In the last bit of time before heading back to Hogwarts, Marcel went nowhere else; he just took Luna to sit for a while in the Three Broomsticks.
For this very popular Hogsmeade pub, most witches and wizards would choose to stop here every time they came.
The landlady, Madam Rosmerta, was extremely well-connected and very well-liked. She always knew what to say, and many wizards loved chatting with her.
Especially male wizards—even most of the Hogwarts professors knew her.
"Speaking of which, this pub has an interesting little story," Marcel said to Luna as he sat at the table. "Before Madam Rosmerta took over, this place was called 'Two Broomsticks.'"
"Is that interesting?" A somewhat shabby-looking wizard on the other side leaned over and asked Marcel.
"That's not the interesting part," Marcel spread his hands. "Do you know what it was before that?"
"Er..." The wizard thought for a moment, then naturally guessed, "One Broomstick?"
"No, earlier than that, it was a privately-run broom workshop," said Marcel. "At the end of the nineteenth century, the 'Moon-Shade' model was born here. It was the inspiration for the 'Moontrimmer' that Gladys Boothby designed in the early twentieth century."
"Well, I'd never have guessed that. That is an interesting bit of history..." the wizard said with a laugh. "You know quite a lot. Are you Hogwarts students?"
"Yeah. You know, today Hogsmeade is full of Hogwarts students."
"True enough," the wizard smiled. "But there aren't many as calm as you two."
Just then, Madam Rosmerta came over with a tray, joking with the wizard as she set a glass down in front of him.
"Shall I buy you a drink?" the wizard suddenly put an arm around Marcel's shoulders. "Call it payment for that little story, how about it?"
"Hey! Tarino, don't go leading children astray!" Madam Rosmerta lightly slapped his back in warning.
"Alright, alright, Rosmerta, I won't, I won't... haha!"
The shabby wizard—Tarino, as Madam Rosmerta called him—dodged theatrically, a roguish grin on his face. Clearly, this was just how he usually behaved.
"Don't mind him, he's just a slob," Rosmerta said to Marcel with a smile, then went straight back behind the bar.
"Look at that figure... ahem, I mean, Madam Rosmerta is a very charming witch."
Perhaps finally realizing Marcel's age—and with Luna watching him curiously from the side—he managed to rein in his tongue and didn't say anything truly indecent.
Marcel, however, stared at Tarino thoughtfully for a moment, as if weighing something.
After a pause, he suddenly said, "Mr. Tarino, I think it'd be more appropriate if I bought you a drink."
As he spoke, Marcel turned his head toward the bar and called, "Madam Rosmerta, a glass of Blue Label John for Mr. Tarino, on me."
"Oh, of course, but—" Rosmerta hesitated.
"Don't worry, it's fine."
Tarino's grin froze. He stared at Marcel in surprise.
"You can't do that—" he began. "I was only joking."
Marcel gave him a small smile. "I wasn't. Enjoy the drink, sir. I just want to ask a few questions."
Tarino blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, alright! Blue Label John... why would I say no to that?"
The drink arrived quickly, but Marcel had no interest in touching it. He only cared about useful information.
"Mr. Tarino, I imagine you're very familiar with the darker side of the wizarding world. Would you chat with me about it?"
"I suppose I am, but... there aren't many fun stories there. You sure you want to hear this kind of thing?" Tarino asked.
"Of course. Why else would I buy you a drink for no reason?" Marcel said naturally. "This is a pub. Apart from drinks, it's about stories—now you've got the drink, so it's time for the stories."
"Hey! You really do know how this place works... fine, fine, let's talk stories..." Tarino took a small, careful sip, then went on. "Thing is, it's been unstable lately—well, truth is, it's never really been stable..."
In Tarino's halting narration, Marcel learned for the first time about the messy things hidden in the wizarding world's shadows.
It was all a bit scattered to be honest. With the greatest white wizard of the age, Albus Dumbledore, stationed in Britain, there hadn't been any major incidents in recent years.
But even if there were no big incidents, small ones kept cropping up.
