it was entirely centred, entirely grouped, and gathered around her.

Around her.

She looked at herself.

Is that me? Truly.

The Hermione that stood, staring at James, was not the same Hermione that she saw in the mirror every day.

The memory Hermione looked familiar, if only for a moment, before that feeling passed as impossible. But what replaced it was nothing short of – well – it could only be described as awe.

James is in awe of me?

The awe gave way to this raw feeling of absolute adoration and love.

This is how he feels?

This is how he feels?

A question so startling it warranted a repeat.

That same Hermione, that had been her only a manner of a few weeks ago, looked so similar, but so different to the Hermione she had watched brush her teeth in the bathroom mirror just this morning.

She was beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning.

She was the most beautiful woman in the world, according to James.

Hermione had never seen herself as being conventionally attractive. She barely and rarely wore make up, nor did she wear the latest trends in fashion. She had bushy hair. There were a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, which she liked, but it wasn't as if her skin was perfect and porcelain.

But not to James. Not at all to James.

The imperfections as she saw them, were there. He was not blind to her bushy hair and her lack of makeup. Her imperfect skin.

But to him, they weren't imperfections. They were part of her. And he liked them very much.

He loved them.

She was imperfectly perfect, and perfectly imperfect.

For him, he didn't want her to be perfect. He saw her how he saw her. And he absolutely, positively adored what he saw.

It took her a moment to unwind it all and realised that there was a massive difference in adjectives.

Bushy became wavy.

Boring and brown, became deep orbs of dark chocolate with flecks of gold.

A simple bun became a symbol of practicality.

It was all in the adjectives.

And it made all the difference in the world.

Her figure, which to Hermione, always needed work, was perfect.

My hips and my breasts don't look like that. Surely.

In fact, standing next to Peyton, who was undeniably, conventionally, beautiful, Hermione was still gorgeous. That was definitely not how Hermione felt about it all.

Hermione didn't want to be there anymore. She didn't want to see this. It was hard to see. It was hard to witness herself like that. It just added to the hidden insecurities that she battled with each and every day.

She felt him continue to glance at her as he spoke to Peyton. Her cheeks flushed as she saw herself yell her own name at him in an embarrassingly awkward moment.

He had been much calmer in the face of all this turmoil than she had been.

The memory faded and she found herself surrounded by grey clouds again.

She was standing there. In the 'The Winged Coffee'. Standing there in her active wear. Her hair pulled back into a practical, messy bun. Her face still slightly red from the exertion of her run. Her grey shirt still soaked with gradually drying sweat.

And still. He found her the most beautiful woman in the world.

She said something to him. Something that James had been unable to hear. Something that James had not registered. He had been lost in the moment. He had been lost in taking her in.

In being so pleasantly happy and surprised to see her there.

"What?" She felt him finally find the words to say.

She felt his embarrassment and her memory cheeks flushed red. She remembered this just as well as the hospital.

She sat and watched the scene as it played out.

She felt him want to hug her very badly. Want to embrace her. But she felt his reluctance. His confusion. Like he didn't know how. He didn't know what the appropriate protocol was.

She felt that he felt like an idiot. That he should know how to just hug someone at this point in his life. But that something stopped him and he didn't know where it had come from. He felt incredibly awkward and stupid in that moment.

She smiled as she remembered that she had seen exactly what he was thinking. Exactly what he was feeling.

She heard herself speak. "Same."

She couldn't help as the big smile crept upon her own face as they hugged. She felt herself against him. She felt how, well how right it felt to have her against his chest.

It was exactly the same as she had felt when she had hugged him.

She heard herself laugh as she hugged him. Her own laugh sounded musical. Hermione was not entirely sensitive about her laugh, it was just a laugh afterall, there was nothing special about it. But to James, it was the best laugh in the world, and he wanted to hear it again.

She looked away from the scene. It was a lot to take in for her. His emotions and her own, bubbling away in separate places inside of her.

And as she looked away she saw it again. It was tucked up against the side of the café.

An army green footlocker.

The memory faded.

Memories continued to fade and grow, memories of her.

She was so overcome that she wanted it to stop. She wanted to move on to something else. But it was his mind. She couldn't direct him what to think, what to remember. She had to be content to let his memory flow as it would, and it was up to her to see if she could find the magical block that resided in him.

Which aside from the army green footlocker, there seemed to be no sign of it.

The memories seemed to flow in random order.

The more memories she flowed through however, the more she saw army green footlocker sitting in a corner. In locations it had definitely not been.

She knew for a fact that the first time they made love, there had not been an army green footlocker next to the bed.

Her curiosity begged at her to grab it, to open it. To see inside of it.

But she was conflicted. Was this it? Was this the magical barrier that contained his memories from before?

Was this it?

The next memory flowed in, and she found herself standing outside the front of Peyton and Lucky's house.

Hermione felt his heart about to burst as he looked at Lily, his goddaughter. As Lucky and Hermione met each other.

As Lily called out to Hermione.

Hermione watched as James handed his goddaughter over to her. Hermione watched as memory Hermione hugged the little girl to her chest.

She remembered this moment well. That unreadable look in James's eyes. That look she never understood or had been able to bring herself to ask about.

A moment later, it became clear. And Hermione felt as a tear started to crawl down her cheek with all the speed of a baby's first steps.

Memory Hermione was no longer cuddling Lily. She was cuddling a little girl with bushy brown hair and bright green eyes.

She once again felt that urge to collapse. But the memory started to fade into a haze of grey. She only just managed to glance at a green army footlocker sitting in the tray of his ute.

That same little girl, with the bushy brown hair and the assumedly green eyes was sleeping on his chest, having just finished the story about the three best friends.

Her heartbeat furiously in her chest.

He sees it too! He wants it too!

It was all hitting her. She hadn't expected this. They hadn't spoken about a future. Marriage, children. Nothing. They had always been so fixated on his past.

Truthfully, they had only been dating a few weeks, and even those few weeks had been filled with a long list of emotions that had been both testing and amazing.

But she wanted to have those conversations. She wanted to have them more than she wanted to have conversations about his past or about his money, or what he would do once the current crisis was resolved. She didn't want to speak to him about the possibility of war, and his position in the magical world.

Hermione wanted to talk to James about children. She wanted to know how many he wanted. When he wanted to have them. Would he like to get married? She wanted to know everything. But what struck her about all these conversations, was how foreign they were to her.

She had never been particularly clucky and had never defined herself by her relationship status. She had always known that she wanted to marry one day and have children. Some day. But her minds someday had always seemed so far away. Over the horizon. Not even in the same time zone as her. It had always been dependent on when and if the right person had come along.

And he had. Well. He had come along a very long time ago, and she had spent a great deal of that time too blind to see it.

Now it was all staring her in the face. His love for her and hers for him. How it had hit him all at once, almost like it had been in waiting. Almost like it had been there all along.

She needed to get his memory back. She needed to know.

And now that she was seeing all this. And feeling all, she felt with James, it was coming at her. It was rushing at her, like long hidden feelings finally revealed. Like a veil had been lifted. Like broken glasses restored anew.

She wanted that with him. And he wanted that with her.

And just when it has all come to light. Just as they find all this. As they learn all this.

Another war is coming.

She looked away from the scene with that painful realisation that once again he would be risking his life. Once again, he would be trying to fight for the magical world, and the muggle world.

It would be just like James, to be just like Harry and do something entirely too noble. Something that would actually get him killed.

As she looked away, she saw it sitting in the corner of Lily's room.

A green army footlocker.

She looked back and saw the memory version of herself producing her mobile phone, ready to take a photograph.

