Up To No Good

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lily as well as the Marauders were glad to be helping Dumbledore, but the truth of the matter was that no one seemed to know where to start. How did one go about defeating Lord Voldemort? It wasn't as easy as finding his hiding place and killing him. James almost wondered why, but he got the eerie feeling that Dumbledore knew much more about the Dark Lord than he did.

"Professor," he asked the bespectacled man. He was sitting behind his desk, writing a letter to someone. The Order meeting had just finished. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows to show that he'd heard before placing his quill in the inkwell, linking his fingers together before looking up at James. Dumbledore had the strange ability of seeming to look down at people even if he was higher than the other person; his steely eyes peered at James's over the rim of his half-moon glasses.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?"

"Did you know You-Know-Who personally?" he asked. "When he was at school?"

In truth, James wasn't really sure how old Lord Voldemort was--nor Dumbledore, for that matter. It hadn't really occurred to him to ask.

Dumbledore's gaze shifted seemingly behind him. "When he was a boy, I did know him," he nodded gently. "I was not Headmaster then, of course." He looked back at James, brow wrinkled with curiosity. "What is it you wish to know?"

"Well... I dunno. I guess I just find it hard to believe that someone so cruel, and so powerful, so dark could have been a real, normal person once." He felt his stomach drop a bit as he thought back to his own years at Hogwarts. The memories didn't make him hate Snape any less, yet the knowledge that he'd treated him the way he did left a bitter taste in his mouth. However, he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone. Not even his friends. "Thank you, sir. By the way."

"There is no need to thank me for anything," Dumbledore told him delicately. "But there is one thing I would like to ask you in return."

"Ask me, sir?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, looking deep in thought. He didn't look at James directly.

"Unless I am mistaken, your father was in possession of a certain invisibility cloak. Is that correct?"

Whatever question James had been expecting, that wasn't it. What would Dumbledore want with his invisibility cloak? His father had died years ago. It had been years since his father had given it to him.

"That's true. He gave it to me when I was pretty young."

"I see." Dumbledore shut his eyes for a moment. "Please do not take this to mean that I wish to volunteer you for anything in this war, Mr. Potter. However, I believe that your cloak may prove a useful asset, should it come to it."

"I would be honored," James said, a hint of eagerness in his voice. Then he added, "I haven't taken it out in years. I've grown since then. I'm not sure how effective it would be for whatever you're intending... Is there something you're planning?" He began to regret the last part, wondering if that had been too forward, but Dumbledore did not seem to mind.

"Nothing yet. But these are dark times."

"Professor, I will do whatever you ask of me," James told him firmly. "Believe me. I haven't always done the right thing, especially when I was younger, but my whole life I've understood the wrongs of blood purity. My wife is a Muggle-born. I can't imagine something happening to her at the hands of those traitors to wizard-kind." There was a trace of malice in his voice now, one that Dumbledore didn't seem to miss. His eyebrows knit in the center slightly, the corners of his mouth dipping in the slightest indication of a frown.

"Your intentions are admirable," he nodded lightly. "However, decisions made in anger are too often foolish. You are brave, James, but I do not wish to put you in danger. You must understand this."

James wanted very much to protest, but kept his mouth shut. "I understand," he said, but he was fairly sure that Dumbledore could see right through his lie. Dumbledore gave him a very slight nod in response, and so he turned away from the desk.

Realistically, he knew that Lily would have gladly offered up her life, just as he would. He wished they would all stop sitting around, talking about what Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters might be doing instead of going out and stopping them themselves. After all, they were nearly a dozen talented witches and wizards with Dumbledore on their side. Even if they couldn't face Voldemort themselves, James had no fear of Death Eaters. If anything, his hatred for them could not be measured. They were weak, grovelling fools who preyed on those they perceived lesser in order to please a more powerful dark wizard. There was nothing more unforgivable than that.

It was even harder to believe that Regulus was one of them.

He almost wanted to ask Sirius about it, but he knew that bringing it up would solve nothing. It would only cause bad memories to surface for his friend, something he couldn't bear to do to him. Sirius had enough on his mind.

As James sat sipping at his morning coffee, a brilliant tawny owl landed in the windowsill holding a roll of parchment in its beak. The bright waxy seal could only mean that it was addressed to Sirius, who presently appeared with his long dark hair unkempt. He stepped down from the stairs, taking the parchment from the owl.

Sirius unrolled the paper, sitting down across from James at the table as he scanned the message. His eyes began to widen ever-so-slightly as he continued to read the words, before he slammed the message onto the table.

Lily had just come out of the kitchen, her own eyes wide with concern. "Padfoot, are you alright?"

To their surprise, Sirius simply shrugged. "Nothing to worry about," he responded merrily. "It's a letter from my brother. Apparently my mother's just left the estate to him."

"You mean--"

Sirius shrugged again, pushing his hair out of his face. "The old bat's dead. Took her long enough, really."

James stifled a sort of laugh, but Lily only looked horrified. "Was she really that awful to you?" she asked, in a soft sort of tone as if she might have just said something rude.

"You've no idea," James acknowledged with a stony sort of expression.

"Does that mean you'll be going back to Grimmauld Place?" Lily asked him.

"What, you kicking him out?" James laughed.

Lily laughed in return. "I just figured he might want to move back with Regulus now that his parents are gone. It would be better without them, for certain."

Ordinarily, Sirius would have laughed with them, but there was no humor in his expression now. "Not anymore," he shook his head. "Had things been different still... like before. Then maybe I would have. But he's not on our side anymore, Lily."

"I know," Lily responded, lips pursed as if she was unsure what to say. "I just thought... since he's your brother..."

"It's not your fault," Sirius assured her. "I love him. But ultimately, he's a git who put himself ahead of everyone else."

"Surely you could convince him to join us," Lily pressed on. "Dumbledore could keep him safe. He trusts you, after all."

"Not as much as you'd might think," Sirius said. "I'm not sure you understand how Voldemort operates. He's not just cruel. He's cruel to his own followers. Anyone that steps out of line, magic or Muggle, Death Eater or blood traitor—is unworthy in his eyes. But it's useless. Nothing I could say would change his mind. He always put his faith in our parents first."

Lily made her way across the table, gently placing a hand on Sirius's shoulder. For an instant, a tiny instant, he thought he saw his friend flinch.

She waited just a moment before speaking, her voice gentle but firm with every word. "You may stay as long as you need, Padfoot. We must take comfort in the fact that we are fighting the good fight. The path to evil is easy. It takes courage and strength to choose goodness. And I know that you are both those things."

As Lily lifted her hand, Sirius buried his face in his. As soon as she stepped away from him, James could see why: as Sirius looked back up, his face was stained with tears.