The Hufflepuff

2. Safe

Hannah gave both of the post owls an owl treat. As she took the letters from them, they hooted their thanks and then took to the skies. She watched them as they flew northwards down the valley and towards an oncoming rainstorm.

It was November, and the sky over Hangingrigg Flatt was a slate grey colour. Towards the horizon, over the Eden Valley and beyond, the slate grey had shaded to an almost night-like black. Hannah followed the bird's flight as they closed on the storm. The owls became tiny specks and finally vanished behind a curtain of rain. It was not until they finally disappeared from view that she looked down at the two envelopes she held. Both were addressed to:

Miss H Abbott

Hangingrigg Flatt

Morton

Cumbria

Each was sealed with red wax. One envelope was a lilac colour, the other an official-looking brown parchment. Hannah closed the kitchen window against the approaching storm and opened the lilac envelope.

Dear Miss Abbott,

Thank you for your enquiry. While Tansy's Tea Rooms are not currently looking for any permanent employees, as Christmas approaches, we will be taking on temporary staff for a six week period (mid-November and December). I would be grateful if you could attend the premises at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday next for an interview.

Yours sincerely,

Miss Tansy Hogg

Proprietor

Tansy's Tea Rooms

Hannah stifled her squeal of delight. Her father was oblivious. He was busily shovelling down his breakfast and staring out of the window at the rapidly blackening sky.

'I'd best get the sheep down from the tops,' Hannah's father said gruffly. Hannah simply nodded. She wasn't certain that he was actually talking to her. Every day, over breakfast he planned aloud, telling her what he intended to do during his day. But he always seemed surprised to discover that Hannah knew what he would be doing.

Hannah broke the seal on the second letter and pulled out the parchment.

Dear Miss Abbott,

Thank you for your enquiry. May I, on behalf of Witch Weekly, express our condolences to you and your family.

While your late mother submitted several articles to Witch Weekly over the years, she was not a regular contributor and she did not submit a new article before her death. My assistant Miss C Boyle has checked our files and there are no unpublished articles from your mother.

Yours sincerely,

Chelsea Boyle

p.p. Toby Radford

Commissioning Editor

Witch Weekly

Frowning, Hannah replaced the second letter in its envelope and dropped it into her apron pocket. She reset her face to what she hoped was a look of excitement and waved the first letter at her father.

'I might have found myself a job, Dad,' she said cautiously. 'I wrote to all the cafés in Diagon Alley and a place called Tansy's Tea Rooms want me to go for an interview on Saturday.'

'Job?' her father sounded bewildered.

'I told you that I was looking for work, Dad, remember?' said Hannah. 'We need to get a few extra Galleons coming in. Christmas is always a lean time, you know that. We'll make some money when we sell the turkeys, but after that, there won't be much cash coming in until after lambing.'

'Saturday?' her father asked. 'Where?'

'Diagon Alley,' Hannah said patiently. As she suspected, he hadn't been listening. She showed her father the letter. 'It's almost opposite the Witch Weekly offices.'

Her father stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'There's a lot to do here, Hannah...'

'There isn't that much, Dad. I'm sure that I can work and look after you, and we really do need the money,' she reminded him. 'It's only an interview,' she added consolingly. 'I might not get the job.'

oooooooOOOOOOOooooooo

Tansy Hogg was a stout woman in her middle years. She nodded approvingly when Hannah finished explaining her situation.

'Thank you, Hannah,' she said. 'Normally, I take on two girls over Christmas ...' Miss Hogg hesitated and looked around nervously. It was almost as though she expected You-know-who to appear from underneath a table. She lowered her voice. 'But ... with the way things have been recently ... well ... it's not just me ... every business in Diagon Alley is suffering. I expect that things will pick up over the next few weeks, but if they don't, you'll be working fewer hours. I pay by the hour. What would you say to seven Sickles an hour?'

Hannah hesitated. 'I'd like more,' she began.

'I'm sure you would,' said Miss Hogg brusquely. 'I pay my two permanent members of staff more, but you're only sixteen, fresh from school, and completely inexperienced. Seven Sickles an hour, plus a share of the tips; take it or leave it.'

