Alohomocha,
07:30

Lester had been such a bloody pain in his arse the entire week... Coming home in the middle of the night with a different giggling teenager each night - and they lived in a one room apartment, Jesus Christ! - hurling all over the bathroom and having heated arguments with doorknobs and to top it all there were sketches and paints all over the apartment and Sander liked his space clean and organized. Apparently the new semester had brought about a party every other night, and of course his brother was at each and every last one of them, because for God knew what reasons all the girls were digging the artsy, obnoxious, creepy, rebellious kid that his brother was.

Point was that for Sander, getting to work was now something of a blessing. He liked his kitchen, his quiet, sparkly clean, obsessive-compulsively organized kitchen. He liked that he could listen to some Mumford and hum peacefully while concentrating on baking the morning menu, namely muffins, brioches and madeleines. All perfect for coffee or tea. He also liked that he was usually the first in the building, and he relished in the few moments of peaceful quiet and the absence of his obnoxious, loud co-workers. He was softly singing along the chorus of Little Lion Man when the timer went off and he gracefully turned to open the top oven.

The kitchen was instantly taken over by the smell of freshly baked muffins and chocolate and he smiled to himself as he set the tray on the island counter in the middle of the room. He mixed the batter for another batch while the first one was cooling off, and once the new one and the madeleines were in the oven he debated over which pastry stand to choose, before settling for a simple white one, with three levels. With the muffins arranged nicely on the stand and the other trays still in the oven, he decided he could do with a break. He opened the window at the back of the kitchen and climbed on the counter. He coughed roughly, inhaling the cold morning air of January, but there was something missing. Of course. Smoke, toxic, cancerous smoke. So he slipped his hand into his pocket and rummaged for the fag he had scavved off of Lester. With the loosey lit and the first intake of smoke, he was almost content, and that was something rather queer coming from Sander.

But, then, of course, he heard steps outside the revolving door and before the door had even been touched he grunted low and long and took on a deathly glare. "Out of my kitchen, whoever the bloody hell you are" he shouted in the direction of the door. He couldn't see the doors as there was a tall aluminum shelf right on his trajectory but he had an idea... It was way too early for everybody else. "I hope you come bearing coffee, Faulkner" he grumbled. "Otherwise, you are not getting any of the madeleines in the oven" he muttered under his breath as he let out the smoke out the window.

Mornings were the absolute worst time of day. Getting up was tiresome, which meant that Leon regularly stayed ensconced in the warmth of his duvet long after his alarm had dragged him to the cold lands of reality, reluctance being too mild a word for his feelings towards leaving his bed. Only heaving himself up at the last possible moment made dressing a frantic experience of grabbing the closest clean clothes and then shimmying into them whilst trying to coax his kettle into boiling faster, so that he would have hot caffeine to give him energy.

Of course, even if he glugged his coffee down at maximum speed, his delay in leaving his bed meant that he was still far behind schedule, and checking everywhere for his keys before finding them on the kitchen table next to his empty mug meant that there was, once again, no time to eat before he left. It was a ridiculously regular occurrence, and the past week had been particularly bad. It was obviously why the Teasmade had been invented, and Leon was seriously considering buying one.

Fortunately, being able to do magic made travel as good as instantaneous, so when Leon had locked his door, he didn’t have to endure the cold for long before he was rushing into Alohomocha. The smell of baking – better, Sander’s baking, which was delicious beyond compare – was enticing, but he had work to do, worst luck. Reluctantly, he began the routine of setting up the café, moving chairs to their proper places with a wide yawn and giving the mop a starting sweep to get it going.

Leaning against the newly-polished counter for a moment, Leon’s brief moment of respite was ended when his nose reminded him, once again, that Sander was working his magic and making glorious food. Sighing, he levered himself upright, moving to make some more coffee- two mugs, this time. Yawning, he shuffled things on the counter about idly while he waited for it to brew, something that took a blissfully short amount of time, thanks to the wonderful machinery at work.

