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.

10. Chapter Nine

A/N:

Hello,

And welcome to Chapter Nine of RWIF.

As usual, I would like to offer my warmest thanks and deepest gratitude to you if you have made it this far. If you are still reading and enjoying this story, than that is more humbling than you would believe.

I'd also again like to offer my sincerest thanks to those of you who have favourited, followed and above all left a review for me to read. I love hearing what you think about the story, and it drives me on to continue writing.

This is Chapter Nine. by way of backstory, this was actually a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I'm still hard at work on Chapter Ten and Eleven. But I won't make promises that they will be delivered in the next couple of days. I'd rather they were done correctly, as opposed to being rushed.

Cheers,

ATG

PS. This was seriously a lot of fun to write.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Chapter Nine

Monday 3rd September 2012

James had taken an instant disliking to the man giving the briefing. He was rude, arrogant, and he had airs and graces that did not suit his detestable face. Looking around at his team, it was pretty safe to assume that the rest of them didn't like the bloke either.

He was bald. Full bald. But with a ring of stubble that suggested where his hair used to be. He looked down upon the team, in a way that only middle management bureaucrats could.

James rolled his eyes as the man tried to continue the briefing and use terminology that he very obviously didn't naturally use.

Things like 'target package', 'infiltration' and 'extreme prejudice.'

The man had clearly watched a lot of Hollywood movies. He didn't seem to grasp the concept that the British military had its own terminology. Most of it was much simpler. They were the originals, after all.

The man himself was British, for crying out loud, he ought to know better.

But still he droned on. James had no idea how he managed to fit 'acceptable casualties' into the briefing.

It was a meeting cover. That's all. They weren't storming a bloody Embassy.

James looked around the briefing room. It was a dark amphitheatre, with a two-way mirror behind the bald man, how gave the briefing from in front of a desk.

A projector lit up a screen next to him, which showed a combination of maps, text and photographs.

James finally turned and looked at Byron, who was doing a slightly better job of not showing his contempt towards the man. Bits was doing the best job of maintaining that illusion, but only because he was an officer and that was expected of him.

He was distracted and he knew it. His mind kept wandering off to a certain brown eyed, brown-haired woman who he had left sleeping in his bed with a farewell kiss, just that morning.

Finally, the frustrating bald man was getting to the point.

"So effectively, we've arranged a meeting between one of our operatives and a middle ranking member of a terrorist syndicate we suspect has intentions on targeting an MI5 black site. The reason we've called in Britain's finest, is to cover that meeting."

Mac looked at the man with a calm look. It was a calm and not unpleasant look. It was the kind of calm and not at all unpleasant look that James knew came immediately before the big man would throw big hands.

To have used Britains Finest like that pissed him off. Well, he was already pissed off. But it pissed him off more.

"Perhaps, Mr Edwards, you might refrain from speaking to these men that way."

Bits was ever the gentleman. Ever the politician. Ever the diplomat.

James had been about to say something also, only what he would have said would have been more - abrasive.

"Of course." Edwards waved his hands as if he had been misinterpreted. He had not at all been misinterpreted. What he misinterpreted was the danger he currently faced from eight very pissed off men.

"Do you have any questions?" Edwards said, perhaps finally cottoning on to tension in the room.

"Yeah. I got one, pal." Said James, contempt dripping from his voice.

Bits looked at him with concern. He still wasn't used for James's straight forward approach to bureaucracy. That was to say, his lack of tact and his tendency to try and go through things with brute force, as opposed to deftly navigate them with regard for relations with other agencies.

Byron, the ranking Non-Commissioned Officer in the troop, had no such look of concern in his face. He knew James would likely cause problems, and he looked forward to it.

"Go ahead Mr…"

"You can just call me Charlie One, I don't think you need to know any more than that. I'd hardly say we were even on last name basis."

Clearly, Edwards had not been expecting that. He was used to telling people what to do and them jumping when told. Wasn't he in for a surprise?

Bits sighed. Byron grimaced, but it was purely to hide the smile that was threatening to stretch across his big face.

"Anyway pal," James continued as if he hadn't just basically told the man to fuck off. "My question is simple. You called us. You've got teams for this that are organic to your organisation. They work for you and with you. Why are you wasting ahem…Britain's Finest's, time with this job? And for that matter, why us in particular? Why Charlie team? Why don't you just do your own work?"

He could practically hear Bits groaning internally.

Yep. Really diplomatic. He had a knack for it. James knew that he was being hostile, but he also knew that every member of his team agreed with his stance.

"Because, Corporal Black," said a voice that managed to stand the hairs of the back of his neck up straight. James had to work hard to hide his own wince. "Sometimes it's just really nice to work with old friends."

James turned around in his chair and was immediately greeted by the last person in the world who he would like to see.

"Men, this is a surprise." Edwards began excitedly. "I'd like you all to meet the Deputy Director of MI5. Mrs Jane Jones. Mrs Jones what an honour it is to have you joining us for this operation."

Honour was hardly the word that James would have used.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Mrs Jones took over the briefing, which to the rest of the team was a relief. To James, this whole day which had started so wonderfully, had turned into nothing short of a nightmare.

"Gentlemen," she hadn't lost her flair for being entirely too well spoken. Must be that public schooling in her, coupled with her promotion to Politician level. "Everything I am about to tell you is subject to the Official Secrets Act. I hope I don't have to remind you of what happens to loose lips?"

She glanced at James as she said that. It was a show for the lads, and a direct remark at him.

They all shook their heads; they had been through this a thousand times.

"The reason you are here is because of the risk of failure on this is too high to employ our usual teams. We need the best. We need people who can adapt to this sort of enterprise, and men we can trust," her eyes flashed to James. "To get the job done."

