James Potter sat at the kitchen table in a small flat on the East side of London, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. From the pages, Harold Minchum's lined face stared, his jaw taught and fist balled and shaking threateningly at the cameras that flashed and popped at him, the ink of the paper lightening and then darkening as the photo moved. Above his head, in thick block letters, read the headline MINISTER CALLS FOR SUPPORT FROM THE HALFBREED COMMUNITY, CENTAURS AND MERPEOPLE REFUSE ASSISTANCE.

James turned the pages, not reading the headline stories - those he'd read later, he had to get to the important news first - turning instead to find the Quidditch scores in the latest match of the international leagues. Ireland was up against Scotland, and Spain would be competing against Greece, as Bulgaria faced Egypt over the next week. He started reading a piece about rising star Gwenog Jones, a Ravenclaw who he had played with at Hogwarts, who had made team and was quickly becoming one of the best players in the league.

Remus Lupin came into the kitchen then, a beat expression on his face, and he sighed as he turned to the cupboard, got out a large mug, and openened the fridge. James lowered his paper to watch, eyebrow raised, as Remus pulled out the carton of milk and a plastic bottle of chocolate syrup, pour both into the mug - more chocolate than was strictly necessary - and stir quickly with a spoon he drew from the drawer. The spoon clanked loudly against the inside of the glass, and when the milk had turned a dark chocolate color, Remus gulped down the entire mug in one go, his throat glug-glug-glugging as he swallowed it down. He gasped in satisfaction when it was gone, putting down the mug with a thud, and set about refilling it.

"Wow," James said, "A two chocolate milk morning. He must be really getting batty for you to chug that much of the hard stuff so early."

Remus sat down with his second mug of chocolate milk and stared across the table at James. "He's driving me INSANE."

James smirked. "And you didn't even have far to go..."

"I'm serious."

"You're Remus, actually."

"Not you, too," Remus groaned, "Who's side are you on?"

"Well, I was his first husband after all."

"You want him back, then?"

"Not at all."

Remus sighed and put his forehead down against his forearm with a groan. "When will this madness end?"

"I'd like to tell you that it'll end after the wedding, but it is Sirius, after all." James folded the paper. "You're sort of marrying the madness, aren't you?"

Remus groaned.

"GOOD MORNING BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!" Sirius's voice carried ahead of him into the kitchen and a moment later he stepped through, arms spread wide as though he were opening a West End show as he waltzed into the room.

James laughed as Remus gently banged his forehead against the table. "Morning, Padfoot," James said, and he shook open the newspaper and disappeared behind it to hide the smirking laughter that was dancing on his mouth.

Sirius sat next to Remus with a flourish and drew a loud, deep breath through his nose, letting it out with a satisfied "AHHHH" sound. He grinned at Remus, who turned his head to look at Sirius, cheek smushed against the table top. Sirius's mouth widened. "What a great day," Sirius announced.

Remus murmured something that sounded like "too early to be great" but when Sirius asked him to repeat it, Remus shook his head and reburied his face in the crook of his arm.

James flipped a few more pages in the Daily Prophet. "Here you are, Padfoot," he said, folding it down and pushing it over to Sirius across the table. "The help wanted advertisments. Seems there's quite a lot seeking."

Sirius half glanced at the sheet, then stood up and went over to the fridge in a half spin of a pirouette. "You know what we ought to do today? We ought to go and visit Mr. Scamander, see if he has any good unicorns we can borrow."

"I told you already, I asked Mr. Scamander already and he's fresh out," Remus muttered. He looked up at James and mouthed 'kill me now' at his mate. James grinned again and ducked under the paper.

"Did you ask him though where we might source one?" Sirius asked.

"No," Remus's voice was low with exasperation.

"Well," Sirius said, "It is vitally important that we have one present for our nuptuals, Moony!" He pulled a bottle of orange juice and a vat of butter from thte fridge, turning to grab a loaf of bread, and spinning back into his seat at the table. With a wave of his wand, the toast was browned perfectly and the butter flew out and landed with a SPLAT on it. Sirius grinned and twisted open the orange juice, drinking it right from the bottle.

Remus stared at him, a mixture of disgust and annoyance on his face. "How many times do I have to tell you not to drink it straight out of the bottle? It's truly disgusting for whoever drinks it next."

"I'm going to finish it off," Sirius said, "Don't worry about it. There isn't any next person to be worried for."

Remus sighed, "I just wish you'd break the habit, that's all..."

Sirius sipped another mouthful pointedly, eyebrows raised.

"Rey, it's nearly eight. We ought to get on," James announced, lowering the paper again and folding it to a neat rectangle. He could feel the tension growing in the kitchen and the last thing he wanted was to be caught up in the middle of another morning bicker-match between Remus and Sirius, who were already acting quite a lot like an old married couple.

Sirius lowered the bottle. "Already?"

"Don't want to be late," Remus said, getting up and washing out his mug.

Sirius frowned.

"We'll be back later," James said and he pushed the sheet of Help Wanted adverts towards Sirius again. "Maybe you could find something to look into at least while we're gone?"

Sirius sighed. "Alriiiight, I'll do a lookie-loo."

Remus turned and kissed the top of Sirius's head. "We'll see you later. Love you."

"Loveyoutoo," Sirius said in one rushed sound, and he buried himself in the paper quickly.

James and Remus headed for the hearth in the corner of the room, picking up a little tin of floo powder from the edge of the mantel and tossing it on. There was a green flash and then they each stepped into the fireplace, and disappeared.

Sirius picked up the newspaper page James had left behind, listings for help wanted adverts flashing up at him. He glowered at them, then chucked the page aside and put his head down on the table miserably.

There was a thump on the table and Sirius looked up to see the gigantic orange lump that was the kneazle from Fallengunder, rescued and brought home by Remus the day after James had signed the lease on their flat. The kneazle purred loudly as he moved across the table, his thick feet padding along. He rubbed his side against Sirius's head.

"Oh fuck off Roger," he muttered, using the name James had insisted they call the bugger, as referring to it as "the kneazle" was quite tiresome. Roger glowered at Sirius with its flat, ugly face, bug eyes protruding as though in shock (though Sirius knew it was simply shaped that way for surely a stupid cat can't show emotion). He turned and padded away to the stack of toast Sirius had made and started licking butter off the bread. Sirius didn't even have the energy to shoo the dumb beast away.

Instead, he got up and went to fetch his leather jacket and boots. He returned to the kitchen as he tugging the jackey on, plucked the advert sheet up and shoved it into his pocket, grabbing his keys and shruken motorbike, and slid out the door, leaving Roger to his own devices.

Outside was a bloody hot day and the pavement was putting off wavy lines. Sirius snuck 'round behind the dodgy little building the flat was in, which smelled perpetually of cooking spices from the curry place downstairs, and engorgioed his motorbike in the alley outback between the dumpsters over flowing with rice and vegetable remains. He hopped on, pushed a pair of dark shades over his eyes, and adjusted his mirror.

If he had to go job hunting (again) then he was at least going to have a good time doing it! And with that he jumped up, revving his engine, and took off, pulling into the traffic of downtown London with a honk and a wave of a midde finger from a truck attempting to turn that nearly ran him down as he shot forward out of the alley.