Abigail & Sirius.
Sirius smirked. "Has been asked, and let me tell you, James does a piss-poor job of assuring me what I already know: that I am the fairest of them all. I got mine here the same way I got my leather jacket," he said, and stretched his arms above his head, feeling slightly bored with wrapping presents, even if talking to Abigail was alright. "I had it on me when the bus took me." It occurred to him that she'd probably been picturing a large mirror, not something that could fit in his pocket, but he didn't bother to clarify: she would've figured it out now, from context.
"Food has its own laws to it but yeah, we'll be fine for all that, I spoke to Strange about it some before we got dropped here," he said, and gave her an appraising look, pleased at the quickness of her thought and what her priorities were. "Owl post is typically with actual owls, not transfigured owls, but." Sirius shrugged, not bothering to finish the thought since it was self-evident there were no actual owls in the workshop. "Tried the owl trick already, didn't work. My guess is that owls here aren't as inherently magical as they are back home, or there are wards up that'll stop the owls from getting to wherever the big man is. Good thinking, though."
As Abigail spoke about being different, Sirius kept his eyes on her and listened. Even after she'd finished, he didn't leap to speak, but let the silence grow between them as he absorbed what she'd shared. "That was an interesting thing to say," Sirius said finally, a weight to his voice and to the way he looked at her that suggested he really did consider it interesting. "All of it, but particularly the clarification that your dad did bad things because he was sick. A lot of people aren't capable of being that astute about trauma." He considered her for a moment longer, recalling now how she hadn't given him a surname. "Everyone's different here, so no one is. You like that?"