Autumn was in the air. It wasn't quite September - still a few more days until the end of August - but autumn had come a bit early. In the morning, the air was crisp and cool, and smelled of dried leaves. The trees were starting to change their color, hints of red and gold appearing in the green foliage. And every night, as the sun fell, the wind picked up and rattled through the branches and along the sidewalks.
Lily loved the autumn. Growing up in Cokeworth, it was the only season that really had a clear beginning. Towards the end of November, every day started getting just a lit bit colder and a little bit more gray, but there was nothing to really announce the arrival of winter. It was the same - yet opposite - with spring and summer; starting near the middle of March, every day was a little bit warmer and a little bit more damp, and then towards the end of June the dampness disappeared and the sun began to shine just a little bit more each day. But there was no clear delineation between the seasons. One day she would simply look around and realize that the season had changed, but she could never identify when that change had occurred.
Autumn was different. Autumn did not give any warning prior to its arrival, and did not come at exactly the same time each year, but it was impossible to miss the change. The feel and scent of the air was quite simply, suddenly, and abruptly different.
There was a clear beginning to the season.
And for Lily, autumn was the beginning of everything new. It was the beginning of each school year, and of the possibilities associated with Hogwarts and witchcraft and education.
At the moment, though, autumn was also the end.
Only two more days until the end of the potions program. She'd made some progress with the potion, though not as much as she had hoped. It didn't surprise her - she'd changed her mind so late in the program that she couldn't have expected to have any brilliant breakthroughs. And besides, the theory of the potion was far more complicated than she had originally realized, and it would be a long while before she had anything actually workable.
But still… she had made progress.
Not, of course, that it made any difference. She'd already been told that she could not proceed to the next stage of the program, but James had managed to convince her that maybe that didn't matter. She had impressed Damocles Belby and he had - with great hesitance, reluctance, and some concern - agreed to allow her to be his apprentice for the month of September. He had said it would be a trial run, a bit like an extended job interview. If she continued to impress him, he would consider allowing her to apprentice with him for even longer.
He had been quick to warn her that, as a rather antisocial person, he did not like having apprentices and had yet to find anyone whose presence he could stand for more than nine months. He doubted she would be an exception.
She was determined to change his mind on that.
Emma leaned against the desk and stared at Lily's cauldron. "Is it supposed to look like that?" she asked. "It's so… bland."
Lily looked at her concoction and nodded. "I spent a good eighteen hours trying to keep it from exploding every time I added the bloodroot," she answered, shooting Emma a quick grin. "I'll take bland over volatile and turbulent any day." She jerked her head towards Emma's workstation. "And how is your potion going?"
"Very well," Emma said with a satisfied smile. "I think I have a real chance for advancement." She frowned, her expression faltering, then hurried on to say, "Oh, Lily, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"
"Don't," Lily interrupted, waiving away Emma's awkward apology. "Don't apologize for your success. I am happy for you, really."
Emma's frown deepened. "You're gifted at this," she said quietly. "At potions. If anyone should have success, it's you."
Lily shrugged. It was a bittersweet ending, and she couldn't deny that she was angry at how carelessly Healer Lanwick and Healer Akhlys had ripped away her hopes and dreams. But she couldn't change it, either, and there was nothing left to do but make the best of the situation.
She would simply have to become a world famous potioneer on her own, and when she was renowned and respected for her skills, the two Healers would realize how badly they had misjudged her.
And it would make Eliza Greengrass furious.
At that thought, Lily cast a quick look towards the blonde pureblood. Though she hated to admit it, Eliza had done spectacularly well on her potion. There was no doubt that she would move on to the next stage of the program and - though her personality and beliefs were, in Lily's opinion, downright despicable - if she was to be judged merely on her potions talents alone, she did deserve the success.
"It's strange that it is the end, isn't it?" Emma murmured.
"Yes," Lily agreed. "I feel like I've done nothing but think about potions for the past three months. I've even dreamt about them."
Emma laughed. "I know," she replied. "It will be odd, having the next few weeks of holiday." The next stage of the program didn't start until October, and the students weren't notified until the middle of September as to whether they were even going to progress.
Lily grimaced. "You have a holiday," she said pointedly. "I do not. I am expected to start working for Belby as soon as I finish here."
Emma rolled her eyes. "You said he asked you when you wanted to start, and you were the one who chose the date. It's your own fault you don't have any time away from potions."