She had a few moments.

She took a tentative step towards the footlocker.

It seemed to be drawing to her. She could almost hear it. She could almost hear something audible coming from the footlocker.

It sounded like whispers. Like several voices speaking over the top of each other.

She took another step towards it.

Then another.

Step by step, she moved towards it. She had become almost mesmerised by it. It just sat there. In the back of every memory.

Was it truly this simple? Did she need to unlock the footlocker? Was all her worries and fears and over protectiveness just that?

She reached for the locker.

And the scene changed.

He was holding a baby for the very first time. He looked into her bright grey eyes that were looking up and at him with a wonder that could only be reflected in his own. Hers was a wonder at a world she had never seen before, his was a wonder of the new world that had been created.

He adored her.

He looked up at his two best friends, absolutely beaming at them.

Peyton was still in the bed. She looked tired. Tired but with a look of happiness on her face that could not be described.

She was proud. Proud, happy, and absolutely bursting at the seams with the love for the small girl in James's awkward grasp.

Lucky's trademark beaming grin was split across his face. He was holding Peyton's hand. He would alternatively look at her and then look across at James.

"Have you named her yet?" James asked, beaming down at the little bundle in front of him.

Lucky looked meaningfully at Peyton, who looked meaningfully back. James only just caught the look they shared, as he was engrossed in the child in his arms.

Fuck.

It was his thought, not hers. It was not an unhappy 'fuck'. It was certainly not the action that the word meant in its literal sense.

It was not a 'fuck' filled with malice, or hatred, or even one of composure. It was the long and awkward 'fuck' of someone who had reached a deep realisation in his soul.

One that had likely sat out of reach until it was fit to be presented in front of him.

It was the long and drawn out 'fuck' of a person realising that they wanted kids of their own one day.

For a 25-year-old man with no past, that was a big deal. He didn't even have the person to do that with.

"Well mate, we were going to ask you about that." Lucky said, scratching the back of his head with the hand that didn't hold Peyton's.

He looked up at them, surprised.

"James doesn't suit a girl, Lucky." He said, his face splitting his trademarked lopsided grin.

The memory distracted Hermione. It was a pure memory. A loving one. One that he clearly held onto and treasured.

She was so caught up in the wonder in his eyes that she almost missed the green army footlocker that sat in the corner of the hospital room.

"You're a fucking dickhead." Lucky said in reply. Peyton swotted his arm.

"Language, Luke!" She said, but her eyes belied the anger in her tone.

James shook his head and pretended to cup the ears of the little girl in his arms. "Yeah, Luke!" You're a dad now! You can't swear around your daughter." His voice was all admonishment, and all teasing.

Luke gave him a decidedly unfatherly symbol with his free hand.

Hermione stepped towards the footlocker.

"The point is." Peyton said, stepping in as if the men in the room were actually men, as opposed to children who shopped in the menswear section of the store. "We both talked and the only name we can actually agree upon, is Lily."

James beamed at her. "Really? That's fantastic!" James said. The enthusiasm was raw, real and unbridled.

Hermione could feel that in her emotions as she took another step towards the footlocker. She was getting closer.

"You aren't upset then? If you don't want us to, we can choose another…" Peyton trailed off. Hermione could see the concern on her face, and felt even James was able to read that, as she once again took a tentative step towards the footlocker.

"No! No." James said, his voice not at all containing his excitement. "That would be amazing! I'd love that."

Hermione was confused then. The James of then didn't know the significance of the name. He didn't know that was his mother's name. But she felt that he felt an attachment to the name. He didn't know why, but he felt it.

She took another step towards the footlocker. She was so close. She could hear the whispers now.

"Well as long as we have the seal of approval from the godfather, sounds like we have a name." Said Lucky.

"Who's the godfather?" said James absently, his attention focused entirely back on the little girl, little Lily who he held in his arms.

"You're having a laugh with me, right?" Lucky said.

Hermione was right up at the footlocker now. She could feel it. She could feel it against her leg.

She began to reach down for the locker.

"Who?" James asked, looking back up at Peyton and Lucky.

"You, you di-moron." Said Lucky.

"What?" James asked, doubly confused.

"Nice save." Peyton said, smiling at her husband.

Hermione's hand reached down towards the latch of the locker.

And the scene changed.

James and Peyton sat in a café in Rome.

Even without James's thoughts, the very presence of the Colosseum in the background was an obvious clue.

That, and the fact that Peyton and James looked almost identical to the photograph she had seen on James's mantel.

They were in silence for a while. It was comfortable though. Companionable.

Hermione could feel what James felt. He loved Peyton, that much was clear, but it definitely felt different to the way he loved her.

In that moment she felt intrusive. She felt like she was looking at things she had no right to look at. Examining things that weren't any of her business.

If she had had any concerns about James's relationship with Peyton, which she didn't, it was assuaged by the way he felt as he sat there.

He had this love for her that would never fade. It was the kind of love of someone very dear to him, but someone who was not quite right. The kind of love borne of an affection and gratitude for what they had been through together.

Hermione could feel something else. A desperate need to give her what she needed. A need to give her something that he could not understand why he couldn't.

And as a result of that, Hermione could feel James's pang of pain about that. Because he didn't feel like he was enough. He didn't feel like he was in the right place. Not in the existential way that surrounded him in his lack of memory, but in his relationship with Peyton.

But he wanted to be. How he wanted to be.

He's trying so hard.

There was also an aloofness to him. It was attached to something. Something that was a bit vague. Something that she felt the memory was trying to keep from her.

It was sadness. It was mourning. It was shame and it was pain. But she couldn't pinpoint where it was exactly.

She couldn't help the small smile that crawled up her face when she looked at James. He looked so young. His hair was short and as neat as it could be (it was not that neat), and his face was clean shaven. He didn't even have stubble.

Peyton, also looked young. She looked happy, albeit concerned. She looked at James in a way that was different to the way that she looked at Lucky.

Hermione looked away from the scene. She again felt like an intruder. Normally she would ask why James was showing her this, but she realised that he likely wasn't. This was just a train of thought. It was likely that her intrusion into his mind had caused this, and it was not a conscious choice.

When she had entered his mind, it was clear that his mind had been on her. Judging from his jokes and his proximity to her, that was not at all a surprise. It had actually been quite wonderful to see it all. Despite how hard it had been on her.

As she thought about it, the chain of memories had been dreamlike, but fairly straightforward.

Clearly, he had their relationship and their future on his mind. It caused her to feel a wash of relief. If he was thinking of them and their future, then he was thinking there was hope. The he would make it out the other side. That he could see the other side.

If she needed James to have anything, it was hope.

She quickly looked around until she saw it. Hiding in the corner, near the exit. The footlocker.

She took a step towards it.

"James?" Peyton asked gently.

"Yes, Peyton?" He replied, snapping out of his reverie.

Clearly James was not big on pet names with Peyton either. It was something she had been meaning to discuss with him at some point. Not that she had a problem with his use of her name. Especially when he said it – certain – ways and at - certain – times.

"Why did you choose your name?"

James was taken aback by the question. He had been expecting something different. Something more alluding towards the pain that was held in the back of his mind.

It slipped.

It was something referring to Rafe.

Ah. They went after that first deployment. After Rafe died.

He breathed out a long breath as he looked blankly at Peyton.

Good question. James's mind remarked.

"I dunno, really." He said, absently. He knew it was not really an answer. He knew she would expect more. But it would give him time to orientate his thoughts.

She fixed him a stare. A stare that Hermione recognised as one that frequented Hermione's own face when James was being his stubborn, aloof self.

He leaned back into his chair.