"We are hunting a slightly different type of terrorist today. They have organised a meet with someone who they believe can give them access to the inside of an MI5 black site. We believe they are hunting information or evidence inside the black site that is of relevance to them and their end goals. Unfortunately for them, the informant they are meeting is still a loyal member of MI5. Any questions?"

It was Mark who spoke.

"Ma'am, who is the organisation?"

"They call themselves 'The Death Eaters'."

There were snickers around the team. He knew what they were thinking. They had fought countless different types of organisations in their time, it was universal, the more bad arse the name, the more pathetic the fighters.

"I think you will find that this particular organisation warrants a bit more respect than then the sniggering from the likes of you."

The snickers did not stop.

"You may find they surprise you. We have found them highly elusive. They seem to employ – technology – that has not yet been seen by the Western World."

James couldn't quite miss the hitch in her speech on the word 'technology'.

"What are they?" Came from Lucky, completely ignoring the niceties, "Left? Right? Radical religious types?"

"Excellent question Lance Corporal," Mrs Jones's eyes focussed in on Lucky, who maintained the look. Her eyes flickered to James, then back again. "Consider them more in the 'New World Order' types. As in, a complete dismantling of society and the reformation of a new one under a strong dictator."

"Nazis then." Came from Mac. It was simple. It worked. "I hate Nazis."

Mrs Jones gave him a long look like he had oversimplified things, but finally she nodded. "Call them Nazis if you like."

"Aren't Nazis right wing?" Asked Lucky, with false innocence.

Mrs Jones shot him a glare that would have stopped a raging bull. But it was only met be a casual look of indifference by Lucky.

"The point is that you have not quite faced men and women like this. They are highly dangerous, highly motivated, and have been in existence since the 60's. You would do well to keep your wits about you."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

When the briefing concluded, the team stood to leave, filing towards the door. They were chattering amongst themselves about everything. There was no sense of tension, no sense of fear. They had done this too many times and heard warnings like that entirely too often for them to be too afraid.

It didn't mean that they were complacent. Far from it. They just knew what they were capable of and knew that they would adapt when faced with the new situations.

"Corporal. A word, please." James stopped in his tracks.

Lucky shot him a quizzical look. James just shook his head at him. "I'll catch up."

With a reluctance he didn't show, he spun around on his heel and walked back to where Mrs Jones was standing, leaning gently back against the desk.

"Yes, Ma'am." He said, formally, stiffly.

"James! James. Look at you. Look at how far you've come. You won't even stop to talk to an old friend? It's been so long. Didn't you want to catch up? Play a bit of how's your father?"

James fixed her with a stare.

"How's your father?" He said sarcastically.

Mrs Jones laughed and patted him on the arm. "Dead. Thanks for asking!" she said brightly. Too brightly. "Oh, how I've missed your dry sense of humour James. I don't get your refreshing sense of humour from anyone anymore. The hardships of politics I suppose!"

She said it almost sadly. However, she was entirely too happy. To any outside observer it looked like a matron figure was excited to see her old ward, all grown up and successful.

And it looked like James was an ungrateful prick of a ward.

"You wanted a word?"

He didn't care what any member of her organisation thought.

Her face fell in dramatic fashion. "Oh, James, straight to business. Every part the soldier we made. I miss the young, nervous boy that I used to help, do you know that?"

James scowled, but he didn't speak. It was bait.

Help?

"Honestly, I just wanted to catch up. See how you are? I've been keeping tabs on you, don't you know? I was ever so glad to see that you made the Regiment, not that I had any doubt. I knew you were special from the day I met you. Did you know that? Now the world knows it too, with your medal and that little bit of video of you in action. You've no idea how proud I am of you. You've become almost every bit the man we thought you were."

James shuffled slightly under her glare. He felt every bit that scared boy that had been under her tutelage every day for months. Months that felt like years.

"Almost?" He said icily.

She pretended not to notice. "Almost. But worry not my young friend. There's still time."

"Time for what?"

"Now, Now James. That would be telling. I do so love my secrets, you know that."

He did know that.

"And speaking of secrets. I thought I should check in to make sure that our little secret was exactly that. Our little secret."

"I haven't said a fucking word." James's eyes locked in on her.

"Language, James. Language." She said, like a mother chastising a petulant child. "What a nasty habit you've picked up in the services. I am aware of that, but I wouldn't want to think that you had forgotten. I would hate to have to live up to my end of the bargain."

James just stared into her cold blue eyes.

"Will that be all?"

"Of course, James. I understand you have a lot of planning to do. I meant what I said though, you've no idea what this group is capable of. They will stop at nothing to get what they want."

"Sounds like someone else I know." He said curtly, rudely, insubordinately.

She just chuckled as if was all part of their little game. Mrs Jones enjoyed their little games, and James could not help but play into it. Every. Single. Time.

He turned and stalked towards the door, intent on following his team.

"Oh, and James." She called out to him. "I hear you have a pretty new girlfriend. Another doctor. Successful sort, excellent career. A long line of successes in front of her I'd wager."

James stopped and turned slowly around to face her.

"Would be a shame for such a successful career to be cut short. What a waste of a wonderful young woman that would be."

How does she know about Hermione?

The threats aren't even veiled anymore.

James felt a fury he had not felt before. The thought of something happened to Hermione because of him made him incandescent with rage. It bubbled up inside of him. He wanted to move over there and pull her to pieces. His hands clenched by his side. He took several steps towards her, his fury at the point where he didn't even know what he would do if he managed to get a hold of her.

Without warning, the two-way mirror behind Mrs Jones shattered. All of its own accord. It just exploded and the glass flew everywhere, forming a wall of shrapnel that didn't quite reach Mrs Jones.

She didn't flinch. But he did.

James stepped back, a moment of shock passing over him. It was so sudden and unexpected that he instantly forgot his rage.

He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that the glass broke because of him.

How?

Mrs Jones beamed at him.

