"Yeah, let's," Ford agreed. He stood and finished off his glass and felt another small bit of relief that Lestrange had picked up the tab for the bottle without even asking if they ought to split it (Ford would, of course, have split it if Lestrange had even vaguely indicated they ought to, because appearances were, if his mother was to be believed, more important than reality when it came to financial matters — but it was a relief all the same).

They went through the floo at the back, Ford giving Lestrange the address and then letting him go through first so he could be sure they ended up in the same spot — if Lestrange ended up in some other random Irish city there was no salvaging the outing. A few minutes later they were in Londonderry, in a back room of a pub with mixed clientele, and then a few minutes later they were out on the road. The sun was still peering over the tops of the buildings, but it would be disappearing soon; February didn't leave much daylight after working hours ended. Not that he was actually worried about getting lost in a bog; the moon was almost full, which would give them plenty of light to see by, and once they got away from the main town they could get their wands out if they really needed.

"This way," he said, indicating as they reached the street. The wind whipped through the buildings with more force than it had in Hogsmeade, and Ford pulled his coat tighter around him. "Are you going to be warm enough? It's about a mile."