Note: Thank you guys so much for your lovely comments (here and on AO3)! I was very thrilled to read them, to the point where I actually experienced a spot of performance anxiety, haha. I kept thinking things like, I have no business writing James! Writing James is hard! Why did I ever think it was a good idea to put six people and a cat in the same kitchen? Blimey, did these characters always veer off-topic so quickly and thoroughly? (Wand jokes, I am looking at you!) And just because they all live in their own version of reality, do they have to act like such idiots? But, you know, they're Marauders, they don't need an excuse.
Well, here is the (long-winded) result of me clubbing down my self-doubts. Your feedback is, as always, very appreciated!
(The river crossing problem James is referencing is a real thing by the way, though I am not sure if it's widely known across the planet.)
The Age of Lies 3/4
Regulus, December 1979
The pain has been with him for so long now that he doesn't notice the Summon until he does. But the Mark is burning, and doesn't that lend a note of urgency to this entire idiotic situation: Regulus Black, heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, recently defected Death Eater, standing barefoot in his childhood bedroom, clutching a locket. Whatever he decides to do, he ought to decide fast.
Fortunately, the choice is simple.
The Order won't have him. With what he's done – and the entire gravity of it is permanently etched in his brain, the Dark Lord's own nightmare potion has seen to that – it's either a lifetime in Azkaban, or – well, no life at all.
He wonders what that's like, having no soul left to suffer.
Maybe the locket can save him, maybe a splintered piece of the Dark Lord's soul will weigh up his sins, tip the scales in his favour, but he has a feeling a confrontation with the Order will end with him being Stunned well before he can launch into a long-winded lecture on Horcruxes.
The Death Eaters, on the other hand, are looking for him, and he'd better have a damn good explanation ready for why's he's been gone for three days, for why his arm is cut up like a sacrificial lamb, and – a slight uptick in the pain reminds him - why he's ignoring the Summon right now.
The choice is simple. Regulus wishes it weren't.
"Kreacher," he says into the silence, and the house-elf appears by his side.
"Yes, Master Regulus," says Kreacher.
"I'm pretty much fucked," Regulus informs him.
Kreacher is silent for a moment. Then he says, "The Mistress would appreciate if Master Regulus watched his language, Kreacher is sure."
"I'm pretty much fucked and it's your fault," says Regulus. "I gave you clear orders."
Large innocent eyes regard him. "Kreacher apologises from the depths of his heart for saving Master Regulus from the Inferi."
"…You're very pleased with yourself, aren't you, Kreacher," says Regulus.
The house-elf gives a twitch that might be a shrug, if such an undignified gesture were part of his repertoire. "Mistress gave Kreacher clear orders, too. To watch after Master Regulus always."
Ah, thinks Regulus. "When?"
The lengthy pause that follows is almost incompatible with the centuries old house-elf code. "In 1971, Master," says Kreacher finally.
"So, in other words, when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor?"
"Around that time, yes, Master."
Of course, Kreacher has always been king of loopholes, Regulus thinks. He should have bloody known.
"Kreacher?" says Regulus.
The house-elf bows his head. "Yes, Master?"
The mutilated Mark burns like a bonfire. "I'll have my usual breakfast," he says.
He's absolutely stalling, of course. But this is just fifteen minutes. Just one more thing to lie about, and at least – he thinks with a new-found rebelliousness that is not much older than three days - he won't have to face the Dark Lord before he's had his coffee.
Because the choice really is that simple. He has to go back if he wants to survive. He has to go back, or they will find him, and they will do away with him, and the Dark Lord will be truly immortal. He has to go back and lie, lie, lie.
He has to go back. His mind repeats it like a mantra. In fact, his mind is the opposite of empty, and even after the day he's regrettably had, Regulus is still surprised how this sort of turmoil can just sneak up on him. He usually has better control than this.
Perhaps best to cram in some last-minute Occlumency over his soft-boiled egg.
Just before he empties his mind of all emotion, stirring a scalding cup of coffee, Regulus realises this is how Sirius must have felt half the time. He, too, could turn simple acts of existence into defiance, flying high on adrenaline, because, he'd tell you with a smirk, what's the worst that could happen?
Regulus has an idea now.
The Dark Lord's Summon grows stronger. Regulus cracks his egg with a spoon. Who's a Gryffindor now?
James, January 1981
James is the first to admit he is not always in tune with his own emotions, but even he notices, somewhere in the more observant regions of his brain, that this is probably an emotional moment.
Panic is an emotion, right?