James could see Mr Smith and Mr Rogers standing in a small room behind the glass. They were brushing broken glass from their suits. They had cuts on their faces from where the shards had hit them.

"If I had only known that that was all it took." Said Mrs Jones in a stage whisper. She then raised her voice to its normal level. "Almost, James. Almost."

James turned and stormed from the room.

What the fuck happened there?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Tuesday 3rd September 2012

Hermione poured over her notes. She had been right. Telling him likely would have been a mistake.

She took absolutely no satisfaction from this discovery.

The more she studied the problem, the clearer the evidence was before her. She had already ruled out obliviation, where the more information that he could be provided, the better. It was something else. She didn't know what. She just knew that his memory had been lost in a different way.

But there were traces. There were hints of who he was and what he had been in there. The more she could gently coax those memories out, without spoiling his memory, the better of it would be.

It was there. She couldn't help smiling at the thought. His memory was in there. It just needed to be unlocked. She just had to find a way to get to it and bring it out.

Memory could be such a delicate thing.

If she told him everything, she risked compromising his memory. She risked his memory being tainted by her slant on past events. No matter how impartial she tried to be in the retelling, it could spoil everything.

But being around him seemed to be working. It seemed to be bringing out little bits and pieces here and there.

It had only been two weeks, but it was a good start.

She chewed on her pen thoughtfully.

She knew the process that had worked with the Longbottom's had required extensive study to determine exactly the source of their insanity. When they had managed to determine where the thought pattern had been going off course, it had been a matter of trying to realign it.

She smiled at the memory. That made it sound so simple. But it ignored the countless hours of observation. The frustrating failures. The constant and invasive tests. If that could be avoided, she would very much like to avoid it.

Still, despite her short-term success, she was frustrated. If only he would agree to let her help him, she might be able to diagnose the magical cause of his memory loss. She might actually be able to start providing treatment.

She stretched and cracked her neck.

That infernal boy. Two nights of sleeping next to him had spoilt her. She had slept horribly. No one to cuddle up to. Her bed had felt incredibly lonely, which was not a feeling she was used to.

She had been determined to sleep in her own bed. Determined not to cave to his entirely too romantic gesture with the keys.

She would not cave.

Let's face it. She would cave. Probably tonight.

She sighed.

That infernal boy.

She was cracking her neck when a soft knock came at the door.

She quickly hid her notes in a drawer.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Peyton stuck her head in.

"Hey!" she said, with a big smile.

"Hello, Peyton." Said Hermione, smiling softly at her friend.

"I brought you caffeine." She said, holding out a store-bought coffee that looked like it wasn't the usual swamp water that the cafeteria sold. Hermione brightened immediately.

"You're a life saver." Hermione said, gratefully.

Peyton placed the coffee down in front of her and took a seat at the desk.

Hermione took a long and gracious sip. She sighed. That was good. That was so, so good.

"I know that look." Peyton said with a smile. "Let me guess. Didn't sleep very well last night, did you?"

Hermione shook her head. "That obvious, huh?"

Peyton shook her head.

"No. But I know the feeling. I always struggle to sleep when Luke goes away. It's more than an empty bed or loneliness. It's the worry too. What is he doing? Is he okay? And they get put on no contact jobs all the time, so you don't even get the reassuring phone call before bed."

Hermione nodded. "Sounds like you're an expert. Any tips for the new girl?"

Peyton smiled.

"Absolutely. Wine. Girls' night. On Tuesdays, Lily goes to her grandparents. Normally it is Luke and I's date night, but my parents absolutely adore Lily, so I let them take her even on Tuesdays when Luke is away. I hate Tuesdays without them. So, I figured, who do I know that might also have no plans on a Tuesday night?"

Hermione smiled. "That sounds amazing."

Peyton stood up. "Good! I'll see you around 6. Don't work back tonight, Hermione. I know you did last night. And I know you will each night until James gets back. Let's just let tonight not be one of those 'work as a coping strategy' kind of nights."

Hermione couldn't argue with that. That is exactly what she had done last night and had planned on doing for the rest of the week. Little did Peyton know what she was working on however.

"I'll see you then." Hermione said brightly.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Tuesday 3rd September 2012

"For a bloke who spent an entire fucking weekend in bed with a gorgeous woman, you sure are fucking tense."

Lucky looked over at his best mate, from his position in the drivers seat of the dark van.

They were sitting in a dark alley on a quiet street, facing an almost deserted pub.

"I'm just focussing on the job mate, like you should be."

"Get fucked." Said Lucky frankly. "What's going on? Trouble in paradise? You two seemed pretty good on Sunday?"

"No, no." said James, as reluctant as he was to discuss his relationship privacies with Lucky, he knew that he would be pestered until he said something. "Hermione's great. Truly mate, she's bloody amazing."

Lucky just nodded his head and looked back out the window. He could see the wide-open windows of the illuminated pub. James could see Chris and Adam sitting at a table through the window. They were both having a beer and watching the football on a television that only the boys could see. They were both decked out in Arsenal colours, cheering at all the right times.

"Does it hurt Chris?" Lucky said, seemingly to no one. James heard his radio key, and knew that his mate was calling one of the boys in the pub.

"You better get the psyche ready after this one, mate. Watching the Spurs go down like this while wearing this disgusting get up is torture. Why couldn't we just wear Spurs colours?"

Lucky and James both laughed. It sucked to be the new bloke.

To his credit, they hadn't seen Chris make any indications that he was replying on the radio.

"Because we needed you to support the winner." Came from Mark.

If Chris wasn't such a professional who had a job to do, and Mark wasn't concealed with a long gun in a nearby building, James thought they might have had a punch on right there in the street.

"It's always hard mate." That one was to him. No keying of the radio.

"What is?"

"Leaving them. It's always hard. Can't tell them anything. Can't be there for them. Can't find out what's going on back home. What they are doing. What they are struggling with. It's hard mate."

