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.

24. Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Three

Saturday 19th September 2012

She was distracted, and she hated it. The book, which she had entrusted to be the primary focus of her attention, was failing its task. It was an important book, she told herself, important in her research. She had borrowed it from the Malfoy Library. So far, she had only learnt that magic of the soul was a long and forgotten dark art, and that there were spells to reawaken the dead that had never succeeded.

Not likely. They were a fool's errand.

"The Soul of Man: A History of Magic from the Depths of the Indefinable ."

The words swam at her from the cover, shimmering in what was clearly an attempt to seem like it came from the ethereal depths of the soul. Hermione had to wonder if selling the book as it had had ever actually drawn practitioners of the Dark Arts into reading it.

The book was relevant, but useless. It contained absolutely no knowledge that could help her. Nothing she could use. Nothing that would help her with her most pressing problem.

The one problem that could be summed up in a single question.

The one question she needed an answer to.

Is James Black a Horcrux?

It had occupied her week. It had stolen her morning. It had drowned her mind on her run. When she let her mind flow free, it had constantly come back around to that one simple question.

Well, it seemed simple, but it was not. It was far from it. There was nothing simple about the way it danced around her head. The implications and the consequences. Courses of action, best and worst, and what she should do.

Should they flee? Could she take him and run? Would they go as far away from Magical Britain as they could get? Would they find somewhere to hide so they could live the rest of their lives in the muggle world? Would they be able to live in peace?

Could they?

She could open her own practice. Her parents had done it, during the time when she had removed their memories. They had set up shop in Melbourne. A nice, little, family practice that had done well.

She could do the same. Change her name. James could find a job. They could live the rest of their lives as muggles. Anything, anything, to avoid him having to go down the route of self sacrifice again.

She sighed as she found herself looking at the picture again. Taken by Peyton on the Brookes' back porch. Moments from a kiss that would be interrupted by an eager three-year-old.

She hummed out in frustration as she glanced back down at the words on the page. The same page she had been on for twenty-five minutes.

It was not like her.

It was not like her at all.

She ran her hands through her locks and definitely did not glance at the clock again.

She definitely didn't see how rapidly twelve was approaching. How he still hadn't come back to her. How close he was pushing it, if they were going to make her birthday lunch.

He was going to make her late, if he even arrived at all.

Hermione despised being late.

Hermione also took the time to ignore the wrapped package that sat on the kitchen bench. It had been dropped off by owl that very morning. She ignored name on it. She ignored that it was for her. She ignored what it was.

Which led of course to the second question that had occupied a mind that was entirely too proactive for its own good.

Would he live up to his promise? He had promised…

She stood from the couch and moved onto the back porch. His happy place. Maybe she could make it hers. Maybe she could sit here and just wish for him, to the universe, that he would come home.

Magic existed, so why couldn't a wish like that? It was a shame there were no stars to wish upon.

Maybe it was also a shame that didn't believe in such things.

It would be the most lovely birthday gift. The present of his presence.

She wanted to wish it more than anything, but she was saving that wish. Her birthday wish. That which she wanted above all else.

The simple and unique wish that her boyfriend was alone with his soul. That he was not a Horcrux. That he was just him. Just a person. Just her person, as much as she was his.

She just really missed him. It was her birthday and she was meant to be happy. But she wanted to spend it with one person. She wanted to introduce that one person to his own family. Give him that gift. Call it a 'Hobbit Birthday', giving a gift to another.

She could be very happy with that.

She would be very happy with that.

She sighed as she tried her best not to look at her watch.

As she failed in that one simple tasking. Surely, he would be home soon. Surely, he would come back to her. Surely, he would live up to his promise?

She looked over his garden. She looked over it in a way that he did, when he was thinking.

When he was pondering.

Where are you, James?

The question that she silent sent out into the universe was answered as soon as it was asked. She felt him through the wards almost as soon as she heard it. The dull rumble of his truck as it pulled into the driveway.

She vaulted from her chair, dashing through the house at a full sprint, nearly ripping the front door from its hinges as she tore it open.

And there he was.

He turned to her in the front door, and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

James was home.

XxxxX

"You're late."

He paused, having just lifted his bag over his shoulder from where he had retrieved it from the tray of his ute.

A smile lit up his features as he turned to face her.

A smile which he quickly readjusted into a look of somewhat consternation.

"A wizard is never late-"

"James Black, I swear to God if you finish that quote, I will charm your pillow so that there is never a cold side."

A surprised laugh burst from his throat. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me."

They eyed each other off for a moment. Her eyebrow raised in challenge, both of his were raised in disbelief.

Then they were on each other. He was right back where he belonged, as was she, wrapped up in each other. Lips fighting for supremacy as they tangled with each other.

When finally they broke away, their eyes met. That's when she saw it. He looked tired; exhausted, even. He looked as though he carried the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. It was a look, that she was sad to say, that she was used to. It was a look he had worn for most of his later years as Harry.

It was something he had carried around with him. A level of constant concern, stress and anxiety that had always been a functional part of him.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered. "You've no idea how badly I missed you."

Despite it all. The stress and the anxiety, the fear. The lack of knowledge about the horcrux. Her fears for him. For all of them. For the world. She was relieved.

It was an immense sense of relief to just have him back. To have him as a physical presence in her life.

"Thanks." She nipped at his lips again. "I missed you too, I suppose. You need to shower and get ready. We're going to be late to the Weasleys."

And despite everything that remained to be said. Despite all the words they still needed to share. Despite everything.

That was where the conversation ended.

XxxxxX

As with all relationships, she liked the water at a heat that would sear the skin from the bones of any normal and rational person. He preferred the water much more temperate; hot enough that it would soothe tired muscles and relax him, but not so hot that it caused great discomfort.

But neither of them cared about the temperature of the water, as his lips explored a path down her neck and across her collarbone. As his lips forged a path southwards, over breast and navel. They paused, of course, long enough for his lips to find her nipples, and for her hands to tighten in his hair.

But the pause was exactly that, It was a break, not a cessation.

Down he went, his lips leaving a trail along her hip and down between her thighs. Her hands tightened again.

"James – "

He hummed a shushing noised and continued about his way, with a determination that bordered on the appropriately desperate.

He took a hold of her leg and placed it over his shoulder, careful to leave a trail of little kisses on the inside of her thigh that elicited a long moan from her.

Which, of course, was when he arrived, and skipped over her sex completely, leaving a trail of kisses down the other side of her thighs.

She groaned in frustration which only got her a chuckle in reply. She didn't like that. Not at all, not even a bit. She tightened her hands in his hair and pulled his face between her legs. Pulled his face to where she needed it. To where they both wanted it.

His tongue danced with her clit. Slowly, to begin, then with increasing intensity. Circles, then patterns. A slow waltz of lovers, escalating in its tempo to become more of a salsa.

Her head flew back and her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue continued its dance. Her hands clenched and unclenched in his hair as the waves of pleasure washed over her.

She tried to talk. Tried to encourage him. Tried to tell him all the wonderful things that he was doing for her. Tried to tell him how much she loved what he was doing.

What came out instead was a series of moans and an escalated strangled cry that might have been his name, but it also might have been a word previously never invented or used in the English language.

But what it lacked in articulation, it made up for in raw emotion. He knew. He knew exactly what she was saying. He knew it and he responded accordingly. He responded by escalating. His tongue increased its ministrations. Her hands acted as the only conduit of communication she could muster, in his damp hair.

She knew she was trembling. Her thighs were starting to shake. To quiver. To do their own thing, unbidden of thought or command.

She felt it building. Deep inside of her; in her abdomen Like a glowing light at the end of a dark and focussed tunnel. One that was felt, not seen. A glowing light that only served to get bigger, and brighter. To encompass her completely.

She felt him enter her with a finger. It timed well with the renewed intensity of his tongue.

It did her in.

She felt the heat built up. An exquisite increase in the tension as it tightened around her abdomen.

Reality phased out, for just a moment, she was somewhere, elsewhere. She didn't know where it was, she just knew it wasn't anywhere.

It was nowhere, but bliss.

Then she was back. Gradually. Slowly. She came back into focus. Into the world.

She became vaguely aware that his tongue had slowed. It was still going. Slow little lazy circles around her sensitive skin.

She gently lifted his head away, as her breath continued to come in heaves and gasps.

"That." She forced through empty lungs. "That was something."

She was vaguely aware of a low chuckle dancing around the sounds of the running water of the shower.

She opened her eyes in time to see him stand and place his face in the water. He turned around, having wiped his mouth, and kissed her gently on the lips.

"I'm glad you liked it." He whispered.

Hermione had an encyclopedic knowledge of the written word. In her dazed state, she was sure that the word 'liked' paled in comparison to how she felt about that situation. But with her mind still returning to the ever-present nature of reality, she couldn't quite come up with a substitute that described that exact feeling.

"If you think for one moment, we are done…" She mumbled.

She shrieked as opposed to finishing the sentence, as he had scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

XxxxxX

She captured his lips with hers as he guided himself inside of her. She heard him groan against her lips. It was matched by one of her own.

She felt that satisfying fullness as he he pushed all the way in.

Then a smile. A grin. Satisfied and cocky. She just adored that look on his face. That look of hunger, need, and absolute, fucking, want. It was a look that he gave her that spoke to her soul.

And it sparked a simple yet wonderful thought in her own mind.

I do that to him. That's me.

He was moving. Moving inside of her. She wrapped a hand around the side of his face and began to lose herself in the sensation.

The feeling.

The entire experience that was him. She lost herself in the look on his face created by what she was doing with him. She focussed in on him. On how he looked as he began to thrust inside of her. The absence of the stress. The absence of the weight he carried.