"Well, you know, you asked. I had to choose something. I mean, John Doe, just didn't seem to cut it. I'm more a stag than a doe, if you catch my drift."

He gave Peyton a joking smile as he said it. He was clearly being a prat, and no one present in the memory was fooled.

Hermione shook her head in the dream at James's reply. Peyton's lips gently lifted, but she did not give him the out he was clearly seeking.

Hermione found herself oddly curious about the reply. Especially when it came to the thoughts of the bushy, brown-haired, green-eyed girl that had seemed to inhabit both of their dreams.

"James. You're stalling."

Go Peyton.

She found herself stopping her journey to the footlocker. She would actually be interested in hearing this, she couldn't help it. It was an intrusion, but she wanted to know.

Curiosity had always been such a huge part of her.

"Yeah. Yeah I am." He nervously scratched the back of his neck.

That boy has so many ticks, it's a good thing he never went into gambling.

"Look, they came to me, and they just seem to fit. I don't know how to explain it. I just stared at the paperwork, wondering how I was supposed to fill it out, and then it just came to me. James Evan Black. I liked it. It felt – " He paused and Hermione could tell he was searching for the right word. "Right? Fitting? I don't know. It's hard to explain."

Peyton nodded and offered him a gentle, affectionate smile.

She reached out and took his hand on the table.

Hermione expected to feel a hit of jealousy at that but was surprised by its absence.

She certainly wished that it had been her there to help him recover his memory, and through the difficulties that followed.

But Hermione found herself with a rush of affection for Peyton. Because through it all, he had someone. He had her. And she had him. And they had been there for each other.

And it would have been unbecoming of her to feel jealousy for that, especially after what Peyton had done for him. Not to mention what Peyton had done for her.

So, she was grateful.

She would have to offer another thanks to Peyton for everything she had done. Hermione owed her so much.

"Well, what if you had been a woman?"

"What?" James asked incredulously.

"Say you had to pick a girl's name, what would suit? Say you had a daughter? What would you name her?"

James blinked at her.

"Uh?" Was all he managed to blurt out.

Peyton smiled softly at him.

"Humour me."

"Peyton, are you? Are you trying to tell me - ? Because. You've been drinking and-"

Peyton's eyebrows flew to her hair at a speed previously never seen by humans before.

She tilted her head back and let out a long laugh. She had to hold her stomach, she was laughing so hard.

James was going red. He was confused. His ears were even turning pink.

Peyton finally recovered enough to speak.

"James! No. I'm not – " Her voice was cut off by more laughs, until she could contain herself. "I'm not pregnant, James." She said finally.

"Thank god for that!" James said, as he joined in her giggles.

"Why would you think that?" She said, shaking her head at him, the grin still plastered all over her face.

"Why would you ask me that question like that?" James retorted, a smile on his own face.

"I was just trying to figure out what you would name yourself if you were a girl James, not have a daughter with you. I was just thinking about how your memory works and how you seem to have these connections to certain things. Like you just said about your name."

Hermione felt a flash from James. Maybe he would want a daughter one day.

They settled back, taking a long sip of their drinks as they relaxed. Hermione felt that James relaxed, the thoughts of Rafe seemed to slip from his mind. The storm cloud seemed to blow from his head.

"So, what names?" Peyton asked again.

"I dunno." He thought for a moment. "The last ones just came to me."

"Well, what comes to you now?"

He paused.

A long pause.

"Lily." He said finally. "Lily Jean."

Hermione felt something swell in her heart.

He did remember something of her. She was important enough that part of her name stuck with him. Part of his name clung to the parts of his brain that hadn't been completely wiped clean.

Hermione felt a surge of love and affection towards James. The very man who's mind she occupied.

"They are pretty names, James. But they don't belong together."

James looked confused. "What? Why? What's wrong with those names."

Peyton laughed again.

"Oh individually? Nothing! Beautiful names."

James cocked an eyebrow at her.

"But Lily Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl who says that I am the one." Peyton sang to him.

He laughed as he shook his head at her.

"Those aren't the lyrics and you know it!"

Peyton smiled sweetly back at James.

"Maybe not. But she'd cop that her whole life!"

Hermione watched the scene with a sense of serene happiness.

Then it changed.

She was bored. Well, no. James was bored. Terribly bored. And uncomfortable. The Black bearskin that sat upon his head was not the most comfortable of headwear. It covered most of his eyes.

His feet hurt. The big black parade boots sucked. They were hard, but they were polished in such a way that his Sergeant had been almost happy with.

The tunic was hot. As chilly as the air was, it made him sweat. He could feel it running down her back.

And the tourists. Don't get him started on the fucking tourists. The tourists that ran around. Taking photos of him. Well, of his uniform. His bearskin and his scarlet tunic. Thankfully, half his face was obscured by the colossal bearskin.

He watched as a young family walked past him. They had two kids, a boy and a girl. The boy must have been about three, and the girl was pushing five.

James was not allowed to react physically. And physically he did not. But Hermione could feel inside of him a little hint of something else. A little hint of jealousy of the young family.

She felt him try to push this strange and unexpected feeling from his mind. He turned his mind to Peyton, but he refused to think any further.

Maybe refused was the wrong word. Maybe couldn't? Almost like he was blocked from doing so.

A block?

He let out a small breath through his nose.

Thank God he could move around.

He entertained himself, and orientated his thoughts, briefly by bringing his rifle up to his shoulder in the crisp, precise, by the numbers fashion that had been drilled into him by his instructors.

He turned on his heel and stamped his foot, bringing a satisfying crack across the pavement.

Then he marched off. He halted. He about turned. And he marched again.

As he marched, he could see the busy people moving around the square. The Changing of the Guard would happen soon. Thankfully he didn't have to be involved this time. Instead, he just had to deal with tourists.

As he marched Hermione saw him see something that hadn't registered at the time. At the time, they had just been part of the crowd. But now that they were both here and both looking, and now with the benefit of hindsight, it registered.

Three people were walking towards where the ceremony would happen. Away from James. He couldn't see their faces.

A tall red headed man. His clothing was not exactly fashionable, but passable. He was pointing around at things like a tourist, with no care for his surroundings.

A shorter girl with blonde hair. She was similar in her clothing choice. She was holding the red headed man's hand and leaning in towards him.

But it was the third that drew his attention. A brunette with wavy hair. She was dressed casually and fit right into the crowd. She was walking with purpose as she strode towards the square for the ceremony.

There was a moment, and she saw it as she remembered it. She paused. Her steps slowed and she looked around herself. Her arms came around her as if she was cold. As if she needed to protect herself.

Her own memory flowed back through her. She had been taking Luna and Ron to see the Changing of the Guard. Trying to introduce them to muggle culture. She had been walking towards the square when she had been hit by a thought that was neither intrusive or unexpected. They were common in the aftermath of the war.

Harry would have enjoyed this.

She watched herself slow, glance around herself, and then step out again quickly to catch up with Ron's strides.

They turned the corner and disappeared.

Hermione couldn't quite understand James's thoughts on the brunette girl who had just rounded the corner. Something drew him to her, but everything else was vague and indeterminate. She felt him do his best to shake it off and put it out of his mind.

Hermione reeled.

She had been so close. So fucking close.

Her thoughts came quick and furious. What if she had turned around and saw him. What if she had found him then. What if all of this had been avoided.

She reeled. Her mind passing quickly in a panic of what could have been. A series of what ifs and maybes danced through her head and she had to shake her head to collect her thoughts.

The footlocker was just sitting there. Dealing with this information would have to wait. This was her chance.

