It was nearly Christmas and Lola has been out of school for what seemed ages. Although Lola enjoyed being at home with her rather neurotic mother, she liked Hogwarts a whole lot better. Every statement has it’s reasoning, of course, and Lola had a whole 18 and 1/16th inches worth of parchment and pros and cons about being at Hogwarts rather than home. No, really, she did. Lola made pros and cons lists to pass the time. Recently she’d made a list about what was better about buttons with funny shapes than the conventional round ones. This didn’t really prove much, since Lola always felt the need to have more pros than cons anyway, one, because she was an optimist and two, because her list topics were extremely easy to settle. Who in the world would choose a circle over a button shaped like a bunny rabbit or a fanciful button-y rendition of Hippocamp? You’d be stupid not to choose one over the other. And, although her lists were fruitless, they did prove one thing: she was disgustingly and tragically bored. Not even reading encyclopedias or playing with the soot in the fireplace, which was always an activity to sneeze about, helped cure her boredom. She dreamt with Hogwarts at night and often times she imagined what she’d do when she got back. It was always the same story anyway, she’d go to the library and read about all the sea creatures with her best friend Miles to her right. Simple as that.

Sitting on the floor of the lounge of the family’s Brighton home, Lola observed the list she’d been working on about how Miles was better than Unicorns (Keeping in mind the better than bias.) It seemed that, in a turn of events, Miles was losing. But, it wasn’t even his fault! She hadn’t even intended him to lose, it’s just… unicorns had this thing about them, minor really, that if you drank their blood in a very debilitated state it could keep you alive. Lola shrugged. Maybe Miles had that too? Maybe she could ask him if she could test a spot of his blood when he came over that afternoon for their annual joint Christmas card-making extravaganza. But how odd would that be? Hey Miles, can I bite your neck to see if it makes me feel rejuvenated? she said aloud… Hypothetically, honest! She rehearsed the situation in her head. That sounded just a bit off, didn’t it? Maybe there would be visual cues, if she observed him like they did in all those books about the mystical creatures. Maybe his blood glowed under his skin and made him sparkle which then caused his skin to glitter or something like that. Oh yes, that was certainly plausible.She chuckled to herself, crossing one leg over the other.

Lola glanced at the clock, boy oh boy, she had to get moving if she wanted to do anything right. She had agreed to meet with Miles at half past noon at her house. They’d make cards, exchange gifts, maybe go for a spot or lunch or better yet, Lola would make Lunch. The house was so quiet but rest assured if Lola’s mother were home, it would be anything but. She wasn’t home though, she’d gone holiday shopping to Diagon Alley and had left her younger brother at her father’s pastry shop. Lola would have ventured over to the pastry shop with her father at around this time, noon, but today she had guests and she had to pick up things around the house that had been passed down to the Ingberg family by the deceased Granny Ingberg. Why Granny Ingberg had chosen Brighton of all places was beyond Lola, but Lola enjoyed living there all the same. It was even ‘seaside’ and Lola loved the sea. But what Lola very much disliked about this particular home was that it was on a block where all the houses were completely and entirely identical, and if it weren’t for the house numbers she’d get lost on her way home. Well actually, she had gotten lost when she knocked on the door of a Muggle elderly woman who assumed Lola was her granddaughter and said, “My how things have changed!” while inspecting Lola’s odd way of dress. She made a mean milky tea though, whoever that was. Lola raced through the four level townhouse, making sure everything was in order.

Oh but she’d forgotten something completely vital, how could she! A specific coconut pastry Miles seemed to favor when she shared her parcels from home with him it was to be part of his Christmas present. “Drat!” she exclaimed, rather comically, as she slid into her coat and slipped on her shoes. Smoothing her dress, and pulling at her stocking, she clambered out the door and ran to her fathers shop for Miles’ pastries. It was approximately three minutes until half past noon, the time she had told Miles to arrive at, but she felt she might make it if she ran. Nah, who was she kidding. She ran but then walked and then ran but then walked as she tried to imagine the gravity of the situation. She was always late anyway, Miles had to know that. If she got there a bit late, well he’d just have to wait outside. That wasn’t so bad was it.

Arriving at the shop she was greeted by her father warmly while her younger brother asked her why she was there exactly. “No time to talk, a dozen of those coconut things,” she said, with a reassuring nod. Lola’s face dropped when her father told her that he only had three left and he’d have to ‘conjure’ some up. When he said conjure, he meant he’d make things half the Muggle way half the Magic way to avoid suspicion. Lola rested her chin on the counter, defeated. That was it, she was going to be late. At least fifteen minutes, unless she could push her father to do a little more magic. He was always a bit weary of doing things like that, though, “They don’t come out right,” he’d say, but really he just didn’t like to break his routines. “But, I suppose I could give them a little help,” he winked, mixing left and right with his wand while Lola’s brother kept on the look out for Muggles. She’d still be rather late, but maybe just a touch less late.

Lola’s home 1 2
Lola’s clothes

clothes

The houses lined the street like Exploding Snap cards, two-dimensional and unassumingly similar (well, before they exploded). But he was just waiting for one of them to take off like a rocket ship, to insight the chaos that would have the domino effect that only such calm synchronization could inspire. The five year old in Miles Faraday was alive and well as he kicked through every light flurry on the ground as if it were a fantastically muddy pool of rain water.