She loved that it was gone. She loved that he was lost in the moment, even if she, perhaps, was not.

His bright green eyes fluttered open and she saw it there. She saw how he felt. She saw the honesty of his love.

She smiled. She smiled then gasped as he went particularly deep with a thrust. She bit her lip. Eager to get back into losing herself in him. Losing herself in them. His eyes locked in on hers.

She smiled again. Then she pulled him down for a kiss. He came at her with vigour. With need and want. The kiss was bruising. Hard and strong and full of everything he needed from her.

It filled her with happiness if she was honest. It filled her with her own need for him.

They split for air as he continued to go into her. Continued with his deep, rhythmic movements of his hips that became harder. They became stronger and more urgent. She smiled up at him.

"That's it, James," She sighed at him. "Harder, love. As hard as you want."

She could feel it coming out of him. That stress, that worry, that fear. That which was absent from him. Not absent. Hidden. That which he was hiding. He pulled out of her and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Turn around."

She gave him her cheekiest smile, before obliging, turning around and presenting her backside to him.

He was on her in an instant. His strong hand on her hip, pulling himself deep into her. Pushing deeper into her from this angle, penetrating her completely, arousing intoxicating sensations within her navel itself.

"Yes, James!" she grunted, all semblance of intimate whispers gone. "Like that!"

He began to buck. His hips thrusting into her with a renewed intensity. She groaned as he filled her up. Impaling her with delicious intensity. As he fucked her.

She felt as his hand left her shoulder and came around to stimulate her.

The sensitivity caused by their earlier ministrations was gone. He was into her harder and harder. His fingers circling her clit filled with a renewed urgency she hadn't felt from him before.

She found that her grunts became more strained. She felt that familiar build up again. One born of urgent and utter desire. The rush as it all came together.

She grabbed a hold of the bed head to steady herself.

She could hear him. His breathing was coming thick and faster. He began to grunt. His grunts were strong. Fierce.

"Yes, James." She gave out in a strangled cry as that familiar feeling of light began to encompass her completely. "Yes, Harry!"

He grunted hard as he bucked into her with long, strong strokes.

She heard him grunt, then she went.

Over that familiar edge and into weightlessness. Back into the great beyond where she knew not what it was, except for the erupting explosion of emotions.

When the weight of the world crashed back in, in a slow, steady, relieved pace. She found herself lying on her chest. She found herself utterly spent. Done and dusted. Happy. Content.

But with a slow realisation, with a dawning breath of the world, she realised that he was not next to her. He was not in the bed with her. Collapsed, as he usually did, with one arm over here and sweet nothings in her ear.

She blinked awake and saw him.

He was seated on the end of the bed. His back was to her. His head bowed and in his hands.

She blinked in confusion.

Then she realised. The grunts. They hadn't been his familiar cries of pleasure or orgasm.

They had been frustrated. They had been angry.

"James?"

"Mmm?"

She lifted herself and went to him. Placing a hand on his back and moving to sit next to him.

He looked away, but not before she saw it. Not before she saw the raw emotion that flowed through his expressive green eyes; ones she knew he hated for their transparency.

"Hey." She whispered. "Hey, what's going on?"

"It's nothing." He said back. His voice trembling.

"It's anything but nothing," she whispered back. "Talk to me. What's wrong? I'm sorry if it's anything I did."

His green eyes flew back to hers and he shook his head. "It's not. It's not at all anything you did. I promise. It's not you."

"Well, if it's not me." She tried not to let that little voice in the back of her head that told her it might be her, get any traction. She tried to force her insecurities to stay away. This was not about her. This was about him. Make it about him. "What's wrong?"

He paused. He looked down at her. Down at her body. He seemed to take her in. He seemed to drink the sight of her. Naked on the bed next to him.

Selfishly, she thought for a moment that it was a good feeling to have. He was still attracted to her. He definitely looked like he was. Like he still held her in that regard. It helped the internal war that fought in the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry," he said again. His mouth clearly fighting his brain to try and articulate himself. "It's not. It's just…"

He bit his lip and his eyes met hers again. "It's been a shit week. And I got lost in my head. And I couldn't – you know – I uh, Couldn't…"

His hand made a vague swirling motion.

"Cum?"

His already pink cheeks flushed just that much redder.

"Yes. That."

She smiled at him. An affection and loving smile.

Then she moved. She sat behind him and pulled him into her arms, her legs circling his waist. She began to trace little circles in his hair as she kissed along his back.

"What happened this week? What happened on top of everything else?"

She felt him let out all the air in his lungs. She felt him breathe it all out. But he didn't speak. They sat there for a while. They sat there and she kissed along his back and ran her fingers through his hair.

She whispered little bits of encouragement to him. Little things to remind him of her love for him. Of how much she liked him. How she loved spending that time with him.

How she liked to be intimate with him.

At that word, his head turned to the side.

That's what it was. It was an intimacy issue. One of the many things that stemmed from that damn childhood of his.

"Talk to me, James. Please. I want to help. You know I want to help. You can't do this alone."

He nodded gently, looking at her. She kissed him on the forehead.

"I love you," he whispered.

He offered her a small smile. A sad one. One that she knew he hoped would say what he could not.

It did exactly that.

"I love you, too," she hummed back.

He leaned forward and reached down into his jeans, where he produced his wand.

"Accio gift."

She noticed how much more confident he was with his magic. How it seemed that much more ingrained in him. That much more instinctual.

If only it was the same with his emotions.

Standard.

She heard it whistle through the air and he caught it easily. A brown paper wrapped object was held in his hand.

He turned sideways to face her.

She could see him toying with the gift nervously in his hand.

He looked up at her and gave her a small smile. Then he kissed her.

"So, I got you this," he began. "But before I give it to you, I want to make you a deal. This is not my only gift to you. But it's definitely a huge part of it."

"A deal?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I have to make a deal with you to get my birthday present?"

He smiled and then nodded vigorously, cockily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yep." He popped the 'p'.

"I don't like this."

"Deal is simple." He continued like she hadn't spoken. "We are running out of time, you are right. We'll be late. So… how about this. I'll give you your present now. Then we can get ready and go. I know we have a lot… I know we have so much shit to talk about. And I have seen some things this week that we need to talk about. Things we need to deal with. But –"

He trailed off.

"But?"

"But we don't have to deal with them right this second. Let us pretend, for just one day, for just your birthday, that you are Hermione Granger, and I am James Black – Or Harry Potter if you prefer – and that we are two people who are in love."

She let out a little laugh. "Do you have to pretend?"

He gave her a jokingly unimpressed look. "That's not what I meant! You know that's not what I meant. What I mean is that that's all there is to it. There's no MI5. There's no Mrs Jones. There's no Horcruxes or Dark Lords."

James looked back down at the gift, then back at her. "It's just you and me. And we are going to enjoy your birthday with family and friends. And have a wonderful, normal , day."

She chewed her bottom lip as she took him in. She knew they had so much to deal with. She was no closer to solving the Horcrux problem. He was no closer to being clear of the escalating situation.

But it was lovely. It was a wonderful idea. Just to forget. Just to leave it all behind for one day. For her birthday. Just to have a wonderful day together.

To have a birthday to remember.

She looked up and took him in. He was pleading with her. His eyes were screaming for her to say yes.

So, she did, if only for him.

"Deal."

It was a simple word. Four letters. One syllable. But the way it made his face light up made it one of her favourite words of all time.

"Then, Happy Birthday, Hermione."

He handed her the package, and she took it in. His name, James Black was written in Ron's familiar, untidy scrawl. For that untidiness, it had been scratched out and 'Hermione Granger' had been written underneath, again, in Ron's familiar, untidy scrawl.

"You know why I think I would suck at bloke chat?" She said, a hint of a smile creeping onto her features. "Because I would have asked Luna, not Ron, for help."

He chuckled. "I haven't met her yet. Bit hard for me to ask her for help."

"We will have to change that, today."

He nodded at her. Then looked down at her present with a raised eyebrow.

Her hands, with confident ease, unwrapped the present until she was staring at a velvet box. She looked up at him curiously. He gave her an easy grin. "Go on."

So, she did.

She opened the box and found herself staring at a beautiful silver necklace. It had a pendant in the middle. A pendant that had a Stag standing, its antlers wide and broad. It stared directly at the viewer. Confident and strong. It looked much like the panic button that she had attached to her watch for protection.

To avoid any further mishaps.

But on this pendant, sitting between its prongs was an Otter. Comfortable and relaxed.

She smiled and looked up at him curiously.

"I noticed you stopped wearing your panic button. That and I figured you might have to hand that back at some point, so I thought you might enjoy this to replace it. I loved that pendant on you."

She found herself a bit at a loss for words. It was thoughtful, in a James way. In a very Harry way. In a way that made her realise that despite the time and distance and everything that had happened over the past few weeks, months, and years…

He still knew her. He still knew her better than anyone else knew her.

It was thoughtful in that way that he relied on what he knew. He didn't take a broad risk with something ornate. He knew she had made the pendant that way because she liked it. So he had gotten her one just like that.

Simple. Simple and sweet.

She was speechless.

He reached out and took the necklace, fastening it around her naked breast and letting it fall easily above her cleavage.

"James… It's beautiful." She whispered as his hands gently moved her hair out of the way so he could fumble with the clasp.

"I'm glad you like it. Ron was a lot of help. Especially for this next part."

She turned to face him as he reached back into the box and pulled out a smaller pendant that matched hers.

He removed his wristwatch and placed it behind the face, before refastening it.

Then he looked at her expectantly.

She returned the look, though her expectation was matched with confusion. He looked at her as if she should know. As if she should be able to feel exactly what he knew, that she did not.

