30th January 1982

Dear Mr Potter,

I regret to have to trouble you in this difficult week, but it cannot wait any longer.

Our mutual friend is still eager to talk to you and is being a little bit grumpy with the rest of us. We must insist that you visit as soon as you can. We hate to disturb open wounds, but in the long run, he could tell you something that might help us. There is only one way to find out. You know where to find us.

Regards,

A.M.

P.S. Sorry for the cryptic note. Owls are being intercepted and it's too early to trust again.

P.P.S. Don't ignore me this time.

January near Ottery St Catchpole had been crisp and clear, chilly but pleasant, a 'morning' period consisting entirely of singing birds, frosty lawns and mugs of tea. James knew this to be Lily's favourite month, and probably would have still been her favourite if her birthday wasn't at the end of it.

Lily's birthdays seemed to come out of nowhere. Not this year, though. With the mounting stress of unemployment ailing at him, James was forcing himself to put his mind to other things: Lily's birthday and taking care of Harry. Both assignments were successful. Once Lily had expressed to James a desire to write, he'd rushed out and bought her brand new quills, inks, dozens of rolls of parchment and a typewriter from Lily's favourite craft shop in her home town. Now that her birthday presents were sorted, James was able to take Harry off her hands more. This was no burden for him.

Their recent revelation could not have arrived soon enough. James now understood the word 'miracle' in its most literal use. Though Lily was not yet sleeping through the night, she seemed happier by day. She had not mentioned Petunia in weeks. She had visited Bathilda and Augusta Longbottom and was frequently going to tea with Andromeda. She was baking again, which was the surest sign of her contentment. Though Lily's happiness was James' priority, he and Harry were able to enjoy the fruits of Lily's efforts without any guilt. Lily was churning out scones, cakes and puddings almost daily for James and Harry, giving them away freely to Sirius and Remus and to their new frequent visitor, Nymphadora Tonks. It reminded James of his first ever visit to Lily's home in the Christmas holidays of sixth year, and her mother had sent him home with a handful of peppermint creams wrapped up in kitchen roll. The act making something and giving it away for free, for James, was the closest thing a human could get to handing out kindness.

Nevertheless, they were still afraid. They were happy, yes, but not quite perfectly. Lily was forever peaking out behind the curtains at night, or creeping into Harry's room just to check that his window was locked and that he was still there. James was never without his wand.

They had a long way to go yet.

And James knew that the weekend of Lily's birthday would be tough. The three month mark had turned out to be much more significant than he'd anticipated. It seemed like days since they'd flung themselves between Harry and his would-be killer, only to find themselves plummeting to the ground below in the next instant, their house crumbling around them, plaster, wood and shards of glass framing Voldemort's lifeless body.

Three months. A lot could happen in three months. A lot had happened in three months. But there was a lot more to come.

On the afternoon of Lily's birthday, James ascended the staircase to break more bad news to Lily.

From the landing, he could hear Harry babbling to himself in Lily and James' room. For some reason, it made James wonder if Azkaban had made Lestrange go mad yet.

James took slow steps towards their bedroom across the creaking floorboards and saw Lily through doorway, sitting on their bed, turned away from him.

"Lily?"

Lily peered over her shoulder, her face fresh and sleepy. She smiled. "That's me."

"Cheers for clarifying," James replied, managing a small smile. "You alright?"

Lily shrugged. "I guess so."

"Hungry? Tired?"

Lily grinned. "I'm fine."

James nodded, forcing his paranoia away temporarily.

Lily looked down from James' face to his hand. Her smile faltered. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

Lily gave him a pointed look. "The parchment in your hand, idiot."

"Just... parchment."

"James."

James grimaced. He didn't like delivering news that could pierce her already fragile contentment. But he knew he couldn't hide anything from her anymore. That ship had sailed, and she'd bitten his bollocks off for it. And besides, this was something he couldn't hide from her if he wanted to.

He came closer into the room and stood opposite where she sat. He held the letter out to her. She looked up at him worriedly as she took it.

"They're calling us back, Lils," he explained apologetically. "Moody and the Ministry. We've left it long enough."

Lily didn't look up. "I don't want to go."

"The longer we put it off, the worse it's gunna get."

"It'll be scary."

"Nah. It'll just be some formal legal stuff that we've got to say, then we can go home."

"Can't they just leave us alone?"

