Harry wondered what the Potter family reputation had been. They'd hosted parties at their home that got photographed. They'd been noted donors to a few charities. But the Blacks had been in those pages, too. What was the real story - and who would be willing to share it with Harry?
"Any trouble?" Harry asked.
"They almost blew up the main building three times...no, four."
Harry put down his spoon. "What?"
"I got nervous, too, watching them almost set off traps."
Harry stared at Padfoot expecting more. Sirius attended to his food. Well, shocks of all shocks, Harry's godfather could exercise good judgment on which stories were not for sharing.
"I'd hope so," Harry said, giving up his nosiness as a lost cause. For now.
"You tired?" Sirius asked.
Yes. "Not really."
"I have a treat for you, if you'd like it."
Harry smiled. His godfather was doing so much better. He hoped it would last, but had no illusions on that front. "I'm not interested in a brothel or a bar," he snarked.
Sirius looked surprised at what Harry said, then barked with laughter. "First time I dragged your father to pick out a girl who was wearing nothing but a smile and a short robe..."
Damn. Harry forgot the first rule of pushing things with Padfoot: Don't. The man had his shame-gland removed at birth. "Sirius, I don't want to hear this..."
Sirius started laughing harder. Harry had the sense he'd been pranked. Son of a bitch.
"So, if you're not tired and you're not angry, I thought you might like to see a dueling hall."
All the anger in him over that 'prank' disappeared. Harry had heard the words 'dueling hall.' "Really?"
"One of the cursebreakers mentioned it at lunch. Tonight, at Delacours, on the Rue Magique in Paris. Nine o'clock."
"Yes." Harry had wanted to go since after the mock duel Hermione arranged between members of the Sundown family.
"Are you sure? You'll have to give up some of your obsessive wand practice."
Harry had been spending most of his evenings since arriving working on his spell casting. His new wand still wasn't quite as comfortable as his old phoenix feather and holly, the one Rookwood destroyed.
"I think I can miss a night, particularly for an educational trip."
"Oh, I think you'll learn a few things..."
Padfoot had that look again. Uh oh.
Then he snapped back into his 'trusty salesman' look. "A purse of about two hundred galleons to the winner. They use different coinage here, so that's the exchange rate. It's supposed to be four pits, sixteen to twenty matches total. Not a huge all-weekend thing, but fun?"
Yes, yes, yes, Harry thought. No matter what else Sirius had cooked up.
"Do I need to change my clothes? How do you dress for something like this?" For as famous as Harry was, he had been remarkably few places in his life. It felt nice to have someone, an older brother of sorts, to ask dumb questions of.
"Your wand needs to be in a wrist holster or left at the door. Do you have one?"
Harry shook his head.
Sirius left the tent and returned a few minutes later. The holster was black, but it rippled in the light. It was dragon leather of some sort. Sirius helped Harry find a comfortable way to wear it.
"Don't draw your wand inside the building unless I tell you or all hell breaks loose. You don't want to be in the middle of a fight with hundred armed people."
"No."
"They all know spells that shred right through shields. If it all goes to shit, not that I'd expect that from his dueling hall, I'll help you hide behind something..."
Sirius stared at Harry until Harry agreed.
His smiling godfather returned then. "I used to love going to these when I was on summer breaks. I'm glad to show you this."