James had read a bit of Shakespeare. He was, according to his father, 'the only Muggle author worth studying.' He cast another cleansing charm on his waistcoat, and when that didn't work he plunged it into the bathroom sink, grabbed a bar of soap, and started to scrub.
Out, out, damned spot!
The blood had somehow gotten into his suitcase and contaminated everything inside. Or else he was just crazy, and there was no blood, only his guilty conscience manifesting the stains. I didn't mean for it to happen, James thought. Snape did this to me.
He shouldn't have gone back to the restaurant. He shouldn't have hung around until after the waiter got off work. He shouldn't have followed him into that alley. That waiter was just a Muggle; he hadn't deserved any of it. He wasn't Snape. But when James had propositioned him, the man sneered at him and cursed him in French, and it was… it reminded him too much of Snivellus.
James loved Lily. She was perfect. He just needed to get this out of his system. Once he fucked a man, he would be fine. He could love her like he was supposed to. He just had to find the right man.
With a growl of frustration, James pointed his wand at his waistcoat and muttered, "Incendio." He went to his wardrobe and pulled out a set of robes that were free of the Parisian taint and pulled them on. He was already late. Not that the Ministry would fire him even if they wanted to.
James and Lily had set up house in one of his family's London properties. London was where the action was. It was a seedbed for criminal activity, and the Auror Department knew there were small cells of Death Eaters in Knockturn. It was a very dangerous place to live, especially if one was an Auror. Nearly once a week James found himself in an argument with his mother, begging him to quit.
Lily was already gone when James came downstairs, grabbed a piece of toast from a dutifully waiting house-elf, and apparated to the Ministry. Lily had probably already left for her enchanting class, but James wasn't too sure. They hardly had time to talk these days, and when they did find themselves sitting together in the same room, they were too tired for anything beyond pleasantries.
Shacklebolt was already in the middle of debriefing when James arrived. Shacklebolt leveled him a glare as he slid in next to Sirius, but otherwise said nothing. What could he possibly do? Half the department was empty: either dead, or missing, or turned coward. James glanced around and noted three more missing faces. He would check the memorial later, after the debriefing.
"At 3:34 am last night, the Dark Mark appeared over the Bones residence." At these words, Sirius sank low in his seat. His face was puffy and jaundiced, and he stank of drink. "Upon arriving, it was discovered the entire family had been murdered, including the children. They had been led down into the basement, were tortured, and their throats were cut using an enchanted knife of the same kind used in the Davies murder three months ago, leading us to believe that the person or persons involved are the same."
Bellatrix. The name had circulated throughout the department; whispers, hearsay, but no concrete evidence linking her to the crimes or even to the Death Eaters other than a few public statements openly sympathizing with their cause.
They were each given a folder with the details. James let his eyes linger on the photographs; despite the magic, the bodies didn't move. Corpses didn't move. He looked at the double mouths of Mrs Bones: the rigor scream frozen into place, and the one just below it, across her throat. It was almost beautiful in a way.
Sirius dropped his folder and lurched to his feet, ignoring Shacklebolt's calls as he staggered out of the room. He made it only as far as Samson's desk and promptly threw up in her wastebasket. James hurried after him and placed a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles until Sirius angrily shoved him off.
"I'm fine," he mumbled. He managed to straighten about halfway, his hand braced against Samson's desk.
"You're clearly not."
"Fuck off, Prongs."
"Black–"
Sirius pushed away from the desk, his body swaying as he met Shacklebolt's pitying gaze. "Go home, Black."
Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but Shacklebolt cut him off. "Go. Home," he ordered. "Get some rest."
"Fuck you too," Sirius mumbled and stormed out of the department.
James looked questioningly at his superior. "He was one of the Aurors who arrived on scene," Shacklebolt explained.
James hadn't known that. Padfoot didn't tell him. Why wouldn't he have told him?
"Potter, I want you to head over to Kent, see if you can find–"
"Actually, sir, I think I might have a lead into the Death Eaters," James said. Shacklebolt raised his brows and looked at him expectantly. "You remember I told you about Severus Snape? He's had dealings with an artist in Knockturn. A pureblood. I paid off some transients to keep an eye on his studio. Lucius Malfoy recently visited him. I was hoping to scope the area tonight." James knew from the speculative look in Shacklebolt's eye that he had gotten his way.