James's thoughts turned again to a wonderfully beautiful brunette who was likely still at work in this late hour. He hoped she would sleep at his. He would love to get home to find that his sheets still smelt like her.

He'd never say that to Lucky of course.

"You aren't wrong."

"My oath I'm not. I'm going to drop something on you here, but if you ever repeat it, I will make sure that everyone you know, and everyone you have ever met, refers to you as Jimmy Boy for the rest of your life. Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good. People everywhere are in awe of what we do. They can't believe we put our lives on the line for this shit. They see us on the news, dropping into war zones and jumping out of planes and doing all that cool shit. They make it out to be the coolest, hardest job in the world. Which in many ways it is.

But they don't advertise the other side. The side that we see. The real hardship is those we leave behind, because fuck me if they don't pick up the pieces. When we come home a wreck from what we've seen, it's our lovers and our partners who have to learn to deal with that.

In a lot of ways its easier for us than it is for them. Mate, I fucking love Peyton. The shit she puts up with, and it's not just from me, but from you too. I can't say a bad word against her. The question you gotta ask is, can you put Hermione through that. Fuck knows she's gotta be a damn sight stronger than you to deal with the fallout."

James looked thoughtful for a second. "I think she'd kick the shit out of me if I even thought about trying to be noble about this."

Lucky nodded. "You ain't wrong. She's got you good and proper there."

James just nodded in agreement. She did have him good and proper.

"So, if it ain't Hermione that's got you all strung up, is it a certain blonde haired ice queen?"

James shot a warning look at Lucky.

"How the fuck do you know the Deputy Director of MI5?"

James didn't answer at first. Instead, he just stared at the pub, willing this whole job to get underway so he could get home, cuddle up to Hermione and forget about MI5.

"How the fuck do you think, Luck?"

Lucky just nodded and looked back across at the pub. "Hospital?"

James just nodded. "Hospital."

"Fuck me."

The radio keyed in from Mark. "You boys seen the beauty sitting in the corner?"

"Yep." Came from Mac. James and Lucky looked at each other in surprise. That was a surprise from him.

"Pretty? Jet black hair? Dark features? In good nick? Dark jacket, blue jeans? Sitting in the seat we wanted?" Came from Chris.

"That's her."

"Nah mate, haven't seen her."

"I'm more focussed on old short, dark and handsome in the other corner." Came from Adam. "He's got those eyes that do it for me, that long hair. Looks like the type that wouldn't be bothered by anything."

Lucky and James smirked at each other. They knew exactly what he was doing. Adam knew exactly what he was doing. They could see him smiling in the pub. It was distinct against his dark skin.

While none of them were in any way shape or form homophobic, Adam knew that he could make them slightly uncomfortable with little reminders like that about his sexuality. They would laugh at it all now. But at first, it had taken some adjustment.

No one had ever given a shit about Adam's sexuality. They just weren't used to it to start with. That was all. It was different to the culture they were used to. And now it had become culture they were used to. And it always served to make the banter amongst the team just that much funnier.

"You blokes do realise that those two are doing exactly what we are doing right?" Said Mac simply over the radio.

James and Lucky instantly stopped laughing. They both picked up binoculars and had a closer look.

The way they were sitting. The furtive glances at the door. The exceptionally slow drinking.

"Fuck, Mac." Was all Lucky said over the internal radio, while James jumped on the other radio.

"Hello Control, this is 1 Charlie, we have identified two possible counter elements in the AO, over."

"Say again 1 Charlie?" Said Edwards on the radio. Why was he the controller giving briefings in American military terms if he couldn't even understand his own nations radio communications.

"Two possible X-rays in the pub."

James said more simply. Fucking MI5, get with it.

Nothing else came over the radio.

"Guess I'll go fuck myself then." James mumbled under his breath.

"1 Charlie, 1 Charlie, this is Control. The meet will continue. I say again, the meet will continue. Be prepared for insertion of the asset."

Lucky looked across at him. "Are they fucking serious?"

"Guess so." Said James before he jumped on the radio and informed the team that they were still proceeding.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Tuesday 3rd September 2012

"He gave you the keys to his house?" Peyton was looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione nodded, nervously playing with her glass.

"Don't you think that's a bit soon?"

Hermione shrugged. "I guess so. But he seemed really keen for me to have them. It was actually really sweet."

She smiled at the memory. Not the parts where she had seen that look in his eye that showed he did not believe he deserved to be loved, but the parts where he had been so earnest and open with her.

Peyton looked at her thoughtfully. "I guess I can see it."

Hermione returned the thoughtful expression.

"Anyone else, and I would be concerned. But with James? Well. I've never really seen this kind of behaviour for him. Sure, he will run headfirst into machine gun fire, but when it comes to something like this. Nope. No way."

Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

"But we can see it, Luke and I. We see what you two have. And we get it. So maybe you aren't moving too quickly. Maybe you're moving as quickly as is right for you?"

Hermione couldn't help but smile.

"It felt right. I can't lie."

"The keys, or something else?" Peyton asked with a cocked eyebrow and a laugh.

Hermione turned a violent shade of pink, before she too laughed.

Peyton had found that more than satisfactory of an answer.

It was shaping up to be a good night. Hermione was again enjoying that sense of normality. Sure, she was still worried about James. Away and potentially in danger. Being thrust into all manner of situations, mortal danger and otherwise.

But it was lessened knowing she was around someone else who was doing the exact same thing. Someone who was worried in the exact same way. Someone who was determined to enjoy herself, despite that little element of fear and worry that existed beneath the surface.

In a way, it was nice to worry about something more normal for a change. While her – well they hadn't really discussed what they were – being away and on highly sensitive and dangerous taskings wasn't normal, it was closer to normal for her. It was a nice change from constantly looking over her shoulder for Death Eaters.

It was for that reason that Hermione never saw it coming.

The conversation had died off naturally. Peyton had started refilling their glasses.

