8 AM

Standing in front of a grubby bit of glass that he called his mirror, Jack hummed a happy but senseless little tune, using the sound of his razor scraping against his stubble as an accompaniment. This was a rare sight as of late (the humming, not the shaving) thanks to Jack's general discontent in his previous employment. But that was over now. Now he had a boss that not only accept that he was a werewolf, but actually sympathized with his plight, a dead clever and fit coworker, and best of all, something other than stale chips and flat ale for lunch. He could practically taste those delicious crumpets that Dora made and his humming got even happier.

"There." He said, to no one in particular, as he smacked his razor against the sink and rubbed his cheeks to make sure they were smooth. Jack felt pretty good about today. He was shorn, scrubbed pink and in his best clothes. He just hoped there wasn't a dress code because his 'best clothes' were a faded button down, short sleeved, plaid shirt, his only pair of khakis without ragged edges or stains, and the only pair of shoes he owned, a well worn pair of trainers. For Jack, this was dressed up and he hoped Dora would be okay with it. After all, he didn't want to bring down the qualiy of the establishment.

As satisfied as he could be, Jack grabbed his breakfast (Toast, no butter) and ran out the door, taking the stairs two at a time down a few levels. There he stopped and knocked on the first door to the left as he mentally prepared himself for what was coming.

The owner of said door was a Mrs. Fanelli and she was what you called a 'character' as in 'cartoon character'. She seriously looked like she belonged in a muggle cartoon. She was a withered, hunch backed old crone with one eye, a bad chain smoking habit and far, far too many cats than was good for your health[1]. Perhaps it was bad eyesight or dementia[2] but ever since Jack helped her bring up her groceries a few months back, she had become convinced that he was her grandson Michael, who Jack could only assume was deceased or incarcerated but didn't have the heart to try and convince her otherwise. Not that it would help, she was so convinced he was this Michael that any time he attempted to correct her, she would smack him in the head with her gnarled tree branch of a cane and tell him to learn to respect his elders before she bent him over her knee and tanned his sorry hide five shades redder.

Needless to say, Jack adored her.

There was still no answer, so he knocked again. This time, he was greeted with a cacophony of angry cats, yowling in chorus at the sudden intrusion. Jack guessed that there was at least 5 or 6 cats crowding around the door, wrapping in and out of her legs with the mix of affection and murderous intent that all cats seemed to have. Sure enough, a moment later, he heard a howl of pain and her yell "Merlin's Knickers, Bobsie! Who the hell told ye to get under me feet? And ye, Bezoar[3], stop horking on the rug! I told ye that nightshade was not for kitties..." The voice got louder as she neared. "...  Now SOD OFF, the lot o'yeh!!" The voice was close to the door and Jack straightened up, preparing himself for the wave... no, wall was a better descriptive. The wall of smells that was about to hit him. Aside from cat piss and pipe smoke, there was always something unidentifiable bubbling away on her stove and the general smell of very, very old woman. Mothballs, denture cream and something he didn't want to think about. Visiting her was about the only time he ever regretted being a werewolf.

The door flew open and Jack winced at the smell, just barely able to catch himself and offer her a pleasant smile "'iya, Mrs. Fanelli..." He said, waving weakly.

She squinted at him for a second before breaking into a broad smile "Michael, my dear lad! I'm so happy to see yeh!" Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking she missed his faux pas, she suddenly turned on a dime and smack him with her cane "And just who are ye calling "Mrs. Fanelli" ye daft lad!"

Rubbing his head, Jack mumbled "Sorry, Maimeó[4]..." but she was too busy ranting about him never owling or visiting, despite the fact that he lived in the same building and visited her earlier that week. Sighing, he shook his head with a small smile and followed her inside. Perhaps it was because his own mum had had little interest in his life, but he kinda liked the overbearing old woman. Cats and all.

"'ave ye eaten? Growing lads should eat!" She said, suddenly switching back to kindly old grandmother mode.

"Ehm... Yeah, ah'm good... Ah just needed t'use yer floo. Mine's not been set up yet." Jack said quickly, hiding the toast. If he didn't get to the point and soon, or if she saw that all he was eating was some toast, then she would insist on making him a full breakfast. While this was a gesture he greatly appreciated, he really couldn't afford to wait. Also, the cats were glaring at him from their perches all around the room, making the wolf whine with discomfort.

"Oh? Where ye flooing to in such a 'urry that ye can't have a bit of brekkie with your old Maimeó?" She said, before grinning toothlessly as she added "A good lass I hope... Ye need to be getting on making me some great-grand babbies... I'm not getting any younger, no matter what me girlish figure may imply!"

