Destiny Reversed

Chapter 18 Quicksand

James stared at the piece of parchment clutched between his fingertips, registering the familiar scrawl, the unusual candor of its contents. A part of him wanted to tear it to shreds, viciously imagining it to be the writer's face, but he also wanted to believe it. He couldn't really have gone so far as to set a deliberate trap for them, could they? Did nearly three decades of friendship count for so little?

The kids are in Bulgaria. Help them find the other Horcruxes. Burn this letter. –Peter

If it were anyone else, James would have thought his old friend was sprouting off nonsense, but Dumbledore had explained; the Marauders and Lily had been part of a circle of very few who had known about the Horcruxes, and what Voldemort had been truly after.

So here he was again, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, awaiting his friends' arrival. This time, he didn't think Sirius would be enough, but luckily for him, Remus had just returned from his mission, having been exposed and barely making it out of that wolf den with his life. Still, he insisted that he may have still made a difference to the younger werewolves, given them hope for a better future.

But Remus's justifications sounded like distant hope in itself, so James wasn't sure if he could trust his old friend's words. Remus never told anyone when he was troubled, unless asked to his face.

"Speak of the devil," James muttered as his fireplace glowed green, feeling a pang of sorrow as he recalled that blasted Muggle phrase Lily had unintentionally ingrained in his head. They used to joke that the wizarding equivalent was "Speak of the Grindelow" or "Speak of the Boggart." Yet none of their numerous inserts seemed to properly express the dark seduction of the original phrase.

Perhaps "Speak of the Voldemort" would be more adequate.

"James."

He finally looked up at Remus's weary voice, sandy hair streaked with new grey and tall figure slouched against the wall. Sirius, too, seemed unlike himself, a dark look cast across the shadows of his face. James stood up, hands inside his pockets as he nodded at his best friends; the lump in his throat didn't allow him to do much more.

"I'll kill him."

Both Remus and James focused their attention on their third friend, his hands shaking in anger as he gripped the fireplace mantel with unwarranted strength.

"Padfoot –"

"The Tracking Charm worked, Prongs," Sirius said angrily. "It worked, and we followed him as far as some Muggle orphanage before he Apparated out and we lost the signal. Apparently it had just burnt down when we got there, and when I talked to the matron in charge she said that a boy matching Harry's description had just been there moments –moments, James– before we were, that he was looking for something Tom Riddle had hidden there."

James looked up. "Tom Riddle? Isn't that –"

"Voldemort's name? Yeah."

"Either Peter led them there, or he followed for his own reasons," Remus said quietly.

"I'll never forgive him." Sirius clenched his teeth. "Especially if something happens to Harry or Vi. The matron didn't know where they'd gone, and the Charm won't work again until it's fully charged without any Apparition breaks in between. We don't even –"

"Bulgaria," James said tiredly. "They're in Bulgaria."

"Why the hell would they be in Bulgaria?"

James held the letter out. "Because Peter told them to go there."

"Bloody hell." Sirius looked out the window and into the night, up at the stars that shone just as sleepily where his nephew and niece were. "It's a trap."