Papa had all but pushed her out the door.

It had been a fortnight, give or take, since the world had shifted so dramatically upon its axis, and to say Maddy was moping was to say fire was warm—factually correct but entirely missing the point and undervaluing the extent of it. She did not wish to see her friends or even, frankly, her siblings, while she struggled to process this new understanding of the world. Papa had given her a fortnight to grieve (everyone spoke of grieving, but what Maddy needed was to understand, and such understanding was not at all forthcoming!) before gently, but firmly, directing her to get some air.

She had taken the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade for lack of anything else to do, suspecting she would get no less than his Disappointed Face if she returned before dinner. It was not the park that the Gryffindor sought, though—indeed, Maddy doubted she would ever seek the park again. Instead, it was the bustle of the High Street and its familiar patterns of comings and goings.

The air was not dotted with occasional broom-straddling travelers as it often was, no doubt due to the recent ban. Papa had riled instinctively against it when he had read the paper, but Maddy was quietly glad of it. Without the flyers, and so long as she gave the quidditch shop a wide berth, she could be free of at least one reminder of Sloane's passing.

Then the rain began.

Maddy felt her pulse begin to quicken as she felt the first raindrops upon her skin, the denizens of Hogsmeade largely disappearing into the various shops and businesses as though on cue. Maddy moved to the nearest awning-covered door—that of Hogsmeade Hall—but before she could even try the knob, a voice said, It's locked.