"Take a hold of it."

She gave him a look, and he smiled encouragingly. She did as she was told and she reached for it.

Then she felt it. Somewhere deep inside of her. Somewhere deep in her chest. She felt a strong beating heart. Not hers. She could tell that. It felt so familiar, yet so not hers.

It was his.

He smiled at her as she looked up at him in wonder. His grin only served to get wider and stronger. She felt it as she held the necklace, the quickening of the beat of his heart.

"James – I"

Words failed her in that moment. Words that could have said any number of the wonderful things she wanted to tell him. Of the hopes and the dreams that she had for them and their future. Of the plans. Leaving and finding peace elsewhere. But nothing came out. Not a thing. Only silence and a gasping breath.

"I love you, Hermione. Hopefully, whenever you worry about me, you can just reach out and hold this and know that somewhere, my heart is still beating, and I'm still about."

She smiled and brought her lips to meet his in a long and tender kiss. She went to break it, to look back in those deep green pools that reminded her so much of home, but he deepened it. His hand flew up to take a hold of her cheek.

Finally, he pulled back and looked at her.

"There is one other thing. I decided. One more present for you, if you want it?"

"Is it more of what I'm hoping for? Because I feel like we might have a little bit of unfinished business…"

"Little?"

He had the gall to look affronted as she swatted him on the chest and smirked at him.

"You know what I meant."

He winked at her and gave her a quick chaste kiss on the lips.

"No." He said, continuing, his eyes falling from hers, suddenly unable to meet them. "No, I decided that when all is said and done. When we find a way, when we get through this… I'm done. I'm done with the Army. With the Regiment. I'll leave it, for you."

She pulled back suddenly, and her eyes hardened.

"Don't."

"Don't what? You don't want me to leave?"

She met her gaze with a fearsomeness that was all her. "It's not up to me to make that decision, James. Don't you dare do that. Don't you use me as an excuse for that. Don't you use me like that. If you want to leave the Regiment, then you leave the Regiment, I will support you wholeheartedly."

She paused as he came back up to meet her eyes.

"But if you leave for me, and then something happens to Lucky, or any one of your men, you will blame me for not being there. You will put that on me. That's not fair. I won't have that, and I won't let you do that. If you would like to leave, leave. But you leave because you want something else. You leave because you have found something better. Something that gives you more purpose than what you currently do."

His eyes met hers and she saw the flicker of shame, of sorrow in his eyes.

Then they steeled. They hardened.

"You are better. You are more. I want you, this and us."

She kissed him. It was a long and deep kiss that she tried to deepen, but this time he pulled away.

"I can't keep doing it. I can't keep it up. I'm-"

His eyes clouded with that deep sense of shame. More honest and refined than before. As present as the bed against her legs, or his warmth against her body.

"I'm not okay."

She gave him a small sad smile.

"And that's perfectly okay," she whispered to him as she raised her lips to his neck, kissing under his jaw and generating a groan from him that she very much enjoyed.

"We can work on that together." She hummed into his skin.

"Mmmhmmm."

"But first. Let's work on something else together…"

XxxxxX

She felt him inside of her again and she sighed. She raised his head up so that her gaze would meet hers, and gave him an encouraging smile.

His eyes clouded briefly as she began to rock her hips against his. As she felt him enter her.

"I love you." She whispered to him. Her voice alight with the truth. "I love you so very much, James Black."

"I – uh – I" He let out a strangled groan.

"I know you do, James. I know you do."

He nodded. His eyes meeting her. The nods as eager and receptive to her, to the grind of her hips against his.

She could feel it as she continued to move. Setting a rhythm. Watching him as he built up. Feeling his hands around her bum. Feeling him pulling her closer to him. Pulling himself closer inside of her.

She rested her forehead against his.

"You feel so incredible, James." She uttered his name like it was the life raft in the tempest. She said it to convey as much as she felt through one simple word. His word. His. Him. She tried to give all of her love in that one particular word.

She felt him beginning to tense. The grunts and the groans that came through became tighter. Less restrained. Less controlled.

There was no frustration. None of the anger and swirling river of negative emotions that prevent his release before.

Just this tenderness about him that she so adored.

Just a breath.

His was hitched. He let out a strangled cry and she felt him as he tensed up as much as the man could tense.

Then he released. She felt the warmth spill into her. The quiver of him. Felt his hummed cry against her neck.

Felt him as the waves washed over him on the distant shores.

Felt him as he arrived there.

She bundled his head up and held it to her breast. Lowering her lips in a flurry of kisses into his hair.

It was her turn and she took it. It was her turn to whisper all the things. The lovely things. The things she felt and the things that she thought.

The things that would bring him down as gently as she could.

He mumbled something into her breast that she couldn't hear.

She let him lower his head back and she eyed him questioningly.

"You are something else," he said to her. His eyes half vacant, but entirely on her.

She smiled, reaching for her new pendant and feeling the hammering of his heart as it slowed down.

"You're not so bad yourself."

He chuckled. Then blew out a long breath between his lips.

"I don't know why you put up with me," he said, a half-smile adorning his lips.

She kissed him, then raised herself from him.

"Eh. You're rich. I don't really want to give back the money you left me."

He laughed as she pulled him to his feet.

"We are so late," she said, checking his watch. "We need to go. Especially now that we both need another shower."

He leant down to his bag and unzipped it, as she moved to the closet to get a fresh pair of underwear.

He hummed, and she turned to face him. It was a confused hum. One of surprise.

He was crouched down next to his bag, holding a book in his hand.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really? Now you want to read? And you all say I'm a bookworm. We really don't have time."

He chuckled, then he looked at her.

"I'm not reading. This isn't my book."

"What?"

"It's not my book," he said, looking back down at the book in confusion. "I've never seen it before. Must have been placed in my bag by accident."

His tone was non-consequential. It was also about as believable as all the times he said that he was 'fine.' That was to say it was not believable in the slightest.

"What is it?" She approached him.

"Oh, nah, nah nah!" he said, standing up with a smirk and placing the book behind his back so she couldn't reach it. "No time, remember? Gotta go, remember? I'm a bookworm now, remember?"

She gave him her best look of disapproval. It did nothing. He just greeted her look with an easy look of humoured defiance.

"James…" She whined. Her voice high pitched and the word elongated.

He just shook his head, steadfastly holding the book behind his back. "Tomorrow. We had a deal."

She blew a raspberry at him, which only caused him to laugh easily.

Then she turned to talk off, picking up his jeans as she went and throwing them at him. He caught them easily.

"You'll need those."

He laughed again. The musical nature of his laugh doing wonders to banish the worry from the raw emotion of before.

"Oh, and James?" she said, turning back to see him place the book on his bedside table. "If you even think about wearing a baseball cap, I'll charm your dick so that it plays 'God Save the Queen' any time it gets hard."

His face broke into a lopsided grin.

"Really full of threats today, aren't you?"

"I'm just getting started."

Then he took off after her to join her in the shower, leaving the book just sitting on the bedside table, as casually as you like.

He barely glanced at the cover. At the title.

The Bloody Rebellion: How Pureblood Shame and Meddling led to Revolution and Separation.

XxxxxX

"Nervous?"

She smiled up at him as he looked up at the building that was a marvel of magical engineering. It looked like it should not, physically, be able to stand the way it did, but it did.

He glanced down at her, then back up at the home before him.

"I didn't get you that necklace just so you could use it to state the obvious."

Her smile widened. She very much liked it, yes she did. Holding her hand around the pendant and feeling the beat of his heart. How it beat slightly faster as he took in the magnitude of what was about to happen.

Not that she needed it. She could read him about as well as she could read a book, and if there was one thing she was known for, it was reading a book. This morning, notwithstanding.

She could almost hear the whirring of his mind as he tried to work out exactly that. The part of his mind that had been responsible for the renovations and constructions of his own – and she would admit – her home.

"Hermione. I've faced enemy machine gun fire. I've faced IED's, rockets and other bombs. I've faced eastern block special forces in operations that I have to pretend never happened."

She looked up at his face and saw the hint of a smile as he took the building in. One hand clasped in hers, the other sitting in his favourite green jacket.

"Hell, I've faced you when you're angry."

She smiled more then.

"I can honestly say that after all that, I don't know what I feel. Scared? Apprehensive? Only that this place kind of feels pretty homely . I just don't know why."

She gave his hand a squeeze and raised herself up on tip-toes to kiss the side of his cheek. "It kind of was a second home for you, when we were young."

"And what was my first?"

He looked down and she easily met his eyes.

"Hogwarts."

He just nodded absently at her and raised his hand to run it through his dark hair.

He looked back at the house.

"Come on, they're waiting for us." She said, opening the door to the home. "We're already late!"

She pulled him by the hand, and they entered the small living room. It had been expanded, the extra income coming in from Mr Weasley's position had helped make the home more liveable. But they kept the cosiness to it. It was so much a part of what they were and who they were that rather than move to a bigger place, they kept their home a home.

They just made it slightly more to the dimensions appropriate for an ever-growing family.

They could hear the gentle clutter of pots from the kitchen, and the sounds of Mrs Weasley moving around, treating her cooking as if it was another one of her children.

"Oh, is that you, Hermione?" came the call from the matriarch. "I heard you were bringing company."

It proceeded her momentarily before she emerged from the living room.

"And this must be the mystery boy that – " Her voice seemed to catch in her throat and her eyes widened as she took him in. Her hands which she had been busy wiping dry on her apron froze.

Froze, then began to tremble. They came out to float in front of her, in front of them.