James sighed. "We're right in the middle of it, Lily. We always were."

Lily looked up then, anger in her eyes. "I don't want to see them."

By 'them', James knew Lily meant the Death Eaters who'd tortured and killed her friends. James understood her. The seventh year inside him shuddered at the memory of their faces as they cackled at every fired curse. But his disdain for the Death Eaters went beyond that. Knowing what they did to the other members of the order, James' blood boiled every time he saw their faces in the Prophet. He wouldn't be able to promise that he wouldn't lunge for Rodolphus Lestrange as soon as he was left alone in a room with him.

"I know, Lily. I know."

He sat down on the bed beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. "I hate them too. I hate them more than any man hates another person. But it'll be worth it in the end. Lestrage might tell me something about where his wife is. We'll get to watch him sent to Azkaban for the rest of his shitty life."

Lily sniffed. "I just want to move on."

James pulled her closer. "You can. We are."

Lily gave a half-hearted smile, then took a deep breath. "I don't want to see his face again and then go back to being as miserable as I was before."

James shrugged. "You won't."

Lily smiled half-heartedly. "I suppose things are pretty different now."

"Yep. It's over. Sort of."

"Sort of..." Lily echoed. "But I suppose we have to finish it properly."

James nodded. "Then when he's locked away in a cell picking mushrooms out of his beard with his shit wife, we can enjoy our life for once. But I'm still not happy about having to do the Auror's dirty work for them."

"They've probably done much dirtier work than this," Lily pointed out.

James shrugged. "And for some reason, they can't interrogate one of their prisoners and want some random bloke to have a go."

"But you're not some random bloke though. Lestrange actually asked to speak to you. I'm not bothered that the Aurors have failed with him. I'm more worried about what Lestrange has got to say to you. What's he got planned?"

James swallowed. "Can't be much, can it? The Aurors will restrain him... well, if they remember to..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "They're doing their best, James."

James just smiled. Had she forgotten how embarrassingly incompetent the Aurors had been throughout the war?

"-Besides," Lily continued, leaning closer towards him and grinning. "When you get accepted into the training programme, you can turn them upside down."

oOo oOo oOo

Remus blinked. "You applied for the Auror programme? You kept that quiet."

James wrinkled his nose and reached for the bottle. "Thought I'd give it a go. Nothing's going to come of it. I would've heard by now."

"When did you apply?"

"Christmas."

Remus' face fell as he counted back the days. The weeks. "Has it really been that long since I last saw you?"

James was clearly pretending not to hear him.

Remus' face grew hot. He cleared his throat. "Right, well, carry on. What did Lestrange say?" Remus leant forward again, a new lease of anticipation coursing through him. Why did Lestrange want to talk to James? Did he say where his wife was? What did he do?

James looked unnervingly solemn. "We're no safer than we were before Voldemort died, Remus."

oOo oOo oOo

Scrimgeour met the Potters in the darkest tunnel under the Ministry.

Alastor Moody had met them at the visitors' entrance. Once they were under the invisibility cloak, Moody had ushered them through bustling employees through to the lifts, and scared off potential lift-sharers with a snarl. The lift carried them downwards, and kept going downwards, until James and Lily could feel the heat of the Earth warming the underground depths of the Ministry. It was the same confining heat they'd felt in the cave where they'd cremated Voldemort.

They followed Moody out of the lifts and down a series of tunnels built in oily-black brick. James shrugged out of his jacket.

"It's boiling down here," he whispered to Lily. "Imagine the number of people that have fainted down here..."

"I bet it's a stress thing," said Lily. "You know, to make the prisoners uncomfortable and get them to confess to things faster."

Moody stopped, looked over his shoulder at the two of them, and huffed. He turned back ground and kept walking. James shot Lily a mock-warning glance.

They came to a turning in the tunnels that was cut off by a huge set of bulky iron bars, like a portcullis. Behind it was another tunnel, but it was much wider. There were windowless doors either side, and in the middle of the tunnel stood Rufus Scrimgeour, motionless and expressionless, like a marble statue.

Moody started speaking as though addressing a guard. "Alastor Moody, deputy Head of the Auror department, with James and Lily Potter. Visit regards Rodolphus Lestrange."

It was unnatural to hear Moody talk so formally. He did it begrudgingly, of course, given away in his tone of voice. He sounded like a schoolboy being forced to apologise for calling a teacher 'fat'.

