Author's Note: Written for Round 3 for Season 6 of the QLFC

Round 3: 90s Nostalgia!

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Captain

Captain's Prompt: Pulp Fiction

Word Count: 1,280

Additional note: I'm riffing on the part of Pulp Fiction where the two hitmen are in the car talking about France and the various differences between what burgers at McDonalds are called. Fun fact: I actually used words from the official French translation of the Harry Potter series. I had fun picking out my favorites!

Beta Love: Many thanks to Crochetaway, Le soleil brille pas pour toi, Sehanine, Litfreak89, and sekdaniels for the beta suggestions and assistance! You are the best!

A Mission...With Cheese

"I can't believe we had to take this bass," Sirius Black complained, leaning back in the lumpy, cracked upholstery and desperately trying to look cool in the dilapidated, rusty van.

"Bus, Padfoot. It's a VW bus. A bass is a sort of fish," James replied, looking out the window with a dreamy look on his face. "Lily told me all about it. That's why I'm driving, and you're not."

"Ugh. You're so in love. It's disgusting," Sirius replied, rolling his eyes.

"You're one to talk. You love that damn jacket more than anyone loves anything," James replied, arching an eyebrow. "Moony told me you wear it in bed."

"That was one time!" Sirius growled. "And besides, I love ol' Rosie, I do." He curled his free arm and kissed the distressed leather where it stretched over his bicep.

"And you call me sentimental," James said, snorting loudly.

They went over a pothole and Sirius shouted with fear, holding onto the dashboard for dear life. "Muggle deathtraps is what these auto-ma-wotsits are!" he said, as James laughed.

"You were singing quite a different tune the other day when you were begging Lily to teach you how to drive a motorbike," James replied.

"That's different," Sirius said. "And besides, that was supposed to be between me and her. Does she tell you everything?"

"Mate, I was doing the washing-up with the window open," James said with a sniff. "And you don't exactly talk below a roar. Ever."

"I guess not." Sirius looked chastened. "Anyway, tell me about this honeymoon you guys went on."

James grinned. "It was wicked. Dumbledore knows this family, so we got to stay in this beautiful apartment in the heart of Paris for an entire week!"

"Hmph! And what's so great about France? Isn't that where those artsy-fartsy Beauxbatons birds are from?" Sirius snorted, unimpressed.

"Oi, don't be like that," James replied as he switched lanes. "You can't write off an entire country based on one bad night at the pub."

"It would've been a good night at the pub if my best mate had been there too," Sirius said sulkily.

"You know how it is. Lily worries when I'm out too late, especially after that thing with Frank's mum and dad. And we both worry about you too." James playfully cuffed Sirius on the shoulder. "You know you're always welcome back at our flat."

"But where would I do my dastardly bachelor deeds?" Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Stop it, you're going to make me crash!" James said with a snort of laughter.

"So then, what was it like?" Sirius sank back into the cracked seat, wincing in obvious discomfort. "I need something to take my mind off these bleedin' awful seats."

"Ok, well, you know, Paris is really not that far away, but there's all these little differences. You know what they call Muggles in France?"

"No. Why don't you enlighten me, mate?"

"They call 'em Moldu," James said, grinning as he turned onto a roundabout.

"Like...Moldy but with a u?" Sirius asked, trying to hold back his laughter. "So Lily would be Moldy-born, then?"

"Oi, that's my wife you're talking about!" James countered, but he was snickering too.

"Uh oh, looks like I'm in big Moldy-doo," Sirius said through peals of laughter, and James had to wipe tears out of his eyes.

"That's nothing compared to what they call their wands," James said, taking a few cleansing breaths.

"What, do they call it 'le stick' or something?" Sirius pulled out his wand and mimicked saying the word in a schoolgirl falsetto.

"No, better. They call it une baguette magique!" James could barely get the words out before dissolving into giggles.

"MAGIC BREAD?!" Sirius howled with laughter. "What, were they out of magic breadsticks?!"

"Oh, but that's not even the best one, mate," James said, trying to regain his composure.

"Oi, what do they call fanged frisbees? Une biting disque?" Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"Well, actually, I didn't go into any French joke shops," James said sheepishly as they stopped at a traffic light. "Honeymoon, remember?"

"Oi, look at you sucking the fun out of the air as we speak," Sirius replied. "What's next, putting on some old, musty, traditional Potter family robes and complaining about Ministry taxation?"

"Heaven forbid," James replied, rolling his eyes and taking a left turn off of the thoroughfare and onto a quiet, country road. "No, what I wanted to tell you is about...well...You-Know-Who."

"That's not funny, mate." Sirius suddenly looked as though he'd been given a lemon to suck on.

"Nah, I mean, the name he goes by. It has a meaning. In French. When Lily and I found out, we couldn't stop laughing." James was babbling and it was obvious that he was flustered.

Sirius finally spoke with a grim voice. "I'll be the judge of that."

"Fine," James said, pulling over to park and accidentally hitting the curb a bit before rolling back and coming to a crooked stop. "So his name. In French, it means something like 'He Who Runs from Death.'"

Sirius was silent as James fiddled with the parking brake. James then cast a worried glance back at his best mate as he went for the handle to open the door.

Sirius looked as though his eyes were about to bug out from the effort of holding in his laughter. "He's going to do a runner from death itself, is he? Are you telling me that the so-called Dark Lord is a bloody coward? Oh, that is rich!"

The two burst out into howls of laughter as they began to come up with all manner of humiliating names for the most evil wizard in Britain.

"It is I, Coward Mc-Flee-Pants, and I have come for all your Moldy-doo!" Sirius declared.

"No, no, I've got a better one! Drop your baguettes and tremble at the wrath of the Milksop Lord!" James roared.

When they'd finally exhausted every bit of wit they could come up with, they exited the van and moved to the back of it still shaking their heads and grinning. James was the first to reach the hatchback and after a little fiddling with the rusted lever on the back, pulled it up so they could survey the items inside.

"Should have brought Dragonfire Dungbombs," Sirius muttered, picking up a pathetically small bag of regular Dungbombs.

"How many are in there, do you suppose? You know, including our guy?" James asked, looking at the manor in the distance. He picked up a handful of ward-interrupting runes and grabbed a wicked-looking sword from under a burlap mat.

"Oi, where's my sword?" Sirius asked, looking hurt.

"Here, you can have the bigger one," James said, annoyed, and tossed over a second, slightly longer sword, which sported a cluster of rubies on the handle. "You sure are a bloody Gryffindor to the core, Padfoot."

"Ah, but it's them that'll be bloody, not me, when I'm done with them," Sirius replied, grinning wickedly. "And to answer your question, probably around five, so be ready to Prong out at a moment's notice. Just watch it with the horns, ok? I don't fancy becoming a kebab today."

"Damn, you're right. Should have brought the Dragonfire Dungbombs," James muttered. "Oh well, at least I wore my scarlet robes today. Lily gets mad when I come home with stains on my clothing, you see. She's still hopelessly dependent on that blasted Muggle washing machine."

"You're hopeless, mate," Sirius said with a good-natured smirk. "Now, let's go kill some fucking Death Eaters."

James grinned back and drew his sword. "I can dig it."