The Aurors of the Ministry were dedicated to their duties, and there were also Hit Wizards and the separate team for hunting dangerous dark wizards, but no matter how tight the net, there were always gaps.
Not to mention the existence of werewolves and vampires—creatures whose very nature lent itself to crime. Little troubles were everywhere.
Of course, the hottest topic lately was Sirius Black's escape. A criminal who could break out of Azkaban—that was the kind of person who truly gave people headaches.
"So, someone's seen him recently?" Marcel pressed.
"Yeah! Rumor is he's hiding in Hogsmeade," Tarino said in a low voice. "But it sounds like he's hurt his leg. If that's true, he's less dangerous—"
"You know, even the worst dark wizards don't want to mess with someone as crazy as Black."
"True enough... though personally, I always thought there were a lot of suspicious points about that whole business. Black was thrown into Azkaban without so much as a trial," Marcel said with a nod.
"Who knows?" Tarino curled his lip. "Whatever tricks were used back then, nobody can really say anymore."
After that, Marcel followed the thread a little longer, picking up a few petty stories about theft and smuggling. Then he left with Luna.
It was getting late. Time to go back to school.
"Let's use another passage on the way back. Ravenclaw's common room is probably packed by now."
Marcel led Luna toward the Shrieking Shack.
The secret passage to the Whomping Willow was as narrow as ever. The two of them had to walk bent over most of the way before finally reaching the other end.
But just as Marcel poked his head out, he found a big black dog staring fixedly at him with round eyes.
"...Good evening," Marcel said, blinking.
He really hadn't expected to run into Sirius Black again like this. It was all so sudden that, for a moment, he had no idea what to say.
The next second, though, Sirius—still in Animagus form—made a move to lunge.
"Marcel?"
Just as Marcel was hesitating over whether to draw his wand, Luna's voice floated up from the passage behind him.
Instantly, Marcel froze, and so did Black.
Sirius gave Marcel a quick look, then decisively turned and bolted toward the Forbidden Forest, vanishing into the bushes at its edge.
Marcel's current wand was still the one he'd blasted from Black's hand.
That night, he'd still been in disguise, so Sirius hadn't recognized him today. But if he took out that wand now, Black would recognize it at a glance.
He couldn't reveal himself yet. Since he hadn't been able to subdue Black last time, he'd have to take a more roundabout route. There were things he needed that only Black could provide.
It was too important—he couldn't afford to make an enemy of Black just yet.
"It's fine, come on up. The feast will start soon."
Marcel climbed fully out onto the ground and reached down to pull Luna up. Then the two of them hurried off toward the Great Hall.
In the shadows at the forest's edge, Black watched Marcel and Luna's retreating backs, a glint of puzzlement in his eyes.
…
Just as Ron had told Harry, the feast that night was indeed a lavish one.
The Great Hall was hung with hundreds and hundreds of jack-o'-lanterns, with flocks of bats flitting up and down and many orange streamers spewing small puffs of fire—they drifted lazily beneath the ceiling like a host of glowing water-serpents.
The food was exceptionally fine. Even Hermione and Ron, who had stuffed themselves on Honeydukes sweets to the point of bursting, went back for seconds of nearly every dish.
At the staff table not far away, Lupin looked cheerful and, as usual, relaxed and humorous—he was chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick.
Further down the table sat Snape.
He was his usual icy self, as out of place in the festive Great Hall as ever.
The feast ended with a show given by Hogwarts' ghosts.
They appeared suddenly from the walls and tables to perform a sort of gliding parade—Nearly Headless Nick successfully re-enacted the moment of his botched beheading.
Everyone had a wonderful evening.
Many students were eagerly discussing everything that had happened in Hogsmeade that day. Their excitement and happiness still buzzed through them, as if they wouldn't be able to sleep until they had talked it all out.
After the feast, Marcel followed the other Hufflepuffs back to their common room. But Harry, Ron, and Hermione found that in front of the entrance to the Gryffindor common room—behind the portrait of the Fat Lady—a crowd had gathered.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" Ron asked curiously.
There were so many people that they couldn't see what was going on.
Harry rose on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads in front—the portrait seemed to be closed.