"I hope they think I'm dead," said James slowly. "I hope they think I died escaping. Sometimes I check the paper to see if they're claiming they've killed me. It'd mean they've stopped looking. Maybe Frank and Alice ..."
He trailed off, too choked up to continue. It was possible: the Ministry told so many lies these days, even more than it had during the war, and a bit of propaganda like that would certainly serve a purpose. The Death Eaters - those not in the know - would be able to nod in smug satisfaction that all in their world was as it should be, and following their Dark Lord had been the right decision; the 'half-bloods' would lose a potential rallying point for resistance and stay cowed; and there was always the chance that the news would flush out a panicked rebel.
But the fact was that the Death Eaters were numerous, murderous and dedicated to crushing all those who had opposed them, and pretending their prey was dead was tantamount to losing a makeshift spy network in the frightened, servile community. So it was just as likely that the meat of the story - if not the exact circumstances of the Longbottoms' demise - was true. And if it wasn't? Then in all probability the truth was that they were alive but in the hands of the enemy. And that was scarcely better.
"I don't believe it. I don't bloody believe it." Forgetting in his distress that he was still a bit on the grubby side, he reached out to pull Diana into a hug; at least he wasn't alone here, and could offer comfort as well as seek it. It was just a pity his tone was so unconvincing.