James stared at his reflection in the mirror. Months had passed, and his nose looked as good as new. As if Snape had never broken it. James had cursed himself a hundred times over since that night. How could he have let him escape? He'd been so close. He'd been watching the apothecary for a long time, waiting for the day when the streets were empty, when Snape would be all alone, and then-
He didn't know where Snape got his ingredients now, or where he was staying. But James would find him. It was only a matter of time.
Out of the corner of his eye, James saw a silver vision. A lynx, ghostly and ethereal padded silently through the halls of his house, slipping into the bathroom, to deliver a report. "Another body has been discovered in Knockturn," the voice that emanated from it was Kingsley Shacklebolt's. "You will meet Black at the Ministry and investigate the scene together."
The patronus disappeared, evaporating into a fine mist. I should probably tell Lily where I'm going. She's pregnant. I shouldn't worry her. It's not good for the baby, James thought as he stepped out of the house without even saying goodbye.
He met up with Sirius in the Ministry Atrium beside the fountain. His old friend was looking worse for wear; his clothes were rumpled and there was a sour stench wafting off his unwashed hair. He reminded James of Snivellus at his worst. His mouth twitched, wanting to smile. Pads would probably deck him if he told him that. "Any word of your brother?" James asked as he came to a stop.
Sirius flicked his cigarette into the fountain's churning waters. "Nothing."
"He's powerful. There's still hope-"
Sirius barked out a laugh that was as sour as his breath. "We both know there isn't. If it wasn't the Knockturn Killer, then it was the Death Eaters. Maybe even Malfoy. He and Cissy didn't waste any time." Sirius scrubbed at his face. "Let's just go."
These days, James rarely saw Knockturn in the daylight. He squinted up at the winter sun high above, and despite how bright it was the air was cold enough to see his breath puffing in front of his face. The light didn't do Knockturn any favours. It illuminated all of Knockturn's filth, the trash in the gutters, the dead cats left lying to rot. The people were just as ugly, just as filthy. Their souls were as rotten as the ramshackle buildings that lined the street. James didn't know why the Ministry was putting so much effort into finding the Knockturn Killer. These people... they didn't matter. They lived like animals, and they would die like animals.
The only death James regretted was the Muggle waiter; he had been an innocent. But these people here, in Knockturn, they were suitable substitutes. Of course, they wouldn't have had to die at all if Snape didn't-
Sirius slowed down as they made their way to the crime scene, his feet dragging behind him as they edged closer and closer to the circle of Aurors who lingered at the entrance to a back alley. "Prongs," Sirius whispered, his voice hoarse. "What if it's him?"
"It's not," James quickly assured him.
"You don't know that. You can't know that. James, he fits the profile."
Regulus was thin and had black hair, but he wasn't that tall and he was far too aristocratic for James's taste. He would never touch Sirius's brother. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't because of James. "I'll go first, alright?"
The Aurors parted to let him through. James stepped up to the corpse he had made the night before. "It's not him," he called back.
Sirius went boneless for a second and leaned against a building for support. James felt that familiar spark of heat and anger flare up inside of him. Since when did Padfoot care about his brother? He was acting pathetic. He had tried to feed Snivellus to Moony, and yet a few dead kids was enough to drive him to drink? What did he think would happen if James hadn't been there to pull Snape to safety? Idiot. Big, tough Sirius Black falling apart at the sight of a little blood.
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His Masterpiece
FanfictionTerror permeated throughout Britain during the First Wizarding War. Every day there were new reports of attacks, of Muggleborns dead or missing, never to be found. In this climate of fear, there were whispers of a murderer on the loose, a serial kil...