Hermione had just been about to ask how Lily was, but Peyton spoke first.

"So, Hermione. How do you know James?"

Hermione froze. The wine glass was halfway to her mouth. She eyed Peyton suspiciously.

The look on Peyton's face was serious. Deadly serious. Hermione felt like she had been ambushed.

"You introduced us, Peyton?" Hermione said quietly. Lowering her glass to the table.

"No, I didn't." it was straightforward. Direct. Not quite rude, but certainly abrupt.

Hermione was completely caught off guard. She hated lying and had been doing her best to avoid it.

"Peyton…" she began.

"I'm not angry." Peyton said, cutting her off. "I'm not. But I happen to be pretty protective of that boy. So, it's time you came clean to me, even if you insist on lying to him. That we will get to in a moment."

Hermione sighed. "Peyton… please."

Peyton took a sip of her wine. "How about I talk for a moment, and you can tell me exactly where I'm wrong?"

Hermione took her own sip. She nodded, chewing on her lip.

"I've known that boy since he awoke. I'd say pretty confidently that I know him better than anyone else in this world, likely himself included. I've seen him go through everything that one person can go through. Through loss. Through war. Through pain. The funny thing about all of this, is that none of it was a stranger to him. I don't know what happened to him before he awoke in the hospital, but I do know that he clearly had a rough go of it."

Peyton took another sip.

"You've no idea how fucking hard it was Hermione. Watching that boy just cop it. He had no choices; he didn't exactly choose the military. It was mostly chosen for him. An escape. An opportunity to provide a life that wasn't a test tube. He has risen to the top of his field. But that whole time, the whole time, I knew. He wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to happen."

Peyton tapped her fingers on the table.

"It was the same thing when we dated." Peyton looked Hermione dead in the eye when she said it. "I don't think he has mentioned that, has he?"

Hermione shook her head. "I suspected though."

Peyton nodded. "I thought you might have. The point was, I loved that boy. Loved him. And I will put my hand on heart when I say that perhaps the most touching act of love I have ever witnessed in my life, was him trying so hard to love me back. He really did. He was amazing. He cherished me. He doted on me. Until I met Luke, a better man I had never dated."

Hermione looked down at her hands. She didn't know what to say.

"But I could never shake the feeling. He was not meant for me Hermione. He was meant for someone else. He would have lived the rest of his life with me if I had asked. He's too fucking noble for his own good sometimes."

Hermione found she couldn't look at Peyton.

Peyton, to Hermione's surprise, reached over and patted her hand reassuringly.

Hermione looked up and saw that Peyton had a small smile.

"I don't doubt that he loved me, in his own way. But not in the way I so desperately wanted him to. Not in the way I loved him."

Hermione watched as Peyton's eyes faded off into the distance.

"Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I broke it off. I ended our relationship. We went back to being friends. That hurt Hermione. Really badly. I felt like I was broken. Like I would never be able to pick myself up. That I would never be whole again.

To his credit, he was just as broken up. The difference was, he was broken before we started dating. So, he knew how to handle the pain. I didn't. I raged. I was bitter. I was mean.

But he supported me through the whole thing. He never once said a bad word back, and I called him some pretty, fucking horrible things. He just took it all. He never begrudged me. He never held it against me."

Peyton sighed and took another sip.

"I've apologised and he has forgiven me. Well, I don't think he feels like there is anything to forgive, because as is natural for him. He blames himself. In his mind, the whole situation was his fault. I think he genuinely believed that he was incapable of loving someone like that."

Peyton offered a small smile.

"That frustrating boy. But a few months later, James came home with Lucky, and he introduced us. In Lucky I found so naturally and easily all the things I wanted to find in James. I found someone who loved me as much, if not more than I loved them. I found my partner my lover."

She again reached over and patted her on the hand.

"I felt whole again. And now that Lily has joined us, I feel that even more so. But he was never whole."

Peyton continued.

"Please, don't for one second think that there is anything still between us Hermione. That is all in the past. It has all been dealt with. I won't blame you if you want to talk to him about it, but take it from me, you have absolutely nothing to worry about from me, or from him."

Hermione just nodded quietly. She understood.

"The point is. I know that boy better than any person on earth. I know him better than himself. I know him better than anyone. Anyone except you."

Hermione's eyes darted up to meet Peyton's.

"Hermione, that boy is about as good at physical affection as Luke is at dropping his Australian Heritage. He is terrible. Throughout our entire relationship, it took so much work to get him to be affectionate with me. He learnt. It took months, but he learnt. And when he learnt, he was so very good at it."

Hermione offered a small smile. She could relate to that. She remembered how stiff he had been the first time she had ever given him a hug at the end of first year. She played that off against the affection she had experienced over the previous few days,

"I have never seen him initiate a hug with anyone else except for me. Not one. Not ever."

Hermione stared at Peyton.

"But when he saw you, none of that applied. He shook your hand for so long he was basically holding it. He let you touch his face. You grabbed his arm, and he seemed to enjoy it. He let you hug him on first meeting. And I knew. I knew right then and there, that here was the woman that I had so badly tried to fill the spot for."

Hermione blushed.

"Please, do not for one second think I'm upset about the way it turned out for me. Not even slightly. I'm ecstatic. I'm happier than I have ever been. But he has this measure of comfort around you that I've only seen once before. And that is around me, Hermione. Hell, his comfort around you dwarfs what we ever had. I know that as much as I would love to believe that it was true love at first sight for you two, this is not that."

Hermione just stared. She felt like she had been caught out. She had been completely unprepared for this.

Peyton let silence reign for a few moments. It was as if she was building up the courage to say what came next.

"Hermione." Peyton said softly. This time, when Hermione looked at her, it was Peyton who could not make eye contact.

"I released the footage." Peyton said softly.

Hermione scrutinised Peyton.

"What?"