Even under the best of circumstances, the minute or so post-Apparition is not particularly conductive to critical thinking. These are not the best of circumstances. James has literally just arrived home, Padfoot and Moony in tow, and the kitchen has somehow gained one (1) Death Eater while he was away, and he is not prepared for this.
James is by his wife in a heartbeat and she looks at him like he's the one having histrionics, but Sirius definitely has him beaten on that front because he actually jumps over a chair to slam their visitor against the wall, Lily shouts, "He's unarmed!", Remus moves inconspicuously into the only line of escape and where does he have that from, everyone has their wands raised and the air crackles with potential magic –
- and then the entire thing just freezes, as if everyone's frontal cortex has called for a time-out at the same time. Seems like even Sirius is not completely stuck in trigger-happy Sixth Year anymore.
"Pardon?" says Sirius after a moment, like he has to physically dislodge the beam of his considerable attention from the man he's restraining.
"I said he's unarmed," says Lily, underlining her words by waggling a second wand in her hand. "Would it kill you not to overreact for once in your life, Sirius Black?"
Sirius looks like he is considering the question from all sides. "If anything, I'm underreacting," he says finally, and while that's decidedly not his usual modus operandi, James can't entirely disagree: If there is ever an appropriate reaction to seeing your dead Death Eater brother in your best friend's kitchen, Sirius's is probably not too far off the mark.
Then James's own brain finally catches up with him. "Stop, stop, stop!" he hears himself shout. "Priorities! Before we all have kittens over the Death Eater in our kitchen, where the fuck is Harry?"
"Safe," says Lily. "I put him to bed half an hour ago, before Mr Volé-de-mort here sauntered in."
James doesn't have the patience for clever French right now, even if it's from his beloved wife. "Safe?" he says. "What if he brought friends? What if he –"
"The wards are holding, they'll alert us with plenty of time to spare," says Lily. "What was I supposed to do, kill him on sight?"
James fights down an impulse to throw up his hands. "If the wards are up, what's he even doing in here? Shouldn't he be outside in the bear pit?"
Lily gives him a look that says, It's not a bear pit, it's an extremely sophisticated high-density magical current sink.
Out loud she says, "Well, excuse me, he bloody looked like Sirius from afar," – at this, Sirius huffs audibly, "and he got the security question right. Once he was inside, I thought it best to keep him here. You know, where I can see him."
There's a certain amount of logic in there, James has to concede.
In any case, the rant seems to have piqued Sirius's interest. "What did you ask him, Lily?" he says.
"Is that really bloody important right now –" Lily starts.
"It probably is," says James. "We need to refine our security questions, Moody always says they're not targeted enough -"
"Right now?" repeats Lily.
James doesn't want to sound petty, but he has to point it out. "You did just let in a Death Eater, babe."
"All right, all right," says Lily with an eye-roll that, incidentally, tells him all about how her day with a sniffling baby went.
"I asked him the size of Sirius's wand," she says. "What? That thing is ridiculous, it's not like anyone's going to offer fourteen bloody inches as a guess…"
"Let me get this straight," says James. "You saw a dark figure at the other end of the lawn, and your first instinct was to shout, 'Hey Sirius, what size is your wand?'?"
Sirius is still looking murderous, but from the slight twitching in his shoulders, James can tell his best friend is also cracking up inside. He can be a bit of an emotional multitasker at times.
"Better than some of your questions," Lily shoots back. "At least I only asked for the size of his wand, I didn't ask how many times in a row he could polish it –"
"Let's just return to the topic at hand, shall we," says Remus levelly. "I think we're confusing the Death Eater."
At the sound of his voice, Sirius stills, like he's forgotten Remus is there. He turns to catch James's eyes.
In seven years of Hogwarts, James has heard an imaginative variety of rumours about himself and his best friend, only a subset of which even Sirius dared repeating in his Best Man's speech. One of those is that they can read each other's minds, and it's clearly bollocks.
What they can read is each other's expressions and tones and moods. Right now it looks like Sirius is thinking about a million things per second. But the underlying question is crystal-clear to James, who, much to his annoyance, has been forced to Sirius's spy-related moaning for the past week. Do we really need a potential Death Eater and a potential spy in the same kitchen?
