The living room was a lot emptier than when James had left it—he had a vague half-impression of about ten people, and then Moody was in front of him.
"Potter." A hand closed around his arm, grip firm, not a suggestion. "A word."
James was turned around and marched back into the hall before he'd managed a single syllable. Moody's hand stayed on his arm until they reached the very end, his grip tight enough to make the nature of the conversation perfectly clear.
He stopped abruptly. Then turned on James.
"I don't do second chances, Potter. You don't ever go behind my back again."
James swallowed and nodded.
"Count yourself damn lucky that Rosier won't play without you." Moody took a step closer, bringing them inches apart. His fingers tightened painfully on James's arm. "The only reason we're having this conversation instead of you spending tonight in a Ministry holding cell is because I need him." His voice dropped lower. "I don't need you."
James forced himself to hold Moody's gaze. Fought the urge to step back. Made himself stand his ground.
"The second you stop being useful to me is the second your second chance runs out, so I'd strongly advise you make yourself indispensable, and quickly. From here on out I expect complete transparency—everything you know, I know."
The magical eye swivelled briefly back towards the living room, then back to James’s face.
"You don't go around me. You don't make arrangements I don't know about. And if I get even the faintest sense you're holding something from me, Rosier's immunity is void."
A beat.
"And so is yours. Is that clear?”
"Yes, sir," said James. "Crystal."
Moody, apparently satisfied, stepped back and released his arm.
"Good."
Then he turned and stomped towards the front door without another word.
James stood in the hall until he heard the front door slammed, like a full stop on the conversation. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. He'd known Moody wasn't going to be happy—but knowing it and actually standing in front of the man while he made that unhappiness felt were two very different things.
One down, two to go, he thought, a little wearily, and turned back toward the living room.
Six sets of eyes were waiting for him. He supposed that was something—he should be glad more of the Order hadn't stayed, because this was not going to be a conversation he wanted an audience for. And yet the knowledge did very little for the unease settling in his stomach as he took in the room.
His father. Dorcas. Lily. Remus. Sirius. And Emmeline Vance.
Vance looked up when he entered but didn't show any particular emotion—in fact she gave him only a moment's notice before her eyes settled back on the ground. James understood, with a distant sort of clarity, that she wasn't here for him or his explanations. She was here for Evan. That made him feel marginally better. At least one person in this room probably wasn't about to shout at him.
"What the actual hell, James?!"
Dorcas on the other hand—was another story. He looked at her—at all of them. His father's careful, measured expression. Lily's closed-off one. Remus's quietly pained one. Sirius's, which was something considerably darker than any of the others. The full weight of it hit him all at once. Everything since Boxing Day morning, stacked up and pressing down—and somewhere under the exhaustion something shifted, and he found he just didn't have it in him to care how angry Dorcas, or Remus, or even Sirius might be. Not right now. Not tonight. Not with what he still had to say to Lily—not with Evan about to leave again, for God knows how long, with no assurance he'd make it back.
"If you've got an actual question, Dory, then ask it," he said. It came out flat—the sound of someone with nothing left to spend. "But be specific. I've had a very long week."
She narrowed her eyes at him, evidently not happy with his response.
"I have a question," said Vance. Her voice was even—quieter than Dorcas's and yet somehow cutting straight across it.
"Go for it," said James.
"I've known Evan for a long time." She tilted her head slightly, looking at him with the expression of someone puzzling something out—something almost protective in it, in her dark eyes. "I want to know what you did to earn his loyalty."
James didn't miss the word earn, or the way she looked at him—assessing. His opinion of Vance went up several notches.
"I'm not sure I did earn it," he said honestly. "Or deserve it."
There was a sound of disbelief from Dorcas. James ignored it.