Hermione darted for the footlocker. It was there. Sitting right next to his guard box. She just had to reach it. She was confident that if she could reach it, she could restore him.

Just as she lunged for it, the memory brought her attention to another guardsman.

He was marching. Hermione knew, because James knew, that it was Rafe.

Hermione turned just in time to see him trip clumsily over his boots and go sprawling onto the ground. His rifle flew from his grasp and cluttered on the ground.

Rafe's bearskin slipped from his head and his highly embarrassed head could be seen trying to scrape everything up.

It was all that James could do not to laugh.

She used that moment as a distraction and launched for the footlocker.

Her hands grabbed the outside of the latch. There was no lock. It was cold, metal in her hand.

She began to work on the latch.

"Hermione! No!" James called.

Startled, she turned to him. He was there, dressed in his bearskin and his scarlet tunic. His rifle still on his shoulder, while his free hand reached out towards her.

"Stop!" Came another cry. A voice she didn't recognise, but it came from the man who had been collecting himself from the ground.

She worked the latch and it came undone.

And the scene changed.

She was in James's backyard. It was a lovely bright summers day. A nice cool breeze lazy made its way through the air. It could almost have been today.

The breeze was cool, but not cool enough to be the threatening of the oncoming change in seasons.

She was crouched down. Her hand still wrapped around the latch of the footlocker. She quickly glanced around and she saw him.

James was standing on the grass. Normal James. James who currently lay with his head in her lap. James who had joked around with her as they cooked breakfast as a couple. James who had she had had sex with, just that morning.

"Hermione." He said. His voice was pleading. "Please don't. Leave it alone."

She hesitated. Her hand still wrapped around the cold metal of the latch. It was impossibly cold. Too cold. Too cold for a piece of metal on a bright summer's day. It didn't hurt, but she could register just how off it felt.

She looked down at the footlocker thoughtfully.

"Hermione. Let it go."

She looked up. A second James stood next to the contemporary James. He had no beard and his hair was almost presentable.

The James who had been sitting with Peyton in a café in Rome.

"You've no idea what you're doing." Said another newly appeared James, who had previously been looking down in wonder at his new goddaughter in his arms.

"Please, just leave it alone." James in a bearskin and a scarlet tunic said, appearing right next to her.

"I'm sorry, James." Hermione said, finding her voice and trying to speak to the subconscious that was here to convince her otherwise. "You said you wanted your memories. You may need them for the days ahead. I won't let you go unprepared into this. I won't – I can't – lose you again."

"Please, Hermione." Said current James. Stepping towards her. His eyes were wide. Fearful. Scared. He was nervous and jumpy. "Please don't open the box. We don't open the box."

The other James's nodded in agreement.

The backyard shook slightly. A tremble broke through it. James was fighting her.

He was strong, in that he could fight her at all without any knowledge of how to use his magic, but with that lack of knowledge, he didn't seem able to push her from his mind.

"James." She said, her voice coming out rough and raw from the emotion. "We need to do this."

"We don't!" Bearskin James said forcefully. "We don't! We don't open the box."

"Don't open the box Hermione!" Cried godfather James.

"Please!" Begged Rome James.

"Hermione." Current James stepped towards her again. "Hermione, please. Please, just listen. That box stays closed. It stays contained. We don't open that." He was begging her now. "Please. Please don't open that."

"I can't let you do it." Bearskin James said, moving towards her.

"Don't open the box!" Said current James again, as he began to stride quickly towards her.

She gave him a last long look of apology and ripped the footlocker right open.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

It was hot. It was really hot.

She could feel a bead of sweat run down her back. But it wasn't her back, it was his. It ran straight down his spine, underneath the layers of clothing and body armour.

James was leaning against a low mud wall. His canteen was out and he was taking a sip.

The gear was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. His armour and gear felt like a second skin. A weighty one, but one he had spent so much of his life in that it was a burden he was used to. He took comfort in it.

Hermione was confused. This was not Hogwarts or his childhood. This was. Well, this looked like it was Afghanistan.

What was in the box?

James smiled as he watched was occurring before him.

A soldier. No, James's knowledge corrected her, a Marine. A member of the Special Boat Service, the SBS.

He was standing in a crowd of children with a big smile on his big bald face. He was singing a song as he clapped along.

The children were giving cries of delight as they clapped along. They were doing very well at keeping the beat.

Lucky walked up next to him and leaned against the mud wall next to him. He looked over at what
James was watching and snorted.

"I've been roamin' all my life and now I've found a lady wife,
I'm staying, right here!
Oh, I won't go sailing anymore, I won't obey the oceans call,
I'm staying, right here!"

Hermione could tell that this was not their last tour. They both looked younger. But not too much. It was before Lily had been born.

"I don't like crediting the Navy with anything." Lucky began, reluctantly. "But you gotta admit that their songs are better than ours."

James laughed. "You aren't wrong."

The Marine kept going, leading the children in a dance, almost like a heavily armed Pied Piper. He spun around and sang and danced.

And the children squealed in delight as they clapped in time with his hands.

A motorbike with a single rider was riding down the road. But it didn't catch his focus.

"I'll be a man of the land,
I'll be a man of the trees,
I'll be a man, wherever my woman will be,
I won't be any captain's mate,
I won't be servant of the seas,
'Cause this pretty little woman is all I need."

James smiled again at the dancing Marine.

He wasn't alone. A few of the SBS men were standing nearby and laughing. They all knew the words and the significance. This was the bald man's last tour. He was hanging up his flippers. He was retiring. He had made it.

Hermione didn't see it coming, likely because James didn't.

But she felt that he felt like he should have.

The motorbike pulled up right next to the crowd of children and the Pied Piper.

And James felt it in an infinitesimal – but noticeable – moment, before he heard it.

A huge flash of flame and smoke.

The concussion of the explosion knocked him and Lucky backwards over the mud wall.

The sound deafened him. His head felt like it would split open from the headache that formed as he lay in a crumpled heap.

He gathered himself as best he could.

He was wet. He hoped against hope that he hadn't pissed himself.

"Lucky?" He screamed out.

Well, his mouth moved, and Hermione could feel that his voice has been used, but she couldn't hear it because he couldn't. He was deaf.

An insane ringing filled his ears that blocked out all sounds.

She watched as James crawled forward and seized a hold of Lucky, who was pulling himself up from the ground.

"You okay?" He screamed again.

Lucky looked at him blankly. His wide eyes blinked several times, before he held up a hand and pointed at his ear.

She watched as Lucky yelled something back.

It was nothing but ringing.

James pulled himself to his feet and heaved Lucky up after him.

He picked up his water bottle from the ground with a shaking head. The water bottle was empty, the concussion having caused the contents to explode all over him.

His thoughts were briefly thankful for the explanation of the wetness.

Even James recognised the strangeness of that feeling amongst all the pain and ringing.

Hermione really wanted to look away from what she saw when James looked over to where the Marine had been singing. She did. But she couldn't. She couldn't, because James didn't.

He gingerly climbed over the mud wall and with uncertain legs he began moving towards the spot.

It was carnage. Absolute carnage.

Bodies and bits of bodies and a deep scorched red covered the ground.

Hermione felt her horror at what she was seeing, then she felt James's horror. He couldn't hear. He could barely move. Yet still he moved towards the horror show.

Lucky wasn't far behind him.

By way of spoiler in what James knew. They never found enough of him to bury. Just a broken dogtag and a small metal spoon that had belonged to the man's daughter. His flag draped casket had been empty as it made its way down to the aircraft to take what was left home.

She felt his fear, his shock and his grief. There was something about his emotions that seemed so different to hers. She knew that he had always struggled to control them, it had been apparent in Hogwarts, but now she knew why.

