CHAPTER ONE
Clair Baker once again jiggled the door handle of her small house before turning around to look for unwanted prying muggle eyes. In a swift motion she twisted sharply on the spot and disappeared from sight.
She staggered slightly in the darkened Hogsmead street, seemed to find her bearings and strode purposefully through an alleyway between two houses. It would have been all the more impressive if the handle of the holdall she was carrying, had not cunningly twisted itself around her ankle. Hopping around on one leg she finally managed to disentangle herself and continue on her intended route.
Muttering darkly to herself and wiping the grit off her palm she emerged into yet another unfamiliar street.
"Bugger."
She spun round on the spot as though that would help and strode purposefully down the middle of the road. After several left turns she decided that she must be going around in circles and took a couple of rights for good measure. After an hour or so, she was beginning to loose hope and was becoming surprisingly resigned to the fact she may have to ask for directions.
"Bugger," she muttered again. She had meant to apparate directly to the Hogg's Head but she had never been very good and surprised everyone when she managed to pass the test. Even so, it was the eighth try. At least she hadn't splinched herself, she thought miserably. She set herself down on the kerb and removed a flask of steaming soup from the depths of her cloak. Tilting her head back to take a gulp, she saw something that made her jerk with surprise and snort half the liquid up her nose.
There, just on the other side of the road, was her destination. The Hog's Head sign swung tantalisingly in the chilly breeze and Claire staggered, half blinded by the copious amount of hot liquid now poured over her face, to the front door. She had begun to push the door open before she realised how it would look for a witch to stumble in, holdall in one hand and flask in the other, coated in sticky green pea soup.
"Bugger," she muttered for the third time.
After once again delving into the depths of her cloak she managed, with some difficulty, to extract her wand. She pulled a piece of fluff from its tip before, with a deft flick, siphoning the liquid away. She squinted at her reflection in the dusty window to make sure she was presentable and proceeded into the Hogg's Head.
The barman looked up briefly before bending and continuing a now whispered conversation with the lone occupant of the bar. The room itself was barely lit with a number of oil lamps on each of the tables. This only intensified the grime as the yellowish light was cast upon the stained walls. Claire noticed; as she approached the bar, that her feet stuck alarmingly to the threadbare carpet. Looking down she realised with a jolt that large stains of glutinous blood were the cause of this and thoughts of food sidled quickly from her mind.
She now stood at the bar, a little more than a foot from the bar tender. Tapping on the wood of the bar she gazed expectantly at the man but he showed no recognition of her presence other than to move away slightly.
The barman was gaunt and so tall that he would have had to stoop to avoid the light hanging behind the bar. Not wanting to raise tempers now she had finally arrived at her destination, Claire chose a stool and waited. Sitting with her back to the bar she surveyed the rest of the room.
In an especially dark corner sat a figure dressed in a particularly heavy travelling cloak. Although she could not see their face, Claire had a funny feeling they were looking at her. An exceptionally pale and elongated hand emerged from a sleeve to grasp a drink that its owner drank through a straw. The drink itself was deep crimson and Claire had a horrible feeling that it was blood.
A pair sat opposite each other at a table nearby. Claire could only see the back of one but even though the other wore a hood masking their face she could clearly see tufts of fur sticking out. Although it was clear that they had been watching her mere moments before, they now resumed a rather rowdy game of cards. She watched as the figure facing her slammed his hand of cards vigorously onto the table. The other, not liking this blatant show of triumph, proceeded the draw their wand and cause the other player's cards to leap into the air and tear themselves up.
Claire, now feeling thoroughly out of place in her lilac robes, turned once again towards the bar. She physically jumped back when she realised, perhaps a little late, that the barman paying her his full attention and their noses were mere inches apart.
A close-up view did nettle to improve Claire's feelings towards the man. He was so immensely thin that his skin was drawn tight over the bones of his face. His eyes were sunken and grey, which matched his lank greasy grey hair. The apron he wore bore many stains and the cloth with which he wiped the bar with was not that much better.
"Hi I erm…" The sight of yellowing fingernails distracted Claire who happened to glance down at the wrong moment. "I-I have a room booked," she continued.
"Name?" he asked simply.
So much for the niceties Claire muttered under her breath, oh well at least it's cheap. "Baker," she replied tartly, having decided to adopt the same curt tone as he had with her.
He mumbled under his breath as he ran one of those thin fingers down a list of names in a book that he had retrieved from under the counter. "Room five, upstairs, second left." He gestured vaguely to the left of the bar with a set of keys before slamming them onto the bar and limping away.
"Thanks," Claire muttered sourly as she dragged herself and her luggage up the stairs.
The landing was barely lit but by the light from downstairs Claire could make out and upside-down five on one of the doors. The key fit.
The decor of the small room largely matched that of the bar; the yellowing paint was peeling off the walls and the carpet was heavily worn. The bed was lumpy but the sheets, if not clean, were at least stain-free.
Not even undressing she slipped under the covers and was soon asleep.