Lily flushed slightly. "Well… yeah."
Emma fell silent, her eyes drifting over the other work stations, and Lily turned her attention back to the ingredients spread out on her desk. The redhead began sorting them and jotting down notes in her notebook, all the while occasionally looking at her potion and adjusting the heat. Emma's own potion needed to sit for another hour, and she seemed content to simply stand there and stare about the classroom.
Once or twice, Lily let her own mind wander. Petunia's wedding was fast approaching, and the tension and animosity between the two sisters seemed to grow more and more with every day. Petunia didn't want Lily to attend the wedding, and at this point, Lily didn't really want to be there. But their mother refused to allow this, and neither sister would go against that. Lily would be there, and it would make both of them unhappy.
Lily wanted to be happy for Petunia, she really did. She despised Vernon and his family, but if he made Petunia happy then that had to count for something. But it was hard, particularly every time Vernon tossed some callous and unflattering comment her way.
Fortunately, she didn't have to interact with him much.
Alice had picked a date for her own wedding, and though it was still six months away, she was nearly overflowing with excitement. Lily was actually happy for her, and was always more than willing to listen to ideas for the wedding, questions concerning gowns and flowers, and complaints about Frank's mother.
Sometimes, though, hearing Alice gush about Frank left a feeling of emptiness, of loneliness, in Lily's chest. She'd gotten past the breakup with Caradoc, but she still thought about him on occasion. She didn't miss him specifically, but she did miss the feeling of closeness that she'd had with him.
"Lily?" Emma asked suddenly, pulling Lily from her thoughts, "are you… alright? Your expression was quite serious."
Lily nodded. "Just thinking about things," she said.
Emma accepted that without question, and Lily went back to her potion.
"You're being a bloody idiot!"
"No, I'm trying to be realistic, Padfoot. You can't just pretend that this isn't happening."
"Don't be daft, Moony. Running isn't going to solve anything, and I don't fancy chasing you to whatever part of the Earth you decide to make your home. Knowing you, it won't have alcohol or pretty girls. I'm not living in a place like that. It will have nothing but books."
"See? You're still joking about it!"
"I never joke about my hatred of books!"
Remus groaned and flopped onto his bed. His room was a mess of clothing and papers and, yes, even books, tossed about haphazardly. He'd been attempting to pack, but Sirius' appearance had put those plans on hold.
"I'm going on holiday," Remus said wearily. "I'm not… it isn't like I'm moving away forever."
Sirius folded his arms over his chest. "You're going on holiday?" he asked skeptically. "Really? That is the excuse you're going with? Holiday?"
"Padfoot…"
"Did Pracket give you time off from work?" Sirius pressed. "Because he didn't exactly seem like the type of bloke who would do that."
Remus didn't answer for a moment. He didn't want to lie to Sirius, but he'd never wanted to have this conversation, either. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't any of his friends' business. He'd already caused enough trouble for all of them; he saw no reason to add to it.
"But maybe he's changed," Sirius continued, practically sneering. "He did seem like such an open-minded man."
Remus pressed his hand flat against the bed and bit his lip to keep from snapping out a response. This was an argument he couldn't possibly win, but that didn't mean he was going to give in, either.
"You'll just go on holiday for a few months and then come back and resume working in the bookstore like nothing has changed and…"
"He sacked me, alright?"
Remus' statement caught Sirius off-guard, and he stood there, mouth open, no words coming out. There was something comical about his surprise, but any amusement Remus might have taken from that was quickly pushed aside as a look of anger washed over Sirius' features.
"When?" Sirius demanded.
"It doesn't matter," Remus answered. He got up and walked past Sirius, towards the pile of clothing on the chair by the window, and began folding the clothes.
He shouldn't have told Sirius this anyway. Knowing his friend - and Remus did know him, knew him quite well, actually - Sirius would lose his temper and do something incredibly stupid.
And what exactly did he think he could do about it, anyway? Pracket had the right to hire and sack whomever he wanted, and Remus didn't have any legal right to protest.
"So that's it? You're not even going to fight him? Just let him sack you and…" Sirius glanced around the room in distaste, "run?"
"Fight him?" Remus scoffed, keeping his back to Sirius as he angrily folded a pair of trousers. "How?"
"I don't know, just think of something! Stand up for yourself," Sirius shot back.