Jack blushed a little at the idea of him having babies before shaking his head "Nah... ah got a new job. Gonna be workin' at Puddifoots over in 'ogsmeade starting t'day." He grinned with a difficult mix of humility and pride, rubbing the back of his head shyly. "...But ah'll see if ah can bring back some crumpets or owt to 'ave evening tea with ya..."

" A new job? Good on ye, lad!" She exclaimed before looking him over and shaking her head,  "But I hope ye aren't going t'be wearing that..." she added, nodding to his clothes. He looked down at them and then back at her, brows furrowed in confusion "Ehm... yeah. Why? Wha's wrong with em?"

"Wrong? WRONG? Ye look like a hoodlum, boy! No grandson of mine is going t'go to a new job looking like a streetrat!" She shouted, hobbling back to one of the bedrooms[5] as Jack looked over his ensemble and mouthed "Hoodlum?" while wondering how old she was that a button-down and a pair of slacks was the uniform of thuggery. In the background, he could hear her talking about there being some nice clothes somewhere in there and Jack sighed, resigning himself to being a little late. There was no way he could escape once she set her mind to something.

"Here we go! Some of ye Daideó[6] clothes. They are a bit out'o'fashion I suppose, but they are better then that mess..." She reappeared and tossed him a shirt, vest, tie and slacks. At first he was pleasantly surprised to see that they had neither the scent of mothballs or cat on them. In fact, they smelt freshly laundered. Then it dawned on him that, despite the fact her husband had been dead for decades, she still laundered and ironed his clothes as though he were alive. The fact that they were spotless and so well kept after all these years made him think that cleaning them had to be the highlight of her day. His chest panged painfully as he took the clothes with a gracious smile and the mental vow to make sure he brought her the aforementioned crumpets. It was the very least he could offer for a very lonely old woman.

A few minutes later, Jack was in the new clothes[7] and being spun around as Mrs. Fanelli checked for lint and frayed seams. "Ye look good, lad! But then ye were always handsome." She winked at him as she elbowed him and added in a playful tone "It's because ye get yeh looks from my side of the family!" They both had a good chuckle at this before she suddenly slapped him on the arm and hurriedly exclaimed, "Look at the time! Ye 'ad best be on your way, then!" Pushing him towards the floo, she added "Don't ye worry about getting the clothes dirty, I will gladly help with your laundry in return for you coming and seeing me every morning, agreed?"

Jack grabbed a handful of the green ash and paused, giving her a soft smile "Yeah. Ah will... Bye Maimeó..." he said before tossing the dust at his feet and saying as loud and clear as he could "'ogsmeade station" As the world glowed green around him, Jack got one last glimpse at Mrs. Fanelli. She looked older than usual, and even more tired, her hand raised reluctantly in farewell. Suddenly he wanted to reach out to her but before he could, her living room disappeared and then a second later, he was tumbling into the ticket station of Hogsmeade station.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. He ran the rest of the way to Puddifoots, dodging other shopkeepers on their way to their respective businesses while attempting to eat his toast. Barreling into the small cafe, he said "Mm ah wate?"  before pausing to swallow the last mouthful of toast painfully. "Sorry... Am ah too late?" He gasped at Lou as he attempted to catch his breath.

1.	As far as Jack was concerned, 1 was far too many, but he didn't dare tell her that.
2.	she had to be in her 100's, but who could tell with witches?
3.	He was originally named Halbert, but his habit of eating poinsettia's and somehow surviving got him the name Bezoar.
4.	Irish slang for grandmother
5.	Jack wasn't sure what it was, and nor did he plan to ever venture back there. The smell of cat was stronger there and he had a feeling he'd return an eye and several inches of skin short.
6.	Irish slang for Grandfather
7.	looks like THIS but minus the 'Tom' tag.

The clock on mantle was telling her to hurry up, but Emmylou just raised faux-innocent eyebrows at it and skipped skillfully about the wood floor as she pulled on a pant leg and then the other. With her jeans up and buttoned, she dodged a few open boxes, kicking around them to the open kitchen... area. It was small, but it was still plenty big enough to make bacon and pour orange juice and reach into an open box of cereal, and so success. Plus, it was all hers. For a ridiculous rent check each month.

She nibbled at the bacon, then took a proper bite, carrying a strip of it over to the bed and waving her wand at the tangle of blankets. It looked made-ish after a few waves, which counted. She wasn’t Nolan, and she didn’t think a perfectly made bed was very inviting. She was going to climb into it in several hours, anyway. It was her favorite piece of furniture, even if it was just a mattress and box spring… and super soft, calling-her-name duvet.

Nope, she had to work.

