A/N: I wasn't going to post this until I had some later chapters reworked properly, but the very very kind reviews I've gotten recently made me decide to post anyway. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: HP and the wizarding world are owned by JK Rowling and not by me.

Chapter 35 - 4.1 or "Around the Tabernas"

Dear James and Sirius,

Well, my dad's still set on what he calls his "final decision," though I think my mum's been trying to get him to change his mind and let me go. He's got his whole host of reasons why he thinks it's a bad idea for me to go to the Cup with you, but I think it really comes down to the moon falling not even a week before we'd be traveling. I told him I'd be fine, even if I'm a little banged up. I told him I'm good at coming up with cover stories and you all think I'm simply ridiculously clumsy after three years of my stories. But then of course he brings up the cost of the international Floo waiver and the price of the ticket to the match.

I'll do my best to try to grab any letters that your mum sends and get them back to you, though I'll have to at least wait until my dad's responded to the last one. He keeps going back to it, which gives me hope that maybe my mum's doing a better job of persuading him than I thought.

I still don't understand your plan with the letters and the Duplicator, though. It seems a bit risky.

Have you heard at all from Peter? I sent him a letter weeks ago asking how he's doing with the new baby at home and he still hasn't responded. I know it usually takes him a while to use his family's owl, but it's unusual to not get any response at all.

I'll keep you updated if anything changes.

Remus

Moony,

Let's make one thing clear… YOU ARE COMING TO SPAIN WITH US WHETHER YOUR DAD SAYS YES OR NOT. We'll Polyjuice some poor sod into you and fool your dad for a few days if we must. But hopefully it doesn't come to that. My mum's sending another letter this afternoon to clarify that their contact at the Ministry has waived the cost of the international Floo waivers, and that my parents have already purchased the tickets as a gift for me, so it's a sunk cost already, isn't it? But more to the point, it's the bloody QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. Who the bloody hell cares about the gold?

Between my mum and your mum, it's a cinch that your dad will let you come.

We finally got an owl from Peter yesterday. He'll be arriving the day before the Final and staying for a bit after. Apparently his mum has taken to burning all her post after reading it, but isn't remotely interested in what Peter's doing with his time now, so he's taken to wandering to get away from her and the new baby. She's gone mental, sounds like.

Make sure you grab any of the letters with my mum's signature you can get your hands on. And our plan is brilliant—nothing's too risky for Marauders, after all.

James (& Sirius)

P.S. Did you see Syria beat Venezuela in the semifinal, so they'll be taking on Madagascar in the Cup Final? Khalil's a once-in-a-lifetime Seeker, so tell your dad that he's depriving you of an opportunity to witness true greatness on the pitch. That ought to help change his mind.

P.P.S. Went down to the record shop again yesterday and that bloke Chester's got us listening to the Rolling Stones. Bloody marvelous. Ask your mum if she knows the band, eh?

Dear James (& Sirius),

No Polyjuice necessary—Dad says I can go! (I don't even want to know who you two were thinking you'd convince to masquerade as me in my own house.)

My parents got your mum's letter last night, explaining about the Floo waivers, and even though my dad's still worried about it being right after the full moon, I think my mum was finally able to persuade him. Only concern now is if I'm too beaten up, he says he might change his mind. Usually he can mend me fairly well, but not as well as Madam Pomfrey, and he worries there'd be too many questions if I show up with broken bones and bruises and the like. But five days between the moon and when I'd have to travel is plenty of time…surely I'll be all right by then.

Glad to hear Peter's been in touch. I only wonder why his mum's acting so barmy.

I nicked one of your mum's letters for the signature. I can try to find another one too, just in case. I still don't understand your plan, but I'll do my part.

Will write again after the moon—

Remus

P.S. My mum says OF COURSE she's heard of the Rolling Stones, and then she lectured me for ten minutes on how she needed to expose me more to proper Muggle culture. And then she and my dad got into a tiff because my dad insists that Chuck Chirrup and the Sonorous Six is superior to any Muggle music.

P.P.S. WE'RE GOING TO THE WORLD CUP! I still can't believe it…

Moony,

Damn straight you'll be coming to Spain with us. Though it's too bad that we'll never get to enact our brilliant scheme involving Polyjuice Potion, a few overeager house elves, and a raging case of spattergroit. Still though, probably better for all involved that your dad just came to his senses and is letting you come. We told Peter he's got to learn Spanish for the journey, as all we've learned so far is how to say "Royston Idlewind is a nutter" and "It is so hot in this desert, perhaps you should take off your top," though, admittedly, the usage on the latter will be limited solely to good-looking witches. So it's down to you and Peter to learn how to say, "Where's the toilet?" and "When's supper?" because Merlin knows James & I won't be learning that rubbish.

Good luck on the moon, mate, and don't worry so much—five days is plenty of time to get you all healed up. And if not, James & I will think of something that'll help. We'll be waiting for your owl once you're through the worst of it.

Sirius (& James)

P.S. Your mum's brilliant, she is. Ask her if she knows about a band called the Beatles. Chester at the record shop about fell out of his chair when we said we didn't know them.

P.P.S. CHUCK CHIRRUP AND THE SONOROUS SIX?! How'd a bloke who likes Chuck Sodding Chirrup land a girl as cool as your mum?

Moony,

How'd you fare? It's been two days—we're getting worried. Sure you came out of it fine, but let us know, yeah?

Sirius (& James)

Dear Sirius & James,

Apologies for the penmanship—dislocated my shoulder and it's taken me longer than you'd imagine just to write this sentence. Must be brief. Doing ok other than my shoulder. Dad's worried, but I think he's still going to let me come. Told him we could use the old 'fell off a broom' cover story. Think he'll go for it. See you Friday, one-armed or not.

Remus

P.S. Mum about cried when I asked her about the Beatles. Made me listen to them for over an hour. I fear she might fancy them a bit.

Moony,

Fell off a broom, eh? We're already ahead of you. Bring the letters and your flea-bitten arse and we'll take care of the rest.

James & Sirius

On Friday afternoon, Remus stumbled out of the fireplace into the Potters' sitting room and nearly toppled over, his balance rather thrown off by the scratchy arm sling he was forced to wear. His father, who had emerged from the green flames seconds before him, had only just steadied him when there was a loud and very familiar whooping from the doorway. Remus turned to see James, Sirius, and Peter, grinning and welcoming as they hurried toward him. James's mother was not far behind.

"Brilliant," said James, unburdening Remus's father of the bag in his hand and then shaking that hand enthusiastically. "Good to see you again, Mr. Lupin!"

"All right, mate?" Sirius said.

"So good to see you both again," said Mrs. Potter, stepping around Peter to warmly greet them, though as her eyes fell on the sling holding up Remus's arm, her smile faltered.

"Remus here had a bit of a spill," pronounced Remus's father loudly before Mrs. Potter had the opportunity to ask. He reached over and gripped Remus's good shoulder, forcing an attempt at a nonchalant laugh. "Fell off a broomstick from a decent height and dislocated his shoulder, didn't you, son?"

"Y-yes," nodded Remus, thrown off by the look his father was giving him—both pleading and stubborn. "That's right. I'm a rubbish Quidditch player Mrs. Potter. James knows it for certain."

Perhaps his father, who after all had only met James & Sirius briefly on occasions similar to this one, would not be able to recognize the mischievous glint in James's eyes, nor the laughably innocent expression Sirius was wearing, though Remus could only hope that Mrs. Potter did not happen a glance at either of them right then. Thankfully, she seemed focused on now moving Remus away from the fireplace and examining his shoulder herself with gentle fingers.

"It's true," James agreed. "You're really rather terrible. But maybe not as bad as Peter here, who flew into a tree only a few hours ago."

