Disclaimers: I own all of the Harry Potter books, but not their content.
Next day at noon found Sirius and Remus standing in line awkwardly at a rather grimy old sandwich shop called Nelly's. Remus was in a tweed suit and flip-flops, while Sirius was again wearing Moody's hat, along with an orange "Save the Whales" t-shirt and faded corduroys.
"Only twenty-five hours left," muttered Sirius as he surveyed the blackboard where the sandwich choices and the day's special were chalked. The person in front moved aside, and Remus jumped in.
"Um... can I get a BLT? Hold the tomatoes. What do you want, Sirius?" he asked, turning toward his friend. The girl behind the counter eyed him oddly.
"Have I seen you somewhere before?" she asked quizzically, narrowing her eyes.
Sirius gulped. What an idiot he was to forget that he was wanted in the Muggle world as well as the Wizarding one! Sure, he was less emaciated and better groomed than on the wanted posters, but supposing someone recognized him anyway?
"Uh...er... well..."
"I must have been imagining it," she said apologetically, though she still looked suspicious. "I'm rather forgetful."
A man behind Sirius made an impatient noise, and he remembered that he was supposed to be taking an order.
"I'll do a BLT too. With tomatoes," he added.
"Is that all?"
"Oh, wait, drinks," said Remus.
"Have you got any Butterbeer?" asked Sirius. Remus stepped on his foot. "Ouch!"
"Butterbeer? What's that, is it new?" she asked, looking even more confused.
"He meant Coke," Lupin intervened. "Two large Cokes, please."
"Okay. We'll let you know when your order is ready." She was still looking at Sirius as if struggling to place a name, and Remus steered him over to an occupied table in the back of the room.
"Phew, that was too close. She looked like she recognized you," said Remus, wiping his forehead. "And then you go like an idiot and ask for Butterbeers."
"Hey, I forgot that Muggles don't sell them!" said Sirius defensively. "It's a mistake anyone can make."
Remus rolled his eyes. "I wonder where Scott is."
"He's probably..." Sirius began, and then saw someone walk through the door. "... right there."
Remus waved for several minutes before Scott noticed them. He shuffled over to their table, looking even more peculiar in the midst of normal Muggles than he did back at his cat-infested apartment.
"Hello," he said, sliding into a seat. "I don't know your names."
"I'm Remus Lupin," said the werewolf friendlily.
"I'm...uh..." Sirius stumbled; he couldn't say his real name; he was a wanted criminal. He said the first name that came to mind. "I'm James Potter."
Remus looked visibly shaken for a moment; his dead friend taking on the name of his other dead friend. He shook his head slightly, and then someone yelled, "Lupin!" from behind them.
"That's our order," said Remus, jumping up, leaving Sirius, a.k.a. James, and Cirian, a.k.a. Scott, sitting alone at the table. After several moments, Scott spoke.
"You have a dog?"
"Huh?" said Sirius, starting. "No..."
"You smell like dog," he replied. Sirius would have taken offense, but the man's tone was so matter-of-fact that he saw that he was being perfectly serious. Did he smell like dog? Remus had never said anything, but Remus wasn't really the type to say something like that. Well, Remus could turn into a wolf, and he didn't smell like a wolf. But maybe werewolves were different. What about James—did he smell like a stag? Sirius tried to remember. What did a stag smell like, anyway...?
"Sirius? Sirius!" Sirius yelped and looked up. Remus was looking at him strangely.
"Sorry, just thinking," muttered Sirius, turning a little red as he grabbed his BLT and took a large bite.
"So, to business," said Remus as he picked up his own sandwich. "Si... James, do you have the questions?"
"Yes," he replied, though it sounded more like, "Yefsh," through the mouthful of bacon, lettuce, and tomato. He procured a notepad from inside his pocket and handed it to Remus.
"Okay, Mr. Blask. First of all, how many cats do you have?"
"Twenty-nine, plus the eight born yesterday. That makes thirty-seven."
Sirius coughed and spat out some Coke. "You have thirty-seven cats?"
"Yes."
"Damn, even Figg doesn't have that many," he said to Remus, who nodded, looking a little shocked himself. He glanced down at the next question they had invented and gave a mental groan. "What are their names?"
Scott began without pause. "Milly, Oscar, Weevil, Jimmy, Sarah, Winnie, Binky, Sir Snickers, Wanda, Tiger, Midnight, Cleo, Athena, Fergus, Timbo, Mattie, Linda, Snowfur, Vanderdeiken..."
"VANDERDEIKEN?" yelled Sirius, jumping to his feet.
Scott looked unphased, but Remus stared at him. So did the rest of the sandwich shop, which had gone silent. Sirius turned red.
"Eh heh heh... My friend here was just, uh, telling me about a new Quidditch team from Denmark called the Vanderdeikens! Ah ha ha..."
Remus groaned.
"What's Quidditch?" asked someone bemusedly.
"Don't tell me you've never heard of Quidditch! It's the greatest ouch!" Remus had stomped in his foot again, this time very hard.
"I meant football, of course! Go West Ham!" said Sirius. Everyone was still staring at him, and he sat down sheepishly. Gradually, talking bubbled forth again, and the shop was again filled with noise.
"Where was I?" asked Scott.
"Vanderdeiken," muttered Sirius.
Scott again began rattling off the names of his felines, which took ten more minutes. Remus plowed on with the rest of the questions, which included queries about various breeds, his opinion on human rights issues, and his views on whether cats would do well in politics. Sirius felt his attention drifting—Moony had been the one to do the research and make up the questions the night before, while Sirius flicked Dungbombs at him until he threw down his quill and launched himself across the table at him. He still had several bad bruises.
"Well, that wraps that up," said Remus finally. "Would you mind us taking a few photos to accompany the article?"
'Not at all. Would you like to go back to my apartment so that the cats can be in them, too?"
"Uh... Uh... we have some special cats at the studio that we use for animal shots! Yeah. We'd better head there. It's not far."
"Okay."
The three men rose from the table and exited the sandwich shop. Sirius was apprehensive Now came the most delicate part of the operation—luring Mr. Blask to the Ministry of Magic, sneaking him through the Department of Mysteries, and getting him through the Veil. It suddenly occurred to Sirius to wonder whether that was considered murder. Was he really justified in leading an innocent man to his doom?
"Yes, the Afterlife said so," he muttered, and they walked on.