But just because he's in tune with his best friend doesn't mean he has to agree. Tough luck, you paranoiac, it's my kitchen, thinks James, and hopes it comes across somewhere on his face. He has more pressing issues to fret about. "Death Eaters are not supposed to just saunter in, Lily," he says. "He's not even supposed to -"
"Know where you live?" says the young man still in Sirius's hold. He doesn't look like he's been doing any sauntering lately, not when words like running, fleeing, or skittering present themselves. There's a hunted look in his eyes that reminds him of no-one more than Peter, he's paler than Sirius after a Christmas with his family, and he holds himself the same way Remus does after the moon. Like he got used to pain a long time ago.
"Only the Order knows," says James.
The visitor snorts. "Consider it an open secret," he says.
"See, James, I told you –" begins Sirius, as if they hadn't literally just had that argument.
"No time for that," says Remus, who James is almost entirely sure is not the spy but privately thinks could try harder not to give that impression. "How can we know it's Regulus?"
"Does it matter?" exclaims Sirius. "Either way, he's a Death Eater. Let's just alert the Aurors, get this over with."
"I am an Auror, you twat –" James starts.
"Auror-in-training," Sirius points out. "Who dropped out –"
"Enough!" shouts Lily. "Sirius, you know I love you like a delinquent cousin, but I'm going to have to exclude you from the decision making process for a moment."
She crosses her arms. "Now listen, my favourite idiots," she says. "I checked this man for concealments and glamour charms, and cast a Finite just in case. If it's Polyjuice, it'll wear off in –" she checks her watch – "twenty-five minutes at the latest, because I've watched him like a literal hawk since he got here. And if I may just point out that, if the goal is to gain our trust, Polyjuicing into Regulus is a bit of an odd choice."
"Legilimency?" suggests James.
"Don't bother," says Lily. "Occlumency like a brick wall."
"Ask him something only Regulus would know, Padfoot," says James, going for the blunter instruments in their repertoire.
"Sure," says Sirius. "Soon as I have thought of a secret Regulus would have kept from his Death Eaters pals."
Regulus has been looking around the room almost bored, but now that expression is wiped from his face. "I never betrayed our family's secrets –"
"Not too proud of them, are we?" Sirius snaps back. He's still crowding the man who looks like his brother, pinning him to the wall with his left hand. He stretches out his right towards Lily.
"His wand, Lily," Sirius adds, and Lily passes it over.
Even the wand looks posh, thinks James. A dark reddish brown, likely rosewood or mahogany, polished and gleaming. James isn't one for wand-based personality assessment – that's something he associates with seventh-year Hufflepuffs and Witch Weekly articles – but this one has a straight, fairly inflexible look. Nothing like the crooked twigs the Death Eaters are usually wielding.
Sirius weighs it in his hand. "This is my brother's wand," he says thoughtfully. "Where'd you get it?"
"Ollivander's, of course," says Regulus. "I was seven. You were there, and you laughed for three weeks because yours was bigger."
"Oh, for the love of –" starts James.
"Wait a minute," says Lily. "That is so illegal. Why would Ollivander sell a wand to someone that blatantly underage?"
"Welcome to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, where the law doesn't count and the rules are made up," says Sirius distractedly. "Of course," he looks up from the wand, "it would normally be buried with its owner."
"And if the owner had ever been buried," says Regulus, "I expect it would."
"I got a letter. From Mother," says Sirius with narrowed eyes. "Are you saying she just stuck his head with the rest of the house-elves?"
The Regulus James used to know – well, used to barely know – would have gone off at this provocation. This one doesn't. "Mother gets confused sometimes," says Regulus.
There's a thin smile on Sirius's face. "Very good," he says. "If there's one thing I could believe, it's the old Black insanity finally catching up with Mother. So, who are you, then?"
James can't tell if Sirius is struck by inspiration, or just struck altogether. Sirius's hand, the one holding the borrowed wand, twitches almost imperceptibly to cast a silent Expecto Patronum, and James is wondering for a moment what memory he is pulling up for that.
(Sirius usually claims it's the memory of the letter notifying him of his father's death. It seems so wildly inappropriate it just might be true.)
The borrowed wand works perfectly for Sirius: The silvery dog is fully corporeal - not the silvery mist from when they started learning the spell, not the overexcited puppy from when Sirius first mastered it, but the spitting image of his Animagus form. The dog sniffs out both of them, before happily sitting down at Regulus's feet, wagging its tail.
He feels his wife bopping him excitedly, and James tries to catch Remus's eyes, because Remus is their Defence expert and James wants to know if this means something. But Remus is merely watching the pair, his expression stony, and James remembers that Moony is probably still cross with everyone for thinking he's a traitor.
If James weren't convinced he'd make everything worse by pointing out it's just Sirius who thinks that, he probably would.
