Things We Do In The Shadows.
PROLOGUE
IT was 10 am on the afternoon of September 1st, 2015. The Hogwarts Express was being clamoured into with all possible speed. The children were rushing to and fro around the platform. Some still clung desperately to mothers and father; others were being clutched at by their younger siblings. One girl stood alone, slightly apart from the rest. She was quite young, not more than sixteen. She did not seem afraid, and her grave, steadfast eyes looked straight ahead.
"I beg your pardon." A man's voice beside her made her start and turn. She had noticed the speaker more than once amongst the hustle and bustle. There had been a hint of mystery about him which had appealed to her imagination. He spoke to no one. If anyone spoke to him he was quick to rebuff the overture. Also he had a nervous way of looking over his shoulder with a swift, suspicious glance.
She noticed now that he was greatly agitated. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. He was evidently in a state of overmastering fear. And yet he did not strike her as the kind of man who would be afraid of really anything.
"Yes?" Her grave eyes met his inquiringly. He stood looking at her with a kind of desperate irresolution.
"It must be!" he muttered to himself. "Yes-it is the only way." Then aloud he said abruptly: "You are a witch?"
"Yes-"
"A reliable one?"
The girl flushed. "I doubt you have any right to ask such a thing! Of course I am!"
"Don't be offended. You wouldn't be if you knew how much there was at stake. But I've got to trust someone-and it must be a woman."
"Why?"
"Because of 'veneficas primum.'" The girl raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He looked round and lowered his voice. "I'm carrying papers-vitally important papers. They may make all the difference to the Minister in his hunting down of dark wizards. You understand? These papers have got to be saved! They've more chance with you than with me. Will you take them?" The girl held out her hand. "Wait-I must warn you. There may be a risk-if I've been followed. I don't think I have, but one never knows. If so, there will be danger. Have you the nerve to go through with it?"
The girl smiled. "I'll go through with it all right. I'm proud to be chosen, but what am I to do with them?"
"Watch the newspapers! I'll advertise in the personal column of the Prophet, beginning 'train conductor.' That should tell you where to go during your hogsmeade weekend. At the end of the week if there's nothing-well, you'll know I'm down and out. Then take the packet to the Ministry of Magic, and deliver it into the Minister's own hands. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear."
"Then be ready-I'm going to say good-bye." He took her hand in his. "Good-bye. Good luck with your classes," he said in a louder tone. Her hand closed on the oilskin packet that had lain in his palm. The Express hooted its final warning. In answer, the girl went forward to take her place in the train