Peter, who Remus expected to shrink with embarrassment at the remark, shrugged and wore an almost proud expression. "I've never been on a broomstick as fast as yours, James. Maybe it's the Cleansweep's fault."

"I'd be happy to heal it all up," said Mrs. Potter, her eyes still focused on the injured shoulder.

Remus shook his head at once. "Oh I couldn't ask you to—"

"No no," said his father simultaneously. "It's nothing to be concerned of. I've done a fair job on it."

"I'm all right, Mrs. Potter, honest…"

"Remus just has a bit of a clumsy streak is all…"

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Potter, now patting Remus's good arm kindly. "It's boys this age, I'm certain of it. I've already helped with Peter's bloody nose…"

"On account of the Cleansweep," clarified Peter, still looking oddly proud about the fact.

"…and only last week Sirius fractured his wrist…"

"She fixed me up quicker than a quintaped, she did," nodded Sirius.

"…and James here still won't tell me how he knocked out two of his teeth a few days ago…"

"Regrew them in an hour," James told them, grinning widely and tapping his two front teeth with his fingernail. "My mum's an excellent Healer, Mr. Lupin."

"Oh…all—all right," stuttered Remus's father, looking around at all of them with some concern. "If Remus would like you to take a look, that'd be all right with me."

And thus, when Remus approached the closed door of James's bedroom twenty minutes later, his arm was no longer propped up in a sling and he could move his shoulder in full rotation without any residual pain. His friends had retreated upstairs to allow Mrs. Potter to work on Remus's shoulder, which had only taken about five minutes total, but Remus had spent the other fifteen minutes attempting to get his father to stop thanking Mrs. Potter with an awkward profuseness and to return home, for Merlin's sake.

He could hear unfamiliar music playing and his friends' muffled voices from within the bedroom, but he paused and frowned at a new sign that had been adhered to the door, reading, "DO NOT ENTER. (Unless James says you can.)" Remus hesitated before reaching out his fist and rapping lightly on the wood.

The talking inside stopped abruptly, and a second later, the door cracked open enough for James's eye to peek out at the intruder. The eye blinked once at Remus before the door was thrown open entirely and James pulled him boisterously inside.

"What are you doing knocking, Moony?" James laughed, cuffing him lightly on his just-healed shoulder. "You haven't got to knock, you twit!"

"But the sign—"

"The sign's for my parents and the elves, not for my mates! Come in, come in! All healed up, then?" James took Remus's bag from him and then threw it unceremoniously onto his bed as he ushered him further into the room and snapped the door closed behind them.

Remus looked around at the sizable bedroom, feeling at once both gleeful to be back in the presence of his friends, and rather disturbed by his suspicion of what had transpired on his behalf. Sirius was lounging on the floor, surrounded by several sheets of parchment and flipping a small rectangle of rubber that Remus knew to be the Duplicator between his fingers as he grinned up at them. Peter was sitting cross-legged next to James's record player, examining the backs of album covers curiously. A handful of multi-colored Dissimulators were scattered about the floor.

"All right," Remus said rather sternly, looking around at all three of them and doing his very best to erase any hint of his excitement or happiness from his expression. "Now you can tell me—what's with all the injuries?"

Sirius blinked innocently up at him. "No idea what you're talking about, Moony."

"It's like my mum said, didn't you hear her?" added James, as he sat down next to Sirius on the floor. "These things just tend to happen to boys our age."

If he hadn't known these particular boys as well as he did, Remus would not have believed it. As it was, though, he raised an eyebrow at James and crossed his arms in what he hoped was a menacing fashion.

"These things tend to happen?" he repeated. "Your teeth just tend to fall out on their own, do they?"

Sirius smirked at him. "They do when you practice dueling with your best mate every day."

"And when that best mate tends to have rubbish aim from time to time," added James, holding back a laugh.

"Only due to the fact that he broke his wrist a few days prior…"

"Also as a result of some dueling practice gone wrong…"

"And yet his best mate didn't even have the excuse of a prior injury to blame his terrible aim on…"

"Or perhaps the first best mate should have blocked the jinx like a proper dueler…"

"All right," Remus interrupted, holding up a hand for silence. He turned to Peter, who had been watching the conversation with apparent entertainment. "And your nose, Peter?"

He shrugged. "That really was an accident. Only James said we could use it as part of their plan—"

"Peter!" said both James and Sirius at once. Sirius leaned backward to try to punch him, but couldn't reach.

"What?" Peter rolled his eyes and gestured toward Remus. "He already knows."

"He suspected, he didn't know. How can you call yourself a Marauder and yet not appreciate the difference?" asked James, mimicking the eye roll.

"So you two were injuring yourselves on purpose to deflect attention from my injuries, were you?"

Sirius waved a hand and turned back to the sheets of parchment in front of him, as if wholly uninterested in the conversation. "Don't get your wand in a knot about it, Moony."

"Don't get my…" Remus trailed off in frustration, his insides coiling with guilt. He could not believe how nonchalant they were being about this. "This was the brilliant plan you were hinting at in your letters?"

"Look," said James, serious now but still unconcerned. He reached up to grab Remus's sleeve and pull him down to the floor next to them. "We had already bloodied each other up a few times dueling, but we were hiding it from my mum. Then when you mentioned your dad getting worried about letting you come because of any lingering injuries, we thought we'd be a bit more obvious about our own is all. My mum wouldn't think twice about your having an injured shoulder if she had already dealt with our reckless stupidity."

Remus crossed his legs and scrubbed at his forehead in contemplation for a second, his guilt sparring with his ever-present gratitude for his friends' concern. "You're not allowed to do that again," he said, looking back up at them after a moment. "You're not allowed to hurt yourselves because of me. I won't allow it."

"Going to punish us, are you?" said Sirius, his eyes still on the letter in front of him.

But Remus was not interested in their pith. "Sirius," he said, deadly serious.

Sirius glanced up at the tone. "All right," he conceded, showing his palms and then giving a little snort for good measure. "We won't do it again."

"James?"

James shrugged at him. "If you say so, Moony."

Remus turned to Peter now, but Peter cut him off before he could even ask. "Don't look at me. All I did was crash James's Cleansweep into a tree."

Allowing a bit of the tension to release from his shoulders, Remus now asked James curiously, "And your parents are okay with you dueling each other, then? They didn't take your wands again?"

"Of course they don't know we're dueling each other, but my dad said they wouldn't be taking our wands. Said it's more important to have a wand these days for safety."

"Yeah," Sirius said, looking up once more to grin at them. "Wouldn't want to be wandless if we ran into old Voldemort at the village cinema, now would we?"

Peter gave a little squeak. "Don't joke about that!"

"Why not?" asked Sirius with a hint of mocking. "I'm sure Voldemort enjoys a nice film when he needs a break from murdering Muggles and the like."

As James laughed at this, Peter, now evidently finished examining the records, moved over to sit next to Remus and quietly told him, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to answer your letters. My mum wouldn't let me. Said that sending too many owls'll attract attention from the wrong sort."

"That's all right," said Remus truthfully. "I'm just glad you were able to come, Peter."

Peter bobbed his head, smiling widely. "Oh me too! My parents—well, most of the time they don't even seem to notice if I'm there or not. But then sometimes my mum acts completely barmy, like not letting me use the owl much. The baby cries all the time, even through the night. I was about to go mad if I couldn't get out of there before September."

James had plucked up one of the stray Dissimulators from the floor next to him and started twirling it mindlessly between his fingers. "Did you see The Prophet yesterday, Remus? The Declan Lindgard article?"