"Here’s what I can tell you. I met Evan in detention in second year—" the memory surfaced slowly, clearer than he'd expected given how long ago it was, and he felt himself smile a little despite everything. "He told me a tosser in red was the same as a tosser in green. And then—he helped me finish my part of the work for no other reason than he could. After that we were—" James hesitated on the word friends the way he always did with Evan, it never felt right when he thought about what they’d been to each other in school, not quite friends and yet something more than aquaintences—almost friends— “friendly,” he finished finally. Then shrugged.
"Didn't exactly stay in contact after school— I got lucky; lucky it was him who found me that night at the safe house, otherwise I doubt I'd be here. After that, well—the stakes were a hell of a lot higher. Couldn't exactly stay casually friendly when we were supposed to be on opposite sides trying to kill each other, and neither of us wanted that. So it became something more concrete. I got to know him better. Realised just how fortunate I was that he liked me enough not to want me dead."
Vance eyed him for a long minute—and then nodded, seeming to find his words somehow satisfactory.
"James," said Remus and there was disbelief in his voice, plain and evident. "Are you saying you've been friends since second year?"
Remus didn’t pause over the word friends at all.
"Oh my god, you really were friends weren’t you,” said Dorcas, her eyes widening. “That day on the pitch in sixth year. Me and Mary both thought it was weird—you were properly friendly, laughing and joking. And when we asked you what the hell was up with it afterwards—what was it you said? Something about him being alright—no." She stopped. "You said he played fair."
"Fair," said Sirius, enunciating the word carefully, his tone made it sound like something unpleasant—something dirty. "I've heard that from you before.”
Sirius stood from where he’d been sitting, crossed the space between them until he stood in front of him.
“He fought fair—that's what you said right after he used dark magic to put Mulciber in St Mungo's back in school. I remember because I thought it was a fucking weird thing to say given the circumstances." A beat. "Not the last time you defended him, either, now I think about it. Said something on your birthday a couple of years back—decent, that was the word. You called him decent." His jaw tightened, there was something dark in his stormy eyes as they searched James’s face. "Didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand why you’d stick up for him—why when I saw you talking that day in Knockturn Alley you looked so guilty—but it all makes a lot more sense now—because that’s what you do isn’t it James. What you’ve been doing for years. Sneaking around with Death Eaters and lying about it."
James stared at him. He knew that look—the way Sirius's mouth twisted down at the corners. James's stomach sank, a cold knot of dread forming low in his gut. Because suddenly he knew exactly where this was going. In that terrible way you sometimes know something bad is about to happen a second before it does. Know you aren't going to pull out of a dive fast enough. Know you're going to hit the ground. Know a curse is going to slip past your shields and hit you..
"Are you fucking him too, or does he just watch?"
"Sirius," James said, forcing calm into his voice, "I don't know what exactly it is you think you know, but—"
He didn't get to finish.
"I know you're fucking my brother, James, that's what I know." Sirius's voice was rising, bitter and sharp. "I know you're a piece of shit, lying faggot. That’s what I know.”
James thought he saw Remus recoil slightly from the corner of his eye, heard Dorcas gasp. He didn't look at his father or Lily. He kept his attention fixed on Sirius, who was shouting now— his face red and only a foot away from James’s.
"I know he’s in on this. So don’t you dare play dumb with me. He's been following that psychopath's lead since before either of them could walk. Evan says jump and Reggie says how high, because he's never once been capable of thinking for himself. And you just brought his fucking puppeteer through that fireplace, so where is he, James? Where are you hiding my pathetic coward of a brother? His cock can’t be that good—so what is it? What sob story could he possibly have given you. That he's trapped? That he's sorry? That none of this is his fault? He's had a lifetime of excuses. A lifetime of letting other people do his thinking for him. A life time of hiding behind fucking Evan—I want to see him—I want to see him say it himself—so where the fuck is he?”
James felt sick. Not because of the anger in Sirius's face. Not even because of the words. He felt sick because behind all of it he could see something else. Something buried beneath the betrayal and the hatred. Something that wasn't about him at all.
