Sunday 5th August
Late evening
Madrid, Spain

“¡No, no lobos!” Not for the first time that evening, Iona and her auror wife were shepherded from a hotel foyer by a couple of angry hitwizards yelling in Spanish.

In truth, upon arrival at their intended hotel a few hours ago, Iona had been suitably stunned by the reception they’d received; and she’d jumped to the thought that ‘lobo’ meant lesbian in Spanish. She’d been ready to have that fight. She’d had that fight plenty of times before. That was a flashing thought, anyway, because the true meaning had been made unmistakably clear. No, ‘lobo’ meant wolf. And they didn’t want a werewolf under their roof.

How they’d even come to be aware of Iona’s status, she wasn’t clear. But it only took a quick glimpse in a British publication to see her name and her picture. It had been naively ignorant of the pair to think that they would find blissful anonymity across the sea and south when Iona Ballentyne, thanks to her controversial status, had become such a household name in wizarding Britain.

It was nearing nine in the evening when two pairs of boots and a beautifully carved wooden cane once more met the cobbled side streets of Madrid.

“I’m done.” Iona stopped, standing still in the middle of the street. “We go home or I show the next puta what this mujer lobo can do with the business end of her wand.” The Spanish sounded ridiculous on the Welsh witch’s tongue. It was taking most of Iona’s practiced self control not to explode and release her emotions. This was supposed to be a couple of days of escapism and they couldn’t even find a bed to escape to.

It was a tax on Zora's patience not only to fumble with a translation spell but to keep her wife from dismembering any concierges. She was nearly as angry as Iona was, but one of them had to keep her head. They'd not fully understood the privilage werewolves enjoyed in England, as meager as they often seemed, but compared to Spain? They had signs here. It might as well have been the 1980s.

"I'd pay to see that," Zora said dryly - attempting to stopper Iona's righteous temper never worked. That and Zora loved that about her.

 Zora pulled out their little guide book which was broken at the spine on the lodgings section, already dog-eared. She scratched out this latest hotel. Pickings were getting slim. They had to find somewhere. It would feel absolutely shit to head back to the train station and take the international floo network back before they'd had a chance to relax.

"We just have to get clever," Zora said. "Maybe a muggle place. Find somewhere that doesn't need a - damn what are they called - tarjeta." In the magical world, gold worked everywhere. Muggles preferred the imaginary.

Ever the problem solver wanting to fix things, Zora continued to plod on trying to fix things. It was what she did best, and usually Iona let her get on with it. Whether it be an entire wizarding wireless setup for their daughter after showing a passing interest in wireless presenting, or how she’d dragged Iona out of bed on her darkest days. Here she was, trying to fix it. Madrid, already leaving a sour taste in Iona’s mouth, could not be fixed tonight.

“We should have just gone to Cardiff. You know, the muggle place where we know we’ll be accepted? Free food and no judgment?” They’d wanted a holiday. Visiting family wasn’t a holiday. Neither was this.

“I don’t want to stay in a muggle place, Zo. I don’t wanna stay here.” Iona had been so used to being the top dog at home that she’d let the jabs and scary threats roll off her back. In London, she had the ability to fight it and change things. In Spain, at that moment, they were powerless and it was a scary and unfamiliar experience.

Zora stopped and let her arms drop to her side. She was dressed for sunny Spain, toned arms bare, cuffe bracelets stacked on the wrists like armor more than jewelry. She'd even pulled her hair up into a big fluffy black pile.

"You want to go home? Is that really what you want?" She didn't ask it angrily or with a nasty snap, but she did sound disappointed.

She looked off down the street and shook her head. "There's that place in Slandermouth that Sawbones told us about."

In the North. Cold sea spray salting everything.

Zora was bad for suggestions. She'd never travelled much, only Korea a few times as a child. her parents were homebodies and with her work, she'd never had reason or time. The last vacation she and Iona had taken was to the woods to smoke their daughter's gillyweed.

"Disney World?" She cracked a smile. The United States, there werewolf laws there were more open. Crossing the sea, though, it was an endeavor that they didn't have time to sort.

"If Waverly saw us like this…" Zora shook her head. They were the dorkiest parents, unable to have a crack of fun before … cracking.

Disneyworld! Even with Iona’s current mood, a very small, almost imperceptible laugh escaped. But then, at the moment of Waverly, she rose her hand, pointing a slim finger at her wife’s chest.

“If Waverly were here, she’d have celebrated my putting that crusty, prejudiced old bastard in his place.” Waverly, who was convinced her mum needed to fight every damned battle, wouldn’t have insisted they leave calmly.

“You want to stay.” They’d both been really looking forward to the chance to decompress and see somewhere different. Iona, previously an adrenaline junkie, had loved to take off and explore, even by herself. They’d not attempted anything like this in years and it was a disaster. “I’m sorry Zo but I’m not going to be a second class citizen for a weekend just to burn and go home red and miserable. I’ll take a week with your Mum and Dad over this.”

Zora did want to stay. She never forgot that her love was a werewolf, and she was never not angry when she was mistreated over it. But being Korean, being a woman, being a lesbian - all of these things were not the same as being a werewolf. Zora would never know truly what that felt like.

She bowed her head a little then extended a rare hand to lace her fingers with Iona. "No need for hysterics," she said again dry and cool.

"Let's do Scotland. Get a suite in Edinburgh, something too expensive."

They didn't know anybody in that city. They could shop and eat and drink wine for a couple of days, lounge about in the hotel spa. At least at home, business weren't allowed to turn werewolves away as customers.

It wasn’t lost on Iona that this was also her wife’s holiday and precious time away from work. If she really wanted to, she could have bared it and bunked down in a muggle hotel for a couple of nights but she knew Zora wouldn’t have wanted that. They had always done battle together which meant that they retreated in unison. They’d been a team for so long that Iona wasn’t sure she even knew how not to be, anymore.

“Something outrageously expensive.” Iona gave her wife’s hand an appreciative squeeze. “Roomservice and no need for…” Iona trailed off, her eyes scanning over her wife with a look that might almost be impressed at the idea. “Did Wav pack for you?” Zo, Iona hadn’t really acknowledged in all of the tension, was looking very chic. Iona? Well she’d at least changed out the cargo trousers for some linen ones and the boots had been reluctantly traded.

"No!" Zora caught on to Iona's implication, that she couldn't put an outfit together. She used the false indignation as an opportunity to begin to move down the street again, back towards the train station.

"Well. A bit, yes, but I did the hair. And the sunglasses." Of course she had. The sunglasses she wore now, hanging from the collar of her shirt, were not the dark mirrors she usually wore, but had white frames and rosy lenses.

Zora liked walking with Iona. They exuded a fuck-off vibe that repelled anyone who might bother then or impede their progress. That, and the wands up their sleeves, gave them no worries being out in a strange city on their own after sundown.

They were not far from a little avenue where lights were on at some open air eateries. They could walk up, order something, and continue on their way. "Churros," Zora said, nodding to a little stand.

“If you insist.” It took no insistence at all. Iona would be hard pushed to share after hours of searching for some accommodation. Before they approached the stall, Iona gave her wife’s hand a tug, pulling her in close where she planted a soft kiss on her lips and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

Little more needed to be said between both ladies, for they ordered their churros and departed for the international magical train. An extremely expensive hotel room in Edinburgh was waiting for them.