Chapter Four

After the near-disaster of trying to get him out of the Ministry, Hermione decided that perhaps it was best not to try her usual route home with Bucky in tow. Instead, she nipped them into a shadowed corner, away from prying Muggle eyes—oh, she knew it was said that Muggles didn't often believe what they saw when someone vanished or appeared right in front of them, but she was full-up on her share of risk-taking for one night.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to brace yourself, again," she said, casting a cursory glance about out of sheer caution.

He made no attempt to hide the discomfort in his voice as he asked, "Wait, again? You mean—?"

"It's the safest way, under the circumstances. Well, now that we've already done it once and it didn't scramble up your brain any more than it's already been."

"Gee, thanks."

She uttered a derisive snicker as she shook her head. "Sorry, didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"Let's just do this," he responded with a resigned sigh.

Nodding, she lifted her wand—but then thought better on what she was doing. Like any witch worth their salt, she had an anti-apparition ward around her building, which meant they'd have to pop up on the front porch or in the courtyard 'round the back. There was a chance she'd be glimpsed by some passerby popping into existence out of thin air.

Bucky's brows shot up as he found the witch burrowing under the cloak to press herself tight against him. "Hello?"

Hermione forced out an awkward laugh. "Sorry, this was quite a bit easier to do when I was 12 and we were trying to fit three children under this thing. 'S not nearly as roomy as I remember."

Despite his irritation at being treated a bit like a child, himself, when they'd been inside, he couldn't help a chuckle at that—after all, he understood the necessity of it. And okay, he didn't hate being this close to her. "I'll bet."

Acutely aware of the way his voice had dropped, she felt her face warm a little. "Okay, um, let's just . . . ." She let her voice trail off as she Apparrated them to the sad, measly little excuse for a courtyard. Safer bet than the front porch when people might still be passing on the street, she'd decided.

"Wait," she said as he started to pull off the cloak.

"What? There's no one here."

"I know, but . . . windows." Resting her hands on his arms, she guided him to move with her until they were close enough to the building that no one would be able to see them pull off the cloak, no matter what angle they might have.

He tried not to be insulted at the way she just about jumped away from him as soon as she was out from under the cloak. After all, he might not remember very much about, well, anything, but he was pretty sure her reaction was more of a compliment than anything else.

Giving herself a little shake as she cleared her throat, she nodded toward the still-obscured soldier. "C'mon."

He obediently followed her into the building and up two flights of stairs to a door in the near-exact center of the corridor. If Bucky didn't know any better, he'd swear the placement of her apartment was a strategic choice. She was smack in the middle of the complex, the last place anyone would look for someone who was hiding—most assumed one would opt to be on the ground floor for a quick exit, or top floor to be away from those very same entry points yet with easy access to the roof. No, no. Her choice was definitely strategic, but it wasn't about a clean escape, it was about blending in.

"You're a soldier, too," he said, the murmured words slipping out thoughtlessly.

Hermione's spine stiffened as she unlocked her door and took a moment to dispel the repelling charms just inside—anyone who attempted to break in would suddenly find themselves with second thoughts and an irrepressible desire to exit her flat the moment they crossed the threshold. "Well, yes. I suppose I am."

Stepping aside, she swept her arm into the open doorway. "All right, then. In you go."

Nodding, though he knew she couldn't see the gesture, he stepped in. Only when she'd stepped in as well, and closed the door behind her, did he take off the Invisibility Cloak. "So, who are you hiding from?"

Meeting his gaze in the dim evening light of the living room as she reached for the switch, she paused. "Oh, um . . . ." Shrugging, she switched it on, flooding the space with soft illumination. "In a way, everyone."

His brows drew up in question, but he only watched her expression as he waited silently for a response.

"It's not a big deal, just my parents aren't magic-folk, and there's been more than one occasion I've had to fear for their safety on account of that, so I keep a distance from them." Frowning, she again shrugged as she walked over to set her wand down upon the fireplace mantle—one of the few charms that had sold her on the otherwise mundane building. "I go to them for visits. They don't even know where I live, and though I know that's not easy for them, I've assured them that because of my work with the Ministry, it's simply safer for them. Even in the magical world, Harry and exes who were with me for substantial periods of time are the only ones who know where I live—so, it's, like, literally two or three other people who've set foot in my home aside from you."