Emmylou finished the piece of bacon, rinsed her hands, then pulled on her sweater. Sher swept in front of the mirror over a small desk-slash-vanity (multitasking!) her mother had bought for her ages ago. She ran her fingers through her hair: a little messy, a lot carefree, no half bottle of hairspray required. It was exactly what it was supposed to be. She grinned at her reflection.

Across from the kitchen were little coat hooks that held everything, including her purse. Lou dug through it, making sure the essentials were there. She gave the flat one glance over, tucked a coat into the crook of her arm, and Disapparated.

Puddifoot’s materialized before her, a few yards away. Lou meandered in, noting that she was right on time, even had two minutes to spare. Which was good, since they opened in fifteen and Dora had the day off. Punctuality wasn’t bad when Lou liked where she was working. She had so far managed to punctual for Dora for every shift, except one— the day Amelia had been born, she’d taken a few minutes to celebrate and had skated in about two minutes late.

The Carter witch pulled out her wand, murmuring the combination of charms that she had learned as an employee. When she stepped inside, it was clean, warm, and empty. She wandered toward the back, shuffled into the kitchen, and traded her coat for an apron. It would be up to Lou and their new recruit today. Luckily, Dora had baked everything the night before and tucked it into place, fresh and ready for customers.

Within ten minutes, Lou was back up front, giving tables an inspection and whirring the espresso machine into action. The fragrance of teas and fresh muffins never left.

She was at a table near the front when Jack burst in, looking breathless and very… neck-tie-y. Emmylou paused a few feet from the door and gave him a huge smile. “Nope, we’re technically still closed.” She gestured at the sign that hung on the door. “Looking sharp,” she added, glancing him over again and still grinning.

She headed back toward the bar, moving slow so that he could join her. “You picked a great day start working.” There was humor and mischief in her eyes. She rounded the bar and began to stack little plates for espresso cups. She picked up a tea towel and stuffed it into the corner of her apron, looking down to thumb a parchment pad beside it. “Are you ready to man the fort while Dora’s out for the day?” It was a casual question, tinged with amusement— mostly because the customers hadn’t started pouring in yet, and so Lou wasn’t ready to swallow her laughter. She looked back up to gauge his expression. “I think we’ve definitely got this.”

He should only be mildly afraid.

“Nope, we’re technically still closed. Looking sharp,”

Jack's first inclination was to duck his head and try not to look as happy as her compliment made him, but one look at her casual yet stylish outfit and his hand flew from his head to his neck, where it immediately attempted to loosen the tie. What was he thinking wearing such a constricting and out-dated thing as a tie and vest? Then Mrs. Franellis face, filled with nostalgic longing as she carefully aligned his tie and collar, flitted past his inner eye and he sighed. The things he did to keep that woman happy. Surely she wouldn't be that mad about him removing a little tie, or so he thought, until he attempted to remove the thing.  Somehow she had managed to tie it in such a way that tugging it loose made it tighter. Crazy old bat tricked him!

“Are you ready to man the fort while Dora’s out for the day?”

Jack paused from struggling with his tie to stare at her, horrified. "Dora isn't 'ere? So.. It's jus' th'two of us, then?" He asked, despite knowing that he heard her correctly. It was just that the idea of it just being the two of them worried him for a couple of different reasons, the main one being that he had no idea how to run a tea shop. A pub, yes, but not a tea shop. You didn't normally have to worry about physically removing drunkards from the premises or the aforementioned drunks slinging insults, curses, or worse, full mugs of ale at your head when you worked at a tea shop. At least, he hoped you didn't.

Then it dawned on him why Dora wasn't present and his face lit up, "Ah... She's gonna see about the baby, yeah?" This made him a bit happier (though not much less worried) since it meant that the father must be on board. At least, Jack hoped so. He didn't know much about werewolves having babies, but he was worried about the added stress and pain, especially during the full moon.  In the short time that they had known each other, Jack already considered Dora important to him. Nothing as sordid as a sexual attraction. She was more like a sister or even a very, very young mother[1] and he hated the idea of her being hurt or in pain. He would have gone with her himself, but he knew that this was something she and the father had to do together, so he supposed that helping keep her livelihood running was probably the next best thing. He just wished he knew what he was doing.

“I think we’ve definitely got this.”

Jack stared at her blankly for a moment, still mildly afraid, before snapping out of it and nodding "Right, then... let's do this. Wha' d'ya want us t'do first?"

1.	He knew better than to tell her that though

Watching him struggle with the tie only made Emmylou smile harder. She bit the corner her lip as she went about arming her apron, feeling only the tiniest bit bad about finding him discomfort cute and highly entertaining. The teashop wasn’t a muggle bar, stuffed with televisions airing football and rugby; Lou had to get her entrainment in and other ways, and Jack was certainly going to be an co-worker who kept her attention.