Hannah didn't hesitate. 'I'll take it; thank you, Miss Hogg,' she said.

'Sensible girl.' Tansy Hogg smiled briefly. 'I have two permanent waitresses; Glynis is taking a few days holiday next week, so can you start on Monday?'

'Yes, definitely,' said Hannah.

'Good, come with me and I'll introduce you to Mac and Glynis.'

Hannah followed Tansy Hogg from the kitchen and out into the café.

'Mac, this is Hannah Abbott; she'll be starting the day after tomorrow,' Miss Hogg announced. 'Hannah, this is Maxine Stewart; she's been with me for years.' Maxine was a tall, sunken-cheeked woman whose lank mid-brown hair was escaping from her white lace waitress cap.

'Hello, Hannah.' Maxine nodded a curt greeting and gave Hannah a rather limp and ineffectual handshake.

'Hello, Maxine,' replied Hannah politely.

'Everyone calls me Mac,' the woman said. 'We open at nine; you'll need to be here no later than half-past eight on your first day, as we'll need to sort a uniform out for you. Excuse me.'

With that, Mac Stewart strode over to take an order from a middle-aged couple. The café was not full, but it was at its Saturday morning peak, and was bustling and busy.

The second waitress, Glynis Pine, was darker-haired and a lot shorter than Mac, she gave Hannah little more than a curt nod as she walked past with a laden tray.

'Thank you, Miss...'

'Call me Tansy, dear. This is Tansy's Tea Rooms, after all.'

'Thank you, Tansy,' Hannah said. She stepped out into the rain-swept street and looked across the road. She hesitated for a moment, but then strode across the street and walked into the offices of Witch Weekly.

A witch wearing vibrant pink robes looked up from the reception desk. The woman was in her twenties, and her automatic smile of greeting fell from her face as she assessed her visitor. She looked at Hannah curiously. The pink-robed witch's expression was easy to read. She had instantly assessed her visitor, and dismissed Hannah as unimportant. Nevertheless, her professionalism took over, and the bland smile returned.

'Welcome to Witch Weekly, how may I help you?' the reception witch asked. From her tone, however, she might as well have asked "what on earth do you want, little girl?"

'I was wondering whether I could speak to Mr Radford,' said Hannah.

'Why would you want to speak to Mr Radford?' The witch's expression shifted from one of barely disguised distain to one of curiosity.

'My mother used to write for him: Geraldine Abbott,' said Hannah.

The witch looked at Hannah with renewed interest.

'Wait here,' she ordered. She slipped through the only other door and Hannah looked idly around the room. A large pile of old issues of Witch Weekly lay on a table. Hannah began to idly flick through them, looking for articles by her mother. She soon found one.

It was a "farmer's wife" article typical of the ones her mother had submitted. The article finished, however, with a note.

Farm workers often complain about their lot in life. Their long hours of hard work for little pay go unrecognised. But they do, at least see some reward for their labours. Some farmers, it seems, begrudge paying their workers anything at all.

Coming soon - Slave Labour, by Geraldine Abbott.

Hannah checked the date of the magazine--mid-August, a month before her mother's murder. She hastily stuffed the magazine into her handbag.

The witch returned. 'I'm sorry, Miss Abbott, but Mr Radford is very busy. If you write to his secretary, Miss Boyle, she'll try to arrange an appointment for you. Thank you.'

With that, the witch sat back down at her desk and began to work, pointedly ignoring her visitor. Hannah hesitated for a few moments, and then decided that pleading would achieve nothing.

'Thank you,' she told the disinterested reception witch as she stood and left.

As she walked disconsolately along Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron, Hannah passed the narrow entrance to Knockturn Alley. She stopped, drew her cloak tightly about her, pulled her hood forward, and summoning every last iota of courage she possessed, she stepped into that unfamiliar and dark-reputed street.

Knockturn Alley was surprisingly crowded; dozens of dark-cloaked individuals strode through the street. Hannah marched determinedly through the crowds, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was trying to escape from her chest. Keeping her head down, Hannah hurried onwards. As she passed a shop doorway a pale young woman with lustrous, raven-black hair strode rapidly from the premises and collided with her.