He can't catch Sirius's eyes, either. His best friend looks pensive, though. His grip on the other man relaxes somewhat.
"Let me see?" Sirius says.
Regulus hesitates for a long moment, then offers up his left arm. Very slowly, as if turning over a dead animal, Sirius reaches for it, and draws up the sleeve. Regulus lets him.
James cranes his head, not even trying to hide his curiosity. He has seen the Dark Mark before, but only from afar. Those who have seen it up close say it looks painful, and slippery, and moving, with a mind of its own. And it does.
But James hasn't expected it to look so… mutilated. The Mark has been almost hacked into pieces, deep, angry slashes dividing splotches of ink. The cuts look old. But they're not healed. Not in the slightest. And worse, they look real, in the bodily, painful sense of the word. The tattooed snake wreathes and wriggles in the tight spaces between the cuts, the way James is fairly sure it wouldn't if this were just a glamour or illusion.
Sirius whistles through his teeth. "What, in the name of Voldemort's mouldy underpants, is that?" he says.
Regulus closes his eyes for a moment, exasperated. "What does it look like?" he says. "It's a blood sacrifice, moron."
"Listen, you little shit –" begins Sirius.
"Guys, calm down," says someone, and James is startled when he realises it's him. Damn it, being a dad is really getting to him. Five months and he already has the voice down.
Both brothers catch themselves in the middle of a blossoming quarrel they have slipped into easily, like time hasn't passed at all, and now they look up as if they're half-expecting their parents to step into the room.
And hasn't that always brought them closer together.
"Hello, brother," says Sirius softly. "I thought you were dead." He lets go of Regulus, who continues to lean against the wall, betraying some unnameable exhaustion.
"Hello," says Regulus. "I thought I was, too."
James had been wrong: Now it's an emotional moment.
Conflict is an emotion, right?
"What happened?" says Sirius. "With… that?" He gestures towards Regulus's arm.
Regulus is carefully weighing his words before dispensing them. "The Dark Lord made a door, and he demanded a blood sacrifice to pass through," he says. "He got it."
"I can see that," says Sirius. "Did you have to sacrifice it quite so… enthusiastically?" He sounds worried, which is, naturally, a tone his brother would reject.
Regulus shrugs. "It used to be worse," he says. "Cousin Bellatrix healed it. Well. Healed it a bit. She does get distracted."
"Cousin Bella –" starts Sirius. Conflict doesn't even begin to describe what James is reading in his face right now. "Bloody hell, what did you even tell them?" he says, flailing slightly. "Like, how did that happen? I bet they asked what happened. I would. If I were the type of megalomaniac who had his mark tattooed on his followers."
"Oh, I blamed you, of course," says Regulus lightly. "You lot held me for three days until I faked my death and fled."
Sirius closes his eyes. "Of course you did," he says. "And here I was wondering why Voldemort hated us so."
"I was a little pressed for time, and you know how the Dark Lord can be," says Regulus, shrugging. "I wasn't going to tell him the truth, was I?"
"Truth," says Sirius, like he's handling a strange artefact that no-one has seen in a long time. "Are you going to tell me?"
Regulus sighs. "Depends," he says, and looks his brother straight in the eye. "Will you listen?"
Sirius doesn't say anything for a long while. His Patronus, unnoticed by both of them, is fading, reminding James of nothing so much as the Cheshire Cat. The last thing to go is the wagging tail.
"Yes," says someone else. It is, surprisingly, Remus, who has kept well out of the conversation for a long time. "Yes, he'll bloody well listen. And you – you'll bloody well talk. You two have been given the second chance of a lifetime, so try not to fuck this one up, too."
Sirius looks over at Remus, as if to protest, but recoils. Remus has drawn himself up to his full height, all six feet two of him and that's if one doesn't count his hair, and frankly, James has to count his hair, the way it's all still sticking up because all in all, a very short time has passed since Remus emerged angrily from his bathroom towelling it to some semblance of dry, and right now Remus just conveys a strong impression of Don't you think I'm done with you. Frankly, he looks like he did the morning after The Prank, and knowing him, it's probably on purpose.
James is ninety-nine per cent sure Remus is not the spy, and it's good enough for him. But he knows Sirius, and his best friend will never accept anything less than a hundred. It's how he's wired, somewhere deep in his brain: All or nothing, black or white. James has spent a week listening to this, and he doesn't know if it's just Sirius's own brand of megalomania, or if it's a very special kind of self-hatred. But Sirius thinks it's The Prank that somehow set all this in motion. In some ways, James has to agree. The Prank has rocked them, reset them. In a way, it has made them stronger. Even little Peter has lost most of his softness in the aftermath.