They burned. They were strong and full, and he carried them around in his chest. He contained them well, about as well as he could, and she knew just from being with him since she had found him that he matured and developed ways to express them in more effective ways.

But she knew now, as she felt what he felt, stumbling in a combination of completely numb and completely overwhelmed, that the way he had learnt to deal with these, was to contain them in a green army footlocker.

One that she had completely busted open in her search for answers.

Answers that weren't in there.

And the scene changed.

James followed the other man down the small alleyway.

Biccie. That was the lead man's name. Biccie and James got along. Biccie had become like an older brother figure for James.

This was their first combat operation since they had gotten into country two weeks before.

Mac and Jonesy followed behind. Their rifles were up, and they were all pointing them in different directions.

It was dark. The world was green. She could see the whole world in green by virtue of the goggles that hung across James's eyes from his helmet. The green that staved off the black of the night.

The approached a corner and Biccie in front of James slowed up.

James pointed his rifle at the corner, as Biccie slowly peaked around to look. She could see him scan around.

James raised his rifle so that Biccie wouldn't walk in front of it, and around the corner they went.

And the world exploded.

Flashes of muzzles and the cacophony of gunfire broke out in front of him as Biccie just dropped.

"Ambush!" James screamed as he returned fire.

Biccie went face first into the ground and James fired his rifle towards the muzzle flashes as best he could. He was shooting at the bright flashes that appeared in his night vision goggles. Trying to make them stick their heads down.

He leaned down and grabbed the back of Biccie's body armour and pulled him backwards.

Dragging him back around the corner and out of harm's way.

She felt as the memory started to tremble. It started to shake. James was fighting back. He didn't want her to see all this.

She did her best to remain calm. It wasn't strong enough to force her out. Yet.

James immediately began to survey Biccie's injuries.

He could hear his laboured breathing and knew that he likely had taken a round in the lung. James swept him methodically for blood and found that he was bleeding in several place around the torso and on the legs.

He immediately pulled Biccie's first aid kit from his webbing and started primary care. He fixed a tourniquet high and tight on Biccie's leg, stemming the bleeding.

"Leave it James." He gasped. "Stay in the fight."

James shook his head. "You'll be alright mate, let me get a seal on your chest, and you'll be right."

"This isn't how its done." He gasped again, reaching out and pushing James back.

James fell lightly on his arse, pulling himself back up and striking the wounded man on the side of the helmet.

"Leave it out, mate. I'm doing this."

Biccie pushed him away again. "Fuck off, James. You know the drill. We don't stop for the wounded. The others need you in the fight. Finish the fight. See to me after. The reserve element won't be far behind."

James looked at him, confused. Hermione could feel James's anger burning up. His mate was wounded. He needed to help his mate.

A hand reached down and grabbed James. He looked up to see the night vision goggles and helmeted head of Jonesy.

"You gotta let him go, pal! We don't stop! He'll tend to himself. We can't help him until the fight is done. We've gotta continue the attack. The other team needs our rifles in the fight, or they're fucked!"

James looked back at Biccie, who was pulling a chest seal out of his first aid kit by feel and attempting to unstick it with his heavily gloved hands.

Biccie looked across at him and nodded.

"I'll be fine." He gasped out between laboured breaths. "Go. Win the fight."

James looked up at Jonesy who was pulling him to his feet.

He gave Biccie another look, then pulled his rifle up, and ran back into the hell of battle.

The scene changed, but it didn't. They were back there. They were back in the same alleyway.

Looking at Biccie.

He was still seated against the wall. His head was drooped low onto his chest. Almost like he was sleeping.

But he was dead.

The reserve team had done all they could. But it hadn't been quick enough. He had died before they arrived.

James just stared at him. He had died here. Against the wall. Alone. James had left him. And he had died.

He had died alone.

Hermione felt James's confusion. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. What he was supposed to feel.

Here was his mentor. The man who, alongside Mac, had contributed to his learning in the Regiment when he had first arrived fresh off selection. The second-in-command of his patrol.

James had been a groomsman at Biccie's second wedding.

And he was dead.

He had died alone.

James felt like he should cry. But he didn't. He felt like he should say something. But he didn't.

His right hand clenched and unclenched.

He was a mate. A very close mate. A brother in everything but name.

And he was dead.

He had died alone.

And James had let it happen.

And for that he was deeply ashamed.

The scene changed.

Jonesy's helmeted and night visioned head nodded at James.

It was not the same night. It was definitely the same deployment, James's thoughts confirmed that.

Hermione hated this. The full horror of the situation had welled up in her stomach. The footlocker hadn't contained his locked away memories of magic. It had contained his trauma. All the memories that he had buried. All the horrific things that he had seen and done. All the things that he continued to live with in an attempt to continue to do his job.

All the things he should never have had to see.

That no one should have ever had to see.

Hermione was staring the full horror of muggle war in the face. This was not some grainy footage from a helmet, or from a news camera. This was not a documentary reporter taking cover behind soldiers.

She could smell it. She could hear it and see it. Everything that James had seen and felt. Everything he had experienced was staring her dead in the face.

What struck her most about this was the fear. She had always seen Harry as an especially brave man. A man who would dash into danger without thinking of anything but those he was trying to help.

But it sat there in his stomach. More often, she noticed it in the dull moments. Like when he had been trying to help Biccie, a dull fear that sat there. But he ignored it, he almost seemed to forget about it and focus. She felt him do so.

Hermione learnt just where his bravery came from. And it impressed her even more. She knew he couldn't possibly have been fearless. But he was certainly brave. And now she knew how.

But learning all that aside, she wanted nothing more than to end this. She wanted nothing more than to leave.

But she refused. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

Because if he she knew, she could help. If she saw what he had seen, she could help him.

Because this trauma, she well knew, would not stay buried for ever. His readjustment would take time, if he could ever truly do it.

She knew that not everyone could. Her father had done a wonderful job, but he still had his moments. She had learnt that as a young girl.

She had seen him when things got bad, the haunted look of a man who felt like he was back in the war, despite the safety of his home.

A man whose mind betrayed him sufficiently enough to trick the body into thinking it was still there.

She remembered her own childhood, coming down one day to find her father at the kitchen table in the middle of the night.

He was drinking a tea. A strong tea. The kind of tea that was not for children.

She had found him there. Crying.

"Daddy?" She had asked. She was young, maybe eight or nine.

He had leapt from his chair towards her in a fighting stance. He spun to face her, his fists raised.

He stared at her for a split second, before the horror of his actions had reached his eyes.

She knew then and she knew now that he never would have done anything to her, no matter how badly his body and mind were playing with his reaction.

But he had thought he might, and that had been enough.

He had enveloped her in a hug and cried into her hair for a long time.

She had not known what to do. So, she had just hugged him back.

If seeing this helped her help James in the future, then she would watch every, horrific moment.

Every. Single. One.

James pulled a grenade from his pouch and held it out to Jonesy, who had nodded again.

He pulled the pin and slammed his wrist to the door frame, releasing the little ball of death into the room.

He stepped back and pulled up his rifle.

A whump sound enveloped them as the grenade exploded.

James was the first man through the door.

Jonesy was hot on his heels.

He hadn't even stood a chance.

A burst of automatic fire had cut him down before he had fully crossed the threshold.

They were bullets that didn't hit James, who had entered in front of him. As if they had only had time to react to the second man.

James who had remorselessly gunned down the man who shot his friend. James who had effortlessly and methodically shot the man several times. The recoil of his rifle barely registering against this his shoulder.

He spared Jonesy a glance.