“Careful. Some of those are charmed to stay tied,” she pointed out, pinning him with a light blue gaze of mild concern and invisible but somehow obvious smile lines. “It’s just us. And your tie.” She finished stuffing things into her apron and rounded the bar again. She was holding her wand as if she might use it, but another few steps and she had closed the space between them— and pocketed the wand. “We’ll be fine, promise,” she reiterated. She placed her hands on hips, for emphasis. “Might not want to let that hang around, though.” Lou’s eyes darted to the tie and then back to his face. Her brows lifted into an I’m-casually-surpressing-a-laugh expression that was smart-alckey, but not particularly foreboding. “You don’t want it to get caught on a rogue teacup, trust me. They’re dementors in training.”

But as soon as she’d offered the face, she smiled again— and it became a brilliant smile as she thought about Dora. “Yeah. Everyone around me is having babies.” And Emmylou was totally cool with playing with them and then letting their parents deal with the real responsibilities. Who didn’t love babies? “We’ll have to toast a few espressos to her.”

But first, they had to get ready for customers.

“Let’s bring some of the new shipment up front. There are a few tins that are about empty, so we should have the backups ready on the shelf. Then we’ll finish looking over the tables and make sure the warming charms are working on the pastries up front and in the kitchen, and re-stack a few in the case, just kind of fluff up everything. Dora’s done most of that already. There are clean plates and cups, and some napkins and drink holders we need to bring up to the bar, too.”

She led the way back to the kitchen, pointing out things along the way, in particular the rack of aprons. “If you’re working in the kitchen or clearing tables, take your pick! This one’s mine, though!” She gave it a tug of loving claim. “The brooms are there, with the rest of the cleaning supplies in the cabinet next to them. We sweep at night after closing, obviously, and then as needed throughout the day. The bins are in the back, this way.” She led him toward the other side of the kitchen and used her wand to undo various locks before poking into the back, outside. She swung with the door, making room for Jack in its frame. “We bring it out here at night, and then on collection days, down that way.” She pointed past several back entrances to adjoining businesses, where the alley met the street.

Squeezing back inside, she led him next to the stock room. “So this is where we keep a lot of the shipments, and the cold stuff goes in that room.” There was a charmed fridge adjacent. “Those are the ones we need today,” she added, whirling in place, back toward the fully stocked shelves, and pointing toward the top. The entire set of shelves were full of baking supplies and caffeine. “They’re shipped several at a time, usually, so the boxes are heavy,” she cautioned. “But you used to toss around winners outside of the pub, right?” She caught his eye again, and smiled. “These are much better behaved.”

For another half an hour, Lou showed him where they kept everything, where dishes were scraped, washed, stored, and how to do the locks. She told him how they went about doing everything, and in what general order (though Dora was sweet, and Emmylou casual, and so it changed occasionally). Soon she had armed him with a tea towel and was showing him the ropes of emptying the containers for beans on the espresso machine. “Just be careful I don’t have it going when we refill it. These things steam up fast and the shots come out really hot.” She pointed to the spouts where concentrated caffeine poured. “All the grounds go in here,” she added, pointing to where she emptied scoops used coffee. “The milk containers are charmed to refill on their own, but we still trade them out regularly. The extras are in the fridge in the back.”

With all of that out of the way, they were ready for business. “If you want to just go over the tables and make sure they’re all shiny, I’ll flip the sign!”

The first customers were already dawdling outside, a wizard smoking a purple pipe and another, busier looking bloke who stopped by early every morning for a giant coffee to balance the briefcase in his other hand. They were soon followed by others, locals and pre-rush-hour early birds taking seats or queuing up for caffeine to go. Lou shot Jack a friendly look of confidence from behind the register as she handed over the fourth coffee.

Puddifoot's had a dedicated clientele and they showed up like clockwork.   They were just as interested as getting served quickly and calmly as Puddifoot's baristas - why should today be any different? Oh. Right.

Tourists. 

Hogsmeade was the only totally Wizarding town in all of Britain, and when the weather began becoming palatable, the tourists from the southern cities began trickling in.  They were easy to spot - large cameras, comfortable but gaudy travelling clothes, voices a bit to loud for the usual morning crowd, travelling in packs, and usually with small children.

Oh. And they had no idea what they wanted to order. 

"Aw, right! Yea, I want a...wait no.  What's that.  Katie! This what you want? This macho-macho thing? Well then you come up and tell the man, then! What size? Whalloping? Huge? Or Medium? Look I don't think they have that."

The tourist patriarch turned back to the barista.  "Do you have that?"