Her mouth hung open.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley." James' voice hung with nerves as he stepped forward with a hand extended. In an awkward effort to lessen the tension. "I'm-"

"Harry Potter." Her voice came out as no more than a whisper. It was immediately followed by a series of clanging, banging and crashing from the kitchen, as all of her hard at work, suspended crockery fell from the air.

Molly's trembling hand avoided Harry's outstretched one. She reached for his face and cupped it in the palm of her hand. Her fingers reached out and she brushed aside his hair, revealing the entire length of his scar.

James's eyes darted nervously to Hermione, who was just looking at him with the ghost of a smile implanted on her lovely face.

The next thing he knew, his head snapped forward and all of the air had been squeezed from his body from the motherly hug that he could have sworn gave him whiplash.

He tensed, as he always did when faced with affection that he did not initiate.

Hermione giggled as she saw the pleads for help in his eyes as he looked over her. She shook her head, raising a hand to hide the smile that had overtaken her features.

"Molly?" Came a male voice entering the living room. "I heard the commotion. Is everything-"

Hermione turned in time to see Arthur Weasley as he walked in. She had time to take in his shock as he stopped and saw his wife hugging a man who was plainly trying to breathe.

He froze. His eyebrows having risen to meet his receding hairline. It was quite the feat considering the distance, if you asked Hermione.

"Good Lord, is it Harry Potter?" His voice came out a strangled kind of gasp. It hung heavy in the air with the shock and the confusion

He didn't know.

A pit of frustration centred in her stomach. Ron had not prepared them at all.

"How? What?" came from Arthur as he stormed over and joined his wife in wrapping his arms around James. He did not join her in sobbing though, his shock having seemed to settle into a vacant and dreamy expression on his face, as he absently rubbed James and Molly on their respective backs.

Hermione saw the look James was giving her. It was a sense of his own shock, mixed with the inherent discomfort he had, not only of being touched, but dealing with a crying woman.

A crying woman he did not know. A crying woman that had once been the closest thing to a mother that he had ever known.

Hermione was torn. Torn between the frustration that they had not received the slightest bit of a heads up about this, and amusement at the look on James's face. His awkward patting on Molly's back, and the fact that his other hand was now so pinned between his surrogate parents, that it was useless.

"Harry Potter." Arthur whispered; his voice full of shock. "You're alive, my boy. You're alive."

He repeated it. Like a mantra. Rhythmically, over and over as if he was trying to make himself believe it.

Like he was willing it to be real.

Hermione could relate.

James still hadn't spoken. It was like there was a knot that tied his vocal chords together, and refused to let him speak.

His eyes screamed for help, and Hermione finally decided to take pity on him.

"Molly. Arthur. It is Harry. He's alive. But he may not be for much longer if you don't give him some air."

She might as well have whispered at warring dragons, for all the effect it had. They just continued to hold him, lost in their own little newfound realities.

He shut her

"Molly." She said, in a voice that she recognised as having been inspired by the woman herself. "Arthur. You should let him breathe, lest he dies all over again."

James shot her a look. 'Really?' it seemed to say, 'That's what you've come up with?'

She smiled back at him, a small chuckle escaping from her lips.

"Molly." She reached out and with a gentle touch, she stroked her back. "Molly, you can let go. He's real. He's alive."

Molly gradually pulled back, taking Arthur with her.

"I'm sorry dear. I just. I have so many questions. He's alive. You're alive. Harry my dear. I just-"

Her shoulders sagged again, and she began weeping. Arthur wrapped her up in another hug. She could see the tears forming behind his own eyes. His mouth worked frantically to speak, but nothing came out.

She smiled at them and reached out to take James's hand.

He wasn't speaking either. Perhaps not from shock, or any other momentarily loss of faculties. But entirely based around a simple fact. He just didn't seem to know what to say. He didn't know what to do. His other hand, his right, clenched and unclenched as he just looked around the room.

It was like he was trying to avoid the crying parents that stood before him. The substitute parents whose influence was still so evident in him, and who he was. They were the parents he had never known, and now he didn't know them at all.

"Molly, Arthur..."

Hermione began, giving James's hand a squeeze in an effort to bring him back to the present. "I'd like you to meet James Black."

Molly and Arthur gave her a questioning look.

"James. I'd like you to meet Arthur and Molly Weasley. These are Ron's parents. They looked after you a lot when you were younger."

James nodded softly and held out his hand. "It's very lovely to meet you. Again. I'm sorry I don't know you…"

He trailed off. It was clear then to Hermione that he had done a very Harry thing. He hadn't at all prepared himself in the slightest for meeting his own family. It was as if he hadn't turned his brain to the task at all.

It was written all over his face. The confusion. The loss of words. The actual lack of knowledge about what to do in the situation.

But then, she had to muse to herself, it was not a common situation to find oneself in. Meeting people for the second time, because he had forgotten them.

"But- how? What?" Arthur began, his eyes darting to Hermione.

James shrugged and turned to her as well.

She started to feel the sinking pit of anger that had begun to burn in her stomach.

No warning? None? Honestly, Ron!

"Ron was supposed to give you a bit of warning this morning. Clearly, that hasn't happened." She could feel how taught her voice was, with the rising tension that had taken up residence in her chest.

James gave her a small smile and then looked back at the Weasley's. "Which is fine. But maybe we should explain-"

"To everyone, James." She interrupted. "To everyone. But first, I think, an explanation from Ronald Weasley."

With that she was off. She stormed through the kitchen, leaving a trail of floating angry magic behind her. James had no choice but to give the Weasleys an apologetic smile and take off after her.

"Hermione! Hermione, wait!" he called. For all the good it did, he might as well have saved his air. But he thought he had to try and intervene.

A part of him that he couldn't explain called on him to mitigate. To interrupt. To get in the middle and stop another war. Because there wasn't enough of that going on.

To be the peacemaker. As if that wasn't already expected of him.

He followed Hermione out to the backyard, where she was striding with single-minded purpose to a tall redhead who was speaking with a blonde girl who was starting to show a bit of a belly. James immediately used his well-known deductive reasoning to suspect that she might be Luna, Ron's pregnant wife.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione called in a manner that seemed oddly familiar to him, despite having never known Hermione to call a name that aggressively.

Ron turned and saw Hermione.

"Happy –"

It was all he got out before he had a finger pointed very solidly into his face.

"Don't you dare Happy Birthday me, Ronald!" James had just enough time to see Ron, who dwarfed Hermione by a solid foot, shrink under the suppressive force that was her righteous indignation. "You didn't think. You didn't even have it cross your thick, bloody, mind."

Her breath came heavy between sentences, such was the force of her fury.

"James very nearly gave your parents a bloody heart attack because you didn't think it might be prudent to give them some heads up that he was coming?"

"Hermione." James called, taking her arm, but she wrenched it free to continue to her tirade.

James looked up in time to see a red colouring running over Ron's face. Like a pool filling with blood. His own temper beginning to build.

He quickly blinked away the indescribable level of relief at seeing Ron. Alive and well. Alive, and well angry.

Luna reached out and took Ron's arm, and it briefly forestalled the colouring.

"Merlin, Hermione! It was a joke! A surprise!"

"A surprise? Your mother damn near had a nervous breakdown at the sight of him! Not to mention poor James. How would you feel to have a shock like that?"

Ron opened his mouth to argue back.

James inwardly sighed. It was her birthday for fucks sake.

Can't they just give it a rest? For her birthday? Do they need to have one of their famous row's now?

There was a brief flash as he realised that he hadn't seen them argue very often, as he had only seen Ron a few times. But he pushed that thought to the side as irrelevant. He had to shake his head to make the thought truly fade.

He couldn't pinpoint its origin and that bothered him.

"Hermione!" James said, and stepped between the two. "Hermione, take a breath. Please." He placed both his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "It's okay. I'm okay. They're okay. Everyone's okay."

Hermione stared at him. Her disapproval and disbelief as evident on her face as if it had been written there in permanent marker after she passed out from a heavy night of drinking.

"Hermione," he breathed, giving her an easy, lopsided grin. "It's pretty funny. You gotta admit. That's not bad. I mean, the timing wasn't ideal. But the heart was there."

James turned to Ron and tried to see where he was at with his anger levels, but Ron wouldn't meet his eyes.

She looked no less mollified. In fact. She gave him a look that showed her abject displeasure that he had had the gall to agree with Ron over her. But she didn't have time to voice it, as someone spoke nearby.

"Harry?"

James turned and took in the backyard for the first time. It was not empty, as he had initially assumed. Not even slightly. There were upwards of a dozen people standing around. They were staring - no - they were gawking at him.

There were obvious members of the Weasley family present. The flaming red hair was a giveaway. Not to mention several others, obviously friends and family. People who had gathered to see Hermione for her birthday.

Her magical family.

With one notable example, a tall, thin blonde man standing next to a fiery redheaded woman, they all wore the same facial expression. It was one of shock. Surprise. As if they were seeing something they couldn't believe. As if they were seeing a ghost.

It had been the fiery redhead woman who had spoken. She stepped forward, and a hand came up to her mouth. It hovered there briefly as she tried to gather the words.

"Harry Potter?"

XxxxX

It took maybe half an hour to restore anything close to order to the proceedings. To James, it felt like it had been hours.

He was already tired. The emotion of so many people who knew him, who actually knew him, embracing him had just completely taken it out of him. He felt like the day had been as long as a week. Well, a normal week. Not as long as the kind of week he just had.

In all his years, he had imagined this moment in as many different ways as possible. He imagined them. His family. A family that had loved him, lost him, and missed him.

A family as relieved to see him, as he was to see them. It was what he had secretly longed for. It was what he had turned his mind to, when the pain of waterboarding had become too much.