'Sorry,' Hannah murmured. The small and slender woman opened her pale blue eyes wide, surprised by the apology. As Hannah stepped aside, the young woman smiled, revealing sharply pointed canines. A vampire! Hannah gasped in surprise and hurried past the creature. Once she'd gone a little further down the street, Hannah risked a look over her shoulder. To her horror, the vampire seemed to be following. Hannah quickened her pace. There are no side-streets, Hannah reassured herself; she's not following, she lives in Knockturn Alley. This is the only way she can go.

Once she had passed Borgin and Burkes, and the cluster of small shops opposite, the crowds began to thin. Hannah again looked back. To her relief, the vampire was nowhere to be seen. Breathing more easily, but keeping her wand tightly grasped in her hand, she continued down the alley. As the street became narrower, the crowds vanished. Hannah pressed on.

Ahead, an elderly witch was keenly watching Hannah from a darkened doorway, Hannah was about to approach the ugly old lady, to ask directions to Knowe Place, when she smelled an unpleasant odour. Suddenly alert, she glanced at the old woman's hands. The crone's iron black fingernails confirmed her fears; this was no witch, it was a hag. Hannah hurried past, extremely grateful that she'd paid attention during Professor Lupin's lessons.

Ahead, the alley forked. Hannah had no idea which way to go but, worried by her encounters with Dark creatures, she did not risk stopping. She must appear at home in this place; she must look as though she knew where she was going. Without hesitation, Hannah turned left. Knockturn Alley took a short dog-leg and then opened out into a small cobbled square. The only other exit was through a narrow arched passage several yards away on her right.

With a rapidly beating heart, Hannah walked into the centre of the square and looked around. It was deserted, but not silent. Hannah could hear voices, hammering and even animal noises coming from the buildings surrounding the square.

A sign affixed to the wall where she'd entered the square told her that she had arrived. This was Knowe Place. A large stone and timber building stood to the left of entrance into Knockturn Alley. It was "J. X. Parkinson & Sons, Warehouse" according to the freshly painted sign. The warehouse filled that corner of the square. Hannah continued to turn clockwise.

On the side next to the warehouse stood several ramshackle tenements, each with upper floors leaning precariously forward into the square. Despite the continuing drizzle, washing was hanging from several windows. On the next side, opposite the entrance from Knockturn Alley, were three shops; Kanker's Creature Corner, Hare and Todd's Butchers, and Halstead Farm Supplies. At right angles to Halstead Farm supplies, to the left of the arched exit a wooden sign hung on creaking, rusty chains from a wooden pole. The sign was weatherworn and faded, but Hannah could just make out the words "Ducking Stool" in the flaking paint. The final corner was filled with more tenements.

Hannah walked into the square and looked down at the cobbles in front of the pub. This was the place where her mother had been killed. It was the place where no one had seen anything. As she again looked around the square, Hannah got the impression that it was certainly a place where--if you knew what was good for you--you wouldn't see anything. She looked up at the windows of the tenements, and then down at the cobbles.

Keeping her wand hidden under her cloak, but gripping it tightly, Hannah examined the cobbles carefully. She was looking for a clue, looking for something, looking for anything. It was a dismal and run down place. Not at all the sort of place she would have expected her mother to visit. She shivered.

Hannah's examination of the cobbles was stopped when a pair of worn and scuffed boots appeared in front of her.

'Well, 'ello, darlin'. You a little girl lost, are you?' a voice said. A large, weatherworn hand firmly gripped Hannah's shoulder and she stifled a scream.

Hannah looked up into the man's unshaven face; he was a tall, hard-featured wizard with greasy brown hair, and he suffered from halitosis.

'I know exactly where I am,' said Hannah. 'But it's time I was leaving. People ... my boyfriend ... is waiting for me. He'll come looking.' Hannah's voice was panicked and pleading. The man sneered.

'Not such a little girl, are you?' the man asked, his eyes raking her figure. 'And don't lie about the boyfriend. He doesn't exist.'