Jonesy was rolling on the floor, spraying bright red arterial blood from his leg.

He was screaming. It was the kind of scream that Hermione had heard from those suffering the Cruciatus curse. It was a blood curling scream.

Surprise. Horror. Fear and pain.

All mixed into one inhumanely human sound.

All James could do was spare him a glance and move to the internal door that led to a staircase. They were committed now.

"We don't stop for the wounded." Biccie's voice bounced around James's head as he saw Jonesy trying to tighten a tourniquet around his heavily bleeding leg.

But the fight had started, and the wounded couldn't be treated until it was finished.

He braced the rifle and pointed it at the door, covering it.

He felt Lucky come up beside him and squeeze him on the shoulder.

And he went through the door. He didn't even spare Jonesy a second glance. He left him behind.

The screaming stopped when they were halfway up the stairs.

It never started again.

The scene changed.

They were upstairs.

He entered the room and was immediately tackled and pinned to the wall a by a very large, very foul-smelling man. His rifle was pressed to his chest, as was the man's.

Both rifles were out of the fight.

James tried to get his pistol out of his holster, but it was useless. His hip was pinned against the wall and he couldn't access the retention button.

The big man slammed a big fist into the side of James jaw, causing his head to snap to the side and stars to appear in his vision.

The big man recoiled for another punch, screaming what could only be assumed to be profanities in James's ears as he did so. James ducked his head into the blow and wore it on the helmet.

It rung his bell, but not as bad as the hit to the jaw had.

The man howled in pain as his fist came into contact with the Kevlar.

That had to hurt.

Hermione could barely feel James's register the pain from the first hit. His heart was pounding. The adrenaline was flowing.

The man was strong, scared and motivated. But James was trained, calm, and committed.

James pulled a short dagger from inside his body armour with his one free hand.

She watched in horror as he stabbed the big man in the stomach.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

It was quick, brutal and efficient. His sharp blade tore into the large man's stomach and coated James's fist in gore.

The man screamed another inhumanely human scream as he desperately tried to grab at James's wrist which was ripping into his torso.

James's arm came up and his pivoted the dagger around so that he was holding it overhand.

The big man was still desperately fighting as James plunged the point of the dagger into the man's neck.

The man desperately pushed at James, who could feel the warm of his blood spraying all over his legs.

James wanted to say something. Anything. He wanted to say something reassuring.

But he didn't.

He just pushed. He pushed the dagger in. He developed the wound with several movements of his hand.

James's face and the other mans were right up against each other. They were eye to eye, almost nose to nose. And James watched the light fade from the large man's eyes.

The man's screams and curses became gargled and gasped as the blood sprayed from the artery, all over James's face.

It was warm. It was sticky.

But James continued to push.

And Hermione felt everything he felt.

It was not nothing. Though he didn't seem sure if he wanted it to be.

It was no pride or glory, or the thrill that he had felt during his past engagements.

It was shame.

A deep sense of shame.

As the man crumpled to the ground and James leant down and wiped the knife on the man's clothing, before replacing it in his gear and turning to see Lucky standing over the dead bodies of two other men who had been in the room. Lucky had quickly and cleanly taken care of them during James's scuffle.

He was shining his torch in the face of two terrified women who were hiding in the corner of the room. James could see that he appeared to be checking their faces against photographs he had kept in a holster on his arm.

James moved towards Lucky who turned and nodded grimly at James.

It was who they were here for.

She felt it. He hated it.

He hated all of this.

But he didn't.

And he was ashamed.

The scene changed again, but the rumble of James's mind got stronger and fiercer. He was fighting hard now. He wanted her out. He didn't want to see anymore. He didn't want to see what he had buried. He wanted it to stay buried. Forever.

She knew it wouldn't. It couldn't. It was too much to stay buried.

She wanted to confront it all head on. And she knew what she was doing, and how to stay in his mind. So, they did.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

His mind flashed through memories at a rapid rate and Hermione struggled to take them in.

He was a child. He couldn't have been older than fourteen. He had short dark hair and only the wisps of his beard upon his face.

And probably enough drugs in his system to keep him going for days.

He was underfed and overdrugged.

Which made it even more problematic that he was shooting at them with an AK 47. And he was very in the way.

James had wanted to wait him out, let him run out of ammunition but they were on a time critical task. His mates were pinned down and the boy was in the way. No one wanted to take the shot, but the boys' rounds were getting problematically close.

One round kicked up right next to Lucky's face. It was a close call. It was only a matter of time before he managed to shoot one of them, but no one dared to take a shot.

Until James did.

He had gently breathed out as he focussed his sights firmly on the boy.

It was a headshot. At least it was quick.

He was the leader; it was his responsibility. He wouldn't put it on anyone else conscience. So, he put it on his.

Another scene. James and his team were under sniper fire. He was laying in the desert as bullets kicked around him.

They were laughing. They were joking. They couldn't help but laugh at the man's poor accuracy.

Mark was looking for him, but the rest of them were just laughing.

He should have hit one of them by now.

Every time a shot went off and a dust cloud kicked up near him, James felt a thrill.

He loved that thrill.

He was addicted to that thrill.

He was so close to death, and he felt more alive than ever.

A young boy. That's all he was. 18 years old. The one who tripped over and went sprawling.

Rafe.

Dead. Vacant eyes staring back at him.

James's disbelief.

Another man dragging James away. James who wouldn't believe that the young boy, so full of life, was dead.

Lucky flying through the air after being hit by a green explosion. Flashing momentarily in light as James held his hand out to him.

James seeing him and thinking he was dead. His guilt and his anguish. His panic.

James was running along. He was exhausted. His legs felt heavier than ever.

Bullets kicked up a storm around him as he put one foot in front of the other.

He sprawled forward.

A brown glove turned bright scarlet.

Hermione felt her heart leap to her throat. Watching everything he had done had taken its toll. But this? This was something else.

Seeing him injured like this. He had seemed invincible. Bulletproof. But here was the proof that he wasn't. Here was what brought her back to him.

This was where he was wounded.

One step. Two step. One step. Two step.

The pain in his leg and his shoulder and another sprawl to the ground.

Wanting to give up. Wanting it all to be over. Wanting to just sleep that last sleep. Something in his mind telling him he wasn't finished. He had things left to do.

Pushing with all his might.

An arm helping him along. Lucky encouraging him along.

A voice. A woman's voice. The voice that told him he wasn't done yet.

"Hold on Harry. Hold on."

She felt like his memory was torn on that one. She could feel like he was resisting enough that much of the trauma of that memory remained hidden.

And the scene changed.

The memory shook violently as soon as it materialised.

He was prostrate and helpless.

And young.

He was strapped to a board. It was angled. His head was angled towards the floor.

And he was crying. Weeping actually. He was sobbing.

He was broken.

In the background, she could hear a cacophony of music. It was loud, it seeped into his head and grated like nails on his brain. It was completely intelligible. It annoyed her to hear it. But it had dug into James's skull. It never stopped.

She felt it in him. He was absolutely broken. He would tell them anything, anything at all. Anything, just so they didn't do it again. He couldn't take it again.

Please, please don't let them do it again.

With the feelings washing over her like a tidal wave, the memory shook more and more violently inside.

He did not want her to see this.

A man entered the room. He carried a jerry can in his arm.

"Still not talking eh, lad? Still no memory?"

James shook violently on the board. She could feel his determination to not show his fear.

But it crumbled. It crumbled in the fact that he had broken. He couldn't tell how long they had been at it. Minutes? Hours? Days.

He just wanted it to stop.

He just wanted to die.