When his feet had burnt from the blisters on selection. When his pack dug into his shoulders in a way that caused his arms to just go completely numb.

It was what had got him through his recovery from the gunshot wounds that he now wore as permanent scars on his body.

It was what had ot him through the loss of the family that he had made under fire in far off places.

But he had never expected the discomfort. The coddling, the cradling and the cuddles.

He had never been touched so often by so many people. He wasn't exactly comfortable with it, but he tried his best to smile at the multitude of people who treated him with such familiarity. He didn't know exactly how to handle it.

Their relief. Their awe.

Their abject happiness at seeing him. Here was a family he had never known.

He did his best just to breathe through it. To relax into it. To try and feel that sense of familiarity he felt whenever he was touched by Hermione. He did what he could to accept and embrace those around him.

It was, after all, what he had hoped for and dreamed of for most of his ten years of existence. Even when he had decided that no one from his past was coming. When he had decided that he was all alone in the big bad world and that he was not worth remembering. In all of that, he had dreamed of this moment.

And now he didn't know what to feel.

Charlie Weasley, taking pity on James and Hermione, had thrown a few well-placed Wheezes products into the mix. Several had made loud bangs, but one had screamed in the manner of a banshee, leaving all and sundry clutching their ears.

It was perhaps that, that had them all seeing enough sense to take a seat at the elongated table, and allowing Hermione and James to take their place.

Hermione and James had been left standing. The extended Weasley family, with a few notable exceptions, of course, were looking at them with a sense of expectation that Hermione found hard to deliver.

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, as if she had ingested one of the twins 'Ton-Tongue Toffee's' mixed with a 'Roof Roofie', that kept her tongue trapped to the top of her mouth.

"Oh, before you begin." It was like Ron had dusted off his old flair for the melodrama. "There is one more surprise. This one is mainly for you though, James."

He gave Hermione a cheeky wink, then nodded at Bill and Charlie, before they disapparated.

Hermione, James and the rest present were left staring at the space where they had gone.

"Perhaps, 'Ermion'," a beautiful witch with a French accent whom James hadn't yet got the name of, said from her seat, next to the tall pony tail sporting Weasley that James presumed was Bill. "Perhaps, we might begin. The tension is unbearable, no?"

"I think we ought to wait until they get back, Fleur?" Hermione said with a small smile to the pretty witch. James turned and gave her a smile. He knew she was only using their names to help him to remember. He felt a rush of gratitude towards Hermione and felt her squeeze his hand.

It was her way of telling him that he was welcome, and he appreciated it nonetheless.

Within moments, the three redheads had returned, but they weren't alone.

James couldn't tell who was more shocked. The Weasley family, or Lucky, Peyton and Lily who had just appeared out of nowhere.

XxxxX

James looked around at the table. It was full of people who looked at him with a familiarity that made him feel a sense of discomfort.

He found he couldn't meet their eyes. He couldn't look any further into their expectation for fear that he would fail to meet them. That he would fail to be the person that they thought he was.

Because he wasn't, was he? He wasn't that person. He wasn't Harry Potter. He hadn't saved any worlds or slain any dark wizards. He was just James Black. Sure, he had his strengths. He held up his end in a fight. He backed his mates.

He loved a woman, with a fierceness that only he knew.

But he was not this person that they looked for when they met his eyes. He was not the man who bore the scar on his forehead as a badge of office. He merely wore it as a broken reminder of a memory long forgotten. A memory long gone cold.

He tried to speak and found that the words wouldn't come. He didn't know what to say.

Not only that, but he didn't know how to say it – whatever it was that he was meant to say.

It had been for more than ten years that he had practised this. He had imagined, rehearsed and conceived every which way it could go. But now that he was here. Now that it was a reality. It stung. It hurt.

He burnt with the perception of their disappointment.

He felt a squeeze of his hand and he looked down at Hermione. She smiled up at him. There was no expectation from her. There was no sense of who he was versus who he had been. She gave him a smile that told him that he need not worry. That he should be who he was.

It was amazing what he could glean from one smile. From one look. From one sensation.

He took a breath. Releasing it like it was the last thing holding him back from this great adventure to which he had long imagined.

But the silence was broken by another voice. A little girl's voice.

"Are you going to tell a story, Uncle Jim?"

James looked down at Lily. She was seated in Peyton's lap, but her hand had reached out to pull on Luna's dress. Luna looked down on him and beamed as Lucky glanced around at the others at the table.

They had been a surprise even for him. Hermione and Ron had conspired to bring them along. It was for several reasons, one, Hermione had quickly grown to accept the three as close friends and part of the extended family she held around herself. But as a second, because they had hoped that their presence would help James feel more at home.

Hermione had been anxious about today. Extremely anxious. She had ended up calling Ron and they had made the arrangements. Now, they were here. Looking awkward and out of place as they were surrounded by people they did not know. People who knew their best friend, even if he didn't know them.

James chewed on his lip.

Lily beamed up at him. It softened him. Here was a known family member. Here was someone he knew. Someone he had cared for.

He could do this.

"They want you to tell a story, Uncle James." Lily said in a three-year-old whisper. It was like a stage whisper, only even louder. "Would you tell one?"

James bit his lip as he looked at his goddaughter.

"Sure. Lily," he said, smiling at her in a grateful way. "I'll be happy to tell a story."

He raised his head up and looked at them all. Still, not in their eyes, but close enough. He almost felt like he was staring at their foreheads.

"My name, I guess, is James Evan Black." It was a start, but he still didn't know what to say. He didn't think about what to say. He decided just to start talking and hope for the best. It had sometimes worked out for him in the past after all. Maybe he would have some luck, now.

"Ten years ago, I woke up in a hospital in London. I had no memory of anything before then. I still don't. I didn't know anything. I was alone."

He glanced at Peyton and saw that she had raised an eyebrow at him.

"But not friendless."

She smirked.

Good save.

"Peyton, here, was an intern. She hung around and helped me out. Has helped in my recovery. I joined the Army. That's where I met Lucky."

Lucky gave a casual wave of his hand when he was acknowledged.

"And we've been getting into trouble pretty much ever since."

"You've been getting into trouble. I've been getting you out of it." Lucky chimed from his seat nearby. It drew several snickers from the crowd. It was hardly news to anyone who knew Harry.

"A few months ago, Hermione found me. She tried to help me restore my memory and…" He reached up and nervously stroked the back of his neck. "I'll admit, I was a bit reluctant at first…"

"A bit?"

He scoffed.

"Alright. I was dead against it. Happy?"

"Yes." He looked down at her. She beamed up at him. It was the gloating sort of smile that he loved on her.

"Anyway." He turned back to the crowd and his tone became sombre. "I'm really sorry." His voice escaped him as he tried to find his words. "I'm really sorry that I don't know you all. I'm really sorry that I can't remember. I just – "

His voice again faded out.

"It's not your fault, James." Luna said lightly but brightly. "How could we ever possibly blame you? Right, Ron?"

She turned to her husband and smiled at him.

He gave her a half-smile back.

What's up with him?

James again turned to Ron, only for Ron to turn away and not meet his eyes. This was one of the only people at the table he felt like he could try and do connect with, and he was avoiding him.

"Of course, she's right," said Arthur from the end of the table. "We are just all glad that we have you back, now."

There was a murmur of agreement as the family all nodded and spoke amongst themselves.

"That wasn't a very good story, Uncle Jim."

There was murmur of laughter from around the table, as Lily folded her arms across her chest and pouted. "I thought you were going to tell a story about the 'Three Best Friends'."

James couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"I'm sorry Lily. Not today."

Lily continued her pout. Peyton looked down at her and chuckled for a moment, before rearranging her features into a 'mum face'.

But before she could speak, Lily had realigned and had turned to Luna who was seated next to her.

"Have you ever heard the stories about the three best friends?"

Lily's hand had reached out to pull on Luna's dress. Luna looked down on him and beamed as Lucky glanced around at the others at the table.

"I haven't, Lily." Luna said, giving the little girl a warm, glittering smile. "Would you like to tell me?"

Lily shook her head in an emphatic, no.

"My Uncle Jim tells the best stories. My favourite one was where Potty, Bookworm and Weasel had to rescue the great big dog, Grimfoot, from the evil soul suckers!"

Luna beamed at the little girl, even as Peyton grasped her a little bit tighter.

"That sounds like an absolutely wonderful story, Lily. Do you think your Uncle James might want to tell it?"

James couldn't help but listen. The whole family couldn't help but listen.

"I'd love to hear this story. Wouldn't you, Fred?"

"I'd be absolutely enraptured by the story George. I heard it would be one for the ages."

Lily turned and beamed at the twins. "See, Uncle Jim, they all want you to tell a story."

James scratched at the back of his neck as all eyes turned on him. "Look…"

Hermione gave his hand another encouraging squeeze. But he was saved from having to say anymore by the two people who had put him in the spotlight in the first place.

"You know what, George?"

"What's that, Fred?"

"I think Potty- I mean 'Uncle Jim' looks like his throats a bit dry. Might need a drink if we want any more stories from him."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Fred. Besides, maybe a new story with a couple of roguish Lions might be worth a tell."

"You know, George. You're a genius."

James turned and looked at Hermione, only to find her struggling to hide her Mirth.

"Lily, how about a story about a pair of Lions? You might find it interesting to get their perspective."

Lily beamed at them.

Molly saw the opportunity then and there, and she took it.

"Now, Harry dear – apologies, James dear," Molly Weasley began as she stood up. "Why don't you mingle around and get to know everyone, again, I'll go check on Lunch, and Ron here will help with drinks. Won't you Ron?"