After a lot of deliberation within this very short time frame, Sirius turns back to his brother.
"You defected, then?" he says conversationally.
"Bit slow on the uptake, are we?" says Regulus. "I defected a year ago."
"Huh," says Sirius. "Could have called."
Regulus shrugs. "Busy."
There's a very long pause. Then Sirius slumps against the wall, next to his brother, but at a safe distance. "I wish I could believe you," he says to no-one in particular. "I wish I could believe any of this."
"Well, if you'd let me get in a word before succumbing to group paranoia," says Regulus, "I believe I can help with that."
"Paranoia -?" says Sirius. His voice sounds light, but the too long pause betrays him. "Do you have any idea what the Death Eaters have done to us?"
"Yes," says Regulus simply. "But that's nothing – nothing – compared to what they haven't done yet."
He moves to get something out of his coat pocket, but his hand freezes midway when four wands are pointed at him. He raises his hands in surrender.
"Let me," says Sirius, and reaches over into Regulus's pocket like he's sticking his hand into a cage full of wild doxies: With a little bit too much enthusiasm. He pulls out a small vial, containing a colourless fluid.
Oh, really? Call him jaded, but in James's experience, perfect solutions to all their problems don't just present themselves.
"Is that –" says Sirius, with about the same amount of conviction.
"Yes," says Regulus.
"I'm assuming the Death Eaters left their own supply stream intact?" says Sirius.
"…You're not exactly fighting amateurs here, Sirius," says Regulus.
"Yeah, let us be the judge of that. Lily," says Sirius, handing the vial to her. "You're the Potions expert. Can you confirm this is Veritaserum?"
Lily holds the vial in her hands in that reverend way she holds very few things. Harry is one of them. "Twenty minutes in the lab," says Lily. "James, you'll have to entertain in the meantime."
"Sure," says James. "I'll make tea, shall I."
Brilliant, he thinks. Half his guests are already paranoid of being poisoned by the other half. Perfect time for a cuppa. Since the only alternative seems to be standing around in uncomfortable silence with the rest of the morons, he gets a brew on anyway. Damn, this kitchen is crowded, he thinks as he politely steps around Regulus Black for the third time.
And then they all wait around a pot of tea that no-one wants to drink. Bloody figures.
The general air of awkwardness is made even worse by the fact that Sirius is trying to catch his eyes, like he wants to talk to James in private but can't.
The whole situation reminds James of a logic puzzle he heard once, something about a wizard who wanted to cross a river with his goat and lettuce and baby Hungarian Horntail and sentient hat and bag of magic beans, and the goat was going to eat the lettuce if left alone with it, and the dragon was going to conspire with the hat to eat the wizard, and the boat was only big enough for one and a half people and the wizard wasn't allowed to Splinch himself. Something like that.
So, James ponders. Sirius doesn't want to leave Remus and Regulus alone in a room, whether to team up or to assassinate each other. Remus, of course, looks like he belongs in a bed with a hot water bottle and a mountain of chocolate, but Sirius will likely get the vapours if James lets Remus out of their sight now. James, on the other hand, wants nothing more than to lock Remus and Sirius in the bathroom until they've found a way to put everyone else out of their misery, but isn't too wild about spending time alone with Sirius's slightly unhinged brother. And Lily, of course, is busy doing actual magic, and would probably flip him off if he asked her to play babysitter while he and Sirius had a much-needed chat. They'll just have to keep everyone in their overcrowded kitchen.
"This is bullshit," says Sirius at some point. "Veritaserum can be fooled. You can lie with technicalities. You can lie if you don't know better -"
"Someone listened to Mother's lessons," says Regulus with a slight smile. "I should probably know better than to quote her at you, but it's all a matter of - "
"Asking the right questions. I know."
"I'm so telling her you listened," says Regulus.
"Chucking you into Azkaban is an option I haven't discarded yet, you know," says Sirius.
If there has been levity for a moment, it is gone in an instant. "I understand," says Regulus quietly.
James knows his best friend enough to know that this is exactly the sort of silence he cannot stand: The silence after a joke gone wrong. That's why he fills it.
"What do you have to offer, then?" Sirius says. "I know you were not just going to appeal to our debatable brotherly bond, were you? You've got something you think we want, in exchange for your life."
"No, not my life," says Regulus almost tonelessly. "Not my life, my reputation, or liberty. All I wish for is to see him brought down."
"Why?" says Sirius.
