His Masterpiece

Chapter 8

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.