"The footage from where he got his medal? They don't know who did it. I did it."

Hermione's mind flashed back to sitting in her own living room, watching a terrible attempt at news. Seeing his scar appear in the helmet camera.

He had mentioned the footage to her in passing. Just that there was some problems and an investigation around it being out in the media, but not much more than that.

"Why?" Hermione asked. She was still struggling to grasp what had happened.

Peyton shrugged. "Because I knew someone would come. It got sent to me anonymously. I watched it; it wasn't just that segment. I also had another piece which showed him when he got hit, which I definitely did not release to the media. How he fought so hard to keep dragging that pilot to the helicopter. I saw Luke run out to help him. In watching that I realised how close James had come to dying. How close we had come to losing him. Shit, Hermione, he should have died. He should be dead."

She took another sigh.

"And the thought of him dying without ever learning who he was twisted at me like a knife in my stomach. The thought of the great injustice of him never learning about who his family was. If there actually were people out there looking for him."

This time, it was Hermione who reached out and gently squeezed Peyton's hand.

"I released it. And I waited. He's too much of a presence. He has too much, well, I don't normally believe this stuff, but destiny about him." Peyton looked surprised by her own words.

Peyton looked like destiny wasn't the right word. But she couldn't think of a better one.

"Just this sense that follows him around. It just sits there over his shoulder, this feeling you get that great things aren't far behind. He is completely unaware of course. I've never had that feeling before. But not I have it again. I have it when I look at you."

Hermione was stunned into silence. She knew what Peyton was talking about in regard to James. Harry had carried it around, and James had not lost it. She found she had a lump in her throat and she could not speak.

But she had never heard it said about her. She didn't know how to respond to that, so she decided to shelve it.

"He has no idea about any of this. You can't tell him Hermione. You've no idea what it took to talk to you about this and not to go straight to him and tell him. To break his loyalty like this."

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. No one understand that better than me. Especially the greatness part. Can you imagine the ego he would develop if he knew?" Hermione said the last part with a smile, trying to inject some humour into the conversation and deflect from what Peyton had said about her.

Peyton smiled a sad smile at her.

"You didn't make me wait long. And you weren't at all what I expected. A doctor. Turning up at the hospital to fulfill a position she was greatly overqualified for. All the pieces started to add up. They all fell in a row. And I knew. This past weekend just confirmed it. So, I will ask again, how do you know James?"

Of all the things she had encountered during her task that she hadn't accounted for, Peyton was one of the things she had not accounted for the most.

She took a long, thoughtful breath, tapping on the stem of her wine glass.

There was no way out of this. She hadn't expected this. She had hoped that Peyton would just see it all as a whirlwind romance.

Hermione should have known better.

"School." She said finally, reaching the conclusion. If nothing else, it was all going to crumble around her.

"School?"

"School. We went to boarding school together. I met him when I was 11. He was my best friend until he disappeared."

Peyton just nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"We searched, of course. We looked everywhere. Hell, I even visited St Thomas's and they told me they had absolutely no John Doe's matching that description. I suspect that, now that you've told me about the testing, that they may have tried to keep him a secret."

Peyton nodded.

"We believed he was dead. For ten years I missed him. For ten years I worked hard. I made something of myself. I tried to tell myself that I was living for two, but really, I didn't exactly live. Sure, I tried. I tried dating. I really did, but something was missing. Something so important to me was just gone. It felt like I was always breathing with only one lung. Like this lump sat eternally in my chest that I couldn't shake. At best it was a dull ache, at worst it was a pain like you can't even imagine. I lived like that for ten years, Peyton."

A single tear managed to crawl out of her eye and jogged down her cheek. It was in no particular hurry.

"And then I saw that footage. And I didn't feel like half a person anymore. I felt like the last ten years of pain wouldn't continue. Like it all made sense. Like I could breathe again. So, from me. Thank you. Thank you for releasing that footage. I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay."

Hermione again reached out and gave Peyton's hand a squeeze.

Peyton smiled brightly at her.

"I'm glad to hear that, Hermione, I truly am. But I still have lots of questions. But let's start with the biggest one. Why haven't you told him who you are?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Ron hated that he had to stay out of this. But the concealment charm was his only protection.

They had managed to use the information learnt from Jeska and the other recaptured fugitives to lead them too here. A meeting. A meeting between one of the fugitives and an unknown muggle.

They suspected that the Muggle would lead them to a possible location on Voldemort's Body.

Ron hated to be away from them, but the Death Eater in question, Billingsley, knew Ron on sight. Rather than risk just trying to change his features and get in close, he had reluctantly agreed to stick to the shadows and hide. Not for the first time in his life, Ron wished he had Harry's invisibility cloak.

He had decided to send in Van Guereck and Drisco to do the inside work. It would be a good test for them. Their goal was to overhear the conversation between the two parties. They were only to intervene and attempt to arrest is Billingsley tried to flee.

Either way. He hated sending his team members in and him skulking outside like a coward.

The pub was reasonably empty for a Tuesday night. The only other inhabitants were a young couple who were holding hands and looking into each other's eyes. They were at a secluded section of the pub, likely too holed up in their snog session to worry about what else was going on.

There were two muggle football hooligans as well. While they seemed physically fit, they were fixated entirely on the game. Ron decided that while they could be a threat, were probably worth ignoring as well.

The coin vibrated in his pocket.

"Movement. The mark is approaching."

Ron looked up and saw a man approaching the pub. He was bent over slightly, stalking towards the pub. His hands were in his massive coat pocket. The coat was threadbare, and still its original black in some places. It looked dirty and dishevelled. Ron suspected that Billingsley had likely robbed a homeless person for his coat.

It disgusted him.

He had the look a haunted man. His eyes darted around. He was continually scanning for problems. Ron was glad in that moment that he was not in the pub. The paranoia on this man would have given the game away instantly if he had sighted anyone, he even suspected to be an Auror.