The beauty of the question was that it gave the people attending absolutely no option as to whether his assistance would be voluntary. It would not be.

Hermione knew that Ron would be helping out to make up for his actions in not warning them, and therefore he would be suitably punished. She would consider it justice and the equilibrium of the world restored.

She stood as James released her hand and went to go after Ron.

"Hey mate, let me give you a hand."

"I've got it." Ron replied, brusquely, and Hermione couldn't help but think, quite rudely.

What is going on there?

She watched as James slowed to a halt and nervously scratched at the back of his hand. It was only for a moment, before Fleur Delacour came bounding over to her in that light, fleet footed way of hers and gave him a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"He's been like this since the attack on Diagon," Luna said. The dreaminess that was often associated with her tone was gone. It was instead a voice of concern. Of worry. "He's angry. He had nightmares the night of, and they haven't gone away. He doesn't think I notice, bullheaded as he is."

Hermione turned and saw the concern that was painted on Luna's face. It broke her heart. Luna, with her pretty face and big expressive eyes wore her heart on her sleeve and imprinted across her face. It might as well have formed words in pimples, much like a certain Ravenclaw had since she had broken the trust of all of them in fifth year.

"He won't talk about it?"

Luna shook her head sadly. "No. Not even to me. It's like he's been dragged back to the post-war period."

Hermione shivered. Ron's dealing with trauma back then had been catastrophic. He had been so angry, all of the time. At her, at Luna, at his family. At the world.

It had taken a lot of work with Luna to get through it. He had refused to see a mind healer, despite it all.

"Why is he angry at James?"

Luna turned and look at Hermione sadly. "Can't you see? James may not have been involved in the attack, but everything about him reminds Ron of the attack. Now, he's here with his muggle friends – your muggle friends – and Ron can't help but see the horror of that day all over again.

Hermione played thoughtfully at a loose threat in her dress. This was not good, not good at all.

"You think he blames James?"

"No." She said softly. "Not so much that. I think the problem is that he doesn't know James. Not anymore. I think he doesn't trust James. He certainly doesn't trust muggles."

Hermione sighed softly. She hated this. She hated this rift that was growing between them. They had been doing so well.

"Ron doesn't trust James."

"He knows James had nothing to do with that? He was with me the whole day."

"He knows. At least, he thinks he knows." She looked up at Hermione and met her eyes with a pointed expression. "Give him time. I'm sure he will come around, then we can go back to uniting the family and facing what is to come."

"I'm not sure time is something we have a great supply of Luna."

Luna nodded sadly.

"We need to buy them as much time as we can. I'm afraid of the consequences if he doesn't deal with this properly. That's the brilliance of their attack, don't you see?"

Hermione just looked at her.

"Muggles, who we always treated as just this other group of somethings, are now a threat. Even people who are lovely in their beliefs. The 'leave alone and be left alone' crowd are starting to turn on them."

Hermione wrung her hands as the truth of Ron's anger came crashing in.

"I just hope we can bring him back from the edge before he falls."

XxxxX

The thing he liked most about Charlie and Bill Weasley, he had decided, was that they hadn't known him very well when he was Harry Potter, let alone now that he was James Black. It meant that the conversation was not constrained by stories of his time at Hogwarts, and no one mentioned the war.

What it did mean, was the conversation flowed easily into him learning about them, and them learning about him. It felt wonderful to be free of that layer of expectation that seemed to float about any time he spoke to someone he supposedly knew well.

It was the perfect crowd for the post lunch conversation. Now that he had eaten so much that he felt like he would explode.

If all the questions that he couldn't provide answers to didn't do it first.

Them not knowing him set him free to just get to know two people. Two older brothers of his best mate from before. A best mate who was currently ignoring him. One who had a real problem with him but had not been able to find the words to say it.

"I thought your mate was about to punch me in the head when we suddenly appeared in the back yard." Charlie laughed, as he pointed across at Lucky. "He came barrelling out, fist raised. Guess, he wasn't quite warned as to how the travel would be."

James couldn't help let the bubbling laughter come out. He was reminded of his own introduction to wizarding travel, and violence that had immediately followed.

"Yeah, look. I am surprised he wasn't warned. Your apparition business sounds like a gunshot. I think we are both pretty hardwired to respond to that."

The brothers nodded.

"Ron looked like he was about to shoot a curse at him when he came barelling out like that." Bill added. "Doesn't seem to overly fond of muggles at the minute, does he, Charlie."

Charlie just nodded.

James said nothing. The conversation had turned back to the elephant in the room. They had noticed. Charlie and Bill had noticed the tension between Ron and himself. A tension that he had no idea how it had happened. He had no idea what was happening.

So James decided to change the subject.

"I'm going to be honest, I'm finding it slightly hard to believe that dragons are real and no one has managed to get footage of one." James said, causing Charlie to let out a long laugh.

"They have." He couldn't help but continue to smile. "We have to be trained in oblivation, and we alter muggle video technology to do so. Why do you think there are so many 'UFO' enthusiasts out there? So many of them were dragons that it isn't even funny. Look, some of those people are just genuine nutters, but a few aren't as crazy as you would think."

James nodded. He offered a half smile. It was still sensitive, the topic of memory, and he doubted that the muggles involved or their government would be receptive to this information.

"Alright, James, look." Charlie said, reaching out a muscled arm and clasping him on the shoulder. "I can tell what you are thinking. But tell me, you know muggles, right? How would they react knowing that dragons, wyverns and other fire drakes were real? That they actually existed? That they posed a threat, to say, aviation? Or small villages?"

"Over east, where you are?" James asked, unable to hide a measure of understanding, as reluctant as it was, from his voice.

"We had a female Red Drake escape the enclosure once. Made it as far as Chechnya. It was drawn to the conflict that was escalating there at the time. They smell it you see, the fire and the blood. It can draw certain breeds in."

Charlie gave him a grin.

"We hunted her for three days. Finally managed to recapture her in the middle of a bloody war zone. It got a bit hairy."

"What about the Muggles?' James asked.

Charlie turned to Bill. Bill shrugged at him.

"Had to sell it to them that one of your 'experimental military helicopters' was at fault. It's much easier to do a mass change of memory if you don't remove things. You just change them to things that are more logical for them to believe."

James grimaced.

"She is one of the very last Red Drakes left in the world, James. A breeding female at that. A dragon may be smart, but it doesn't possess our morality. Can't really hold it to blame for wanting to be free."

James took a sip of his beer as he listened. The magical world was still new to him. He was curious to learn as to the justifications for some of the things he had seen. He was still trying to wrap his head around things. Why they did things the way they did.

"Haven't you ever wanted that, mate? To be free?"

James just looked at Charlie, not trusting himself to speak.

"But freedom for Dragons can often mean death."

James nodded. He was suddenly eager to change the subject, again. The topic of altered memories sat awkwardly behind his teeth and left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You work with goblins, Bill?" He asked as he took a sip. "What are they like compared to dragons?"

Both Weasley brothers let out a long laugh. "Much more dangerous." Bill said with a smile.

"Really?"

"You never piss off those who hold the gold, James. The goblins are the bankers of our world. They lost revolution after revolution trying to gain equal status. Now, I think they've probably got it over us. They hold all the purse strings."

"Right?" James was surprised. "Sounds pretty complicated."

Bill shrugged. "It works. It's government and money. The two things are as entwined as wizards and magic. Can't be helped."

James just nodded.

"I hear you've been out fighting wars while you've been away, James?" Charlie asked. "Must be rough. I saw a bit of what war is like for your people. Bloody stuff."

"Yeah." James chose to accept that niceties and social norms weren't the same in the magical world. He chose that moment to accept that they hadn't exactly crossed the line of asking if he had killed anyone. It was a question he despised, as did everyone who he had served with.

"Almost might feel like you were a bit used to it." A new voice joined them.

"Hello Gin." Bill remarked. "Looking overdressed as always."

"You're one to talk." Charlie commented sarcastically, punching his older brother on the arm. "Dragonhide eh? You better tell me that coat was ethically sourced."

"Wouldn't dream of anything but!" Bill rolled his eyes at his brother as he ran a hand over the sleeves of his coat. "Natural causes."

"Right," Charlie retorted. "Better be!"

"Harry," Gin said, turning to him, as her brothers continued their banter. "Do you mind if we have a conversation?"

"Sure," he replied. He was back to being uncomfortable all of a sudden, but he didn't know why. This one felt slightly different. "No worries."

"Catch ya, mate," Charlie's grin split his features. There was something behind it. Something that told James he was perhaps not in for a conversation that he would find easy and enjoyable.

"All the best, James," added Bill, with an equal glimmer in his. "I'd ask if you had your will sorted, but I think that was already executed."

It did not help James's discomfort, especially with the withering glare that Ginny sent them as they strolled off through the garden.

They walked in silence for a while. James glanced over at the party-goers. He saw Hermione, standing with Lucky, Peyton, Neville and Cass. She had a look about her as she looked back at him. It was a look that told him that she was not entirely comfortable with his company. James gave her as subtle a shrug as she could, which Hermione replied, continuing her conversation with Peyton.

But Hermione's eyes didn't leave James as he walked. He glanced at Peyton and saw that she was giving him the same look.

What is actually going on?

"So, Hermione, huh?" Ginny said, as casually as a person could say something, without at all sounding in the least bit casual.

"Uh – yep," he replied, as if they were locked in a battle for who could attempt to be the most casual, without sounding at all casual.

Casual.

The word was bouncing through his mind. It warred with the discomfort of the situation.

Casual.

What an odd word.

The fake casual nature of the mood warred with the fact that he still had no actual idea about what was going on.

