Sirius Black

How's the trade tonight? Doing all right alone?

If you need an extra pair of hands, Mac seems to be settled in fine and said he'd not mind if I came to help. Now that we've a live boomslang, I could take polyjuice and come as Dora for a while.

Maybe it'd be better to have someone around to, er, keep you calmer?

Well, we've finally shifted the last of tonight's crowd out from 'Laszlo's Unlimited,' which is the unofficial name our clientele have begun calling the little beer garden. Both last night and Friday were extremely busy. Luckily, Remus seems to still be riding the high of rescuing those Muggleborns (how are they adjusting, Allie? Any better?) so he's been all too happy to play host to a brisk trade.

And the discussions have been fascinating. DogStar were responsible for the bomb; no, it was the Crimson Company; no, it was actually a Ministry stunt designed to turn public opinion back against the Muggles. The name Sirius Black, of course, was on many a wizard's lips, and I'm pleased to say not entirely with universal condemnation. Apparently I was either stealing Bellatrix's own Muggleborn servant or I was simply under the impression that Bagman's commentary for the Cup was sadly lacking in statistical accuracy, so I popped up to the Top Box to offer my services when the bomb went off. As far as the Grim Truth, they seemed to be equally divided whether it's real or not, but all agreed that anyone brave enough to twit Lestrange over the journals deserved a drink at the very least.

Interestingly, I noticed some familiar faces both nights this weekend. One was our shady character who'd seemed so chatty with Dora a couple of weeks ago. The other was one of our more regular regulars. (As it happens, she's one of the few who seems to look for Padfoot whenever she's in and always sneaks him a bite or two of whatever's on offer.) But she hardly ever speaks to anyone. I do know a couple people have referred to her as 'Beth' but other than that, no idea who she really is. Well, last night she struck up a conversation with Mrs Parsons, one of our other frequent patrons. I trotted over for a skritch and out of blatant curiosity.

Mrs Parsons had an interesting tale to tell her, about her landlord troubles. Apparently he objects to her running a seamstress' shop out of her flat. At first she thought it was just because he wanted to raise her rent but it turned out that his main protest has to do with the fact that it means she's got people in and out of the building all hours. She wondered why.

That's when it got interesting. Because her tablemate asked her where she lived and when Mrs Parsons told her, she smiled. 'Ah, you live in one of the Quirkes' buildings, then.'

Mrs P wanted to know how she knew that. Beth just patted her arm and said, 'Oh, Quinn and I go way back. I know where all his property is. I'll have a word with old Quinn about you. Don't you worry any.'

'No offence, dearie, but I've not a clue what you could say to him to change his attitude, that I couldn't tell him myself.'

'Well, I'll tell him that your hours aren't his, that's all. And you might tell him that you come here. That'll soften him to you as well.'

I shoved my nose under her hand for a thank-you for that comment. But Mrs P wasn't all that impressed. 'Laszlo's? Why should this place make a difference to him?'

Beth laughed. 'Why does it make a difference to you?' she countered. And then she gave me another rough scratch behind the ears and said her good-nights.

Dora and Remus and I are talking about what the business of hours might mean but I wanted to put it out here, as well, for all of us to puzzle over. And, too, we've been talking about more means to help out the Muggleborns on a direct basis. Getting them the tools and the knowledge they need to use them.

Well. That's about all I have. Dora starts back at the Ministry again this week, Arthur, so she says to tell you she'll see you in the corridors and maybe stop for a cuppa one morning if you've the time.

Right. So Frank and I have been talking.

No, really talking.

Dora, we need to push forward on making that back garden at Laszlo's into a better sanctuary for halfbloods and Muggleborns. I know you've already developed a quiet reputation, but - Circe, I swear we could help people hide and get them out of the city. Like that group that young woman tried to find last summer.

And I'm going to talk to Turner tomorrow about helping more people escape the camps. And I think it's high time someone figured out how to get a stash of wands out of young Ollivander's.

As for you, Macnair: No, we're not going to - what's your plan if one of us gets grazed by a hex, then? Amputate? Morgana, we're not monsters. That may have escaped your notice but we try to do things round here without increasing the body count.

One thing's certain, we're not giving up on Terry. And we're not going to sit round anymore.