WHO: Sirius Black and some Portuguesians.
WHAT: Mutterings and beer.
WHERE: Small muggle pub in Lisbon, Portugal, July 12, 1978
RATING: PG!

If Spain was weird and uptight about traveling between the muggle and magical worlds, Portugal was an iron maiden. Sirius had never received so many odd looks in his life and that included both times he’d dyed his hair (besides St. Patrick’s, he’d tried to dye his hair blonde to fit in more with Narcissa when he was ten). They’d pretty much scoffed at his muggle passport and when he’d lifted his chin and looked at the… well they weren’t aurors, they were more gatekeepers, whoever they were, Sirius turned his nose up at them and gave them his best sneer and flashed his ministry magical identification card. No one really carried them any more, they were only useful for travel or to get into society meetings, but it was one of the few things Sirius had managed to hide away before he’d run off.

It was definitely coming in handy, especially here in Lisbon where the tensions about muggles and muggleborns were running high. From what he’d gathered, both the Franco dictatorship of Spain and the dissenters of the current government of Portugal (even though there had been a ‘bloodless’ coup overthrowing the authoritarian dictatorship, there were still people who supported the ‘old ways’ and hated the new form of liberal democracy) were in cahoots with Voldemort, or at least, the magical governments were and therefore controlling the muggle sector of politics wasn’t that difficult. Even with Franco being dead, the remnants of his dictatorship still had hold over the Iberian Peninsula.

Portugal was just coming out of their transitional period from the Estado Novo to this new government, so everything was at odds, but Sirius had never even thought things could get this bad. Their ministry of magic didn’t include muggleborns! In anything! If Sirius had been of a lesser stature, they would have confiscated most of his magical items, because regulations did not allow for transportation from outside countries without passes. Sirius had just pitched a royal fit about being searched, surely no Black would ever be caught smuggling anything.

Greasing some palms never hurt, either.

So this is why Sirius, after his disastrous meeting with some bigwig that Dumbledore had set up, he was sitting at a muggle pub, not too far from the magical section of Lisbon, slowly working his way through his first pint and trying to figure out how to put into words how incredibly horrendous that meeting had gone.

Pretty much he’d gone in expecting someone of a more helpful nature, but Sirius had underestimated the incredible hold this notion of pureblooded elitism had over the country, and had pretty much been turned out on his rear. Of course, calling the man a stuffy old codger with cauliflower ears probably didn’t help, but Sirius just couldn’t stand the hateful and ignorant words that were spewing out of the man’s mouth.

He was nearly ready to scribble in his note to Dumbledore that Portugal and Spain were countries to be left alone when bits of a conversation from the booth next to his drifted over.

“…something’s got to be done!”

“….what can we do about it we’re only…”

“There’s a parade, for the Minister of Magic in two days, we could do something then…”

“…arresting muggleborns for the sake of it!”

“We just need someone to listen.”

“…just a bit of mayhem to get their attention…”

Sirius’ hearing was augmented due to his animagus abilities, so he had no doubt about what he was hearing, and well, he didn’t speak Spanish very well and Portuguese even less, but they were speaking in plain English. Probably because they didn’t want to be overheard; from what it sounded like, they were talking about an attack on the minister himself.

Risky.

Sirius surreptitiously glanced over at the table to see a group of eight, university aged people, hunched low over the table in their booth. There was a mix of women and men and from some of the looks on their faces, they were absolutely terrified.

He glanced down at his letter, that only had the words ‘barmy, old codger’ written down and shook his head ruefully. Dumbledore did know what he was doing.

Sometimes.

Sirius slipped his journal into his rucksack and grabbed his beer with one hand before sliding out of the booth and putting his trademark smirk on his face and sauntered over to the other group. Most of them looked surprised, but their shock was quickly covered by wariness and most of them reached under the table, subtly.

“Did I hear someone mention mayhem?” Sirius raised an eyebrow at them and let his smirk slide into an easy smile. “I think we’ve got a bit in common…”