Remus couldn't help the smile that overtook his face at the thought. "Ah," he said, remembering the stab of pride he had hidden from his parents as he read the article at the breakfast table. "Let me remember the headline correctly… 'Dissimulators: The Best Quidditch Fad Since the Dopplebeater Defense?'"

All three of his friends laughed at the idea, because it was entirely absurd that a plan the four of them had hatched a few months ago in the Hog's Head had become headline news and an international con waged against the head of the ICWQC.

"Even The Prophet's in on the joke now," said James. He flicked the Dissimulator in his fingers so that it produced a puff of yellow smoke and a shrill of cheerful yelling. "And they've got about as much sense of humor over there as Snivellus does."

Sirius looked back up from his parchment and grimaced. "Put it away, will you? The noise is likely to attract your mum."

"We got a letter from old Zonko about a week back," James told Remus, tossing the Dissimulator back to the ground. "He's made a shiny Sickle on those things, he has. Said we can shop for free all next term."

Remus privately felt that Mr. Zonko might come to regret that offer, no matter the amount of money their idea had netted him in recent weeks.

"Filch doesn't stand a chance," mused Sirius idly. "And neither does Idlewind. He'll be out of a job right quick after the Cup. The entire world thinks he's a joke now, don't they?" But before any of them could respond, he thrust the letter he had been working on toward Remus and asked, "Have you got Mrs. Potter's signature, then?"

"Right." Remus pulled himself up from his spot on the floor and hurried toward his bag. From inside the front pocket, he retrieved two of the letters that Mrs. Potter had recently written his parents and proceeded to hand them over to Sirius.

"Beautiful," said Sirius, examining both of the signatures intently. James slid over to scrutinize them over his shoulder. "I think this one's clearest."

James nodded. "Agreed. Use that one."

Sirius tossed the unneeded letter aside and laid the selected piece of parchment out in front of him as though it were a precious artifact. He then moved a second sheet directly next to the first, and Remus noticed that it was already covered with a short note.

"Won't your mum notice the handwriting's different?" he asked, unable to restrain himself from reflecting on the many flaws of this plan.

"We used a Dictation Quill," James said, waving a dismissive hand. "My mum uses them from time to time. Neither of them will think anything of it."

"It's only the signature that's valuable," said Sirius, distracted by the letters in front of him. His fingers fiddled with the small rectangle of rubber for a moment before he hovered it over the bottom of the first letter. With the pink side down, he rubbed the Duplicator gently over the signature at the bottom of the parchment Remus had just given him. Then, with a deep breath, he flipped the rubber end-over-end and proceeded to drag the white side of it across the bottom of the dictated letter. Euphemia Potter's signature now glistened at the end of the letter, as if just signed by the woman herself.

"Perfect," whispered James, gazing at the letter with awe as Sirius held it up for him to see.

"What'd you write in it?" asked Peter.

Sirius handed the letter off to James and moved two new sheets of parchment into its place on the floor in front of him. Remus recognized one of them as the crumpled note Sirius's mother had sent him at the end of the previous term. As Sirius moved to mimic the same duplication technique using these two new sheets of parchment, James read the first letter aloud:

"Dear Mrs. Black,

It is with greatest regret that I write to inform you that, despite our previous arrangements, my husband Fleamont and I will be unable to meet you and your husband at the conclusion of the Cup Final. Another situation has arisen that we will need to attend to at that time.

We will continue to happily house Sirius for the remainder of the summer holiday, and hope that you and your family have a pleasant and prosperous journey to Spain. I apologize sincerely for the change in schedule.

Best regards,

Euphemia Potter"

"Short and sweet," Sirius murmured, now holding the second completed letter up victoriously, his eyes locked on his mother's fake signature gleaming at the bottom. "And this one says about the same, though with less pleasantries. Only way Mrs. Potter might realize it's not from my mother is if we make her sound too nice."

"And if they write back to one another?" Remus asked dubiously.

"Won't have time before tomorrow, will they?" said James. "That's the beauty of leaving it 'til the last minute."

"And my mum will likely be so put off she won't write for the rest of the summer, at least," added Sirius as he blotted the signature gently with one finger and then inspected it. "Theodora Macnair once didn't show for tea with her on account of her husband dropping dead and my mother never forgave her. Compassion and understanding aren't exactly in her vocabulary."

Any sort of response to this from the other three was silenced, however, when a gentle knocking sounded against the bedroom door. For all its soft patience, though, the sound might as well have been cannon fire based on the reaction of the boys inside the bedroom. James swore and sprang to his feet, launching himself toward the door as if he was about to use his body as a human shield against intruders. Sirius uttered a more offensive curse and began hastily pulling the many letters strewn about the floor into an untidy pile and haphazardly shoving them under James's bed. Peter straightened and propped his hands on his knees, as if he had been caught doing something terrible when, in fact, he had been doing nothing at all. Remus watched them all, torn between amusement and apprehension.

His hand on the door knob, ready to open, James turned and glanced back at Sirius, who gave him a nod to indicate the letters were well-hidden and no other incriminating materials were in sight. James then looked toward the corner of the room, where his owl Ari's cage was covered by a fuzzy Wimbourne Wasps blanket, and inspected it from afar. Evidently satisfied with the rather unremarkable state of the owl cage, he inhaled deeply and opened the door enough to allow his head through.

"Mum!" Remus could hear him say. "Didn't you read the sign?"

"Darling, I knocked, didn't I?" said Mrs. Potter from the hallway, and her patient voice hinted at mirth. "Or are we forbidden from even knocking now?"

"All right, all right," James replied quickly as though to head off a longer conversation. "What is it you need, then?"

"May I come inside, James?"

From his vantage point on the floor, Remus could only see James's shoulders droop the way they always did when he became annoyed, but he could easily imagine the pained look on his friend's face when James whined, "Mu-um…"

"All right, all right," Mrs. Potter conceded, echoing her son from only moments before. "I only wanted to say hello and see if you boys wanted Flora to bring you some tea…"

"We're fine Mum," James said, pulling his face backward and beginning to shut the door. "We don't want any tea –"

"Aren't you at least going to ask your friends, James?"

James gave an irritated huff and turned toward the other three occupants of the room, rolling his eyes at the inconvenience of it all. "Any of you gits want tea?"

From the other side of the door, they could hear Mrs. Potter's admonishment at her son's lack of proper etiquette, but before any of them even had the chance to respond to the query, James had turned back around and had told her, "Nope, no tea for us. We'll be down for supper. Bye, Mum!" Then without a moment's hesitation, he snapped the door closed once more.

"Actually," laughed Sirius as James hurried back toward them, rolling his eyes again, "I'd love a cuppa…"

James responded with a rude hand gesture. "Shut it. I don't know why she's so interested in us these days. Can't she take a hint?"

Sirius looked annoyed at this, but before he could respond, Peter asked, "Will your mum be traveling to Spain with us tomorrow?"

"Of course," said James. "She loves Quidditch even more than Dad, I reckon. Plus Dad gets terrible Floo-sickness, so my mum'll have to help him a bit, especially on an international Floo."

"I've never been abroad," Peter said, now looking worried. "Is the Floo very terrible?"

James shook his head. "It's not too bad, only a bit longer of a journey, so a few more spins in there."

"Just don't sick up all over yourself, or you'll smell of it for the entire match and we're the ones who'll have to sit next to you," said Sirius, and Remus could not quite tell if he was joking or not.

James smirked at the worried looks on the faces of both Remus and Peter. "My mum'll have a tonic if you get ill. And worst case is the tent has a spot to wash, don't worry."

This did not entirely comfort Remus, who always felt rather queasy after a quick journey via Floo, and who was not much looking forward to the prospect of an international Floo. Not wanting to seem weak in his worries, though, he did not voice his concerns.

