log, Hogsmeade: Victoire W/Sirius B/some James P
James Potter was nearly basically fearless, though the burgeoning responsibleness in him was dampening that a bit. It didn't mean he was any less courageous or that he took less risks, just that he was beginning to understand there were myriad consequences to everything, and most of them one could not foresee. But, with hols cut strangely and abruptly short, and the apparent new school year looming, he was in an adventurous mood.—Like Remus, he had looked through the journal that wrote back to him. It was clear from Sirius' entry that the journal itself wasn't communicating, but others on their own books, scribbling back and forth. He considered the magic behind that and found it entirely plausible. But the names were unknown, curious, and vast.
Victoire Weasley was not the only person he suspected under some sort of memory spell or jinx. But there'd been no time to delve into things. As he and Padfoot made the walk from Gunhilda to the cellar of Honeyduke's, they tossed around a few ideas, but the passageway was small and dark and it was quite difficult to have much of a conversation.
Under the cloak, out in the blessed open of Hogsmeade Village, James hexed shoelaces together and otherwise made a harmless menace of himself as they awaited the arrival of Hopefully Pretty, French Weasley (and wasn't all of that the biggest oxymoron?). He skirted around the put-upon disinterest of his mate, and plucked the fag from his lips.
It disappeared into thin air.
But inside the cloak, James coughed as the space filled with smoke. A few assorted villagers looked Sirius' way.