“Must be further out as well,” Howell said, having to raise his voice against the billowing of the snow. There had been a stranger stuck at the Smoke & Scale earlier. “Floo network’s gone haywire, I heard, even up in Hogsmeade.” And weather fronts didn’t usually hit Scotland and southern Wales in the same moment, as far as he knew – they usually drifted through, or settled slightly different in their hills. “Magical, you think?” Howell would have rather it’d been nature. He trusted nature more than magic, sometimes.