Sirius had now retrieved the letters from underneath the bed and was once again inspecting them closely, his lips moving slightly as he read the words again to himself, and Remus had the distinct notion that he had read them over like this many times before. James had moved to the record player in the corner and was flipping through the stack of albums as if trying to determine which one to play next. Apparently coming to a decision, he removed the one they had been listening to and replaced it with a new one, his deft fingers setting the needle at the precise spot to play the beginnings of an impressive guitar riff. Satisfied, he moved toward the covered owl cage and grasped the Wasps blanket between his fingers before looking back over to Sirius.

"Ready?" he asked.

Sirius looked up from the letters and nodded. "They're perfect, I think."

This seemed to be all the confirmation James needed, and a second later, he had removed the blanket from the cage, but instead of only his familiar brown barn owl staring back at them, there was a second owl on the perch, jet-black and currently sleeping with its head under its wing. James opened the cage and allowed Ari to hop gratefully onto his shoulder, leaving the black owl asleep for the time being.

"Whose owl is that?" asked Peter, eyeing the other bird with some apprehension.

"We hired it from the post office in Diagon Alley," James explained, returning to his spot on the floor and transferring Ari to his knee. Sirius was now working to seal one of his precious letters in an elegant envelope. Remus had a quick glimpse of Walburga Black's name shining on the front of it before Sirius had handed it off to James, who began securing it to Ari's leg.

"It looks enough like my parents' owl Zek," continued Sirius, now rising and approaching the sleeping owl cautiously. "James's parents have only seen Zek a few times. They won't think to tell the difference."

Remus frowned as he watched Sirius rouse the black owl from its slumber. "You can hire an owl for more than just a delivery?"

"Sure," said James. "You can hire an owl for as long as you need it. We've had this one here since Tuesday, though we've had to keep him locked up during the day so my parents wouldn't see him coming and going. Ari hasn't been too keen on him, but we've kept them both well-fed, isn't that right, mate?" James gave Ari a little scratch on the head. The owl hooted a low, almost resigned response.

Sirius was now mirroring James and tying the second letter, the one addressed to Mrs. Potter, to the black owl's leg. The owl seemed drowsy and rather perturbed by the rude awakening.

Once both owls were properly adhered to their deliveries, Sirius gave the black bird a few treats to better wake him up, after which the owl nipped his finger affectionately. "Give it an hour or so," Sirius told the bird, stroking its head. "Stretch your wings for a bit and then come back round dinnertime to deliver the post, yeah?"

Whether or not the owl understood this instruction, Remus could not say, but it gave a quick hoot in response as both James and Sirius moved toward the open window. Remus and Peter stood, too, and Remus wondered whether Peter also felt a sense of desperate unease. For all of James and Sirius's bravado, for all their planning and assuredness, Remus could see the many holes poking through this particular plan. He only hoped he was wrong.

But the next moment, both of the owls had flown off into the day, and James and Sirius had turned back toward them with the same casual confidence they always wore, and Remus could not bring himself to worry any longer. After all, tomorrow, he would be traveling to Spain with his three best friends for what might be a once-in-a-lifetime Quidditch match.

"Think we've enough time to pop up to the record shop before dinner?" Sirius asked James with a grin.

What was done was done, and if it came to it, Remus reckoned they would deal with it tomorrow.

When Remus was eight years old, he had tagged along with his father on a routine visit to the Ministry of Magic, where his father had had an appointment for his Apparition license renewal. The visit had been quick—they were in and out in less than an hour—but Remus had never forgotten the tightness with which his father had held his hand, nor the discomfort he had felt throughout. Any number of the Ministry witches and wizards they had come across would have recoiled in horror if they had known what Remus was. In this place, rules and registrations and legislations were developed and signed to protect the rest of the world from Remus, and Remus had been able to feel little else except that distinct otherness for the entire duration of his visit.

His second visit to the Ministry, though anticipated with a fair bit of apprehension, passed by with much less trepidation, which Remus of course attributed to the presence of his three friends. The morning after his arrival at the Potters' began early, as all of the boys had been shaken awake by Ant long before the first glow of dawn. Then, much to Sirius's delight, they all piled into the back of the Potters' car and made the journey to London. Remus had hoped perhaps this would be an opportunity to catch up on his aborted slumber, but James was too excited about the Quidditch match, and Sirius was too excited about the car ride, and their excitement pulsated throughout the tight space and into Remus's veins, leaving no room for the thought of sleep. He was going to Spain today. He was going to Spain for the Quidditch World Cup. He was going to Spain for the Quidditch World Cup with his three best friends, and he found himself pinching his leg intermittently during the ride to confirm he wasn't dreaming.

They arrived in London just as a velvety dawn began breathing shadows onto the city's buildings, though they did not have a chance to see it break into day, as they were ushered through the visitor's entrance and into the underground Ministry of Magic without dalliance. Perhaps not wanting the boys to think too many disquieting thoughts as they passed the scene where, months prior, the Fallen Five had been strung up on grotesque display for the entire wizarding world to see, Mr. and Mrs. Potter guided them quickly into the lifts and onto level six, designated as the Department of Magical Transportation. As it was barely after seven, the department was deserted apart from a grey-haired wizard who was introduced as Mr. Frenapple, a longtime friend of Mr. Potter's and the reason they were able to come by their international Floo waivers in the first place. He smiled warmly at all of them in turn as he greeted them one by one.

"I'm Remus," said Remus, shaking the wizard's hand. "Lupin. Er, Remus Lupin. Th-thank you for this wonderful opportunity, Mr. Frenapple." He cringed at his own awkwardness, at the way that even a friendly Ministry wizard was able to cause him to shift and stammer like he was eight years old again.

Mr. Frenapple, though, seemed to think nothing of it, as he had now turned back to James with a smile. "My my, James, what strapping young lads you all are. Are you quite sure you're the same James Potter who used to come up only to my knee?"

"What was that, a year or two ago?" Sirius murmured under his breath. Peter hid a smile, but Remus was watching James, who seemed not to hear the slight, as he was busy graciously thanking the gentleman for the waivers and the use of the office's private Floo, which would save them ample time by allowing them to circumvent the public Floo queues in the Atrium. With the exception of their parents, Remus had never seen James interact with adults outside of Hogwarts before, and was fascinated by the effortlessness his friend exuded in conversation. He was not uncertain and stuttering like Remus, or straight-backed and regal like Sirius, or nervous and clumsy like Peter. He spoke to Mr. Frenapple in the same easy way he spoke to his parents, or the Hogwarts professors, or the Muggles in the village near his house—as if he were their equal.

The pleasantries didn't continue for much longer, and soon they were all gathered around the centerpiece of the office—a broad, gilded fireplace that roared to life when they approached it. Mrs. Potter was the first to take a handful of glittering powder from the vase Mr. Frenapple passed to her, and she stepped into the emerald flames without hesitation, winking at them all before saying in a calm, clear voice, "The Offices of the Magical Administration of Spain! Madrid!" With a whoosh, she was gone.

James followed after her, then Sirius who seemed unable to stand still in his excitement, then a shaky Peter, until Remus was left alone in the Ministry office with Mr. Potter and Mr. Frenapple.

"Thank you," Remus told Mr. Frenapple when the latter offered him the vase.

His nerves must have been evident, for Mr. Potter placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's no worse than a normal Floo, Remus. Just keep your elbows locked in and your mouth closed, and you'll do fine. And if you get a little ill, Mrs. Potter's brought some tonic for me on the other side, and you're most welcome to a swig."