The requisite milk and sugar added, Leon walked into the kitchen, ignoring the threat and beaming at the mention of madeleines. “Then I’m in luck,” he offered the mug, looking down hopefully, “Do I have long to wait?” With the promise of food and a second mug of coffee in his hand, Leon’s morning felt a lot better than it had when he was stumbling about the house trying to get his shirt on the right way round, “How’re you? Not too exhausted?”

Sander made grabby hands at the mug and swiftly extracted it from Leon's hand with vicious greediness. There was nothing in the entirety of the Universe that was as divine as a finely brewed cup of coffee and Faulkner's coffee, was, perhaps, the best. But he'd never tell him such. Sander liked to tell to himself that it was merely the fact that he couldn't afford a good coffee, that it was the comparison with the cheap, watery, instant coffee he had to drink at home, and not at all the perfection of Leon's coffee making skills. So he grunted to himself and took a sip of the coffee only for his face to instantly light up, if only for just a second. Of course, he'd know how he takes it... And Sander felt the pang of disappointment at not being able to externalize his morning grumpiness. Which, in all honesty was no better than his usual grumpiness.

Just as Leon finished asking the timer went off, and Sander hastily finished his cigarette, before he threw the butt out the window and jumped off the counter. "Apparently not" he barked, settling the mug on the counter and making quick work of putting on a pair of oven mitts. As soon as the oven was open, the kitchen was assaulted by the rich smell of freshly baked madeleines and blueberry muffins. The subtle notes of vanilla and lemon from the madeleines, contrasting with the sharp, summery smell of blueberry. Trays settled on the counter, he waltzed around the kitchen with the certainty of someone knowing exactly where what was where. And Sander most certainly knew. There was no one allowed in his kitchen. Not even the kitchen helpers. The last time he let the dish washing to someone else, it had taken him a week to retrieve each and every object and put it back to its place. And that's without counting the fits Sander had thrown and the boycotting of specific recipes that made use of one of the missing utensils. He had each tool in duplicate, of course, but that was besides the point.

Plate in hand and a pair of dessert tongs in hand, Sander put aside six madeleines and a muffin for Leon, before turning around to shove the plate in his hands. Before turning back to arrange the rest for display he mumbled something about "careful" and "hot". Once the pastries were arranged neatly on display platters he hopped back on the counter under the window, coffee in hand and cigarette -kindly borrowed from the vendor next door - lit. "Fine" he eventually answered around the death stick between his lips. "Thinking 'bout murdering Lester and dumping his body in Manchester, but fine, otherwise" he said looking out the window at some lady sweeping the back of a shop with all the seriousness of an honest-to-God man. Because Sander didn't joke. Much.

Sander didn't talk much about his less than legal activities at night, in fact, he was pretty sure he could count the people who were in on it on one hand and still have room for more. "Glenda's not saying, but it's getting harder for 'em. You know, back home" he said still not looking at Leon while letting out a puff of smoke. He didn't do the whole tell me what ails you business very well, but Faulkner was the one that asked and it had been a horrible morning altogether. "I thought I'd be out of Knockturn by now, you know?" he said taking a sip of his coffee. "I think I'll have to dig myself a deeper hole now, tho. As much good as it would do for ma' and da', I can't ask Les to get a job or he'll never get his A-levels. He's dying for a reason to drop it altogether" he said rolling his eyes. "The only reason Glenda left him with me was so he can get into uni. Looking at his grades, I don't think I'm doing that good of a job with him" he said throwing the butt out the window and turning to look at Leon.

"He knows the shit he pulls with Evan and Glenda won't work with me, but it doesn't stop him from bitching about being a squib all the time. If I could, I'd give him all my magic—haven't done much with it anyway. But Les, the creep... he'd be great at it" he said frowning, but fondness in his voice nonetheless. "Bloody family" he muttered before jumping off the counter. "What have you been up to, artsy boy" he asked with just the hint of a smile before prepping for a new batch of brioches.