Ron watched as he pushed open the door to the pub and ordered a drink from the publican.

Only a pure blood loyalist could be that arrogant to a publican.

The man grabbed his pint, threw random money on the table and floor and walked over to find a seat by the window.

Ron didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"It's complicated." Hermione said. "I want to tell him. I do. No one wants that more than me. But I think that would be unwise."

Peyton raised an eyebrow at her. "Why do you say that?"

Hermione sighed. She didn't exactly know what to say.

"There is experimental therapy that may be able to help him. It may help him get his memory back, but it is a long process. It takes time. A large part of that is not muddying the waters. If I started to plant images and designs in his head of real memories, but say with my perspective on it, then that can make things even more difficult to restore."

Peyton looked thoughtfully at her. "Tell me you aren't proposing like hypnotherapy or anything like that?"

Hermione laughed. "Of course not. It's more a process of examination of the mind and the blocks that prevent it from unlocking certain locked away parts. Think of it like when you see something, a momento, that reminds you of something. Even a sight, a smell. It takes you back. If I try and do that with him, I may spoil the memory for him. The memories may not combine as they should, and it may cause him to get almost trapped, with memories that he cannot relate to. I've used it on trauma victims before and it worked wonderfully. But it was exhaustive and took extensive research. The memories need to be as organic as possible. I've even seen some traces of memories from him. But it needs further research. Which is why I can't tell him just yet."

Peyton's eyes narrowed. "Tell me you aren't just dating him for the sake of your research."

Hermione looked horrified. "Oh no! No! I'm dating him because I l-" She stopped before it slipped out.

But Peyton caught it. Her pointed look.

"Because you love him."

Hermione chewed her lip nervously. She looked down at her half full glass of wine.

"Because I love him."

Peyton brightened instantly. "That's the most important thing."

Hermione just sighed as she looked into her drink. It was one thing to admit it to herself, it was another to admit it out loud. It was a complete and utter other thing to admit it to the actual person, and she hadn't done that.

"Hermione, I'm not going to tell him. Nor will I tell Luke. Your secret is safe with me. But if you want my advice? Tell him. Maybe you can get his memory back through this mystery procedure, maybe you can't. But how is he going to feel when he learns that you've been lying to him this whole time?"

"He'll be ropeable." Hermione said softly, into her drink.

"I'd rather see you two happy together, than him push you away over this. I think he'd rather have you and not his memory, then his memory and not you. The longer you let this go on, the greater the chance that his own anger ruins any chance he has of reconciling with the fact that your lying to him is in order to help him."

Hermione just nodded miserably.

Tell him.

Hermione took another sip, her mind turning towards the consequences of her actions.

"Look. I know you are leaving a lot out. You're being about as vague with me as James and Lucky are when it comes to discussing work. I'm used to that. But unlike them, you don't get to be let off the hook so easily. I'm going to need more from you, so brace yourself to start talking about what he was like at school, how this all came about. But before we get into that, I have to ask, as your friend, and a little bit as your boss."

Hermione looked up at her.

"Is this procedure fully documented and peer reviewed?"

Hermione just smiled softly.

"Not even slightly."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Fuck he looks homeless." Said Lucky, as he looked through his binoculars.

"You aren't wrong." James said looking through his own.

They watched as the man threw his money on the pub's bar and walked away with his pint.

"Keep an eye on him."

James put down his binoculars and picked up a monocle. He stared through its black and white discolouration of the darkened world. He saw the bright whites of people who were wandering the street at this darkened hour. They all looked like they were moving with a purpose.

James didn't exactly rule them out, but he didn't focus in on them.

Thermal vision just showed their heat, not their intentions.

Until he saw one figure.

His bright white figure stood illuminated next to a side street. He was loitering. Loitering brought James's attention. He focussed in on it enough to see that the figure was standing with one leg leaning against a wall.

"Hey Mark. I've got a figure on the corner of what looks like the convenience store and…" He quickly checked his GPS. "And yeah, the entry to Durham Street."

"Roger. Hold."

James stared as the figure adjusted his stance.

"Nah mate, I've got nothing there." Mark replied.

"Nothing?" James said?

"Nothing." Mark said questioning him. "Oh wait, swap to thermal. Yeah mate, I've got a figure there. But nothing in the night scope. Mac, you're in a position, any chance you can see him?"

"I have nothing obvious." Mac said simply.

"What does that mean?" asked Mark.

"Well," Mac hesitated. Mac never hesitated. "I've got what looks like some obscuration. Almost looks like the haze of a horizon on a hot day. Think the Predator."

James instantly thought of what he had been told about the advanced technology. Did they have some form of science fiction cloaking devices?

Surely not.

"The asset is on the move." Came a voice over the radio.

James didn't like this. There was too much going on. There was another team working, and James didn't know who they are. Were they part of this 'Death Eater' Organisation? Where they Nazis?

Or were they another branch of the government that hadn't been deconflicted. It wouldn't be the first time that an MI5 agent met with an under-cover cop, both of whom were trying to extract information from the other.

"I don't like this." James said to Lucky.

"This is fucked." Replied Lucky. Always helpful. "The asset is in play mate."

James tore his eyes form the figure and watched as a solitary male figure walked purposely down the street towards the pub. He looked like he didn't have a care in the world in his dark jacket, blue jeans and top knot.

"Who does this fuck head think he is? A Samurai?" Said Lucky, only to James.

The top knotted man walked into the pub and purchased a small glass of mixed spirits. He walked over to the 'Death Eater' and sat down opposite.

"Alright everyone. Stay alert." James said over the team radio. "We don't know who's in play and who isn't. But there is some fuckery afoot. Be prepared."

He heard some keystrokes from the two inside, they couldn't speak to him directly, so they were informing him that they understood.

He also got confirmation from Mac and Mark.