Remus nodded and gave the two men a swift, grateful smile before tossing the Floo powder and stepping into the green flames, which licked at his sides. He checked that his rucksack was secure on his back and then, as he had heard all of his friends say before him, he announced the destination of the Spanish magical government, locked tight his eyes, mouth, and elbows, and felt the telltale pull of the Floo, hurdling him through space.

Mr. Potter had been right. The sensation of the Floo was no different when traveling internationally than domestically, though it took a bit longer than usual for Remus to stumble out of the grate on the other side, and Sirius was the one who steadied him as he found his bearings.

"All right, dear?" said Mrs. Potter, leaning toward him to put a warm palm against his forehead as he balanced his feet. "Need a seat? A tonic?"

His head was still spinning, but Remus didn't know if his friends had needed any such coddling, and he had no interest in being the only one of the four too weak to handle a simple journey by Floo.

"N-no, no, I'm fine Mrs. Potter, thank you."

She removed her palm and looked as if she was going to argue with him, but at that moment the fireplace behind them roared to life once more and Mrs. Potter moved to tend to her husband, who was looking surely as green as the flames that had spat him out.

"Not so bad, eh?" said James, as the four boys moved together.

"I thought it'd be much worse," Peter said, looking rather proud of himself. "I've got a bit of the spins but it's not nearly as awful as I thought."

"Just a little Floo." Sirius rolled his eyes. "Never killed anyone."

Remus, though, was busy gazing around at the cavernous room they now found themselves in. The ceiling was arched and painted in a vibrant, moving fresco, depicting a gallery of witches and wizards in various scenes of public service. In one, an old warlock seemed to be orating to a large legislative body, all of whom were nodding along and breaking into spontaneous, uproarious applause every few seconds. Next to them, three uniformed witches tended to a group of wounded and sick patients, administering pain potions and healing their various injuries with a wave of their wands. On the other side of the vast arching ceiling, a stern-looking wizard with a handlebar mustache was depicted applying his signature to a curling, trailing scroll. The detail and dimension in the artwork was mesmerizing. It was almost like looking up into a massive, arched window into the world.

Unlike the Ministry, the room was bustling with activity, and once Mr. Potter had taken a bit of his tonic and had thrown an arm around his wife for stability, the group moved into a long, snaking queue that led to the Portkey service.

"Why couldn't we have just taken a Portkey from England?" Peter asked, and Remus noticed he kept leaning toward his left, as if his body hadn't quite regained its equilibrium yet.

"Portkeys don't travel internationally," Mrs. Potter told them. "It's been restricted by the International Confederation of Wizards only recently."

"Ever since some poor Australian child picked up the Portkey her father used for business travel," Mr. Potter continued, though then he grimaced and clapped a hand over his mouth as if he greatly regretted opening it in the first place.

Mrs. Potter patted his arm gently and then finished for him. "Dear girl ended up in Siberia. Took their governments months to work out what had happened. It was terrible, just terrible…"

"We're just taking the Portkey to the match, which is in the desert," James said, craning his neck to see how many more people were queued in front of them. "It'll just be a quick hop."

Conversation continued, but again, Remus found himself more interested in observing his surroundings. The group in front of them in the queue was dressed in robes of red and orange, with sleeves that flowed past their fingertips, and was speaking in a tongue Remus didn't recognize. The family in front of them all wore jewel-adorned turbans, even the two young children. Across the aisle, an American couple seemed to be in an argument with one of the Administration officials about the scheduling of their return waiver. They were not wearing robes, but shorts and gauzy tops, and Remus tried not to stare.

After only fifteen minutes or so, they reached the front of the queue and Mrs. Potter handed the harried Spanish official a pile of parchment, which he flipped through disinterestedly and then, without even looking at any of them, instructed them to take hold of a filmy, empty milk bottle. With a lurch they were whisked away once again, this time together, bumping and jostling and churning, and Remus grabbed quickly again at his rucksack, ensuring it was still squarely on his back, and then he closed his eyes and wished for it to be over.

They hit the ground with a thump and all of them, even Mr. and Mrs. Potter, ended up prone in the sand. The first thing Remus noticed, even before he had opened his eyes, was the heat of the sun that suddenly blanketed them, as if they had stepped into a roaring kiln. It took several attempts to open his eyes as they adjusted to the light, but once he regained his sight, he gazed at his surroundings in awe. The six of them had landed on the top of a massive sand dune, on one side of which the sun had only just crept completely over the horizon, and on the other side of which they overlooked a vast sea of tents, enclosed by a ring of dunes similar to the one on which they were now perched. In the distance, a colossal, circular stadium was perched on the edge of a sand-covered bluff, and even from afar, Remus could see hundreds of wizards—tiny at a distance—scurrying within it and around it, presumably finalizing preparations for that evening's match. The view was breathtaking, and Remus was so captivated by it that he barely even noticed as the group all pulled themselves to their feet.

"Merlin's beard," James murmured, his eyes huge as they took in their surroundings. "It's spectacular."

"It's enormous," said Sirius, eyes on the scene below him even as he brushed the sand from his Muggle clothes. "How're they hiding something like this from the Muggles? It's a city!"

"Muggle-Repelling Charms," said Mr. Potter, who was the last of them to find his feet. He took a swig from the potion vial that his wife handed him, which seemed to restore some of his color, at any rate. "Hundreds of them. And the location is well secluded. It's rare for Muggles to journey this far into the desert, at any rate."

Peter seemed less impressed by the vista than the rest of them. He readjusted the shoulder straps of his rucksack and asked, "How are we going to find our tent in this?"

"We've a map, dear. The tent we've booked is rather close to the stadium, it shouldn't be too hard," Mrs. Potter told him kindly. She then removed the traveling jacket she had been wearing and tied it around her waist before once again moving underneath her husband's arm to support him. "But we've got a bit of a walk ahead of us, I'm afraid. Best not linger too long in the heat, come on."

With that, she began the slow descent from the dune, her husband leaning substantially on her. Remus knew that James's parents were older than his own parents, perhaps much older, but they both possessed a sprightly energy that made them seem more youthful than their age. Still, watching the strength of Mrs. Potter as she supported some of her husband's weight while trekking a great distance across rocky sand was almost as mesmerizing to Remus as the view itself. Sirius seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as they had only just reached the bottom of the sloping dune when he hurried forward and offered his own shoulder for Mr. Potter to lean on.

"I'm all right, I'm all right." Mr. Potter waved them off and removed his arm from around his wife. "Floo takes a lot out of me, is all, and the heat doesn't help."

"Once we get closer to the stadium, we'll start to feel the Cooling Charms," said Mrs. Potter. "Merlin only knows why they didn't extend them to the dunes…"

Remus glanced back at the tall dune they had just descended, where another group of wizards had appeared at the crest. Even now, bathed in the shadow of the many dunes, the heat of the day felt less oppressive. Despite this, Remus felt a sheen of sweat as they began navigating through the mass of tents, many of which were stirring with the early morning goings-on of their inhabitants. As they moved farther away from the dunes, the sand became flatter and harder underfoot and Remus was able to catch his breath a bit as he watched witches and wizards emerging into the daylight, their various spoken languages unintelligible but fascinating.

"Er, Sirius?" Remus's voice was low enough that Mr. and Mrs. Potter, who were several paces behind the boys, would not be able to hear. "What are you going to do if you accidentally come across your parents?"

Sirius snorted. "You think my parents would be caught staying in a tent, Remus?" Clearly unconcerned, he eyed a pajama-clad girl who was nursing a cup of tea in front of a nearby tent and grinned at her before continuing. "They're staying in the city. There's at least a few wizarding hotels in Almeria. If there weren't, my parents wouldn't have agreed to make the journey at all."