He nodded, glancing about, at a loss for what to say next.

Hermione couldn't say she blamed him for feeling out of sorts; Bucky looked very out of place in his military gear, with his guns and glaring silver arm, standing in her mundane living room. Well, that and she'd probably just furnished him with a bit more information than he was expecting.

An idea struck her, then. "Oh!"

Starting at her sudden shout, he pinned her with a wide-eyed look.

Unable to help a laugh at his response, she thought they should both be grateful he hadn't reflexively drawn a weapon upon being so startled. "Sorry, I just . . . I thought you should perhaps go take a shower? I think it's fair to say you've had an unusual afternoon by either of our normal standards, freshening up a bit might help you to unwind. Maybe that might assist in you remembering something beyond your own name. While you're doing that, I'll fix us something to eat and peruse my bookcases for things that might help jog your memory."

His brows pinched together and his lower lip poked out a bit in a thoughtful expression. "Like magic spells?"

A smirk curved her mouth, she'd keep it to herself that the expression he wore was strangely adorable. Gruff, military experiment soldier-types weren't supposed to be adorable. "Or encyclopedias. We can see what world events you remember and work our way up from there."

"Right." He nodded, grinning sheepishly—but hey, who wouldn't be curious about all this magic stuff? Looking around, he opted to set his weapons on the mantle alongside her wand. "These will be safe here, right? You're not going to be tempted to play with them?"

"Absolutely not." At the way he blinked a few times over how sure she sounded, Hermione laughed. "Why? Would you be tempted to try my wand if I wasn't in the room?"

"Well, yeah."

Stifling any further laughter at the mental picture of him attempting to make her wand work—oh, the very thought of him getting that disgruntled look as he waved it this way and that, trying to figure out how to get it to cast a spell was too much—she shooed him in the direction of the bathroom door. "Go, already!"

Holding up his hands in a sign of surrender, he turned on his heel and did as he was told.

While Hermione opted for the simplicity of heating up a frozen pizza—normally that would be dinner for her for two or three nights, depending on how hungry she was, but she imagined the entire thing would be gone in one sitting on this particular evening—she got a hold of any books on her shelves that pertained to world history, and even what recent newspapers she had ,and set them out on the coffee table. And, well, she might've grabbed a book or two on magic to show Bucky. He was just so enthralled with her world, she couldn't help that she found his fascination endearing.

But then, he really didn't know his own world, either. Not at the moment. She sighed, shaking her head as she stared down at the collection of reading material she'd laid out. He didn't seem the type to be afraid of things, but she wondered if he was scared right now. Who wouldn't be to not recall anything about themselves?

"What the hell—?!"

At Bucky's startled half-shout from the bathroom, Hermione was moving. She didn't even think before throwing open the door. "What?"

There the poor man stood, helplessly holding out his hand to fend off a spray of shaving cream from the dispenser in her tub. Bucky looked back at her over his shoulder, wincing. "Whatever it is, I think I broke it."

"Oh, no, the button just gets stuck, sometimes," she said as she slipped around him to check the device. Just as she reached into the tub, the spray died down to a fizzle and sputtered out. "And now I'm out of shave gel."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what it was, I was staring at it the whole time. When I got out, I just—"

"Thought it wouldn't hurt to see what the button did?"

Wincing once more, Bucky shrugged as he nodded.

"It's fine, just have a bit of a mess to clean up now." Hermione sighed, looking at the flood of white foam everywhere, even on the bundle of black fabric he'd left on the floor. Which led her gaze in his direction and up . . . along his bare leg, over the towel he held around his hips with one hand, and up the lean, muscled lines of his torso and chest. His extended right arm that had been warding off the spray had taken the brunt of it.