"I'm happy for you, Harry," she said, still with that same blank tone. "I truly am."

"Well, thank you," he replied. He couldn't help the confusion as they continued to dance around the conversation. He glanced over towards the party-goers. He looked over at Fred and George, who were leaning casually on chairs nearby. They both were giving him a look.

A look of amusement.

"That's very kind."

There was plenty of mirth, and absolutely zero sympathy in the looks that they gave him.

She nodded but said nothing. James couldn't tell if that was a blessing or a curse, with the awkwardness of the affair.

"You're engaged to Draco Malfoy? The blond wizard?"

"We used to date." Ginny said flatly. "You and I. A long time ago. Back in our sixth year."

James just nodded, his eyes darting around, screaming for backup that didn't seem to be coming. He thought that, at that moment, that he might almost wish he could be facing one of those dragons that Charlie was talking about. It might be preferable to the dragon he was currently facing. The dragon in the room.

One that he had absolutely no clue existed.

"Ah," James scratched the back of his neck as he took the information in. Ginny was beautiful, there was no denying that. She had long flowing red locks that bounced as she walked. They were different from Hermione's, though. They seemed natural, but James could tell that an element of care had gone into them to make them look that way.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. That was fine. It was beautiful. But, he couldn't help but prefer Hermione's carefree way of doing her hair. The waviness of it and the way it cascaded down her back.

He liked the smattering of the freckles across Ginny's face; how different they were to Hermione's own. Her clear blue eyes that looked at him with a sense of expectation that made him distrustful, though she had done nothing to give him cause not to trust her.

"It was a long time ago," she remarked, with a casual wave of her hand.

"Sorry," James said, desperately looking anywhere but at her. "I'm sorry that I don't remember."

Ginny seemed almost sad. Like he had put the final pieces into the breaking of her heart and the destruction of her soul.

"I know, Harry-James," She almost joined the two names together, like a mother calling to one of her many children and listing them off until she found the right one. "I – I just…"

James stared at her. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't warned. He was never warned about this. No one told him he had dated anyone before. From what he had heard, he had always held a candle for Hermione.

"I just heard talk that there are little remnants in there. Little moments in your life in your memory that you have. Like, how you felt when you saw Hermione. That sense of – I don't know how you would explain it."

"Like home?" James said without thinking. He immediately regretted it. There was absolutely no missing the look of pain that flew across Ginny's eyes as he said it.

He wanted to apologise. He wanted to make her feel better about it, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to be sorry for how he felt. He couldn't bring himself to apologise because that's what Hermione was to him. That's what Hermione would always be to him. Home.

"I guess, I just wondered how you felt when you saw me. If there was any familiarity there at all?"

James chewed his lip. He didn't know what to say. Of all the conversations with all the people he had come to meet, this was one conversation he had never seen coming. Not in a million years. Not ever.

"I – uh." He let out a breath. Explaining emotions was not something he felt particularly good at. He could do a passable job around Hermione. But here, now, in front of this person, this stranger who had a one-sided knowledge of their past? It felt weird. Awkward. But above all, it felt muted and empty.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said softly. "I don't remember. I don't know. This has all been a lot to take in. Seeing everyone like this. It's been – It's been a lot."

Ginny just nodded and nibbled on her bottom lip in thought.

"I know."

"Do you?" The words came tumbling out of his mouth like a landslide. One that could not be contained. "Because I don't know what's going on, exactly, Ginny. You're engaged. I'm in a relationship. I don't remember any of these people. But I suspect seeing them all at once has had something to do with that. Seeing everyone at once has made the entire experience well-"

He paused as he tried to find the right word, not a well-known strength of this.

"Disassociating."

He didn't miss the tears as they swam in her eyes. He didn't miss the way she angrily brushed them aside with the back of her hand. He didn't miss the guilt either, that which widened her eyes and gave her a sense of shame.

It mirrored how he felt. Guilty. He didn't know these people. He didn't know them at all. It was like a stone in his guts that weighed him down.

He had expected – well, hoped was a better word – he had hoped to feel more. More familiarity.

"Look," she said, as she continued to brush at her eyes. "Please, don't think this is what you think this is. Some half-baked attempt to get you back. It's not, Harry. I promise that it is not."

He nodded, his eyes darting towards his shoes so he could avoid the feeling of pain that came from looking her in the eyes.

"I guess, well, we broke up at the end of sixth year. We hadn't been dating for long. But then you went off to fight in the war and hunt for Horcruxes. But then you died. I never got it. That closure. I never got to finalise all the feelings that I had for you. You must understand…"

Her voice faltered for a moment, then returned in strength.

"That I had a crush on you for my whole life. You saved my life in second year. I had all these feelings for you. They were a mess. Then in sixth year, we got together, we had some good times. We distracted each other from the lead up to the war. Then you died. You died Harry, and I never got to say goodbye. I never got that resolution to the feelings. I just got nothing. It was nothing. You were gone. You were dead."

James nodded absently. "I've been getting that a bit."

Ginny let out a watery chuckle. "For the longest time I found it impossible to believe. You just disappeared. It was so incredibly difficult."

James didn't speak, he just looked as his feet.

"I love Draco. Merlin, knows I do. I love him more than I ever thought I could love a person. But you, you always held a chamber of my heart. The 'Harry Potter' chamber, you could call it."

Ginny gave him a smile and then nodded her head over at Hermione.

"The chamber of secrets, if you will."

She looked at him expectantly. He just shrugged, his face blank.

"That was actually quite clever. You just don't get it. Ask Hermione to explain, it was a whole thing."

James snorted out an awkward laugh. He didn't know what to say.

"But if I had a chamber, you had her whole heart. Hermione's. You had it all. And let me tell you, anytime I thought I had it bad. Anytime that I thought a person couldn't feel as much grief as I do, I would see Hermione. I would see her and I would see how much she hurt, and then I would feel guilty."

"Ginny-"

"I would feel guilty because it was clear that while I loved you. I didn't love you like that. It's true though. I moved on. I fell in love with Draco. I became happy. But she didn't."

James looked over at Hermione. She was looking at him. He could see it in her eyes, she was ready to provide back up at a moments notice.

Instead he just gave her a shrug and a smile. She smiled back.

"I'm really glad she found you, James. I really am. Because she deserved it. She deserved to have you back."

James smiled over at Hermione and shot her a wink.

Hermione stuck her tongue out in response.

"Now." Ginny continued. "Don't you fuck it up. Don't you dare break her heart. You may not know me, Harry-James, but I have a fearsome bat bogey hex that will ruin your day."

James gave a nod and a smile. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe this wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"I guess I just needed closure. Seeing you, talking to you, it has enabled me to close off that part. To put an end to it. A full stop. It allowed me to finalise it."

She let out a breath. Like a gasp of life from a drowning person. Then she smiled a winning smile.

"I actually feel so much lighter now. Like I've taken off a rucksack I wasn't even aware I was carrying."

"Glad I could help?" he shrugged, the confusion as evident in his voice as it was on his face.

She laughed. It was musical and light, and she reached out and punched him in the shoulder.

"Thank you. Thank you for surviving. Thank you for the smile you put on Hermione's face. I've known her for a long time. She's one of my best friends. Seeing that smile on her face, that comes from you, is the most hopeful I've been for her for a long time. A very long time."

She again punched James amicably in the shoulder.

"Should you remove it, you'll have to answer to me."

James laughed easily. He could see why, perhaps, they had had what they had. She was a good person at heart, and James appreciated her candour. He found that he liked Ginny. He really did.

Not like that. Not like Hermione. But it was nice to feel that again, after all the mixed-up confusion of feelings for the day. That feeling of enjoying someone for their company. He hoped that he could find it with the others.

"Hello lovebirds," George called, approaching with Draco and handing James another beer. "Or should I say, ex-love birds? Sorry Draco!" George clasped Draco easily on the shoulder.

Draco smiled back. It wasn't a laugh. James had yet to see the man laugh. But it was a feeling of brightness from the sardonic man.

"Thanks George," James said, as he graciously accepted his beer, cracking it open and taking a swig.

It was nice and cool. The fact that cooling charms meant that he didn't need to worry about ice was a blessing in disguise. He could get used to this whole magic thing, even if getting used to the concept of his magical family was another thing entirely.

It sure was convenient.

"George?" George had the grace to look offended. "I get you may not remember us Harry," the sarcasm dripped from his tone as he used the name, "But I'm Fred. Look at you, coming storming in on your girlfriend's birthday and taking over the show. Then having the absolute gall to get our names wrong!"

"Okay, George," James replied, taking another swig of his beer.

George gave him a good long look.

"You play that joke a lot, don't you?" James asked simply. "Even though you are actually, George."

George started to laugh. It caused Draco to raise an eyebrow and Ginny to give him a strange look.

"You know what, Fred and I, we were concerned. We said to each other, 'don't know about this James bloke. Looks like Harry. Talks like Harry. Publicly speaks as horribly as Harry. But calls himself James'. But you know the little secret?"

James shook his head.

"Harry could always tell us apart. That joke never worked on him."

James gave him a snort of laughter. "I'm glad some things don't change."

"You know," said Ginny, chiming in. "I've known you my whole life and I get it wrong all the time." She spun on James. "How could you tell?"

"Simple." James said as if he was revealing something as obvious and simple as the colour of the sky or the softness of the grass. "George favours his right side, Fred his left."

A simple, surprised silence settled between them as they took it in. George only served to smile broader.

"It's all in the lean." He shrugged again. Simple.

"That's it?" Ginny asked incredulously, once she found her voice, "That's all there is to it?"

"That's all there is to it."

"You know what," George said, clinking his beer to James's. "You're alright, James-Harry."