The days in Knockturn were dark and grey, and at night it was like a black hole. There were few lampposts here, and James got the sensation that many of the neighborhood's denizens could see just as well in the dark, whether from mixing with non-humans or dabbling in forbidden magics.
He moved stealthily down the cobblestone street, bundled up underneath his invisibility cloak. He could feel his blood pulsing with every beat of his heart. He felt untethered. He had finally, finally gotten Snape's address, only to find out he had moved just a few days ago.
"And no, I don't know where he's gone, but he's not here," the hag that ran the boarding house told him. "So don't you go bothering my tenants."
"What do you want him for anyway?" A big, thick-jawed man asked.
"Just need to ask him a few questions," James said with a strained smile. Half of him wanted to storm upstairs and kick in every door until he found the greasy bastard.
The man let out a disbelieving snort.
"Whats so funny?" James demanded.
"Nothing. Just a friend of mine was picked up by one of yours named Moody. Haven't seen him since. Even went to the Ministry and they say they haven't any record of him. Funny that," the man drawled out.
"We're here to protect you," James said with a vicious smile. "These are dangerous times. Who knows what might happen if we aren't here to keep you safe."
"That a threat?"
"Just an observation. Have a good night. Ma'am." James nodded to the landlady.
As soon as he was outside he found a dark alleyway to hide in and threw his cloak over his head. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't bang on every door in Knockturn asking for Snape. James found himself searching for Snivellus in every face he passed, his turbulent emotions were twisting further and further around with every second that ticked by.
He sucked helplessly for a breath when he spotted a tall, lean, black-haired man chatting up another man under the soft glow of a lamppost. He took another step forward, his eyes taking in the sight, ready to spring and wrap his hands around him, pull him close, but... James finally had to concede it wasn't him. This man was too old to be Snape, maybe in his late thirties, and the nose was all wrong. A prostitute most likely.
Money changed hands and the two men walked off together, and James, as if pulled along on an invisible string, followed after the pair. He watched them kiss. They were pressed against the brick wall surrounding an overgrown cemetery. The other man – short, balding, wearing a ragged cloak – reached inside the dark-haired man's trousers. He stroked him once, twice, and then they suddenly ducked through the broken cemetery gate, the tall grasses quivering as they pushed their way through.
James came to a stop at the entrance. He could see their bodies surrounded by dark green foliage and towering wildflowers, illuminated by the sickly yellow lights streaming from neighboring windows. The dark-haired man was on his knees, his mouth wrapped around the other's member. James felt himself harden as he watched the other man dig his fingers in the prostitute's black, inky hair.
It was over far too quickly. The balding man pushed the prostitute down onto his cock while the dark-haired man struggled. James watched him pull off, gagging, cum running down his chin. "You fucking bastard," the dark-haired man growled. His voice was hoarse. "It's extra for that."
"Haven't got any more money."
The prostitute scrambled to his feet, pulling out a chipped wand that looked taped together. The balding man took off at a run, and James had to flatten himself against the brick wall to avoid being run over.
As soon as the balding man was out of sight, the dark-haired prostitute sagged back onto the ground and wiped at his chin. James edged into the cemetery. The leaves beneath his feet crunched with every step.
"Who's there?" The man called out. He stood up. "Lumos." The cemetery was flooded with light. The man peered all around him, but saw nothing until it was too late.
James landed on top of him, his cloak sliding backwards so that it looked as if he was only a head and torso floating in mid-air. James's hard cock was trapped in his trousers and he couldn't help but press it into the man's stomach. The man let out a scream that was swiftly silenced when James pulled out his pocket knife and ripped open his throat.
Blood poured from the wound, coating his hands. It felt hot and sticky. The light from his wand was flickering, echoing the rapidly fading light in the man's eyes. He went quicker than the waiter. It was shocking how how much death could changed a human body. Already the muscles in the man's face grew lax and seemed to hang from his bones. He looked even less like Snape than before. Soon, the death pallor would set in as the blood still trapped in his veins pooled at the bottom of his body, patterning his skin with bruises.
James's erection wilted. The man was dead, the light from the wand snuffed out. James stood up. He re-adjusted his cloak, making sure his bloody hands were well hidden and ran.