The Marauders: Year Seven Part One

Costa Rican Fire

The buildings were funny, all tan and orange looking, with curved red brick rooftops. Low hanging palm trees curved over the streets, and the air was a good deal thicker so that, although it wasn't ridiculously hot, it was still hotter feeling than the boys were used to and James was finding breathing a bit difficult, as though his chest was heavier in San Jose than it would be in London. People turned to look at the motorbike as Sirius roared through town, James hanging onto the back, and a couple kids waved. They passed motor scooters and funny cars that didn't look at all like the ones back home.

Sirius pulled off in an alley way and the boys climbed off the bike, which Sirius shrank back down with a flick of his wand and jammed into his pocket. Taking a deep breath, he looked about. "What is that fucking fantastic smell?" The air smelled heavy of delicious food.

"I dunno but I need some of it in my stomach, right now," James declared.

Sirius led the way, his nose turned up like a dog, and James followed, looking about and taking it all in. They stopped at a little shop that had postcards out front and they purchased a stack-full each. James struggled with counting off some Muggle money (it was even more confusing than usual, as it wasn't even the British Pound they were dealing with, and the coins were entirely unfamiliar to him), but eventually he got it and they left the shop with brown paper sacks full of their postcards and a couple pens. 

"Here it is," Sirius said finally, stopping in front of a yellow building strung with multi-coloured lanterns and little flags. Music was playing - a fast paced, tinny sort of instrumental that was entirely different than the radio played back home. "God if it's half as good tasting as it smells, I'm never going home," Sirius threatened.

James laughed, "Can anything taste as good as this smell is?"

"I doubt it," Sirius answered.

They went inside and found a low-lit cantina style restaurant, and a young girl with long black hair and dark eyes smiled and showed them to a booth in the corner. The windows were colorful stained glass and thick, making things outside look a little warped and wonky. The walls were covered with writing and pictures over the peeling wallpaper. People had left their marks on every bare inch of wall, in every language imaginable, every pen color and thickness you can think of. Sirius sat staring up at the signatures and notes people had written, while James dove behind the menu.

"Everything's in spanish," he complained, "I haven't the faintest idea what I'm reading."

"Are there pictures?" Sirius asked.

"No," James replied.

An old woman came over and put water glasses and silverware rolled up in napkins on their table and asked them something in Spanish. Sirius looked at James, who looked a bit clueless, and stammered out one of the only phrases he knew in Spanish, "Un momento, por favor?"

"Si," she said, and she tucked her notepad in her apron waist and waddled away.

James glanced over his shoulder, and leaned closer to talk to Sirius. "What's that charm we learned back in fifth year? The translation one?"

"Bloody hell that would be useful about now, wouldn't it?" Sirius said, thinking. He snickered and James raised an eyebrow. "I'm just thinking how much sooner Remus would've thought of that than we did."

"Probably would've been practicing it back when you started packing," James laughed.

"Or he would've just learned Spanish. Instantly. From a book. As Remus does." Sirius grabbed the menu from James and stared down at it. "Reckon we can just order whatever that smell is?"

"Not if we can't say that in Spanish," he said. James discreetly slid his wand up his shirt sleeve so that only the tip of it showed just past the end of his wrist, "Traduzir?" he tried and, they both looked impressed as the letters on the page seemed to glow for a moment, rearrange themselves, and fall back on the page in English.