James just chuckled and returned the salute.

"And little sister, you aren't as wrong as often as you think. We just make you think you are. Besides, with how often Mum and Dad get us wrong, who knows how many times we were accidentally swapped in our youth! Who knows if I actually am George. Could be Fred. Could be-" His voice dropped in the horror of what he was saying. "I could be Percy."

James let out a full-throated laugh at that, and even the strong silent type of Draco let out a breath of air that made a slight, yet audible, sound.

"Anyway, Gin. Mum's looking for you." He began mimicking his mother's voice, though highly exaggerated and obviously incorrect "If that girl thinks she can corner that young man on the day of his unveiling and ask him-"

"Alright, George. Merlin!" Ginny said to cut him off. "This is why I like Fred better."

It was with a laugh that George took his sister in a headlock that caused her to squeal as they walked back towards the house.

It left Draco and James alone.

They looked at each other. James felt like Draco was getting the measure of him, so he took it on as a chance to return the gesture.

"Were we friends too?" James said finally, filling the heavy yet meaningful silence. "I'm starting to feel like a priest at a garden party, everyone wants to corner me to tell me their sins. Looking forward to hearing ours."

Draco offered a lightning smile.

"No. Quite the opposite. We hated each other in school."

James nodded along.

"Was I the prat, or were you?"

"Bit of both." Draco said and extended his hand. "When we met I extended my hand, just like this, and channelling my best James Bond – yes, I've seen the films – I said 'my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.'

James looked down at his extended hand. He had no qualms in taking it, this time. That thought was strange. He felt like he was playing into a theatre, set by the well-dressed man in front of him.

Like this was all pre-written, and an extension of his past.

"I was then horribly rude to Ron. Said some things about his family, their hair and their wealth."

James nodded.

"Then I told you, 'you'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there'."

James met the cold grey eyes of Draco Malfoy evenly. He knew to be silent, to let the man speak.

"You didn't take my hand. Not at all. You told me, and I still remember it, - I've a memory like Hermione for events like this – 'I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.'"

"How did that go down?"

"Hurt my pride. My father had set me the task of befriending you. I failed in our first meeting, so I decided that wounded pride meant I should threaten you."

"Oh?"

"I said, 'I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasley's and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you'."

James just gave the man a long stare. It was a strange interaction in a day that had been marked by strange interactions.

But he reached forward and he shook Draco's hand.

Draco gave him a smile. It was almost a smirk, but he couldn't help but wonder if the man was capable of much more than a smirk. As controlled and outwardly arrogant and cocksure as he was.

"Funny to think about it now, all these years later. Especially now that it rubbed off on you, and eventually, it rubbed off on me."

"Please don't let my Aussie mate here you talk like that. It means something different where he comes from."

Draco barked out a laugh. "Deal."

James nodded and looked over at the party, Draco moved to his side and his eyes followed him.

"Did we ever make up from our bitter childhood enmity?" James asked.

"Just then." Draco countered.

"Well, that was easy." James said, taking a swig of his beer.

"For you."

James laughed at that.

An easy silence descended between them. One that never would have been predicted all those years ago.

"How bad was it? Our feud."

"Got a hell of a scar on my chest from a duel we had." Draco said evenly.

"Sorry?" James offered him a shrug.

Draco just waved his hand. "Ginny loves it. Makes me look – hardened. So, she says."

James just nodded. "Scars are a bit of a thing in the magical world, aren't they?"

Draco turned and just fixed him a look. "Yours is not just a thing, James. It's a symbol. It was a sign of your entire side. Your half of the world, not mine."

James just nodded. He thought long and hard before he replied.

"Now, it might be a problem," he said evenly. "Hermione told me that you have something of a library that might be able to help me with this – condition – I have."

"She came and saw me. During the war we looked for the answer. We found nothing that could help us. I'm sorry."

James nodded. He shrugged. He didn't let any disappointment show through. It would be something else that they would have to deal with.

"You're one of those purebloods then?"

Draco nodded.

"Death Eater?"

Draco turned and fixed him with a glare. Then he gave a slight nod. James just gave a thoughtful nod back, and brought his hand up to scratch his beard.

"I turned on them all. Helped feed information to the remnants of the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix as they fought back against Voldemort."

"Why?" James didn't look at him. Keeping his gaze upon the garden party as it continued in full swing. He continued to watch as Hermione laughed at something Lucky had said. Charlie having joined their little circle.

It was good to see that he was fitting right in. In fact, Lucky seemed to be fitting in better than James was.

He glanced over at Ron. He was standing talking to Luna. The way she had planted her feet and placed her hands on her hips meant that he was on the receiving end of a conversation that he was perhaps not winning.

"My father," Draco said simply. "He was a Death Eater. Probably the most famous one. Which is why, perhaps, no one ever suspected that he himself was a spy."

James nodded.

"There is no record of it, of course. I searched. I have access to nearly all the information that is acquired by the Ministry of Magic. But nothing indicated that he was involved in spying and the feeding of information. It took me a number of years, after the war, to finally make a breakthrough."

He paused, looking over at the gathering himself, with a far off look in his eyes.

"It was frustrating. You've no idea how frustrating it was. He was killed right in front of me. Voldemort himself used him as an example. An example of what happened to those who betrayed the cause."

James whistled out between his teeth.

"His death was not pleasant. But he never gave it up. He never admitted to his betrayal. I always admired his strength. Always. That despite everything he was put through, he never betrayed anyone to Voldemort."

Draco swirled his drink around before taking a sip.

"You see, he was spying, but not for the Ministry."

James looked over at him. Everything about the man sparked of control and predetermination. Draco was feeding him information. He was laying out a trail of breadcrumbs for James to follow. He was being clued in.

"Who did he spy for?"

Draco turned and fixed him a look with those cold grey eyes of his. They no longer bubbled with what amounted to warmth from him, they had been replaced by the snowy windscape of the Antarctic.

"James." Draco said with what amounted to a sense of unease from the man. "I can't trust you."

James shot him a piercing look.

"You may be different. You carry yourself with a confidence that even you didn't have back in Hogwarts. You also carry this great weight behind your eyes, a weight I am all too familiar with. But at the end of the day, you are still the great and noble Harry Potter. Therein lying the problem. You are too noble. You will do anything to protect those who you love. Those whom you care about."

James felt his face tighten at the assassination of the finer parts of his character.

"The problem is. I understand. Since I met Ginny and fell in with this – what were the words I used – riff-raff, I began to understand. I would do anything to protect these people, this world, from those who would do it harm."

James glanced over at where Ginny and Molly Weasley were having what could only be described as a heated discussion.

"I just don't know if they got to you. Not yet. I can't have you reveal anything to the wrong people. It would be disastrous. Especially with the world sitting as it is, on a powder keg."

James mulled over what the man said for what felt like an age. A part of him, an emotion of memory, wanted to get angry and yell at the man, to demand answers. But a part of him understood. If it was Hermione, he would be exactly the same.

Besides, the realisation set in, that Draco wasn't just trying to protect Ginny from the world, but all of them. Hermione included.

"Tell it to me straight." James's tone turned more direct. "How bad is it if I am a Horcrux?"

Draco didn't react, at first, save to swirl his drink around his glass.

"Bad."

James grunted in reply.

"You hold the key to the Dark Lords' return. You hold the key to the Death Eaters getting what they want. Should they do that, my family and my name would appear right next to yours on the hit list."

"We can't let that happen," James said, his voice firm. He looked again at Draco, and a hint of understanding seemed to pass between them.

Draco understood.

"No, James." Draco's tone was as icy as the look he had given him, just moments before. "No we cannot."

XxxxX

A/N:

Hello,

And welcome to Chapter Twenty Three of 'Remember What I Forgot'.

Firstly, let me again apologise for how long this chapter took to come out. I'm afraid the days of being in lockdown and having a lot of spare time are long gone. So I am writing as quickly as I can in what time I have. Thank you for your patience, it is greatly appreciated.

As are all the views, kudos's, recommendations and comments. I love hearing people's thoughts on what is happening. It's really amazing for motivation to keep writing, during parts where I am short on time or exhausted. So, let me give you a big thank you for that.

I hope you like part one of the Weasley Reunion. I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It flowed easily. The smut, well, less so. For those who don't know me, I don't love writing smut. It was a challenge writing it from the female perspective, but please don't think I was trying to 'mansplain' to you. That part owes all of the thanks in the world to my wonderful Beta, LancashireWitch. For taking the time and the patience to point out where I was wildly off course and steer the ship back the right way. There are absolutely no words I can say to thank her for her hard and tireless work.

Keep an eye out for when she posts her own work, hopefully soon, if my bullying works!

Now for some good news! This chapter took so long because it is a two-parter. I had to split the Weasley Reunion over two chapters, because it was so long. I decided that I would write the scenes that I wanted to write here. So maybe it was a bit gratuitous, but damned if these characters don't deserve some happiness (and some awkwardness) after everything I've put them through.

The next chapter should be live by the end of next week. Maybe even sooner, as it was written as part of this chapter.

Thank you so much for reading, if you are still with me. I do appreciate your time, and I hope you take something away from the story. It means much more to me than any of you know.

P.S: For those who are wondering, I am still tracking to have this story complete by Chapter 30, with an Epilogue.

P.P.S: I don't know of any times that Harry ever mixed up Fred and George. I liked putting that in there for familiarity. I might be wrong, but then, I've been wrong before!

P.P.P.S:: Thank you to eagle-eyed reader Svale (you should one hundred percent read her work btw! It's brilliant). I left a note from LW in the first posting of this chapter. I'm really sorry for that. Hopefully you haven't started reading until after that's gone.