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World Cup Watch Party

The boys had been turned away from six pubs.

Six.

Every one of them was packed shoulder to shoulder with shouting supporters draped in red and white scarves, tankards already sloshing over as the wireless crackled with pre-match analysis. Every doorway had a queue spilling onto the cobblestones. Every window glowed with the promise of a seat that had long since been claimed.

Peter emerged from the latest pub looking thoroughly defeated and exhausted.

"Let's just go back to my place and listen on the wireless," he groaned. "I'm tired of walking."

"Nonsense, Wormtail!" James declared. "This is the World Cup! England hasn't made it this far in nearly fifty years. History is happening tonight. We're supposed to experience it with other people."

"Preferably, people already drunk," Sirius added.

Peter threw his hands into the air. "You three are exhausting."

Remus blinked. "Three of us?" he asked. "I'm not the one insisting we keep marching around Diagon Alley."

"You encouraged him," Peter accused.

"I said, 'I'm sure we'll find somewhere,'" Remus replied.