Hermione’s pulse quickened in an anxious whirl; she desperately did not want to be recognized here. One whisper, and that bitch Skeeter would descend like the bloody crypt keeper. Ever since she registered herself legally as an Animagus, Hermione’s threats meant nothing and she continued to pen slanderous garbage near weekly. Hermione tried again to quietly flag a bartender to no avail. The pub was growing increasingly warm, so she fished a hair elastic from her bag and piled her riotous curls high on her head before securing them haphazardly. The sweater was soon discarded as well. 