"Oh, dear," she managed, feeling her skin flush at the sight of him. She'd been in such a hurry to stop the wonky dispenser before all of the product had been wasted—fat lot of good that had done her—that she'd not noticed his state of undress until after the commotion was over.

He was naked save for that towel and his skin and hair were still damp from the shower. She became very aware of the way his breathing slowed. Very aware of the uncertain look in his eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Um, it . . . it looks like you got some got on your clothes, too." Hermione didn't know how, but she forced herself to backpedal, putting distance between them. "I'll see if I can find you anything that might fit. Just don't press any more buttons on anything."

Once more, Bucky nodded, watching her as she turned toward the door. He'd clean this mess up, himself, once he was dressed. It was the least he could do, he'd decided.

She halted as she reached the threshold, unable to stop herself from asking, "Does it hurt?"

He frowned at her question. "Does what hurt?"

Hermione turned her head a little, but didn't actually look back at him. "Your left shoulder. The skin where it meets the metal looks burnt . . . scarred. I was wondering if it hurts. I know burns have a pain that comes and goes for years after the injury occurred, and you can feel that arm, so I was just wondering."

"Oh." His frame slumped a little and he turned his attention to the mirror. He examined the marks on his reflection with his gaze. "I . . . I didn't even notice."

He sounded lost. Broken. She wanted to kick herself for pointing it out, but how could she realize?

Turning around to face him, she grabbed a hand towel from the shelf by the door and crossed back to stand before him. Her gaze searching his, she gently wiped the foam from his skin.

"Whatever it is, whatever happened to you, wherever you should be," she said, a gentle, sympathetic smile curving her lips, "we'll figure it out."

Again, that adorable, almost puppy-eyed look of thoughtfulness tugged at his features. "Thank you."

Hermione nodded, taking care to keep her touch delicate whenever she brushed the scarred skin around his metal shoulder. He looked scared just now, and she had a strange awareness that this was what frightened him most of all.

Not his memory loss, not being surrounded by things he didn't understand. But this. Someone being gentle with him. Unable to hold his gaze as her heart broke a bit with that notion, she lowered her attention to her hand moving over his skin.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, soft, as he rested his hand over hers, stopping her movements. "You look like you're crying."

"No, I'm not." Oh, she was a terrible liar. And it certainly didn't help that despite her cheeks being dry, her voice was thick with tears.

"Bullshit."

She sputtered out a laugh, sniffling as she finally brought her gaze back to his. "You caught me. I'm sorry, I just . . . I'm starting to think maybe I'm a terrible person."

His brows shot up. "What?"

"Well, I just said I'd help you get back to your life, but I might've been lying. I have this feeling that you'd be better off if you didn't go back, and I don't know if it's because that's how I really feel, or if I'm talking myself into believing that for selfish reasons."

"You don't know me. I don't know me." He snickered mirthlessly as he shook his head. "Hell, you literally found me lurking around the woods armed to the teeth. You've been treating me like I'm a 'good guy,' but what if I'm not?"

"I suppose you're right." Even as she agreed, though, she couldn't help but feel that wasn't true. "But I just have this sense that whatever you are, wherever you came from, you don't deserve the life you're in."

He found his gaze dropping to trace over her lips in spite of himself. "If it helps, you never said you'd help me get back to where I came from."

Hermione's brow furrowed. As aware as she was of his attention shifting, she couldn't help questioning it. "Didn't I?"

"You said you'd help me get to wherever I should be."

"Oh." She nodded, rather suddenly cognizant of how close they stood, of his fingers still over hers and the mere fact that he was only clad in that towel.

After a few silent heartbeats—could she have understood that distinction perfectly when she'd first said it and simply not actually realized what she was saying?—his nostrils flared and he tore his gaze from hers to look around. "Is something burning?"

She gasped, immediately extracting her hand from his and stumbling toward the bathroom door. "Oh, my God! I forgot about the pizza!"

Bucky shook his head as he watched the frazzled witch disappear from the room. His words to her weren't just cautionary for her sake, but for his own, too.

What if he wasn't a good guy?