Travel to Hogsmeade from the tony hotel in the center of London where Brennan and Booth were staying took considerably less than the 15 seconds suggested by Ron. After the short argument that ensued when it was suggested that Booth travel with Harry and Brennan with Hermione, a suggestion Booth flatly refused to consider, no sooner had the Americans placed their hands on Hermione's outstretched arm than they were pulled into the twisting, suffocating pressure of travel-by-apparition, a journey which ended almost instantly when they stumbled onto the cobblestone street of an old English village lit by the fading sun of twilight.
"Yea, there's a rational explanation for that, Bones," Booth grumbled as he wobbled a bit trying to regain his equilibrium. She tossed an irritated scowl in his direction before looking around curiously.
They had arrived at one end of a long street lined on each side by shops. Candlelight flickered from behind paned-glass windows and at regular intervals, old fashioned gas street lamps stood in silent sentry over the throngs of people wandering down the street and in and out of buildings.
"Is this a bad time?" Booth asked. "Looks like the power's out." As they watched, a plump woman in long green robes stepped up to the first street light and flicked her wand sharply. Light burst from the lamp and the witch lifted her wand again and jabbed it up at the fixture, circled the tip twice in the air and pointed down the street. At once, the shadows of dusk disappeared as a cheery glow danced from every lamp. "Never mind," Booth muttered.
Hermione patted his arm gently in understanding. "The memorial site is this way," she said and led them down the street that divided the village.
Five minutes later, Brennan had only agreed not to enter and explore every shop when Hermione gently reminded her of the human remains waiting to be examined . . . and also by the witch's promise that Brennan would have all the time she wished to investigate the village at her leisure on another day.
"This is fascinating!" she whooped in excitement, staring into the doorways and windows they passed. "It's as if the entire community elected to stop evolving and moving forward at some point in the 19th century! It is a microcosm of a period in history that we've only been able to read about! Anthropologists have had to make educated assumptions about this era based on artifacts discovered in archaeological sites, but this is an opportunity to study it first hand . . ." Brennan grabbed Hermione's arm and began peppering her with questions about tools and technology and work and home environments. With a good-natured smile, Hermione answered every question and offered her own insights.
Behind the two women, Booth walked next to Harry and conducted his own silent study of the world they'd just stepped into. What he noticed had him slanting a questioning glance at the man beside him.
It seemed everyone they passed wanted to say hello or shake the hand of the wizard at his side. Women stood in shop doors and waited for eye contact before nodding. "Mr. Potter," they smiled. Men stepped forward, hand outstretched, or patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. A small boy walked out of a doorway, a large rat perched on his shoulder, and froze before running into a shop three doors further down, his excited voice clearly audible on the street.
"Mum! I just saw Harry Potter! Can I say hello? Mum! Mum! Mum!" Within seconds, he rushed back into the street, barreling down on them, eyes wide. Running too fast for an easy stop, he bounced off Brennan into Harry, who grabbed the boy's shoulders and brought him to a halt.
"Steady there, lad," he offered with a smile. The child gaped at him, open-mouthed.
"You're him, aren't you? You're Harry Potter?" He practically hopped in excitement when Harry nodded. "Can I walk with you for a bit? We're buying dress robes for my mum. I saw you earlier, on stage. What made that scream when you moved the earth? Mum says if I'm good I can have something from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Only no more ton-tongued toffee because I fed one to the cat. Do you have a cat? I have a rat, d'you see? His name is Herbert. My name is Stanley, by the way. You had a rat, didn't you? Only it wasn't a rat at all, it was an amig . . . it was an anila . . . Herbert is a real rat, I think. Do you think he's a real rat? Maybe he's a . . . one of those like you had, just pretending to be a rat?"
While Brennan and Booth stared at each other in confusion, Hermione pressed her hand against her mouth to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape. Harry bit back a smile and considered the little boy seriously. "The word you're looking for is Animagus," he said, repeating it slowly with Stanley. "But that rat actually belonged to Ron here," he added, reaching behind him to pull a resisting Ron forward. "Maybe he can take a look at yours and let you know what he thinks."
Ron gave Harry a look that promised retribution but picked the rat off the boy's shoulder, just as a frazzled looking witch came rushing out of Madam Malkin's, smoothing her dark grey robes over her hips. "Stanley!" she chastised upon reaching them, pulling him close to her. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter," she apologized profusely. "I hope he hasn't been a bother. He's wanted to meet you ever so long. He has quite the case of hero-worship for you." She smiled self-consciously. "Of course, you're a hero to us all, really."
Harry brushed aside her apologies and Ron took pity on him, holding up the rat and peering at it narrow-eyed. "Well, Stanley, as far as I can see, what you have here is just a rat. He's quite safe." Stanley took the animal back from Ron, his expression betraying his disappointment that his pet wasn't secretly a minion of the Dark Lord. After more apologies and assurances, Harry and Ron very solemnly shook Stanley's hand before his mother led him off, Ron's promise of a free box of canary creams adding a skip to his step.
When Stanley and his mother were well out of earshot, the three wizards let loose guffaws of laughter so contagious, a smile widened on Booth's face. Still chuckling, Hermione led the way once more toward the edge of town.
Booth watched as passers-by continued to greet Harry respectfully. "So," he said, still smiling. "Hero, huh? What did you do, save the world?"
Harry shrugged and kept walking but from behind the two men, Ron spoke.
"Yea, he did." His voice was soft and serious and Booth stopped to look at the red haired man.
His eyes moved from Ron to Harry. "I didn't know the world needed to be saved," he commented.
Ron's jaw firmed. "Lucky you," he said simply, and in the depths of his eyes lurked the memories of a brother lost, of friends and loved ones gone, of a time when fear was as bright as the shadow of a spell cast in the air.
Ahead of the three men, the distance between them and the two women grew, the wind carrying back brief bits of an excited remark from Brennan or a laugh from Hermione. The people of Hogsmeade simply swept around the men as easily as water flowing past a large rock in the middle of a river.
"I'd like to know that story now," Booth said quietly, gaze fixed on Ron. A long moment passed before Ron grunted and slapped him on the back.
"If I don't turn you in a frog, mate, we'll have a glass of firewhisky and I'll tell you all about it." They hurried to catch up with the women.
"Firewhiskey?" Booth asked.
Ron winked at Harry. "We have so much to teach you, Muggle."