Regulus makes a gesture that conveys exactly nothing, except how overwhelmingly out of scope the answer to this question is. "Because he needs to be brought down," he says simply. "And I know how."
At that, there is silence.
Then Sirius snorts. "So do we," he says. "A well-aimed curse –"
"No, I mean it," says Regulus. "He's taken… precautions."
"Against capture? Don't we all?"
"Against dying," says Regulus, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Well, against staying dead," he clarifies, as if that, well, clarifies anything. "I'm the only one who knows how to get past them."
Sirius stares at him for a long moment. Then he throws his head back and laughs.
"You're pretty much fucked, aren't you?" he says, when he finally catches his breath.
Regulus's expression sours. "Tell me about it."
By and large, James and Sirius find the same things funny, which is why it's so unusual that Sirius is laughing at his brother's revelation while James is feeling the blood drain from his face.
He suddenly, acutely remembers what happened the last time someone promised Voldemort's demise, and what Voldemort made of it. The fallout is all around him. The secrecy, the wards, the paranoia. That bloody prophecy, he thinks. Beware of those who may listen. Maybe Sirius is too paranoid. Maybe he, James, is not paranoid enough.
And he hates himself for it. But he loves his family more.
With a polite noise, he pushes past Remus to check on his son in the next room. Harry is, unbelievably, still asleep, tiny fists balled up next to his face, snorkelling around one of those inevitable baby colds. How he managed to get ill, when he's barely seen the outside world in his five months on this earth… Above the crib, winter lights are spinning slowly, glowing stars and moons and snowflakes chasing each other across the ceiling.
Lily is absolutely going to hex him if he picks up the baby and wakes him, and he's fighting the impulse hard. At not quite twenty-one, James feels entirely too young to be a cynic, and parts of him – the non-cynical parts – want to hold Harry close, tell him it might all be over soon, that maybe, just maybe – if all their lucky stars have aligned and Regulus is telling the truth, if they can navigate their way around spies and Voldemort's cleverness and their eternal bloody misfortune – it'll all be over soon, maybe they won't have to celebrate next Christmas in hiding, maybe Harry can grow up a normal kid without this huge, festering shadow over his life and the life of everyone who loves him. A kid who will never have to fulfil some bloody prophecy. A kid who will never have to doubt his friends. A kid who will just live.
Maybe.
Given their luck with this sort of thing, James wouldn't hold out too much hope.
When he leaves Harry's room, something is streaking past his leg. James has his wand drawn with all the reflexes Alastor Moody has drilled into him in two years of Auror training, before realising he's almost Stunned the bloody cat. She gives him an affronted meow before leading the way to the kitchen.
All right. Maybe he is being too paranoid, after all. Feeling entirely off-balance, James re-enters the kitchen. The first thing he does is catch Sirius's eyes, and what he sees surprises him.
A wink.
He's seen that fucking wink countless times. It's the wink that says, Don't worry, I have a plan. Historically it has been the sort of plan that involves six lies, one technicality, one illegal potion, a deus-ex-machina, and a detour round the castle. Also, historically, it has usually ended in detention. But Sirius's plans have become consistently better since Hogwarts, if not any less convoluted.
James draws a deep breath and gives himself an emphatic reminder that he trusts this man with his life. Then he nods slowly. Shoot him now, but he's going along with this new madness.
At this moment, the cellar door swings open, revealing Lily, who looks sooty and a little sweaty and quite pleased with herself. "It's Veritaserum!" she announces.
"What, in the name of rationality, is that?" says Regulus.
James looks at the orange furball at his feet. "That? Oh, that's Minnie." He thinks for a moment, then clarifies: "She's a cat."
"Are you sure?"
"She's half-kneazle, that's why she's so big," Sirius – who James knows hates the cat with all his might, but fair's fair, the cat hates him, too - informs him happily. "Sorry, we know mutts offend you."
Regulus ignores him. "And you called her Minnie?"
"We thought it was funny at the time," James says defensively.
"What's it to you?" says Sirius. "You had a pet slug once."
"Yes, but I didn't name it Horace!"
"No," says Sirius. "I recall you named it Snuffles –"
A sharp, ear-splitting sound cuts them off. It turns out to be James' lovely, gentle wife and a two-finger whistle. "Did anyone hear what I just said?" says Lily, when she has everyone's attention. "It's Veritaserum. Highly concentrated, too. Three drops will give us an hour's worth of truth. There's enough for a second dose, too, if we really want to go to town."