Remus laughed darkly at the irony of that comment. It seemed as though Sirius and James were always demanding that he stand up for himself - unless he was disagreeing with them. Then he was just supposed to let go of whatever he thought and agree with their opinions.
"We're you even going to tell us that you were leaving?" Sirius demanded.
"Of course I was going to tell you!" Remus growled, glancing over his shoulder briefly before stepping around Sirius and throwing the folded pair of trousers onto the bed.
"You're packing," Sirius pointed out dryly. "Kind of makes it seem like you're planning on taking off tonight."
Remus rolled his eyes and turned to face Sirius then. "How is it possible that you lived with me for seven years and never noticed that I always pack at least two weeks in advance?" he asked. He sat down on the bed again and sighed. "Anyway, it's not like Pracket didn't have a point."
"A point? The guy was a complete prat…"
"I know," Remus interrupted, cutting off Sirius' words. "But that wasn't why he sacked me. He sacked me because I kept missing days, kept getting sick."
"Because of the full moon! It's not your fault that you were bitten," Sirius protested.
Remus chewed his lip for a moment, then said, "It's not Pracket's fault, either." He hesitated, then said, "Padfoot, you're only looking at this through the lens of how it affects me. You want everything to be fair for me, and that… I appreciate that, I do. But Pracket… yes, he was a very unpleasant boss and no, I didn't like the way he treated me, but at the end of the day, he deserves to have an employee that shows up on schedule. He has to be able to rely on me, and once a month… once a month, he can't."
"That's rubbish," Sirius muttered.
"No, it's not," Remus countered. He thought about saying more, but then decided against it. Sirius wouldn't understand. He and James were true and loyal friends, but neither of them were capable of taking a step back and looking at the bigger picture. This was a complicated issue, and there was no simple answer.
It was unfortunate, but Remus knew he would spend the rest of his life caught in this dilemma. His lycanthropy would prevent him from finding work in the magical world, but any work he found in the Muggle world would be complicated by the fact that he couldn't tell anyone why he had to miss work so frequently.
"You always do this," Sirius grumbled, sitting on the bed next to Remus.
"Do what?"
"Act like a martyr," Sirius said. Remus started to protest, but Sirius continued quickly, speaking over him, "You're not leaving because of Pracket, and you're not leaving because you want a holiday. You're leaving because of Malfoy's threats, because of what he said he'll do to us. You're sacrificing your own happiness for everyone else's."
Remus frowned, then asked softly, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not happy here?"
Sirius looked at him sharply, an expression of surprise and ill-disguised hurt on his features.
Remus averted his own gaze.
"Well," Sirius said coldly, "I suppose that is a different issue. If you don't want to be here anymore, I won't stop you from leaving."
But he made no move to get up and leave the room.
"I don't want to just… wait," Remus said finally. He forced himself to look back at Sirius, and was relieved to find that Sirius was now determinedly not looking at him. At least he wouldn't have to make eye contact while he said this.
"Wait for what?"
"For everything," Remus answered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "For Malfoy to come after me, for Lily to finish the potion, for you and James to come up with a plan. All of these things are happening around me - things that will have a huge impact on my life, and I am just… waiting. It's my life, I want to have some control over it."
"And you think running away is the solution?" Sirius asked skeptically.
"I can't fight Malfoy," Remus said.
"James and I can," Sirius argued passionately. "And we will. We aren't going to let him get away with this."
Remus stared at him for a long moment, then asked, "Did you read the Daily Prophet today?"
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "No, why?" he asked.
Remus got up again and walked over to his desk. He pushed aside a few books and pulled out the newspaper, then turned back to Sirius. "I spoke to James this morning. He and Vanessa Lovely broke up. He tell you that?"
Sirius nodded.
"Did he tell you that Vanessa talked to Rabastan Lestrange? Got some damaging information out of him?"
"Yeah," Sirius said. "We talked about it, although he didn't tell me what it was." He looked thoroughly put out by James' reticence to discuss the details of the information with him, and Remus forced back a smile at that. Sirius wasn't used to James withholding information, and this clearly annoyed him.
But Remus understood. James still wasn't sure if he was going to use the information in the manner that Vanessa had suggested, and was probably concerned that Sirius might do something rash with it if given the opportunity and the right incentive. This was a delicate situation; so much was at stake, and beyond that, James seemed to view his choice on how to use the information as a choice between being true to his Gryffindor roots or accepting a more Slytherin point of view.