He took a deep breath.

He didn't like this at all.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Ron looked at his challenge coin. "So far, so good." Was printed on it from Drisco.

He still didn't like this. Something was going on. He had that feeling in his gut that said things weren't right, that something was majorly wrong with this entire job.

He looked across at the pub again. The two men were talking amicably.

So far so good.

Ron tried to relax. But he couldn't. There was something about this that he couldn't put his finger on. Something was just not right. It crawled in his guts like a thousand pixies on a wrecking spree.

Stay on your guard. Something is wrong.

As if on cue for it all to go completely to shite, Billingsley stood up and started pointed aggressively at the other man.

Ron stood up straighter now. His feet started automatically carrying him towards the pub. A slow walk at first, then a jog.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"It's still under control." Came from Adam. "Everyone, cool your jets. They are just having an argument."

James didn't like it. This was turning to shit, and it was turning to shit quickly.

"James. That weirdness in the corner? It's moving towards the target." Said Mac, calmy over the radio.

Shit.

James looked over and under the light he watched the wispy haze form morphed itself into a person who was walking, then jogging towards the pub.

"Who the fuck in the Ranga?" asked Lucky, looking through his binoculars.

"No clue. But this is going bad."

He quickly radio about the movement to his team.

This was getting tense.

"All Callsigns, Standby! Player three looks like he's decided to join the game." He called into the radio and turned to Lucky.

"Move!"

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Ron got to the window of the pub when he realised the mistake he had made. He realised the gigantic, unparalleled mistake that he made.

He realised the unfathomably huge fuck up he had made.

You must trust them, Ron.

Billingham looked up and out through the window and saw Ron. He immediately recognised the Auror and stood up, throwing his glass at the top knotted man he was sitting with. The glass smashed against his face, causing him to recoil back as the broken glass tore into his skin.

Ron watched as several things happened at once. It all seemed like slow motion to him as he sprinted towards the door.

Billingham was immediately grabbed by one of the Arsenal supporters. The supporter grabbed him around the neck and yanked him backwards, causing him to fly, almost unbidden and go crashing to the ground.

Drisco leapt from his seat and went to pull his wand. Before he even got a chance to get it up, a gigantic fist from the dark-skinned Arsenal support hit him straight across the jaw. Ron watched in horror as Drisco fell to the ground. He was knocked out at the worse or knocked senseless at best.

The supporter than quickly kicked Drisco's wand away from him with a booted foot.

Van Guereck had moved at the same time. She pulled her wand and was ready to act, when the top knotted man threw his own glass at her.

She didn't have time to react with spell fire. But she did have time to duck. She was forced to dive behind her own table to avoid the projectile.

Ron reached into his pocket and produced his own wand, just as he made it to the front door.

He pulled open the front door and was immediately kicked in the guts by the dark-skinned Arsenal supporter. It knocked the wind out of him. He fell backwards. Just as he regained his footing, he turned upwards to see that the other Arsenal supporter was manhandling Billingsley towards the door.

Van Guereck stood up, with her wand in hand. He watched as she pulled back her wand to cast, when suddenly her inexperience became clear.

She was standing by an open window.

A male person who could only be described as looking a slightly smaller Hagrid reached in and grabbed her arm, forcing it upwards.

His other arm went around her neck and he pulled her backwards. With his strength, he was effortlessly controlling her. Ron caught a glimpse of her trying to fight, but it being useless.

Ron growled in frustration. Who are these ruddy people?

He pulled himself up just as the Arsenal supporters and top knot rushed past him, complete with Billingsley under their arm. Ron raised his arm to cast a spell when he heard a loud snap that caused him to cower and stagger backwards, just as the glass of the window next to him shattered.

He quickly lurched back to his feet just in time to see a dark coloured van screech up in front of the pub.

Where had that bloody van come from?

It had pulled up out of nowhere. It might as well have been the Knight bus.

The side door opened.

Ron pulled his wand up to cast a spell when he saw that he was face to muzzle with the business end of what he knew to be a muggle firearm.

Ron had just enough time to make out the balaclava that covered the face of the man who wielded the weapon.

In the split second before it fired, Ron's mind turned to rudimentary training on Muggles from the Auror academy.

It was not desirable to get shot.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

James squeezed the trigger and felt the bite of the recoil as the shotgun went off.

He watched as the red-haired man collapsed backwards on the ground, the slug having struck him square in the torso.

"Hurry up!" He screamed at his teammates. He re racked the shotgun and scanned for more threats.

James covered as the top knotted man jumped in the back, holding his bleeding face.

There was a flash of something red flashed past James's face. It was quick and almost looked like a tracer round

"On your right!" Called Mark over the radio. He heard a ricochet as one of his rounds struck a wall nearby.

Adam turned to his right and discharged a few rounds from his pistol in the direction of a threat that James couldn't see.

Chris was next, holding the so called 'Death Eater' in a headlock as he did so.

Mac ran forward and leapt into the back of the van.

Adam then turned and mounted the van, shutting the door after Lucky hit the accelerator and the vehicle screeched off around the corner.

The van drove around a few corners, before it doubled back and picked up Mark who had successfully self-extracted.

"This had better have been worth it." James growled at the still bleeding asset, who was being treated for his injuries by Adam. He was given a reproachable look by the now glassed man in reply.

He still cradled the shotgun in his hands as he did. But he hadn't bothered to removed his mask. All the other members of his team had placed masks on their own faces as soon as they could. It wouldn't do to give away their identities to the so called 'Death Eaters'.

He looked down and saw that the so called 'Death Eater' was successfully restrained, and that Mac was sitting on him for extra measure.

"Everyone good?" He called out.

They all sounded out. No injuries. No wounds.

He sighed in relief and sat bat against the driver's seat. He lay the shotgun down across his lap.

Who the fuck were those people?

And why the fuck do they have those sticks like mine?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX