James gave Diana a rather bemused look, still unsure what to make of her supposition. You could hardly fight a war by planning to throw yourself on the mercy of your enemy, particularly as he had none. Besides - even now, if someone had offered him a one-in-a-hundred chance to destroy Voldemort, he'd have taken it in a heartbeat. Otherwise, what was the point of anything?
He might have ventured something along those lines, had their flatmate not shown up and begun fussing with the stove. All things considered, he didn't mind Finn much: the man minded his own business, mostly, and he'd be far better off than he was if he'd thrown his lot in with them, so he was probably all right. More likely than not, anyway. Besides, they had so little privacy in this place that he'd probably picked up enough to bring the Ministry down on their heads weeks ago, if he'd had a mind to, and so far they were all still here. But still, he was a stranger, and a bit of an odd one at that, so carrying on about his current desire to pulverise the oh-so-mighty Lord Voldemort in front of him was probably a bit much.
"Evening," he said, clearing his throat a bit in an effort to regain his composure. "Oh - traitors, apparently. Paper's a bit thin on details, though. Might be a mistake." Or a lie, covering either a failure or a murder, but that was another thing it was perhaps best not to say. " - There, fixed anyway," he added, meaning the dirt on Diana's face; that was one victory for the day, at least.