'He doesn't. But keep your hands off her, dog; she's mine!' The musical, and very well-spoken, voice belonged to a woman, and it came from almost directly behind Hannah.

'I don't believe you, corpse!' the man snarled. 'I saw her first.'

'The girl is leaving, Scabior; she's leaving with me.' The woman spoke with a quiet power and the man she'd called Scabior turned his gaze from Hannah and glared balefully over her shoulder at the newcomer.

Hannah took her chance. She thrust her wand under Scabior's chin and shouted, 'Stupefy'

The effect astonished Hannah. Scabior flew into the air and thudded against the wall next to the inn sign. In all her months of practicing with the DA she'd never managed such a powerful Stunning spell. Harry's words of advice drifted back to her. "You need to mean it, Hannah. I know that Ernie is your friend, but you can't hold back. You can't stun someone unless you really want to."

'Come along, my dear, let's leave,' the woman said.

Hannah turned and looked gratefully at her saviour, only to discover that she was facing the smiling vampire. Hannah took one step backwards and stopped. She glanced back at the unconscious Scabior, heard the curious shouts from the pub and realised that she had little choice. She hastily followed the woman out from the square.

'What's your name, girl?' the vampire asked. Hannah hesitated and gripped her wand tightly. 'Don't lie; I'll know if you lie,' the woman added.

'Hannah, Hannah Abbott.' She reluctantly parted with the information.

'You have a strong heart, Hannah,' the woman said softly as they strode back up Knockturn Alley. 'And now it beats so fast that I can hear the blood rushing around your body.' She chuckled. 'And my words are making it move faster. You are frightened of me, just as you were frightened of the wolf.'

'The wolf?' Hannah queried, her mouth had been dry, now it was a desert.

'Scabior is one of Greyback's pack. They have joined with the Dark Lord, because he has promised them much. He promised my people much too, but I have known for a very long time that he lies. He has secrets, but he hides them well. And he lies to everyone, Hannah, he even lies to himself,' the vampire said knowledgably. 'I am Camelia Tepes. I am, as you have realised, a vampire. I have just saved your life, or at the very least, your chastity. You owe me a debt, girl, and one day, I will collect it.'

'I could have dealt with him without your help,' said Hannah stoutly.

'Possibly, possibly not. Your stunning spell was impressive, but my distraction helped, did it not?' Camelia said calmly. Hannah nodded grudgingly. The vampire was relaxed, calm, and had made no threatening moves, but Hannah remained on edge. They continued up the street in silence, Hannah keeping slightly behind the vampire.

'Why did you help me?' Hannah finally asked as they strode back up Knockturn Alley.

'Why not? I am bored. When you bumped into me, you looked out of place and frightened, but you continued anyway. And you were polite, which amused me. For a while I let you see me, and then I hid from you. I was simply practicing stalking someone.' Camelia Tepes stared into Hannah's face and laughed. 'Don't worry, Hannah Abbott, I would have let you be. I would have let you examine those cobbles and depart. You would never have seen me, were it not for Scabior deciding that he liked the look of you.'

'You helped me simply because you were bored?' Hannah asked.

'Not entirely, Hannah,' Camelia admitted. 'The werewolves are scum; they are nothing but beasts, and they work for the biggest beast of all! It amuses me to annoy them. But, what were you doing in Knowe Place? It is not safe.'

'I know that now,' Hannah admitted with a shiver. 'But it's where my mother was murdered. It happened almost seven weeks ago. Do you know what happened to her?'

'No, but if it happened in Knowe Place, then the wolves will know, and so will the Parkinsons; they know everything that happens there. But I will give you a piece of advice, Hannah. Do not ask the werewolves, and do not ask the Parkinsons either, not unless you want to meet your mother beyond the veil. Now, here is Diagon Alley.'

Hannah looked up and realised that they'd walked the entire length of the Knockturn Alley. When she turned back to look at Camelia, the vampire had gone. Hannah shivered and slowly made her way along Diagon Alley towards the welcome site of the Leaky Cauldon.