James' steps stilled when Sirius rounded on him. His mouth opened hesitantly, unsure of how to say it, unwilling to defend Regulus.
Okay, okay, this was okay, he insisted to himself, ignoring the bite of Sirius' grip.
Part of him was praying to his obscure concept of a cosmic consciousness that Sirius would refrain from expressing his anger through his fist against James' face. But the fact remained that he didn't know how to excuse the behaviour - Bellatrix had killed Sirius, how the fuck could Regulus overlook that fact? Even if Regulus hadn't even been alive to remember it, it had still happened! His jaw tightened and eyes forced closed when that fucking painted started up again.
Abruptly he felt his body jerk forward and before he was entirely certain of what was happening the earth itself seemed to be rebelling. James didn't bother to suppress the sense of relief when he looked up to see that where the portrait once hung was simply a quiet, well behaved hole in the wall. If anything could have improved his mood, it was the destruction of that bloody painting. Leaving his wand in his back pocket, he just began brushing himself free of debris.
"What are you going to do?" he challenged gently. "Storm into Malfoy's? Beat the hell out of him? You think Narcissa's going to let you?"
He didn't really think Sirius was going to be receptive to the idea that violence against Regulus would be a bad idea - well, mostly because it sure as hell wasn't. More and more, the sense that it was particularly well deserved was settling into the muscles of his arms, but he wasn't entirely confident that he could restrain his best friend if he lost control. They'd deal with Regulus, just please, gods, not right that moment.