"Shh, can't be too careful," said James, ducking quickly through the front door of the pub. He'd been there before, of course. Wandered all over the place with a pint in his hand, poking his nose everywhere on the pretext of admiring the old fittings; the 'snob screens' were a historical rarity, apparently. As far as he could determine it was a perfectly legitimate Muggle pub, not owned by, frequented by or in any way associated with wizards - and completely free of spell work and magical devices; he'd borrowed Diana's wand to check, and he hadn't spent his entire school career ferreting out as many of Hogwarts' secrets as he could for nothing. This was as safe a place to talk as any, and the noise of the lunchtime crowd didn't hurt, either.
"Yeah, did you see it?" he murmured, once inside, his mouth close to Diana's ear. "Daft old bugger, really. Not that I mind stirring up Death Eaters, but it's a bit much having to plot on a page that's begging them to pry at the wards - especially since I had to use your journal to answer. Still, if he can get us wands it'll be more than worth it."
While James didn't regard Aberforth with the kind of hero-worship he had the Headmaster, there was little he wasn't prepared to do for a man who could give him a wand - and besides, he'd always rather liked the 'daft old bugger': there couldn't possibly be too much wrong with a man who both ran a pub and fought Dark wizards. It would be good to see him again. He looked around for him now, carefully scrutinising each face. Once, he could have spotted Aberforth Dumnbledore from half a mile away - but he very much doubted that he'd look the same now. At the very least, he should have Muggle clothes on.