She looks around. "I say 'we'," she says. "I guess, under the circumstances –"
"I'll do the honours," says Sirius. From the cabinet, he gets his favourite mug, because of course Sirius Black has a favourite mug in the Potter household, the one with the dancing Labradors on it. He fills it with tea from the pot James made, adds a splash of milk and two sugars, then counts out three drops from the vial.
"Drink up, brother," he says. Regulus does as he says without hesitation, and Sirius offers him a seat at the kitchen table, sitting down opposite to him.
Then Sirius thinks for about ten seconds longer than James has ever seen him think about anything, ever, before he starts talking. "Everything you said," he says eventually, "since you entered this house – is it true?"
"No," says Regulus.
A grown goes through the audience – and yes, three is probably an audience, thinks James. Even if they're a goat and a lettuce and a rebellious hat. James likes to think he's the wizard in this puzzle.
"Well then," says Sirius. "Which bits aren't true?"
"I don't think you're a moron," says Regulus. "I think you're horribly naïve, that you have entirely too much faith in so-called friendship and too little in family, and you're emotionally immature, but a moron -?"
"Gee, thanks, you misguided Slytherin wanker," says Sirius. "Anything else you lied about?"
Regulus shakes his head, looking entirely too comfortable.
"Too easy," mutters Sirius. "Need to test this…" A valuable minute passes while Sirius thinks, obliterating the record he just set.
Then he leans forward and asks a second question.
"Of all the things you did while in Voldemort's service," he says, "which do you regret the most?"
Regulus almost jumps out of his chair. His hand flies to his mouth, and he bites, hard. They can only see his eyes, but he looks like a man who's not sure whether to yell or cry. A whimper escapes through his fingers.
"Holy shit," says James, watching in horror as blood dribble down that hand. Fuck him, but his best friend is a bit of a bastard.
Still, James goes along with what he can only assume is Sirius's plan. "Maybe you two should be doing this alone," he suggests.
"Good idea," says Sirius. "You lot – out!", and they scramble out of the kitchen, Remus and Lily and James, watching Sirius through the kitchen window as he holds his brother, gently prying his bloodied hand from his mouth. All they can hear from here is a soft murmur.
"So when he said he wanted to test the Veritaserum…" says James faintly.
"Quite clever, actually," says Lily. "I'm surprised he even came up with it."
"Bit cruel, isn't it?" says James.
"Regulus is a Death Eater," Lily reminds him. She watches them through the kitchen window. "Anyway," she says conversationally. "It's hard to fake pain. Easier to fake anger. Isn't it, Remus?"
Sometimes it still surprises James how perceptive his wife is. She, too, has spent the last five months confined to various safe houses, constantly in some sort of vague, far-away danger, going various shades of bonkers from the combined effects of boredom and threat. Of course, they all have some sort of cabin fever – Sirius with his paranoia, James with his Harry-related anxiety – but Lily picks up on entirely different aspects of whatever is going on here.
Remus takes a deep breath. "It's a test, all right," he says.
James is painfully reminded why Remus is their friend – because he's clever, because he picks up on moods and undercurrents. Because he can smell a terrible plan a mile away. Without Moony, the Marauders might just have been a trio of bumbling pranksters. Wait, no, of course not. A duo. He doubts Peter would have put up with just James and Sirius for any appreciable amount of time.
Right now, his second-oldest friend regards him with a look that says, quite clearly and in poncy Latin, Et tu, Brute?
What James would like to reply is, Don't look at me, I'm just trying to optimise the river crossing problem!, but that is beyond even his expressive abilities.
"How do you mean, Remus?" says Lily.
At this, Remus manages a tired smile. "The spy would not be content to wait in the hall while Regulus is spilling the beans on how to bring Voldemort down, would he?"
"Sirius doesn't think – you?" says Lily, blinking. "With all the dodgy characters we have in the Order –"
"Hate to break it to you," says Remus, not without humour, "but I am one of the dodgy characters in the Order."
Lily laughs grimly. "Yeah," she says. "But you know what I mean."
"Makes sense, though," says Remus. "Like Sirius is content to be betrayed by a random weirdo Dumbledore grabbed off the street. Lacks grandeur, doesn't it?"
"Want me to go shout at him?" says Lily.
"To what point?" says Remus. "You know how Sirius is with ideas. He doesn't let go of one until he himself has crashed it to the ground. Let it crash. Do our work in the meantime. This is more important."
Lily is very silent for a while. Then she says, "You know, we find ourselves in the unique situation where we actually have a solution to this," she says.