Remus glanced down at the newspaper and sighed. James might have been unsure what he was going to do before, but this… this changed everything.
He tossed the newspaper to Sirius. "Rabastan Lestrange must have eventually realized that Vanessa was planning on turning on him, and decided to do something about it," he said flatly. "Or maybe he told his brother or Malfoy what he had done and they realized the implications. Either way..."
Sirius looked down at the article and gasped. "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath.
"You can't stop Malfoy, Padfoot. Maybe you can delay him. But this problem isn't going away. They are going to continue with their agenda, and they are going to do whatever is necessary to win. And Merlin help anyone standing in their way."
Sirius swore again, then crumpled the newspaper in his fist and looked up at Remus. "So you're going to leave the country? For how long? Forever? Running isn't going to help either, Moony."
Remus shrugged. "I'm not going to just sit around and wait for the attack to come," he said firmly.
Sirius stared at him, a strange light in his eyes. "Then don't," he said fervently. "Don't run, and don't just sit here and wait. They want a fight? Then let's give them one."
The argument with Sirius still echoed in Remus' head as he ducked into Mr. Pettigrew's shop. When he'd been unable to give a firm answer to Sirius' pleas, the other wizard had stalked away in a huff. Subtlety had never been one of Sirius' strong points, and he'd made it quite clear what he thought of Remus' hesitancy.
Remus glanced around the shop. Although it had been rebuilt after the fire, some of the back wall was still slightly darker than the normal, a lingering remnant of the flames that had nearly destroyed everything.
Remus shivered as he wondered what would have happened if Mr. Pettigrew had been caught in those flames.
"Hey, Moony."
Remus turned at the sound of his nickname and gave Peter a quick smile. "Hey. The shop looks good. I'm glad you were able to rebuild and replace your father's inventory so quickly."
Peter nodded, but didn't smile. "Yes," he said. "It was good." He glanced around, but none of the patrons appeared to have any questions for him and his father didn't need his help, so he turned back to Remus. "Are you not working today?"
"I… uh… no." Remus floundered for a moment, not wanting to get into the details of that particular issue, then cleared his throat and said, "I don't work at the bookstore anymore."
Peter gave him a long, appraising look. He tactfully did not press the topic, for which Remus was absurdly grateful, but instead said, "Did you read the Prophet?"
Remus nodded glumly. "I spoke to James. He was… upset." That was an understatement. James had been far more than upset - he'd been downright livid. His conversation with Remus had been filled with accusations and threats and numerous plots for revenge against the people who had done this. But the conversation had also been rushed - James had been in a hurry to get to St. Mungo's - and Remus hadn't been able to gauge just how serious James was about his plans.
"I don't understand why they would have done something like that," Peter said. His words were bland, vague, and… careful. There was something about his expression that made Remus uneasy, but the werewolf ignored that emotions, assuming it to be nothing more than his own paranoia.
It often seemed as though the entire world was out to get him, but he couldn't allow that distrust to extend to his friends.
Remus sighed. "James said that Vanessa had manipulated Rabastan Lestrange into giving him information."
"What kind of information?"
"I don't know," Remus replied. "Something bad." Peter looked thoughtful, and Remus paused, waiting to see if he would say anything. But when the rat Animagus remained silent, Remus added, "James thought what happened was revenge for that."
Peter nodded. "They are dangerous," he said softly. "And they are known for wanting revenge." His expression darkened somewhat, and Remus felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. What had happened to Vanessa could only serve as a reminder of what had nearly happened to his own father… and what could still happen, in the future.
Remus winced inwardly as that thought naturally led to feelings of guilt. If Malfoy came after him, Peter would be dragged into this mess as well. And hadn't the other wizard already sacrificed enough?
"How's your father?" Remus asked finally.
Peter shrugged. "I tried to convince him to go on holiday," he admitted slowly, "but he doesn't think… doesn't understand… that the Malfoys and Lestranges are a threat to him." He snorted, and said bitterly, "He called Bellatrix Lestrange a child."
Remus nodded. He studied Peter a moment longer. There was something concerning about Peter's expression, but Remus just couldn't figure out what it was. Something seemed wrong, out of place…
Peter cleared his throat. "He won't listen to me because I am his son and he thinks that, as my father, he knows best." Again, the bitterness seeped into his tone as he added, "I thought about asking James or Sirius to talk to my dad. He might listen to them, might actually respect their opinion."
"That's a good idea," Remus said automatically.
