It was dark. Dust clung to the air and filled her lungs as she inhaled in the quiet. Aberforth was behind the bar, wiping the dirty glass with his dirty cloth, a distant look in his eyes. A bald man was whispering over a half-drunk glass of whiskey. Goblins were huddled in a corner booth, hooting furtive glances at Hermione like she had the intention to steal whatever was grasped in all six of their greasy hands.