"Plus, they're predicting over 100,000 attendees tonight," said James, rolling his eyes and shoving Sirius in the shoulder as they now passed the giggling girl. "He'd have to be the unluckiest bastard this side of the Chudley Cannons if he simply bumped into them."

"Numbers are on my side," nodded Sirius. "And I'm extremely lucky, I'll have you know. Except when it comes to Arcana, apparently."

"I think the Boneses are staying in a tent near us, though," said James. "And I'm going to get some straight answers out of Stu and Eddie about Boxing Day if it's the last thing I do. They owe us after all. I won't have anymore of their coded letters or…silly…silly excuses…"

James became distracted from what he was saying by a redheaded girl who emerged from a tent as they were passing, and for a strange second, Remus thought they had ludicrously stumbled across Lily Evans, but then the girl turned toward them and she was older and had a French flag pinned to her top and she was certainly not Lily Evans at all. Sirius and Remus exchanged a look as they tried not to laugh at James, whose ears had turned pink.

"Why are the French flying their flag all over the place?" James muttered, obviously attempting to distract from his own embarrassment. "They know they aren't playing in the match tonight, right?"

But Remus noticed more and more flags as they navigated the sea of tents, and though the majority of them were the bright blocks of color that made up the flags of Madagascar and Syria, once he was properly paying attention, he picked out dozens of other countries' flags, displayed proudly on tents or clothing: Japan, Canada, Brazil, Germany, Nigeria, Australia, and – indeed – France were all easily spotted as they walked, along with a host of others that Remus didn't recognize at all.

In time, they reached the tent that Mr. and Mrs. Potter had booked for the day. It was nestled on the edge of a bordering dune in a prime location only a quick walk to the stadium, which loomed above them like a great beacon. Knowing the Potters as he did, Remus had not expected them to skimp on the lodging, and the tent did not disappoint. The ground floor was comfortable and well-equipped, consisting of a small kitchen, a few chaise lounges, and a curtained-off section that would act as Mr. and Mrs. Potter's bedroom. Anchoring the tent right down the middle was a spiraling iron staircase that led to a roomy loft with a sloped ceiling and four tidy cots. In front of the tent sat a ring of wooden chairs around an ornate tea table, laid out as if in a private garden instead of the middle of a desert.

As Mr. and Mrs. Potter insisted that they needed to rest from the journey, the boys dropped their bags on the cots, took a swig of Sun Protection Potion as mandated by Mrs. Potter, and then once again emerged into the bright, dry sun to explore the tent city. The heat of the day was significantly reduced near the stadium thanks to the Cooling Charms that emanated from within it, and despite the exhaustion that was beginning to twist around his muscles, Remus found himself thrilled to explore the new landscape alongside his friends. In the shadow of the great stadium, they discovered a host of food vendors just now beginning to open for the day, and the boys lounged a bit up a sandy dune as they ate croquettes and sipped on icy granizados, watching with interest the many varied witches and wizards bustling about. Despite the people-watching, the most notable happening didn't occur until after they were fully sated and had wiped clean their fingers, when Sirius fished into his pocket and pulled out a small metal instrument that Remus recognized at once as a Muggle lighter.

"What is—are those cigarettes?" Remus asked, flabbergasted eyes trained on the white paper box that had followed the lighter into daylight.

"Sure hope so." Sirius smirked and plucked one of them from the packaging to place between his lips. "Or else I've been smoking paper the last few days and that'd be embarrassing, eh?"

Peter, too, was watching Sirius with awe. "Where'd you get them?" he asked with something bordering on reverence.

Sirius, though, had his attention focused on the little lighter in his fingers, as his thumb flicked the top of it once, twice, three times, until a small flame grew from the tip. While he moved to light the cigarette between his lips, James answered Peter.

"Nicked 'em."

"You—you stole a packet of cigarettes?"

"More than one packet, actually," clarified James, now reaching over to take his own from the box in Sirius's hand. "And we didn't technically steal them. We left money in the till. Only the Muggles have some barmy rule about you needing to be sixteen before you can buy them, so we brought out the old Invisibility Cloak, popped down to the newsagent's, and got 'em ourselves."

Both Remus and Peter stared as Sirius passed the lighter to James and he, too, lit his cigarette. They were both acting supremely casual about sitting in the middle of thousands of witches and wizards, smoking stolen Muggle cigarettes. Peter seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Remus, and he looked around them nervously, but no one was paying the four boys any attention at all.

"What if you get caught?" he said in a dramatic stage whisper.

"What, you think the Spanish government hasn't got enough to worry about right now?" said Sirius. "Think they're going to swoop down and arrest us for having a smoke?"

"Well, no, but…but what about your mum and dad, James? What if they—"

"They're knackered. They won't be leaving the tent anytime soon, and even if they do, they'd have a job finding us in this crowd." James waved an unconcerned hand toward the tents spread out in front of them as he took a long drag. He wasn't quite as elegant about it as Sirius was, but it was obvious from the practiced motions that this was not the first time the two of them had sat smoking together. The smoke wafted toward Remus and he fought the instinct to bat it away, the scent reminding him forcefully of his Muggle grandfather, of the tobacco stains on his teeth, of the terrible, hacking coughs that would cause his entire body to convulse. Remus had been terrified of the man.

"All right." Peter sat up straighter, seemed to gather himself. "Let me try, then."

"Yeah?" James asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. At Peter's nod, he passed over his own cigarette and all of them watched as Peter raised it to his lips with no hesitation.

When Peter dissolved into a fit of coughing, Sirius grinned, James clapped him on the back, and Remus—unable to hold his tongue—said, "They say those things will kill you, you know."

"Don't be a mother hen," Sirius chided, expelling a waft of smoke through his smile. "No fourteen-year-old ever died from a few smokes."

A few short years ago, such a slight admonishment from Sirius would have caused Remus to shrink back, to recoil in self-doubt and the fear of his friends turning from him; now, though, Remus just rolled his eyes and said, "Plenty of people have died from cigarettes, you dolt."

"Well if we keel over dead later tonight Moony, I give you express permission to say 'I told you so,'" laughed Sirius, taking another drag. Remus could tell that he was reveling in the explicit rebellion and that any further discussion of potential negative consequences would fall on deaf ears.

Distraction arrived in the form of a pair of chattering witches—some sort of Scandinavian, by the sound of it—who walked by the boys and drew all of their attention. They were not wearing robes, but shorts cut off much closer to their hips than their knees, and all four boys stared unabashedly as the girls passed by until Remus remembered his manners and averted his gaze, spotting a different pair of girls emerging from the maze of tents nearby.

"Hey, look, it's Adin and Kaia."

"Oi!" Sirius called, plucking the cigarette from his lips. "Balini!"

Both Adin and Kaia turned their heads toward the boys, and even from a distance, Remus could see the wide smile that split across Adin's face when she realized who had called to her.

"Hi!" Adin said, once the pair had made their way through the crowd to where the boys remained sitting in the sand. Upon noticing the cigarettes, Adin's eyebrows rose toward her hairline, but her smile did not waver. "You smoke now?"

Sirius shrugged casually, but James flat-out ignored the question and asked, "How long have you been here, then?"

"We've been here since Wednesday," said Kaia excitedly. "Dad knows the Syrian minister, so we got access to the team's practice session two days ago—"

"You're joking." James gaped at them both.

"I'm not," said Kaia. "Khalil is brilliant, just brilliant, and their Chasers—"

"Yes, yes, enough about Quidditch already, Kaia." Adin wafted a hand in front of her sister's face.

"We're here because of Quidditch, Adin," retorted Kaia with a roll of her eyes, but Adin paid her no mind.