Something that was about Regulus.
"Sirius, he's not—" he managed. The lump in his throat was hard and painful, the words catching on it. James forced himself to say the words. "He’s dead.”
Sirius didn’t react—he just stared at James. It felt almost as if time had stopped—like James trapped in this horrible moment, everyone holding their breath. Then there was a noise, or maybe not a noise, maybe it was a shift in the air. James felt a presence at his back. One that made him want to turn towards it, to lean into it instinctively. He didn’t need to look to know it was Evan.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," James said quietly. "He's not part of this."
His throat tightened.
"I wish he was."
Sirius seemed to unfreeze all in an instant. “No,” he said, and it tore James apart—because in that split second everything changed—the anger in Sirius’s face melted into something else. Something much worse. He shook his head, “no,” he said again. “You're lying.”
"Reg is gone.” Evan's voice was quiet, almost gentle as he moved into James’s field of vision. “Been gone almost a year.”
Sirius had gone very, very pale. “H—how–”
The word stuttered—like he couldn’t quite get it out right.
“He drowned,” answered Evan. “Thought it was suicide for a while, he wasn’t doing well before he disappeared. Now, think there might be more to it than that. Got himself into something dangerous—I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?” demanded Sirius—the words came out shaky—desperate.
“Couldn’t find him,” said Evan and his voice was hollow, tired, “looked for his body for days—every fucking lake, river and beach in Great Britain—suspect that means something. Not sure what though."
"But if there wasn’t a body—" the words were almost pleading. "How do you know? He could have run, could be hiding—"
"You know better than to ask me that Sirius,” said Evan,“you think I'd be here and not out there still looking if there was even the slightest chance he was alive? If we weren't sure he was gone, if we didn’t know for certain?"
We. James caught it even then—exhausted as he was, in the middle of all of it. We. Not him and Evan. Someone else. He tried to reach for the thread trying to pull at it—but the moment moved on without him. James watched it happen—watched Sirius sag. Deflate. Then something terrible happened— grey eyes found James's, no longer angry—instead they were bright, too bright—
"You knew."
Not a question.
"You knew he was dead and you didn't tell me."
"Sirius—"
"No!”
The word came out harsh, ragged—
“Fuck you James."
Sirius was moving—pushing roughly past James, past his mother, who stood in the doorway. Out into the hall. Then Remus was out of his chair and half-running after him—calling his name in the hall, then everything was quiet.
Dorcas broke the silence.
Because Dorcas always did.
"Right," she said, picking her coat off the back of a chair and looking between James, Lily, and Evan—as though she didn't know who to look at and didn't particularly want to look at any of them. "I'm going to—"
She gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. The direction Sirius and Remus had gone.
"Yeah."
She said it as if that somehow clarified her intentions. Then she followed Remus. There was a long moment where no one said anything. Eventually Evan cleared his throat—looked at him. His expression was guarded—his eyes searched James's face, and James wanted—he wanted a hundred things all at once. He wanted to lean into him. To wrap his arms around him and bury his face in his shoulder. He wanted to turn back into the stag and have Evan scratch between his antlers. He wanted Evan to say something.
Anything.
Anything other than what he did say.
"I should go." His voice was low, yet it still carried through the silent room. "I'll let you know when I'm back."
There was so much James wanted to say, but he couldn't. Not here. Not in front of Lily, his parents, Vance.
So instead he said, "be careful."
Evan nodded, then turned to James's mother where she stood in the doorway.
"Thank you," he said. Then, after a beat, "For everything."
She gave him a small smile. Tight, but genuine.
"Keep your organs inside your body, do you hear me?"
Evan's mouth twitched.
"I'll do my best."
Then he was turning towards the fire. He glanced over his shoulder at Vance.
"You coming? Reckon I owe you a drink."
Vance let out a low, choked laugh.
"Damn right you do."
The fireplace flared. Green light flooded the room with the roar of the Floo. And then it was once again quiet. Just the four of them. James, Lily, and his parents.
