Bertram was peristant. Methos would give him that.

He hurried through the crowded London streets trying to find somewhere to disappear to. He had not killed Michael Bertram's teacher. If he hadn't spent ten years posing as a watcher he wouldn't even have the slightest clue who Roland Wilkes was.

If Joe didn't dig up who did take Wilkes' head so Mac could redirect Bertram... Mac thought he was being a coward, he could easily take Bertram if he couldn't talk him out of the fight. That wasn't the point. The point was Methos hated Quickenings. The older he got, the worse they got, and he really didn't want Bertram's for no reason.

He ducked into the rickety looking tavern with the unlikely name of The Leaky Cauldron. "Hells," he looked around it was almost as if he'd stepped four or five centuries back in time, and at least two of the few patrons were not quite human. Cassandra's story of Wizards and Witches being real--was, well, real.

"What can I get you?" the bar keeper asked.

"Beer?"

"Butterbeer or d' y' mean ale?"

"Ale," Methos said slightly more certainly. He eyed the wooden tankard dubiously as it was filled with dark ale.

"That'll be a sickle and eight knuts."

"Er, do you take pounds?"

"Pounds of what?"

"Here, Tom." a young man said dropping a silver coin and eight brass coins on the counter.

"You ever hear of anyone wanting to pay for ale with pounds of anything?"

"Muggle currency, Tom." the young man said.

"Oh, no don't accept muggle currency here."

"Can I at least pay you back?"

"Don't worry about it." The younger man sighed. The bar keep wandered off to stop a squabble over cards by the two less than human looking patrons. "Muggle clothes and muggle money...Odd that."

"I don't know what a muggle is."

Green eyes widened behind glasses. "You're a muggle? You're not a wizard?"

"I'm not a wizard," Methos said cautiously.

"Merlin, how did you see the entrance then?"

"I--I don't know. I can say I've never seen it before and I've been to London many times." The sign above the bar said it was established over eight hundred years ago. Never had he seen the pub before, and if it had been here that long he likely would have.

"I'm Harry by the way," the green eyed man smiled. "Harry Potter."

~*~

Methos trailed his fingers through the head of messy black hair that laid on his shoulder, hard to believe it had been nearly forty years since they'd met. There were the first few strands of gray finally making their appearance, just a few even if Harry was now sixty two. Wizards lived longer than Muggles, and that was bloody comforting. He had decades yet with his Harry. Easily a century.

Methos still couldn't explain how he'd seen the Leaky Cauldron that day. He was just glad he did.