*It's so much worse than the oppressive silence, the way everything's blown up all at once. Of course Lily can't keep her fucking mouth shut and James is just sitting there and Frank's wife is crying and Frank himself is beginning to scare Peter very, very badly and that little jibe about Remus-and-Sirius is so sickeningly accurate he almost bursts into hysterical laughter right there and that'd be as good as suicide--

It's some sharp instinct that moves him to speak, a lightning-quick awareness of how to direct the focus, the anger, the danger somewhere else. His salvation appears, and she's an easy target, pouty and messy and distracting. He mutters it, his eyes on the floor.*

Don't we have a spy.