"Alright. Best get back at it. I trust you've got some air back in your lungs by now."

The man approached James and violently slapped a cloth over his face.

The memory shook with a renewed and fresh violence that she hadn't felt before.

She had underestimated just how badly this would cause a reaction from James.

The man raised the can.

The shaking raised into a crescendo.

And it all changed.

Except they weren't in his mind anymore.

They were in hers.

She fought hard to stop him.

Don't let him see things! Don't let him see it!

But it was useless. He had been pushed too far and was here now.

She desperately tried to clear her mind, but she failed.

Snatches of memories and thoughts flashed through her mind, and she knew that he could see them.

"If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too!"

His warmth against her chest as she clutched him too him. Buckbeak's strong wings bucking beneath them as she pulled him close and smelt his scent.

A scent she adored. A scent that made her feel safe and warm and home.

A scent from the best friend she had ever had.

A small, skinny black-haired boy climbing onto the back of a mountain troll and sticking his wand up its nose.

Until that point in her life, it had been the bravest thing she had ever seen, and it had been done in the protection of her.

She pushed harder. She couldn't allow this. He couldn't see. He couldn't see any of this. It would spoil his memory.

She pushed hard and the memory changed.

His own voice.

"Hermione. I just needed to say –"

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was a gentle kiss. A soft kiss. And it lingered.

A purple flame hit her in the chest, sending her sprawling to the ground. In the moments before she lost consciousness, feeling Harry appear next to her in a panic.

Her feeling his fiercely held sigh of relief when Neville told him that she was alive.

She was looking down at his cenotaph. It was newly built. She had chosen the location and she had chosen the inscription.

She felt it fitting.

She felt her loss. Her sense of unfathomable loss at his passing. Like a hole in her heart. It just lingered. It remained. It didn't go away.

She pushed. She pushed as hard as she could.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Her eyes opened.

So did his.

James flew up from the ground and onto his feet stumbling as he did so. A momentary loss in his coordination.

Hermione blinked rapidly as the light of the morning sun was bright against her eyes. It took her mind a moment to regather her thoughts. To process where she was.

And that she was not in possession of his emotions anymore. That she was effectively alone in her own mind.

It was a strange sensation.

She gave a shuddering breath as the emotions of everything she had just seen hit her. It came out as a kind of sob.

"Fuck, Hermione!" James growled, his back still facing towards her.

She blinked up at him just in time to see him take off running.

She started to clamour to her feet to go after him as he reached the corner of the hedge and the fence, falling to his knees.

His breakfast made a reappearance.

He spluttered and coughed as more came out.

She moved quickly over to him and put her hand on his back. He flinched at her touch and away from her, falling to his side and scurrying away.

It stung.

"It's okay. You're okay." She whispered to him, as soothingly as possible. "You're safe. We are here. We are still here. We're in your backyard James. We're home."

She could see his eyes darting around like a wounded animal. Like a cornered wounded animal.

His eyes screamed of shame and fury, from their place on his pale, ashen white face.

His breathing was coming in short and sharp and he was almost hyperventilating.

"It's okay, James." She said again, as soothing as the voice she had heard in his mind. "I'm here. I'm here. You're okay."

She saw as his eyes met hers. As they looked at her in what almost looked like alarm, and shock.

And anger. Righteous, indignant, anger.

"What the actual fuck, Hermione?"

She didn't break his gaze. He was allowed to be angry, he had that right, but she was not about to apologise.

"I didn't mean for that to happen, but I'm glad it did."

"Well, I'm really fucking glad for you." He barked at her. His breathing coming in short and sharp. "How wonderful it must have been to gallivant through those memories. Memories that were not yours to see! Memories that you had no right to see!"

Hermione remained calm and looked him evenly in the eye.

"It was not intentional James, honestly. I thought I had found your past."

"I told you not to open the fucking box!" He all but yelled at her. His eyes incredulous with anger.

"You did."

"But you fucking did. You had to, didn't you! You just had to open the fucking box."

"Yes, James. I did."

His eyes were white hot fury. He wasn't getting an emotional reaction to his anger and it seemed to drive him on further.

"Are you happy now? Did you get what you fucking wanted? Did you see what you wanted to see? I trusted you. I trusted you with my mind, and all you did was pry into shit that had nothing to do with you. I hope you're fucking happy!"

"I'm not happy, James. No."

"Well, I'm fucking sorry than, aren't I!" Here was the yelling Harry she had known from her past. Angry, sarcastic, and hurt. "I had that under control. I had a lid on it! I had it contained! I was functioning."

"Is that what you were, James?" Her own anger had finally bitten into that. It was a lie. A bold-faced lie. But the part that annoyed her wasn't that he was lying to her, but that he was lying to himself. "Contained?"

"Yes! I had it all under control! It was all safely locked away, but you had to come along and lift the fucking lid!" He was gesturing madly in his furious attempts to keep his own emotions in check as he yelled at her.

He was failing.

Hermione sat easily back on the grass and looked at him with scrutiny.

"And when were you going to deal with that?"

"Well not right now! There's about to be another fucking war! I didn't need to be seeing all this shit all over again right when we are about to plunge headfirst into this."

"James. With you, there's always another fucking war."

That comment stunned him silent. So, she continued.

"You said that you were thinking about staying in the Regiment. Fine. That's your choice and if that's what you decide, I will support you every step of the way. But I will also be the one who has to pick up the pieces. I saw in your mind James. I saw what you went through. I felt what you felt."

James glared at her, but he said nothing.

"I know you want a family. You do. I can see it. And you know what? I see the same thing. I want the exact same thing. I want children. I want our life. I want everything we've lost out on over the last ten years. I want us. And I want out future. I want it together."

The anger that burnt in his eyes seemed to shimmer somewhat. Something else crept in. Something unreadable.

"But that means that you don't get to be a ticking time bomb. That means you have to deal with everything you've seen and everything you've done. Because when kids come along, you don't get to take that out on them."

His eyes left her and he looked down.

"They do not need a man who is addicted to war."

James's eyes shot up to her. They narrowed. He opened his mouth to argue, but it closed again. He would have been lying to do so. She had felt the thrill in him. She felt it in his mind from the times he had been shot at and survived.

She didn't actually think he would ever be the type to actually take his trauma out on his children, but she needed him to be aware of it. She needed him to examine that part of himself with honesty.

His eyes misted over as he looked at her. As if he was looking through her. As if he was miles away.

She saw his breathing become short and sharp. Now he was hyperventilating. That panicked look reappeared in his eyes.

The tears built up inside of him.

"I'm so –" He couldn't finish. His breathing was too sharp.

She waited patiently as his mouth moved of its own accord, yet nothing seemed to come out.

"Ashamed."

With that he started shaking and the tears came screaming from his eyes like the gunfire from his memory.

"James." She said, carefully. "None of this is your fault."

She watched as he reeled as if he had been slapped across the face.

His breathing continued to come in quick, sharp and shallow.

"I can't." he said, his voice weak and garbled. "I can't." He repeated. His arms came around his body as if to protect himself and he bent forward to rest his head between his knees.

His breathing continued quick and shallow as he repeated it to himself over and over again. "I can't. I can't. I can't."

And he vomited again.

She rushed to him and soothed him.

As the waves of sobs started to overtake him.

She vanished the vomit easily with her wand, from his shirt and his garden.

And she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her so that she could rest his head upon her chest. She kissed the top of his head as his body wracked and heaved from the emotion that washed over him like a thunderstorm.

She soothed him. Her own tears falling into his hair as she stroked his back and said what she could to try and calm him down.

She told him how proud of him she was.

Of how strong he was.