The portcullis did not move. Instead, Moody stepped straight through it. The bars disappeared like smoke and then clunked back into place once he was through. He turned back to the Potters. "Come."

James did what he was told without question. He was more preoccupied as to who or what was behind the doors, and what was happening to them. There was no noise, but James could sense that the rooms were not empty. Lily could too, he know, as she was staring warily at them.

"Mister and Missus Potter..." greeted Scrimgeour, drifting towards them. "We thank you for coming to us. Your assistance is greatly appreciated."

As Scrimgeour spoke, three people entered the tunnel from the other side of the portcullis. Two men and a woman, each in long billowing robes and combat boots, were clutching their wands tightly and making their way towards them. James guessed that they were Aurors.

"I just hope the meeting is worth our time," said Lily when James failed to reply. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lestrange asked to see James just to... you know... just to be a Death Eater again."

"I understand," replied Scrimgeour. "But even if that is the case, anything Lestrange says or does could be important. We've put a charm on each of these holding cells. We will be able to listen to the conversation from a secure office with the Minister. That's where you'll be, Missus Potter. Mister Potter, these are our best Aurors. They will be outside the door if you should require assistance but I doubt you will. Do you have your wand?"

James nodded, tapping his thigh where his wand was safe.

"Good. Then I suppose we must proceed. Good luck, Mister Potter. Missus Potter, if you'd like to follow me..."

Lily swallowed and took a last look at James. "Keep your distance from him. And don't get cocky."

James smirked as she walked away. He was left standing with Moody and the three Aurors.

Moody put his hand firmly on James' shoulder. "Fair warning, Potter. He looks like shit. Thought he'd try to starve himself so we'd bring you in. Bollocks were we falling for that."

"Right-oh."

"Alright, Potter," said Moody gruffly. "Let's see if we can break the bastard. In you go."

They had been standing near one of the doors on the right. When James turned to face it, he couldn't help but stand back when Moody raised a hand to magically drag the enormous door open. It groaned and scraped.

The three Aurors aimed their wands at the inside of the room.

It was a tiny room. It was the size of a meat freezer or a broom cupboard. From high above, the ceiling was bewitched to shine with moonlight.

There was a table, two chairs and a man.

"Right, Lestrange," growled Moody. "We've brought Potter for you. Now you'd better honour our agreement or you know what'll happen. And I would love to see it happen. I'd love to hear it happen too. But I want answers more. So talk."

Rodolphus Lestrange did look like shit. His long copper-coloured hair and beard were all gone, shaven, revealing a rough-skinned face and a bruised and cut scalp. His cheeks were hollow. His eyelids drooped. He was already in Azkaban-grey rags. He looked like the most miserable wretch alive. But still, when James tentatively took a step into the cell, Lestrange looked up at him and gave him his most smug smile. "Potter..." he drawled. "Welcome to my humble abode."

The door was sealed shut, and James was alone.

He'd forgotten what Rodolphus Lestrange looked like. He was barely recognisable now, but his eyes were still the same. Green, and devouring, as though James were a cake from a café window. James had spent entire nights lying awake with Lily, picturing those cold dead eyes roaming over the trembling bodies of Frank and Alice, wand poised to torture alongside his wife, his brother and his friend.

He could see no restraints, but Lestrange's arms were clenched against the back of the chair. A telltale sign of a binding curse.

"You must be wondering why I wanted to speak to you, Potter..."

James shrugged. "You're pissed off that I killed Voldemort?"

Lestrange chuckled. "I should've guessed you'd think that way. Have a seat." Lestrange nodded in the direction of the empty chair. James did not move.

Lestrange smiled. "Very well. What is it you'd like to know?"

James folded his arms and leant against the back wall, as far away from Lestrange as possible. "If I recall, it was you who wanted to talk to me. Shouldn't you be asking me questions?"

He smiled again. "I just did."

James clenched his jaw. This was going to be difficult.

"Alright, I'll go first," said James. "Where's your wife?"

Lestrange laughed, low and staccato, like a criminal's slow clap to a detective. "Oh, Potter, they're never going to let you into the Auror programme if you go at me like that." He smiled. James' stomach rolled.

