The group had been walking for what felt like hours, their boots scuffing against the damp London pavement. Evening light filtered weakly through the mist, and the steady hum of traffic filled the air. They stood on the corner of a quiet street lined with identical red-bricked buildings—none of which looked remotely familiar.

Arthur Weasley adjusted his glasses, peering up at a passing double-decker bus with fascination. “Marvelous contraption, really. They manage to keep it balanced with all those people on top—”

“Arthur,” Moody growled, his electric-blue eye darting wildly between windows and alleyways. “Focus. We’re lost.”

Kingsley, calm as ever despite the drizzle collecting on his shoulders, folded his arms. “We should’ve turned left after the bookstore. I told you that.”

Remus sighed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet amusement. “No, that’s what Arthur said, and look where that’s gotten us.”

Arthur’s ears turned pink. “Well, excuse me for thinking a shop called ‘The Leaky Pot’ might’ve been a clue.”

“Enough chatter,” Moody snapped. “We need to find that blasted—” He stopped himself just in time, glancing warily at a woman passing by with a shopping bag and a Yorkshire Terrier. He lowered his voice. “—that thing. You know what I mean.”

“Perhaps we could… ask someone?” Remus suggested, his tone mild but practical. “It might be simpler than arguing in circles.”

Arthur perked up. “Excellent idea! Mugg— I mean— people here are usually very helpful.”

Before Moody could object, Remus stepped forward toward you—the only person nearby who didn’t look like they were in a rush. His expression was polite, almost apologetic, as though aware of how odd they must look: four men in mismatched coats, standing in the middle of a London street, glancing around like they’d dropped something invisible.

“Excuse me,” Remus began, his voice warm and calm. “We seem to be a bit turned around. Could you tell us where the nearest—”

“Remus,” Kingsley murmured warningly under his breath.

Remus froze, realizing too late that what he was about to ask for—the nearest phone box—was a little too close to the truth of their errand. He hesitated, mouth half open, searching for a way to finish the sentence without sounding suspicious.

You looked between them, four strangers with oddly old-fashioned manners and a certain... air about them.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “Er—yes, what my friend means is, ah, we’re looking for a place to—make a call.”

Moody’s magical eye spun once, then fixed on you, unblinking. “Preferably somewhere quiet,” he added gruffly.