There were times when Harriet had to question Hermione's sanity.
Most people saw her friend group and probably assumed Hermione was the grounded one, the logical person rounding out their motley bunch, and while Harriet wouldn't say she was illogical, Hermione certainly had strange...ideas sometimes. Ideas that led to very poor decisions.
Two weeks after Harriet's awful detention with Umbridge, Hogwarts had their first Hogsmeade weekend—the first Harriet could attend, feeling more than a mite smug when she could wave the permission slip signed by Mr. Flamel under Filch's nose. Elara rolled her eyes as Harriet sauntered past him.
"You do know it would be best if we didn't go to the village at all, yes?"
"Well," Hermione muttered into her scarf. "Technically, we won't be staying long...."
She directed their group to the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta barely had a chance to unlock the doors before Hermione pushed them through to the loo, where they changed out of their uniforms into street clothes. They ducked under Harriet's Invisibility Cloak—Elara grumbling about having to duck—and crept out of the village like a limping Quintaped.
Once out of sight from Hogsmeade, they whipped off the Cloak with a breath of relief. The valley spilled in front of them, a long, wind-swept series of knolls, hills, and winding creeks, the mountains bold in the distance, the Forbidden Forest looming to the west. Harriet enjoyed the walk along the cobbled lane, the morning air brisk and bracing where it blew in from the eastern foothills. They chatted about nothing in particular, commenting on their classmates or their last dreadfully dull Defense period. It felt nice in the moment—relaxing—what with everything hanging over their heads.
They entered Lower Hogsfield, a borough mostly comprised of farms and orchards, the tops of greenhouses peeking above healthy, thriving shrubs, homes dug into the rolling hills like smials. They neared the village center where the roads were thickest and called the Knight Bus. The bus nearly took out an iron lamp as it swung into view.
The trio climbed aboard, and Hermione gave the conductor, Marvin Maplebach, an address for somewhere between Westmorland and Lancashire. "Verwerry Village, please."
"Right you are," Maplebach answered, repeating the name to the driver. He eyed the three of them and frowned. "Why aren't you lot in school?"
Hermione didn't hesitate. "Don't be ridiculous," she said with her nose in the air. "We're not in school. We're alumni."
"Ah...."
Harriet pulled on the brim of her witch-hat, keeping her face from view.
Verwerry didn't much resemble anything in the northern valley, and Harriet would call it more of a warren than a village. It consisted of one skinny road and a town square that might have belonged to a castle bailey long ago. The road cut through a portion of dense, colorless woodlands, and footpaths branched off toward different estates and properties. More than a few people lingered outside a seedy pub.
The Knight Bus dropped them off at a corner near a nondescript building. Hermione brought out her Atlas and shielded it from view with her robes, the blue light glittering over her face.
"It's this way," she said, directing them toward the north road.
"How d'you know?" Harriet asked, adjusting her hat again. "The Atlas doesn't tell us information for somewhere we haven't been."
"The Atlas tells us exactly what it's fed," Hermione corrected. "And I added a map of the area to the Aerie. Of course, it's not as accurate or as informative as when we've been through a place, but it will at least show us where Brierstone Estate is...."
