The trek down to the valley is treacherous. The vivacious ferns hide tree stumps, fallen branches and rocks. Once they reach the bottom, they find a patchwork of fields, small plots divided by low stone walls. Each plot is covered in sagging stalks of green.
"I think we may be in the past," Luna says.
"Nonsense. Why would you take me to the past?" Percy says peevishly.
Luna leans down and pulls a stalk from the ground. "We have already discussed this, Percy Weasley. You may find it unlikely, and I agree it's an odd coincidence, but I have not abducted you."
"Look at the houses up there," Luna continues. "They look neither magic nor muggle. They just look–mean."
Nestled within the shadowy embrace of a pine forest, where giant pines stretch towards the sky like ancient sentinels, lies a small medieval village. Its dwellings, humble and unassuming, are scattered across the damp earth, clinging together as if seeking solace from the encroaching wilderness.
Percy stands still, looking at the small stone buildings with thatched roofs that appear to be made of straw. His eyes linger on the columns of smoke for a long time.
"They'll have food," he says.
Luna is worried they might not, but she doesn't tell him how poor they must be.
"Maybe they'll have a hot meal and a bed," Percy muses wistfully, rubbing his hands together.
Luna looks over the fields, her eyes coming to rest on the rotting potato in her hand. She tilts her head. "Or they may have nothing but cold hearts and old grudges."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at their fields, Percy Weasley. The potatoes are all rotten. That could mean famine, disease. It's not a good sign."
"You and your signs," he scoffs, but his voice trembles slightly.
They start the ascent toward the houses, and eventually they reach the outskirts of the village.
A few tendrils of smoke rise from crooked chimneys, twisting and dancing with the wind, their presence a subtle testament to the life within. Doors and windows, rudimentary and worn, are shut tight against the chill, and the whole village seems to huddle beneath the weeping sky as if sharing a collective secret.
She realizes with a start that the villagers are already waiting, and they begin to shout.
"What manner of creatures be thee?" an aggressive-looking man shouts.
Percy reaches his hands forward in a gesture of supplication, "We mean no harm–"
Another old man completely ignores him. "Witches, I say! Look upon their garments!"
"I told you," Luna whispers to Percy, "something's not right."
"You think?" he snaps.
Brandishing hoes and axes, the villagers make threatening motions.
The old man, the apparent spokesperson, quakes, "Begone from these lands! We desire not thy curses nor thy ill fortune!"
The advice seems sound; Luna grabs Percy's arm, and they run. The village follows, tentatively at first but soon with wild shouts of angry enthusiasm. Someone's to blame for the destroyed crops; now they know who.
Even though it is well after dark, Luna can still hear the villagers shouting and calling. The hollow she and Percy have crawled into will have to keep them until tomorrow because she is too tired and hungry to run any more.
"They must have seen us coming," Luna says, "seen our strange clothes and thought to themselves, those there are otherworldly creatures. They must be witches."
Percy isn't listening.
"Hogwarts–It must be there, Luna! Even if we're in the past," he suddenly says enthusiastically and much too loudly. "It's over a thousand years old. If we could just get there, maybe someone could help us."
Luna feels a surge of hope at the thought. "Do you think the Whomping Willow is already fatally annoyed, or is it just a sapling with an attitude and a mild temper?"
The hollow they are hiding in burrows under a fallen tree trunk. It's musky but dry and warm. Barely large enough for the two of them to sit pressed shoulder to shoulder.
"This is hardly the time for whimsical thoughts! We need to figure out a way to get there. Without our wands, without any provisions, we're–"
"Lost, Percy Weasley. We're lost," she mumbles. "And it's beautiful, in a way, don't you think? To be here, in a time untouched by our world's troubles."
"We could die here!" He sounds exasperated and scared.
He says, "If what you say is to be believed, then we don't know how to get back and might be stuck forever in this place with those–those murderous villagers!"
"Death is a part of life, and if you would rather it be later, you should lower your voice, or they might find us," Luna exhales in a long sigh. She's too exhausted to keep this conversation going. "Death is just another adventure. Maybe we're meant to be here, to learn something we couldn't have learned in our own time."
"I don't want to die here. I don't want to be forgotten, a lost piece of history. I want to go home. I want to see my family."
"We must hold on to hope." Luna improvises tiredly. "Until we find our way home, we have each other, the stars, and the forest. We'll find Hogwarts and a way to survive."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"I believe in us, Percy Weasley. And I believe in the universe. It's a strange, wonderful place, full of surprises. Maybe, in the end, that's all we need to know."
She pats him on the arm, "The Whomping Willow is not near this old, of course. It's no more than 50 years, but it was force-grown, you see. I had forgotten."
Percy says nothing.