I saw James grimace slightly by whatever injury Sirius had sustained from their most recent raid they had attempted to thawrt. They were so numerous and sporadic in location that each Order member was being pulled up and down the country at a moment's notice. 'Well anyway mate I'm going now, I'll speak to you tomorrow at the meeting, or I guess later today really. Get that cut seen to will you?'

I heard Sirius proclaim a sigh from the other end of the mirror at his concern and spoke with hardly supressed mirth. 'Yes mummy dear I'll sort it, would you like me to clean my room while I'm at it or can that wait?' I could practically see Sirius' grin breaking out through the back of the mirror as James infinitesimally narrowed his eyes at him before giving his head a slight shake with a roll of his eyes.

'Night Pads.' He threw the mirror glass side down on the sofa which muffled Sirius' protest of rudeness and of where was his bedtime story, before giving a huge yawn and scrubbing his hand over his face in a weary sort of way. Silence enveloped us as Sirius abandoned the mirror so did the last of his laughter.

Even though he took the war mostly all in his stride, the riots, the raids, the fighting, it never escaped James how very close we all were to dying most days of the week. I feared tonight that it was starting to grate on him. I stood and kneeled in front of him, taking his hands in my own. For the first time in living memory of holding them they were chilled and shaking slightly from the dregs of the fight.

'Sweetheart,' I whispered gently and he lifted his head it seemed with a little effort. I reached up and slid his glasses from his face, folded them at the hinges then placed them on the coffee table to my right. I heard him sigh a little and he gave me a weak sort of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Even though I had seen James without his glasses countless of times, he still looked slightly awkward without them.

My hands ghosted up to brush my fingertips over his strong jaw which was slightly rough with stubble and half healed scratches. They then smoothed out the lines of his forehead, his creamy pale skin soft here and I sort to rub my thumbs up and down in what I hoped a soothing action across his temples. James closed his eyes against my touch and simply let my fingers and palms caress his face.

I studied the face I had come to love so much over the years and even now felt the ghost of a butterfly in my stomach. I knew every minor detail of it but searched it hungrily nevertheless. There was a slightly depressed mark just about his left eyebrow from a chicken pocks scar. He had caught the infection in his youth from a Muggle child in his village that he had played with and although his parents had tried their hardest with him, James had scratched insistently; even then he was strongly willed. He had steered clear from all Muggle children for weeks after that until his father explained that it was an illness and that they didn't give it to you every time you went near them.

My fingertips swept down to his mouth which parted when I brushed them lightly and I felt his hot breath on my palm. His upper lip was fuller than it should be in comparison with the bottom lip making them slightly unbalanced, although I held no objections. His sideburns weren't completely a hundred percent level on either side of his face either as he hadn't got the hang of his new Muggle razor that I had bought him for Christmas. He was used to having one which he just told what he wanted it to do. He refused to give up with it and said that it was merely character building when Sirius commented laughingly on his lopsided appearance whilst spearing a brussel sprout with his fork at Christmas dinner.

'It will be alright.'

'Yeah.' He replied in a voice with little emotion, his face suddenly becoming more drawn than I had ever seen it.

'James,' I whispered imploringly. I cradled his face and brushed my thumb under his eye to wipe away the tear that had suddenly escaped. His breathing was becoming laboured, his chest hitching in strange places whilst his cheeks were flushing rogue and blotchy. Then without warning, his whole face crumpled in paralysing grief as he finally seemed unable to hold back and succumbed to sobs of misery.

'James.' My throat was becoming painfully tight and my voice cracked against my own struggles for composure. I had never seen him cry before and it nothing less than broke my heart. 'Look at me – James – look at me.' With trembling lips and streaming eyes he raised his head with an enormous effort.

'If we didn't think we could win, then we wouldn't still be fighting.' The fierceness of my voice and my conviction managed to pierce his despair for a moment which appeared to give him some clarity. We gazed imploringly into each other's eyes for an immeasurable amount of time. As I stared into his eyes something within me seemed to settle deep down into the very core of my being. I don't know why but it was only then that I realised what I had failed to notice for months now. By letting his guard down and showing me at his most vulnerable, it allowed me to take everything and all of him into myself and let him fit there perfectly.

'I love you.'