"You have to gain my trust first. Then you ease my into it, then you-"

"Not interested," James interrupted. "I want to know where we can find your wife and I want to know what she's planning on doing. I also want to know why you asked to speak to me."

Lestrange sighed and shrugged in disappointed acceptance. "Fine. We'll play it your way. But first, sit down."

"I'm not sitting down."

"Sit."

Lestrange knew he was going to Azkaban forever. He didn't need anything from James. He just wanted some fun in the few hours he had left in contact with mankind.

James dragged the chair away from the table and sat as far away from Lestrange as the tiny room would allow. Lestrange looked amused. He leant forward, crossing his hands on the table and looked directly at James. "I don't know where she is."

"Yes you do."

"I'm afraid not," said Lestrange smugly. "She took off in Cumbria at the sound of leave rustling in the woods. She is mad. She could be at Hogwarts or she could be in Kazakhstan. I don't know any more than you do."

James sank in his seat. Where did that leave them? One mad woman was somewhere in the world. No magic could find her.

"So what are we supposed to do?" asked James, mostly to himself and to the Aurors listening.

"Well, her mind has completely gone," replied Lestrange. "You can hope that she does something stupid."

"Moody said that she was heading North... that she might try to talk to Dumbledore because they had an understanding... she might do that, mightn't she?"

Lestrange blinked slowly. "It would be a very stupid thing to do."

James could picture her now, half-running and half-stumbling through the Forbidden Forest, her eyes ablaze with blood-red insanity, snarling and snapping at every bird and falling leaf, feral and useless. If this was the case, she wasn't much of a threat to anyone. At least... to anyone who didn't cross her path.

"Let us strike a deal," said Lestrange. "I agree to answer all of your questions with complete honesty. In return, you shall do the same. "

"Deal," said James. "Do you know where Bellatrix is?"

Lestrange smiled. He'd clearly expected that question. "No."

"Are there any more supporters of Voldemort that are still free?"

"Of course."

"Were any of them Death Eaters?"

"Not really."

"Meaning?"

"Friends of friends of Death Eaters, mostly."

James gave him an impatient look. Lestrange rolled his eyes. "Nobody that can be convicted of anything. Just supporters of the cause."

James scoffed. The cause. It sounded like a charity.

"Are any of them planning anything?"

"How would I know? I was on the front line. These people are backbenchers."

"Are there any more plots against the wizarding world out there?"

Lestrange smiled. "Only the Ministry's plot to end blood purity."

James rolled his eyes. "Right. Yeah. Mudbloods, etcetera."

"Well, they can never say we didn't try..."

He was disgusting. Blasé and smug and disgusting.

Suddenly, James remembered. "Why did you want to talk to me specifically?"

Lestrange did not answer straight away. He looked around at his holding cell, his eyes lingering on the enchanted ceiling way up high, shining bright moonlight down onto them.

"Your lupine friend... how is he? Coping with canine life? Gained control over his affliction yet? It never happens for some..."

oOo oOo oOo

"He asked about me?" asked Remus, suddenly feeling cold and heavy.

James nodded. "It was nothing menacing. He was just toying with me."

"How can you say it was nothing menacing?!"

"I mean he wasn't targeting you for anything."

Remus exhaled. "Fine." said Remus. "So he remembered me. Did he remember Frank and Alice? What had he got to say for himself about them?"

"I did ask him about them," said James darkly. "And he was vile about them. But that's not the worst thing that he said."

Remus took a big swig of whiskey. "Can't say I'm not worried."

"He threatened Lily. Sort of. I don't really know what he was getting at, but... he revealed something to me. Something I wasn't expecting at all. And... it's reminded me that just because Voldemort's gone, it doesn't mean that this blood prejudice shit is over."

"What do you mean?" asked Remus. "What did he reveal? What did he say?"

oOo oOo oOo

"You didn't answer my question," said James.

"I will do. But first, answer mine. You agreed to do that."

James took a deep breath. He really hated this man with all he had. "Remus Lupin is..." he was ready to praise Remus to the roof, gush about his courage and his control and self-respect... but he couldn't break the promise. Lestrange would know straight away, and he wouldn't tell James anything else. "Being a werewolf isn't exactly a walk in the park," said James, thinking it was the most delicate way to put it. "He's got friends, though. We help him. We stop him if he does get out of control."

"So, what you're saying is that your friend has no control over himself, and that his friends have total control?"