How amazing he was.

But his breathing continued, shallow and quick. She suspected he might have been having a panic attack.

She could feel his magic in the air. It was lively. It almost crackled with the tension of his emotions come to call. It was most certainly awake now. She didn't think it would go dormant again. It was too real, too raw. It flowed around them like a sharp wind.

But he didn't push her away, so she held him. And she cried with him. She cried about the great injustice of it all. About how he had ended up in this position. How it always seemed to be him that ended up there. Again.

She moved her hand to her chest. She could feel it was still heaving up and down in its rapid manner.

She soothed him again, and moved herself around in front of him, keeping his head in her chest as she did so. He seemed to cling to her with everything he was worth. He clung to her as if she was a life raft in a tempest sea.

And maybe she was.

God knows that he had been that for her in the past, and she had been that for him.

This was not new. It was everything else that was attached to that that was. All that newfound kind of love and hope and affection, that was what made the difference.

She pulled his head up and forced him to look her in the eyes.

They sat there, facing each other.

"Breathe with me, James." She whispered to him, taking his head in her hands, and continuing to stare into his eyes.

She stared into his eyes to remind him that she was here, and that she was not going anywhere. And that they were together.

His emerald pools met her chocolate orbs.

She pulled herself to him and started to circular breathe.

Her chest acted against his at first. As he continued his rapid, shallow breathing.

But gradually, he settled. And their breathing linked.

In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold.

She counted it out. Her voice remained calm and melodious. An anchor for him to hold as he started to bring himself back.

And he settled. Gradually and with seemingly great reluctance, he settled.

Finally, she could feel his breathing had become somewhat normal, save a hitch or two as a sob escaped from him.

She leant back and took his face in her hands again.

She absently brushed away his tears with her thumbs.

"You saw everything, didn't you?" He asked in a whisper.

She nodded.

He closed his eyes and further tears sprinted from his eyes, where she caught them.

"I love you." She whispered to him.

He was still remarkably pale. But she slowly shook his head.

"No, you don't."

She looked pointedly back into his eyes, as they opened back up to meet hers uneasily.

"I do. I love you, James."

His eyes bore into hers. "And how could you possibly do that?"

She raised her eyebrow at him. "Nothing has changed, James. I still love you as much as I did before. Possibly more so."

He looked down again and chewed his lip.

"There's no way. You saw it all. You saw what I've done. That's not even all of it. I'm a bastard. A murderous bastard. I left my mates to die."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, as his face was angled down and staring pointedly at her lap.

"You were placed in an impossible situation. You didn't have much of a choice."

"I didn't have to leave them."

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead again.

"You don't have to leave me either."

He looked up at her then. Making eye contact with her.

"I don't want to leave you."

"Then don't."

He closed his eyes again. "I can't leave you."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the scar.

"Then don't."

"I have to go away. I have to leave. We have to do what we can to avoid a war. We have to try and stop this."

She kissed his scar again.

"And you had to leave your mates to save your other mates."

"I could have chosen to stay. I had a choice."

He frowned at her.

"What did you tell me in the café?" She said, careful to keep her voice light. "You always think you have a choice."

She didn't expect those words would fix it all. Like a few magic words from her would undo years of trauma and stress. But they seemed to break his cycle of thoughts. And that was a good start.

He looked back at her.

"You were never supposed to see any of that." He said simply.

"Neither were you." She replied kindly.

"Why did you pry? Why couldn't you leave it alone?" The sadness in his eyes seem to shift slightly back to anger.

She didn't feel guilty. Maybe she should have. But she would never apologise for what she had done. She would never, ever apologise for helping him.

"Because you carry that around with you. Everywhere you go. It's why you get so angry. It's something you aren't dealing with very well. I didn't mean to find it. I thought it was your locked away memories. Honestly, I did. But it wasn't."

She sighed softly as she caught more of the tears that flowed from his eyes.

"But I don't regret finding it James. Because you never, ever would have told me about any of that would you? You would have carried that burden around with you until the end of the time. Let it eat away at you. And it's time you shared the burden."

He looked at her. His anger still there. "They were not your memories to see."

She didn't flinch away from him.

"Weren't they? What happens when you finally hang up your boots? When that trauma works its way to the surface? What would we have done then?"

"I would have been fine." He tried to sound convincing, but Hermione saw straight through it.

She moved her hands from his face to his shoulders.

"You have never, ever dealt with trauma well, James. I'm sorry to say it, but you haven't. And you have always had more trauma then most."

She gave him a sad smile.

"I have come too far to get you back to lose you again. I won't and I can't. I won't lose you to MI5. I won't lose you to the Taliban. I won't lose you to Death Eaters. And you had better fucking believe that I will not lose you to yourself."

He looked guilty again. He couldn't keep eye contact with her fire, and he dropped his head.

He mumbled an apology.

"Don't be. Don't be sorry for being you, James. I know who you are. I know you better than you know yourself and I know exactly what I'm getting myself into. And I'm in. I'm in it until the end of time. It's you and me against the world. And it isn't for the first time."

He met her eyes again. Wide. He didn't seem to know how to do it. How to accept it. How to accept that her love for him was a truth.

Her voice softened. It was kinder now. But it contained all the conviction of what she had just said.

"I love you. I've always loved you. And I think it might be mutual. So let me love you. Let me in. Let me help you."

His eyes, hardened, but full of apology met hers again.

"I love you too…" He trailed off.

She leant forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

But she didn't speak. It was his turn.

"I just don't know how."

She smiled at him. A sad smile, but a knowing one.

"We'll figure that out."

And just at that moment. As they got hopeful. That happened which always seemed to happen.

His phone rang.

She growled in frustration. She hated his phone.

They were finally getting somewhere!

He mumbled an apology and pulled it out. He raised an eyebrow at the phone, then quickly answered.

"Hello?" He said.

She tuned in.

"He is? That's brilliant. We'll be right there."

He paused.

"Yep, I'll see you soon. Bye."

He looked at her and smiled. It was a full, lopsided grin that split his tear-streaked face.

He leaned forward and kissed her fully on the lips.

"Lucky's awake."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

A/N:

You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?

This is obviously a very long chapter. I thought about splitting it into two, but I decided that it should stay together. That way, when get back to the wider story, it flows better.

It's also effectively all one scene. It was actually really challenging to write this one, I wanted his trauma to be realistic, without sounding too gratuitous, so hopefully that was achieved. It also got very heavy and was a nightmare to edit.

Plus, displaying two sets of emotions in one person was an interesting dynamic to write. I enjoyed that challenge.

So I truly hope you enjoy this chapter.

I'm also really thankful for those of you who have taken the time to review, aswell as those of you who are favouriting and following this story. it all means a lot. RWIF has now hit 300 favourites and that has blown my mind. Keep 'em coming!

The next chapter shouldn't be too far away. My post a week schedule has been blown away by the craziness of life and work for me at the moment, but be assured I am still working hard on the rest of the story.

The way to the end has been plotted. Probably another ten chapters or so, but that may blow out with some of the stuff to come. But you can be assured that I'm not lost and treading water in terms of where this story is going. I never have been, it's just grown out a bit more than was originally planned.

This story has been a labour of love, as all fanfictions are, so again a massive thank you to those of you who have shown your support for the story and for the style. It's been interesting to read peoples predictions, and how they think it will all tie up.

Cheers,

ATG

PS: The song from the SBS man is 'The Retirement Song', by the Longest Johns.

PPS: I realised that in an earlier chapter I got Hermione's middle name wrong. I know it's a matter of debate, but for the purpose of this story and that joke, it is 'Jean'.