Peter gave him a skeptical look.
It wasn't a good idea, and they both knew it. James and Sirius would never agree to convince someone to run from a fight. It wasn't in their nature to do that, and they didn't take being pushed around lightly. For all their wonderful traits - and Remus would immediately state that both of his friends had many, many good characteristics - lately he had started to believe that they just didn't understand what it was like for everyone else. Everyone who wasn't a wealthy, prestigious pureblood.
But perhaps that was an uncharitable thought. Sirius had lost his family, after all. He had not come out of this unscathed, and he'd been forced to accept the harsh realities of pureblood mania from a very early age.
"I'm sorry, Moony," Peter said, shaking his head and forcing a smile to his face once more, "I've turned this conversation to unpleasant topics, haven't I?"
His smile was easy, good-natured, and a bit foolish, the way it always had been at Hogwarts, and Remus relaxed, offering his own smile in return. But the smile only lasted for a moment, and then his expression fell. "I think the attack on Vanessa Lovely did that," he said softly.
"You bloody fool!"
The sound of Rodolphus' angry exclamation drew Sewelyn Lestrange's attention from the letter in hand, and she rose from her seat by the fire and crossed to the doorway of her parlor. Her two sons were standing in the hallway, glaring furiously at each other and, it seemed, coming dangerously close to blows.
She drew back slightly. She had already eavesdropped on their conversation once in the recent past, and while that had been informative, she still found the action distasteful.
But she was a little concerned by the growing animosity between her two sons. They had never been friends when they were younger, and their years at Hogwarts were generally marked by long periods of distance with the occasional strained conversation. But this anger, these fights… that was new.
Once again, Sewelyn was struck by the worry that everything she and her husband had worked for was crumbling before her very eyes. Her sons - well, Rodolphus, at least - should have been able to inherit the reigns of leadership from her husband and Abraxas Malfoy. But while Lucius was poised to accept the task, with every passing day Sewelyn feared that her own sons might lose it. And then who would replace them? Would Lucius choose to work instead with the Averys? The Mulcibers? The Notts?
The Notts at least had pure enough blood, and wealth that rivaled that of even the Lestranges. But the others would be an affront to the Lestrange bloodline, and Sewelyn could not bear that.
"Calm down, Rodolophus. I didn't leave any trace…"
"Who cares? After what you did to her…" A pause, then, "You daft idiot. This required subtlety."
"She was going to turn on us…"
"If you had listened to the rest of us and allowed Lucius Malfoy to handle this, she wouldn't have had that information in the first place, would she? But no, you were so convinced that you could do this that you just ignored…"
"Stop speaking to me as though I am a child, brother."
"Stop acting like one!" Another pause. "Why didn't you just kill her? She still poses a threat to us."
"She won't speak out against us, not if she values her safety."
"Don't be so sure, Rabastan. I think there may be more Gryffindor in her blood than either of us realized."
Sewelyn walked back to the armchair where she had left the folded letter. She lifted it, carefully smoothing out the creases, and scanned the writing once more.
James Potter was requesting an audience.
She glanced towards the door of the parlor. She had seen the article in the Daily Prophet and, though Rabastan might believe that there was nothing to tie him to the crime, she had easily recognized it as his handiwork. And she knew that Vanessa Lovely had been dating James Potter, though from her younger son she had learned that they had split recently. But the Potters were Gryffindors. James' misguided sense of loyalty would flare up now, and who knew what he would do.
What did James Potter want from her?
She crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire.
She was a Lestrange, and though he might be a blood traitor, he was still a Potter, and she would extend the same civility and courtesy to him as she did to all other prominent purebloods. She would be polite and proper, and she would hear what he had to say.
And then she would crush him.
The Healers hadn't let James see Vanessa. He couldn't say that he was family because he wasn't. He couldn't say that he was her boyfriend, because he'd stopped being that, too. He honestly wasn't even sure he could claim to be a friend anymore. He still cared about her, and he thought that she cared about him, but where did that leave them?
The guilt clung to him. There was anger, of course. Flashes of white-hot fury raged through his body, pounding in his ears and filling him with the desire to lash out at anything and everything around him. But the guilt was even stronger. It dampened the anger, pressed it down, overwhelmed it. There were brief moments when all he could feel was the all-encompassing guilt, and it was threatening to drown him.
He clung to the anger every time he felt it, and it served as a lifeline, keeping him from losing himself in that guilt.