"We've been here three days, and we've seen loads of people. Miles Greengrass and his sister, Damon Laslow, the Merriweathers, the Boneses—"

James sat up straight. "You've seen the Boneses? Eddie and Stu?"

"Sure, the whole lot of them's here." Adin turned to point across the tent city, back toward where the Potters' tent sat. "They've got a massive tent, just over there, about a row in. You can't miss it."

"Perfect," said James, craning his neck to get a better view of where Adin had indicated. "I need a word with Stu."

"I think some of the Boneses might be coming round to our tent tonight after the match," Adin told them. "Our parents are having a party. I'm sure your parents are invited, James, they always are."

"And us?" Sirius asked.

"Of course you should come!" Adin beamed at the four of them. "All of you! We've invited some others too, so it won't just be the old people."

"We might drop by," said Sirius enigmatically.

"Anyone else in—" James coughed, cleared his throat, and ashed his cigarette before continuing. "Anyone else in our year coming to the match, Adin?"

It was obvious to his friends who, exactly, James was asking after, though Adin of course wasn't privy to any such knowledge.

"From Hufflepuff, Nancy Robards got in yesterday and she's brought Ev Linney and Karina Cotswold," she told them, ticking the houses off on her fingers. "Only Ravenclaw I know is coming is Lionel Marigold, but I'll steer clear of him. I saw Darlene Burke and Zelda Carmichael yesterday, but I'd wager most of the Slytherins' families are staying in the city, not in the tents."

"It's a good wager," muttered Sirius. "That lot wouldn't be caught dead sleeping in a tent, I guarantee it."

"Any, er, any Gryffindors?" James prodded, leaning his elbows against his knees casually.

Adin shook her head. "Just us. Goomer and Raeanne couldn't get tickets. I asked Lily to come with us, but her parents are Muggles. I don't think they wanted her traveling abroad without them, so they said no."

From the corner of his eye, Remus saw James deflate ever so slightly, but no one else seemed to notice, as it was, surprisingly, Peter who asked, "What about Gin?"

Adin shrugged. "You'd have to ask Karina. She's been staying with the Leighs this summer, had you heard? I guess her dad and Gin's mum are dating. All I know is that Karina is here with the Robards, and Gin's not."

"We're off to get a bite," said Kaia, pulling on Adin's arm. "I'm starved. You lot want food?"

"Nah, just ate," said Sirius, stubbing his cigarette out in the sand. "Maybe we'll see you tonight, though."

Adin looked annoyed at being pulled away from the conversation, but she smiled brightly and waved to them all nonetheless. "You'd better! See you later!"

Once the girls had disappeared into the crowd, James also buried the remains of his cigarette in the sand and then stood and stretched.

"Right," he said, reaching an arm down to pull Remus to his feet. "Should be late enough, now. Let's go find the Boneses' tent."

It took less time than Remus would have expected, as they had only been walking about ten minutes when Peter gasped and pointed ahead of them.

"Wait—isn't that Stu?"

Indeed, Stuart Bones could be seen walking along a bustling path about thirty meters ahead of them. He looked leaner than Remus had remembered him from Hogwarts, and he had let his hair grow long, but despite the changes, he was unmistakable, even in the crowd.

James grinned and clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Good eye. Come on, then, let's follow him back to his tent."

They trailed behind Stuart's long stride as he navigated several rows of tents, slowing as he approached his destination: the tent that Adin had surely been referring to, as it was the largest one on the row, complete with three separate chimneys and a fenced-in garden attached to the side. A wizard who Remus assumed from the likeness was Edgar Bones was sitting in one of the many garden chairs, nursing a cup of tea and chatting amicably with a second man, who had a thick blond mustache and lounged comfortably in the seat next to him. By the time the boys caught up to him, Stuart had entered through the gate and was standing with his back toward them, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke to the other two.

"…patrolling all bloody night and all we managed to see was Black and Lestrange skulking round the Selwyns' tent 'til three in the bloody morning…"

"Oi!" said the presumed Edgar Bones loudly as he spotted the four boys approaching behind Stuart, who cut off at once. "Well look who it is!"

A brief look of surprise painted Stuart's face when he turned to look at them all, but it instantly melted away into a wide grin. "Well if it isn't James Potter and his merry band of miscreants!"

James opened the gate without pause and they all paraded into the garden as Edgar and his companion rose from their chairs to greet them.

"Hi Stu! Hi Eddie! Er, you remember Sirius, of course, and this is Remus and Peter…"

"Of course, of course," Stuart said, shaking all of their hands. "The men of the hour, eh? Good to see you, mates!"

But Sirius was evidently not interested in pleasantries. "Did I hear you say you saw a Black near here, Stu? And a Lestrange?"

Stuart exchanged the briefest of looks with the other two men before nodding. "That's right, but it was a good ways off. About a twenty-minute walk north."

"Who was it?"

"Ah, well, it was your dear cousin. Bellatrix."

Sirius stiffened and looked around at the nearby tents as if expecting Bellatrix Black to stroll around the corner at any second. "Fantastic," he muttered, face taut.

"You're a Black?" asked the mustachioed wizard, now appraising Sirius curiously.

"That's right," said Sirius. He met the man's gaze with something akin to defiance, but perhaps he needn't have, as the next second the man grinned widely and reached out to enthusiastically shake Sirius's hand.

"The Gryffindor Black! Never thought I'd see the day. Stu and Eddie've told me about you, of course, told all of us about you. Like to keep the Slytherins on their toes, I've heard. And the brains behind the Dissimulators, of course. Name's Benjy. Benjy Fenwick. Great to meet you, mate, great to meet you!" He had said all of this very fast, all the while continuing to shake Sirius's hand with gusto.

"Oh, er, right," said Sirius, finally freeing his hand from Benjy's grip and fidgeting uncomfortably. "Thanks. Er, good to meet you too."

"Stu," said James, straightening his glasses and assuming a rather serious expression. "We wanted to talk to you about—"

"Not now, James," interrupted Stuart, widening his eyes to indicate some sort of supposed significance. "How about some tea, eh?"

"But—"

"Tea it is!" Edgar cut in, clapping James on the shoulder as he and Stuart pushed past them toward the tent entrance. "We'll bring it out in a jiffy."

"So," began Benjy, rocking back on his heels and surveying them all with a grin once Edgar and Stuart had disappeared into the tent. "You lot are the ones who got it sorted how to outsmart Idlewind, eh?"

"What?" James asked, distracted as he frowned after the Bones brothers. Peter's tittering seemed to call him back to the conversation at hand. "Oh, er—"

"Well it wasn't exactly difficult," laughed Sirius. "I imagine a flobberworm could have outsmarted that idiot."

"Cheers to that, mate," Benjy said. "But nobody else—flobberworm or wizard, mind you—moved to pull it off. I reckon all of us being here with our wands is your doing. No strangers to good schemes, though, from what I hear. You're the ones that sent Howlers to all the Slytherins for Valentine's, too?"

"We can neither confirm nor deny our involvement in that," said Sirius, smirk firmly in place. "But we took all the punishment for it, so assume what you will."

Benjy laughed loudly. "Can't believe you were able to pull that off first year. Wish I had still been at Hogwarts to see it."

"You've been out of Hogwarts long, Benjy?" asked Remus, who found the wizard's cheerfulness to be oddly comforting.

"Aye, 'bout five years now. I was Eddie's year. Gryffindor, of course." He sat back down in his vacated seat and then gestured toward the other chairs for the boys to take. "We had some fun in those days, to be sure, though I don't think we got up to near the mischief you lot do, from what it sounds like. Would never have had the brass to send Howlers to the Slytherins, certainly not as first years at any rate. Detention for dueling or missing lessons from time to time was the extent of it for me, though Eddie'd always be getting caught out of bounds with some girl or another back in the day. He's getting married, had you heard? Found himself a blonde Welsh lass—"

"Wait—Eddie's getting married?" James interrupted, gaping at Benjy.