"Yes," says Remus. "And I am quite sure Sirius will try and dose me with Veritaserum by the end of the night. If he ever works up his nerve to a confrontation."
"At which point you'll tell him to go fuck himself, right?" says Lily.
"I daresay the point has been made," says Remus.
"Oh, how I long for simpler times," says Lily, with a sigh of resignation. "Ten points off Gryffindor."
Then her attention zones in on her husband. "James," she says. "You are very quiet."
James is looking at his shoes. Ninety-nine per cent. He has already established he is ninety-nine per cent sure Remus is not the spy. Would he bet his life on this?
Would he bet Harry's?
"We wait," he says.
Which is easier said than done. Sirius is taking almost the full hour, and it does get boring. Lily bravely attempts to keep up a conversation, which turns out to be a bit of a job considering all involved parties seem to long for nothing more than a nap on the sofa.
"You know, Remus, I have a fully equipped Potions lab in the cellar," she says at one point, "and not a terrible lot to do. Would you like something for that pain?"
Remus straightens up reflexively, as if he's caught himself giving away a secret. "I'm fine," he says, and James finally understands why it's so aggravating to Lily whenever he does the same.
"I gather the mission didn't go too well, did it?" says Lily.
Remus shrugs. "I had low expectations when I went in," he says. "I must say they were met in full."
"A typical Dumbledore, then," Lily mutters.
In between attempts at conversation, James has time to check on all the wards surrounding the house – they're in perfect working order - , he has time to check on Harry – still snoring – and he's seriously considering feeding the cat and watering the violets when Sirius finally beckons them back into the kitchen.
"Finally," says Lily.
Regulus is leaning against the wall, white as a sheet. His caring brother must have supplied him with a Muggle cigarette. Probably the perfect moment to start smoking, thinks James. Sirius himself, standing next to him, looks to be at least on his third.
"So," says Lily, crossing her arms. "How are we kicking Voldemort's arse?"
"Long story," says Sirius, with the faint air of someone entirely out of their depth. "Dumbledore will have kittens."
"I was hoping for a bit more than that," says Lily.
"It's a typical Voldemort," says Sirius. "Convoluted, nasty, dark magic. I'm convinced we'll go through it a million more times, but –"
He straightens himself, even stops lounging. Looking at no-one in particular, he continues, "Before that story leaves this room – before any of you leave this room - I believe there's a question that needs answering."
He idly turns his wand in his fingers as he addresses Regulus. "You said I had too much faith in friendship," he says. "Fine. This is me, losing faith. Happy?"
"It doesn't become you." Regulus looks at him, his grey eyes watchful. "If you want to know about the spy -"
"Well then," says Sirius, with a nonchalance James wouldn't have thought him capable at this point. "Who is it?"
There's a long pause. Then Regulus says, "I don't know. I saw him at a gathering once, but he was wearing the mask and cloak at the time. All his spies do."
"Yeah, we know," says Sirius, and James doesn't miss his eyes flickering to the Veritaserum on the table. Then he says, "What can you tell us about him? How tall is he?"
"Hard to say," says Regulus. "He was kneeling. A fair bit shorter than the Dark Lord, I'd say."
"I never thought I'd get a chance to ask this," says Sirius, "but how tall is Voldemort, anyway?"
Regulus smiles faintly. "Not as tall as you'd think."
Sirius takes a deep breath, the grip on his wand tightening. "Taller than him?" he says.
And points at Remus.
"Sirius, you utter wanker –" says Remus, his voice barely more than a growl. He's reaching for his own wand.
Regulus, however, is laughing. "Of course not. Are you joking, brother? You think it's Lupin? After all the trouble he caused in Snowdonia?"
"Thank you for noticing," says Remus, sort of placated but also visibly irritated about it. He hasn't put his wand away.
"Oh, the Dark Lord noticed," says Regulus. "He definitely noticed. You might want to be more careful in the future."
There's a hint of hesitation, and a lot of annoyance. "The message has been conveyed to me," Remus says.
Regulus turns back to Sirius. "Besides, Lupin is Welsh. Your spy doesn't have much of an accent, but at a guess –"
There's a sort of banging noise from the hallway. At their feet, the cat starts hissing.
"I would say –"
A dark figure looms behind the kitchen door window.
"Yorkshire," finishes Regulus.
Peter explodes out of the doorway, takes aim at the Black brothers, and fills the kitchen with deadly green light.
To be continued.
...Apologies for using the same cliffhanger twice. I promise I will not do that again! Next (and last) chapter: Remus!