Several times. Raju grimaces when Fitzjames says it, sympathetically. The flames in the fireplace, the ones set apart from the real fire that his focus on the thing is keeping there, are starting to dim; as hot as his temper still burns thinking about that day, he's used to thinking about it, and the combination of Fitzjames' determination to protect Francis even if the rest of them won't and speaking of... well, of relatively normal things, it's soothing.

Then Fitzjames goes on, and Raju's grimace turns into an unhappy one. As he sits in the other armchair he looks around himself, as if he hasn't looked on the place a million times before this one. He's looking over the rocks, the leaves, remembering the way he'd covered up every token Francis ever brought home for him, unthinking. He remembers the smell of pine and alcohol. He takes a drink for something else to focus on.

"Then count yourself lucky. For that, anyway. It... That creature can take our memories, too. I don't know how. There must be rules to it, or he would have done it before now. Emotions, memories, it's how he attacks us, so far. But it's never permanent, or at least it hasn't been yet. It always seems to fade, particularly with a reminder."

He sighs. Difficult to feel too triumphant about that fact, considering the destruction it'd managed to wreck before then. "What have you heard? I haven't spoken to anyone else about it. Outside Francis." Raju gives him a brief, unhappy grin. "Not much contact with the good people of Milton, these days."