The brief halt in her movements didn't go unnoticed. He hadn't really thought it was much of it as a security matter or something. If anything, they were owed a few explanations on procedures, especially with Bellatrix still out there, somewhere. Hell, especially after they'd tried to lock Sirius away as one. A greater pile of horseshit he'd never heard. For fuck's sake, Sirius had killed more Death Eaters than anyone else in the Order - usually it wasn't a thought he relished or took any sort of pleasure in, but it was something he clung to, especially now when it was all to easy to- fuck.
"It's a war, James!" Nicholas had spouted, as though James of all people needed to be told. "And in this war? It matters were you come from!"
"You haven't got the faintest idea what you're on about," he'd growled. There was a clatter as James was aware of himself standing, pushing a chair aside. "And you'd better be asking to see my left arm before you even think about asking for his or so help me-
"James, not now," Remus cautioned, trying to sound like he was giving a warning - the same tone he'd used when he'd tried to insist he'd give James detention for sneaking out again.
James gave a sharp shake of his head.
"It'd different now," Remus sighed, sitting in James' living room. "He's off on his own for who knows-"
He took a deep breath.
"It's someone on the inside, someone... close to us," Sirius said pointedly. He hadn't needed to clarify. James knew who he was thinking of.
"Peter Pettigrew," he slowly bit out, not entirely veiling the ire inspired by saying the full name aloud.
The name itself was a curse. To date he'd only ever said so much of it to Sirius, and that required a serious amount of alcohol. He'd not said Voldemort's name with such venom. Just as he though he began to feel an icy grasp settle on his shoulder, James drew a hard drag from his cigarette. It seemed to help. His eyes closed for just a moment longer than would have seemed normal as he focused on the warmth spreading through his chest, gripping tightly to what he was very certain was the present reality. At the idea of mediation through smoking, his lips almost quirked into a smile.
Actually, now that he thought on it, he wasn't being entirely gentlemanly. Drawing out another cigarette, he placed it to his lips. Beautiful things, magical cigarettes, that sprang to life without a lighter. He held it out to her, telling himself it was strictly a matter of etiquette and now some symbolic bribe for information. Part of him wondered if she'd tell him, even if they'd locked him up. It would be so easy, he thought, to tell Sirius. To wriggle their way inside. If there was a way to kill a zombie, of all people, Sirius would be able to find it. For once, James had no ethical qualms with his ability to watch his best friend dole out a vein of magic he couldn't bring himself to touch. It wasn't about weakness. Sirius was shite for quidditch. It all balanced itself out.