He had done this to her.
It might not have been his hand that delivered any of the blows, but what difference did it make? He was still responsible - this was his fault.
His mind wandered back to their final argument.
You had no problem asking me to risk my reputation and my safety to help you with the Daily Prophet article, but you balk at the idea of putting Evans at risk.
He'd initially only thought of that accusation in terms of what it meant about his feelings for Lily. He'd seen it as commentary on how much he valued the redhead, how he put her ahead of everyone else, even the girl he was actually dating. He'd somehow completely failed to miss the other part of the comment - the warning.
Vanessa had understood the risks of what she was doing, what he had asked her to do, and she'd done it anyway. She'd made the choice to put her own safety in jeopardy, both for him and for the ideals that he had convinced her were worth defending. But James was starting to think that he'd never truly appreciated just how much danger he had put her in.
His mind wandered even further back, to the weeks when Shaw had been furious at him, when Quidditch practice had been grueling and unpleasant. Daphne had explained it then, explained that James had put the team in jeopardy without even realizing it.
The last name Potter carries a lot of weight - people are going to listen to you. They're going to care about the things you say, the things you believe. Malfoy isn't going to risk a backlash by going after you directly - not if he can discredit you by going after the people you associate with.
Like Remus. Like Lily. And now like Vanessa.
He had put his friends in danger.
But he was James Potter, and he was going to fight back.
With that thought in mind, he squared his shoulders and allowed the Lestrange family house-elf to lead him through the grand manor towards a small sitting room. Two armchairs and a loveseat formed a semi circle in front of a fireplace with an ornate mantle. Several candles floated near the ceiling in a decorative patterns, their light casting faint shadows along the plush green carpet. The far wall was lined with large windows that looked out over the rolling estate.
Sewelyn Lestrange was sitting in one of the chairs.
She rose to her feet as James entered the room. She was dressed in dark green robes that matched the green of her eyes and the green of the carpet and window drapes, and her brown hair was pulled into an elegant up-do that accentuated her slender nose and high cheekbones. She was beautiful, regal, and James had the sudden suspicion that she was probably the most dangerous person he had ever faced.
"Mr. Potter," she said, extending her hand. "Welcome to the Lestrange Estate."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lestrange," James replied, surprised by how cordial she was. Although she probably didn't know the details of why he was here, she had to assume that it wasn't anything good. Particularly not after what had happened to Vanessa. Yet she was acting as though he was simply a guest visiting for tea.
"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards the vacant armchair.
James slipped into the armchair and willed himself to relax. He was tense, wary, but he didn't want it to show.
He looked down at the parchment in his hands. He'd carefully copied Vanessa's letter and then stored the original in a safe place. He'd left out the beginning of the letter, of course, seeing no reason to share the personal matters she had addressed. But the information she had given him…
That he had included.
"What can I do for you?" Mrs. Lestrange asked. "I was surprised to receive your owl. I do not believe the Potter family and the Lestrange family have every been close friends."
"No," James said wryly, "we haven't."
"A pity, really."
James thought it undoubtedly wasn't, but refrained from saying so. Instead, he asked, "Are you aware of the threats Lucius Malfoy has made against my friends?"
Mrs. Lestrange shook her head slightly. "I am not," she said. "I do not make it my business to know about the affairs of others."
That was a blatant lie, and James debated calling her on it. But he decided against that, as well, and pressed on, "And do you consider it your business to know about what happened to Vanessa Lovely?"
Mrs. Lestrange's expression arranged itself into one of sympathy, and she said, "I read about the attack in the Daily Prophet. I did not know her personally, of course, but I understand that you and Miss Lovely were… close."
The statement was in past tense, which meant that Mrs. Lestrange knew they were no longer dating. James wondered briefly how much she knew - how much had Rabastan and Rodolphus told her?
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "We were close. We still are."
"My sympathies, then, on the tragedy." The words were sweet, kind, and sounded incredibly sincere. It gave James pause, and he couldn't help but wonder, if only for a brief second, if she actually meant it. She didn't seem like the type of person who would go about physically attacking people, but then, that might simply have been because she had people to do her dirty work for her.
"I have reason to believe that Rabastan was involved in the attack," James said flatly.
Mrs. Lestrange did not even blink, did not show surprise or even anger. She merely inclined her head. "Is that so? What is your proof?"
