            "Sirius!" Hermione hissed, half in fury at his obvious attempt to hide his hurt under his crudeness, half in worry that someone would begin to notice the older man and younger woman speaking British English in the Parisian bar. They were both well-known enough across Wizarding Europe—being recognized wasn’t completely off the table, if they drew too much attention. She slid off her stool and yanked him down, ignoring his mutters and slurs of protest and she marched out the front door, into the cold, and over to the side alley pooling with green lamplight.