"Ah, Benjy's told you my good news, I hear," said Edgar, emerging from the tent with a tray of tea cups, Stuart trailing behind him.

"Whether it's good or not is arguable," muttered Stuart.

Edgar rolled his eyes as he handed each of them a cup of steaming tea. "Stu here's just sore that I won't be chasing skirt round London with him anymore."

"I pull all right by myself, Eddie," said Stuart, taking a seat next to Benjy and leaning backward with a relief that indicated he had not sat down for quite some time. "Don't need you weighing me down, anyway."

"When's the wedding, then?" asked Sirius.

"End of the year's all I know. Megan's doing most of the planning. I think she just expects me to show up."

"Mum's thrilled, of course," added Stuart, lolling his head against the back of the chair. "Keeps going on about grandchildren."

"Blimey," said James, who looked a bit dazed by the news.

"Megan's round here somewhere," Edgar said. "She went off to find breakfast with the rest of the family, but I'm sure you'll get to meet her at some point. She's heard enough about you. And everyone wants to commend you on the Dissimulators. I'd say it borders on brilliant, that idea, but I wouldn't want you to get carried away with yourselves."

"Right, sure." James brushed the compliment off most uncharacteristically and leaned forward in his chair, his expression serious. "Listen, we wanted to ask about—"

"—and I'm sure mum and dad'll want to see you, too, James," Stuart said loudly, "if you can hang round long enough to say hello."

"Okay," said James, looking annoyed. "But the real reason we wanted to talk to you is—"

"James!" Stuart cut in, his voice tense. He set his teacup in the sand and stood up from the his chair. "Can I talk to you and Sirius inside?"

"What? Oh. All right." James and Sirius both rose from their seats to follow him, but they had only reached the entrance of the tent when James looked back at Peter and Remus and waved an arm for them to join. "Come on, then."

A bit relieved to not be left outside with only Peter to carry on the conversation with Edgar and Benjy, Remus rose quickly and followed the group into the tent. His first thought was that the tent must have been at least three times the size of the Potters', though it seemed to only be one story instead of two. Flapped doors led off the main sitting area to six or seven rooms beyond, and as Remus and Peter entered, Stuart was waving his wand toward the various rooms.

"Homenum Revelio." When nothing happened, Stuart turned, apparently satisfied, only to frown at the sight of the four of them. "Do they all know about what happened on Boxing Day?" he asked James, indicating Remus and Peter.

"Of course," shrugged James easily. "And are you going to tell us—"

"Merlin, James, I told you not to spread it round to anybody…"

"They aren't anybody." James crossed his arms as if in a challenge. "They're my friends, and they wouldn't tell a soul."

Stuart sighed and ran a hand over his face. After a moment, his shoulders sagged as though he had decided to cede this particular argument. "Listen, you can't go asking those things outside where anyone might overhear you. And you can't talk about it in front of people, not even someone like Benjy. You shouldn't know as much as you do and you can't advertise what you know. It's not safe."

"All right, all right," said James, showing his palms in submission. "Now are you going to answer our questions or what?"

Stuart's lips pursed in apparent annoyance. "You know, I'd perform a Memory Charm on you if it weren't against my moral code."

"You've a moral code?"

"Sure. And not obliviating teenagers is number six. Right underneath never lying to Eddie and right above never telling a witch that I love her."

Sirius laughed at the joke, but James remained stoically staring at Stuart. "Well unless you plan to break your own code, you'd better tell us what's going on. I'm not going to stop asking."

"Of course you're not." Stuart made his way to the corner of the tent that acted as the kitchen and fiddled with the handle of the whistling kettle. "All right. What do you want to know? You got my letter, right? At the start of term?"

"Yes," said James. "And I understood it. When you said 'Sue' you meant Voldemort, right?"

Even in the warm tent, the mention of the name seemed to suck any sense of comfort from the atmosphere. Stuart tensed and glanced around at the tent entrance, Peter began twisting his fingers, and Sirius became unnaturally still, as if poised for action.

"That's right," said Stuart. "Eddie and I… We knew that Voldemort's supporters had something to do with the missing people…with the Fallen Five, though we were hoping they were still alive at that point. The letter that showed up that night when we were playing cards was a summons from a friend, that they had discovered where those people were being kept. Eddie and I went off to try to help."

"Who was the friend?" asked Sirius, but Stuart shook his head.

"I can't tell you that."

"But—"

"I can't, James." Stuart shifted, the conversation clearly making him uncomfortable. "Look, I'll tell you what I can, but it's not safe for you to know more than you need to. It's not safe for you or the people involved."

For a second, James looked as if he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. "So, you and Eddie are part of some sort of resistance?"

"Something like that," nodded Stuart, taking a sip of his tea.

"And…and you're trying to stop Voldemort rising to power, is that it?"

"Something like that," Stuart repeated.

"How? And what are you doing to help?"

"Whatever we can. Tracking known Voldemort supporters. Helping place wards on the houses of potential targets. Gathering intel on his plans…"

"And patrolling the World Cup?" asked Sirius with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Look, I don't want you to worry. None of us thinks Voldemort would attack the Cup. For one, he's never taken any sort of action outside of the country. For another, the numbers aren't in his favor here, and there's too much magical blood. Still though, it's a perfect cover for some of his supporters to gather without suspicion, to recruit…"

"Recruit…" echoed James, the word seeming to trigger something in his memory. "Say, Stu, did you ever do anything after I told you about the Slytherin recruitment meeting we overheard at Hogwarts?"

"Went straight to Dumbledore with it."

"Really? To Dumbledore?"

"Sure. Voldemort using students to spy for him at Hogwarts is nothing to shrug at. It was solid information you provided, James. We've been able to keep tabs on a few of his most ardent supporters because of the names you gave me."

"Including Bellatrix?" asked Sirius, his jaw tense.

Stuart met his eyes for a moment before nodding. "She's a supporter of his, Sirius. We just don't know how involved she is yet…"

"She's involved as much as she can be, I promise you," said Sirius. "The things Voldemort's saying—about the rights of purebloods and the inferiority of Muggles—it's the same bollocks Bellatrix has been saying her whole life."

Stuart sighed again. He looked exhausted. "All right. It's not surprising."

Remus expected James to continue his questioning, but James was now looking warily at Sirius, whose face was dark. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Stuart said, "Look, I'm knackered, and the fact is, the less you know, the better. It's dangerous, this stuff. People have died for less."

This seemed to rouse James, and he looked like he was going to say more, but instead, he simply nodded and gave Stuart a sardonic smile. "I'm glad you didn't die that night, Stu."

Stuart laughed. "Yeah, me too, mate, me too. I don't think Eddie would ever have forgiven me for dying on him. And your mum's a miracle worker, she is." He paused and surveyed them all before continuing. "I'm going to try to get some sleep before the match tonight, so you little bastards need to get the hell out of my tent."

"I want to help," said Sirius, remaining in place even as his three friends moved toward the tent's entrance. "I want to help fight against Voldemort."

Stuart nodded, a peculiar smile appearing on his face. "You will, Sirius, you'll get your chance. But for now, just have some fun for the rest of us, yeah?" He moved to usher them all back outside into the hot sand, where Edgar and Benjy were still sitting in the garden, laughing about something. "You're at the bloody World Cup, after all, and how many other opportunities are there to romp around the Tabernas with your mates? Believe me when I say, just enjoy it, for now."

And with a wink, Stuart disappeared back into the tent, leaving the four boys in the blazing sunshine to ponder his words.