"Proof is irrelevant," James replied.
An amused smile curled Mrs. Lestrange's lips. "Not all of us believe that."
"Really? Proof doesn't seem to be necessary when the attacks are on my family," James countered.
Mrs. Lestrange studied her fingernails idly as she replied, "You can hardly hold me accountable for the Daily Prophet's actions, Mr. Potter." Her voice was just slightly harder as she added, "And I do not take accusations against my son lightly."
"And I don't take attacks or threats against my friends lightly," James replied.
"Good," Mrs. Lestrange said softly, the amused smile back on her lips. "It would have lowered my opinion of you if you did."
"Well, that's a relief," James said sarcastically. "I would hate to have lost your good opinion."
The comment did not bother Mrs. Lestrange. If anything, it appeared to amuse her even more. Her smile grew, and there was a definite twinkle of laughter in her eyes.
"Lucius Malfoy has threatened Remus Lupin and Sirius Black," James said flatly, "Your son hurt Vanessa Lovely, and your daughter-in-law orchestrated an attack on Mr. Pettigrew's toy shop."
"Malfoy's actions are not my concern," Mrs. Lestrange replied calmly. "You have no proof that Rabastan was in any way involved in the attack and poor Miss Lovely, and as for Bellatrix…" She paused, trailing off, and James was surprised to see the tiniest bit of distaste in her features, "If you have a problem with her, I suggest you talk to her. None of this is my concern."
"Actually, it is," James said. "I'm making it your concern." And he handed her the parchment he had brought.
Mrs. Lestrange took it, still wearing her expression of amusement, and read quickly. Her expression barely wavered, but James caught the miniscule tightening of her mouth and the slight narrowing of her eyes. She was angry - and afraid.
Then she looked up at him, and said, "How very Slytherin of you."
James fought back a shudder. It was very Slytherin of him. It was underhanded and manipulative and everything he was fighting against. But Vanessa was in St. Mungo's, and the guilt from that was enough to make do this.
Besides, he reasoned to himself, it wasn't as though he was the one starting this. He was merely trying to force the others to fight in the open, to fight fairly. In this case, two wrongs really did make it right.
Didn't they?
"I want Lucius Malfoy to stop threatening Sirius and Remus. I want Bellatrix to not ever go after Peter again. And I want Vanessa to be safe."
"And let me guess," Mrs. Lestrange said, her tone dripping with condescension, "if they don't agree to your terms, you will make this public knowledge?" And her fingers curled tightly around the parchment, nearly ripping it.
"I will," James answered, feeling smug. "That's the problem with putting so much emphasis on your family's reputation - the higher you think of yourselves, the further you have to fall. Do you really want people to know about the things you've done? And do you think the Malfoys will want that, knowing that if your reputation falls, it will likely cost them as well? They are your close allies, after all."
Mrs. Lestrange laughed again, but this time there was no amusement in it. It was a harder sound, and it carried an edge. "Do you really think that you - a mere child - can blackmail me?" she asked, all civility and politeness gone from her voice. "You are a Gryffindor," and she spat out the final word with derision.
"I am," James agreed.
"And let me guess," Mrs. Lestrange continued, "you think you can use blackmail to make this a fair fight." She gave James an appraising look. "You haven't demanded that Abraxas and Lysander withdraw their legislation, and you haven't demanded that the Daily Prophet's accusations against your family stop. And from that, I can assume that you either have no idea how to blackmail someone, or you don't actually want to be doing this, and are trying to minimize what you are doing."
James said nothing.
"Let me tell you how blackmail works, Mr. Potter," she continued. "You do not ask for one simple thing. You do not try to make everything fair. Blackmail is not about leveling the playing field; it is about demolishing the other team before they even have a chance to enter the game."
"I have no interest in doing that," James answered. "I'm a Gryffindor, and I want to fight like one."
"And yet you are fighting like a Slytherin, and doing a very poor job of it," came the reply. Mrs. Lestrange stood up and cast the parchment into the fireplace where it immediately burst into flames. "You have something on me, and I congratulate you for obtaining it. But do not for a second believe that your family does not have its own fair share of secrets. If you start down this road, I assure you that we will find those secrets, and we will use them. And then you will see how the game is really played." A pause, then, "You cannot win this, Mr. Potter."
"We'll see," James answered, rising to his feet as well.
Mrs. Lestrange smiled coldly. "Yes," she murmured in agreement, "we will."