"We don't control him!" James spat. "We help him!"

Lestrange looked away from James. "Did I hit a nerve, Potter?"

James didn't answer.

"I did. Control is a touchy subject. Everyone wants it, but nobody wants to be seen to have it. Maybe that's why your friend, Milicent Bagnold, is so eager to tell you how much she's struggling."

James sat up. "How did you-?"

"My wife had always been control freak," Lestrange continued, ignoring him. "Childhood trauma, apparently. She'll never stop craving control." Lestrange smirked. "We always want what we can't have."

James sat back. "Why are you telling me this?"

"To want to control someone is bad, yes?"

"Yes..."

"No. Nearly everyone wants to, and this is accepted. Most people want a specific type of control that lasts a very long time. You are no exception to this phenomenon, Mr Potter."

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"Bellatrix's control died with Voldemort. Once he was gone, the hunt was on for us. The tainted members of our race were more... confident and... hopeful... they didn't live in fear anymore. Plus, we were on the run. No more torture, no more prisoners... no more control. That's why Bellatrix has gone mad."

Lestrange was getting at something, James knew. Something bad. Maybe Bellatrix's insanity had reached heights beyond becoming a feral animal. Something that gave her control.

"What has that demented bitch done?"

"She has coveted the most human and accepted form of control that there is."

"Which is?"

"Something that she and your wife will have lots to talk about. They have much in common now."

oOo oOo oOo

Remus dropped his glass. "No..."

"He was telling the truth, Moony," said James darkly. "Bellatrix is pregnant."

oOo oOo oOo

"She just wanted control. Being surplus to anyone was killing her. I would have been a bad husband to let her die. So, I gave her the opportunity for control."

"You're sick. She's not coming anywhere near my wife and if you think that pregnancy is going to stop the Aurors throwing her into Azkaban-"

"She's the sick one, not me!" Lestrange argued. "And I highly doubt she'll find your wife. She's dumb now. She's finished. She'll either die within a year or she'll be found. Besides... your house has a dozen protective charms over it, doesn't it? The Tonks family were scrupulous with them..."

James leapt to his feet. "HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THIS?"

Lestrange grinned. "Magic."

James lunged. His fist went straight into his cheek, then his chin, then his nose. Lestrange's chair toppled over and took him with it. The door of the holding cell groaned open before James could leap round the table to finish Lestrange off.

Surprisingly, nobody came to restrain James. Four Aurors, including Moody, looking neither impressed nor disapproving.

"Finish up, Potter," ordered Moody. "Ask him anything else you want to, then we can slam him away."

James, his fists shaking, looked down at the man he'd attacked. He was still on the floor, his nose bleeding, his face going purple. He still did not look distressed. He was gazing up at James, anticipating what he was going to say next.

"Anything else I should know?" James asked begrudgingly.

"I've said my piece. I cannot help you further. I'm sorry."

James almost turned to leave, but that last word resonated with him. It reminded him of why he agreed to meet with Lestrange in the first place.

"One more thing..." said James, looking directly at Lestrange. "And remember, we're still telling the truth..."

"Of course."

"Do you regret torturing my friends?"

James could practically hear Lily's intake of breath. The Aurors were certainly waiting with baited breath. The science behind the sick mind.

Lestrange's expression did not change. "Whom were your friends that I tortured?"

James clenched his fists again. "Frank and Alice Longbottom. They were Aurors. They're in St Mungo's now. They'll be there for the rest of their lives because of you and your gang of freaks."

Lestrange thought for a moment. "Ah, I remember! The couple! We almost killed them, you know."

Anger. Like an acid wash.

"Yes, yes... I had to hold Bellatrix back. The girl annoyed her so much. All that wailing and screaming..."

"Should've stopped torturing them then," said James, seething. He was shaking.

"We couldn't. We needed information and they would not give it to us. We had to obtain it somehow."

"Bollocks," said James through gritted teeth. "You could've used the Imperius curse. You could've used a truth-telling charm. You could've threatened to hurt their son. You didn't have to torture anyone."

"We thought it was the best method of obtaining information."

"But why?!"

Rodolphus Lestrange smiled, for the last time for the rest of his life, at James Potter. "Because it is fun."

James staggered backwards, his eyes locked on the prisoner's as the cell door was pushed shut.

oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo

A/N: It's been a while. Thanks for being patient.

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