"We'll be in the kitchen if you need us," Effy said, before turning on her heel.
His father lingered. He looked at Lily for a long moment, something sad in his blue eyes — then crossed the room in a few quick steps and pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Then he let go, turned his back on James, and closed the door behind him.
"Is it true," asked Lily. Her voice was cool, detached. She wasn't looking at him—she was looking down at the floor. "What Sirius said—about you, is it true?"
James let out a long breath— “yeah, it is—but Lil it was a long time ago—I don’t know how Sirius found out but it’s not—it wasn’t the way he made it sound. I loved him.”
“You loved him,” repeated Lily.
“Yeah,” said James.
“When,” she asked, “when exactly was this?”
“School.” Said James. “We broke up just after the Christmas break in seventh year.”
"Broke up." She repeated the words carefully, like she was testing the weight of them. "You were in a relationship then?"
"Yeah," said James.
She nodded slowly. Still not looking at him. “For how long?”
“About a year,” answered James.
There was a very long pause—then.
“Did you have sex with him?"
James inclined his head. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I did.”
“So you lied about that too.”
Still that same cool, detached voice.
“When we got together, I asked if you'd been with anyone else, and you said no.”
James wanted to explain that he hadn't lied—not exactly. That she'd been the first woman he'd slept with. But even in his own head it sounded weak.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead.
“Has there been anyone else?”
“No.”
She looked up then. Her green eyes were very bright.
“How am I meant to believe that?” she asked. “The only reason we’re having this conversation is because you got caught. You weren’t going to tell me. You’ve had years to tell me.”
That hurt. It sank deep into James's gut because she was right. And he knew it.
“I know it doesn't change anything, but—he broke my heart, Lily. I didn't want to think about him. I wanted to forget. I wasn't trying to deceive you. I just wanted it gone.”
“I don't care what you wanted,” she said. “You let me believe I knew you when I didn’t.”
Her voice didn't waver. Somehow that was worse than if it had.
“You lied from the very beginning, James. And now I don't know what's real.” She swallowed. “I don't know which parts of our life were true, and which parts were things you told me because they were easier than the truth. I don’t know if any of it even was real.”
"Of course it was real," he said—
She laughed. A short, humourless sound he'd never heard from her before. "Of course it was real," she repeated. "Right. Of course." She turned away sharply—too much energy in the movement. "Do you have any idea—" she stopped. Started again. "I had to find out that the person I was going to marry has been lying to me for years. Lying to me about who he is— about everything." Her voice was rising now, the coolness cracking open, and underneath it was something hot and real. "I had to find that out in front of your parents. In front of Remus. Sirius. Dorcas. Fucking Emmeline Vance."
"It wasn't just my secret to tell. He didn't want anyone to know—it wasn't safe—"
"You didn't have to tell me it was him." She turned back to face him. "You could have just told me there was someone. I would have understood. Hell, James— how long has he been dead? A year, is that right? You could have told me at any point after he died." A beat. "You didn't. That was a choice."
"I'm sorry," said James.
"No, you're not."
It wasn't tears making her eyes bright, he realised. It was fury. She was furious with him.
"You don't care about me—"
“I do care—"
“No."
The word cracked through the room.
"You don't. Or you wouldn't have put me in this position."
Her voice rose, high and shrill and furious.
"I asked you. I practically begged you not to lie to me, and you did it anyway. Again and again and again. And then you looked me right in the eyes and told me there wasn't anyone else when I knew, I knew—something was wrong. I knew you weren't in love with me the way I was in love with you. And instead of being honest you laughed at me."
James flinched.
"You laughed at me, James. You made me feel ridiculous. You made me think I was imagining things. Like I was paranoid. Like I was losing my mind. If you cared about me, you never would have done that to me—you would have told me the truth, you wouldn’t have let me build a life around a version of you that didn't exist."