He could have Flooed; it would have been much easier. But Miles was using every chance he got to Apparate. It had taken him twice to earn his license, but the concentration had paid off. And now he could pop in wherever he pleased (almost), whenever he pleased (only during school holidays and emergencies). He’d chosen the little muggle chemist’s shop just outside of Lola’s neighborhood for this particular occasion. The selection of flowers in late December was dismal at best, but Miles flashed a toothy, amicable grin at the clerk as he rung up the bouquet of Irises for Mrs. Ingberg. He didn’t pause to wonder whether they mightn’t match any holiday decor. Who didn’t love the purple-tinged, royal blue of an iris? It was as noble as Ravenclaw’s emblem, but not as formal. It was pretty and bright, like Lola’s eyes.

A boy in black and gray navigated the streets of white, and the wall of steely, inviting townhouses. Only the blue stood out as he continued his journey to the Ingberg household, offering in arm.

Well, until there was also a dash of red.

And a dash it was; he stopped in his tracks, tilting his head like a confused puppy, and watched it dash away. He squinted, ran a hand through his hair, laughed to himself, straightened up, and took off a jog, veering dangerously off course from his intended destination. Surely she would forgive him.

Slowing down as he approached the familiar shop, inspected the irises for war wounds. Or winter wounds. Or... Lola-spotting-induced-jogging wounds. They seemed cheery enough.

The scent of coconut wafted through the door; even closed, the threshold was no obstacle for Mr. Ingberg’s specialties. The seductive smell grabbed the lanky Hufflepuff nose-first and yanked him straight into the shop, where the other lure-- one Miss Dolores Analise Ingberg-- happened to be, red coat and all. He smiled widely, a hint of apology at having followed her instead of meeting her at her house, and also a hint of euphoria at the brilliant coconuty goodness.

Lola pointed at her brother as she stood against the counter, with her face in her right hand and said, “Ugly, I command you to serve me a milky tea just as mother does with the exact milk to sugar to tea ratios,” she breathed and raised her voice slightly at the end, rather theatrically. “Now go, go, go!” But her baby brother did not budge, “How can I help you?” he said, looking beyond Lola. Lola rolled her eyes, “My goodness, you lazy boy!” This wasn’t the first time her brother would have dismissed her by pretending he had clientele to attend. Little did Lola know that this time was probably the only time her brother had truly evaded doing favors for actual, real clientele.

“I’ll just do it myself,” she said, ruffling the freckled-faced thirteen-year-old’s hair as she swished past him and then behind her father, maneuvering to avoid her father’s busy elbows. “You know I learned the funniest thing about these fleets of people who go into the sea,” she said, absent-mindedly as she bent down to pick up a foam cup from beneath the counter, “they have these machines that--.” Something had caught Lola’s eye, something that was unlike the bright interior of the Ingberg pastry shop, a spot of black and gray. Turning to face the shape, she saw that it wasn’t just a blob. It was more than just a blob you see, it was a Miles-shaped-blob. She smiled, “Give me a second,” she said quickly, ducking behind the counter to grab a few sugar cubes and, not to mention, fix her wind-blown hair just a tad before she reemerged with sugar cubes in hand and an even wider smile.

“Welly welly welly well, when did you arrive?” She said diverting her attention back to the hot water kettle beside her. “I’ll greet you properly, but I can’t leave anything half done,” she gestured to her cup of tea as she bit the corners of her sugar cubes one-by-one before placing them into the foam cup with a plunk. “I can’t remember,” she said pouring  hot water over the sugar and the tea bag. “…if you’ve ever,” she poured carefully, spilling was a major concern, “been to dad’s shop before? Have you?” she said, putting the kettle back in it’s right place, and fishing beneath the counter for a spoon. Finding a fork, she stirred twice to the right, one to the left. “Well now that’s done,” she exclaimed, maneuvering behind her father again this time to greet Stas. She gave him a great big hug before returning behind the counter. “You know dad, and Joe, right?” she smiled, paying little mind to Johan trying to stifle his snickering. He’d been peeking in her journal, hadn’t he?

Taking a swig from the foam cup she asked, “Can I offer you anything? We have, hmm,” she said, backing up too look in the glass case, but she didn’t really even need to look. After so much time working in the family’s shop, she was certain she knew of everything they had and didn’t have, “Walnut brownie, turtle brownie, brownie, ruggelach strawberry cake, frosted angel food, pound cakes there’s cinnamon, sour cream, pumpkin. Oh cookies, of all kinds, chocolate chip, pistacchio logs,” she stopped herself. “Just take a look in that case see, I might be leaving out some things.” She most definitely wasn’t. “Anything to drink? Tea, coffee, pumpkin juice, we have almost everything imaginable.

Soon Lola remembered exactly why she had come to the pastry shop in the first place. “Dad’ll just be another five minutes,” she said gazing over at the oven, it seemed to be working slower than it usually worked. “OH!” Lola remembered, as her father withdrew a batch of her present to Miles, “Just don’t look!”

Miles smirked to himself, watching the back of Lola’s ever-animated figure as she playfully ordered her younger brother around the family business. Milky tea? Sounded rather brilliant at the moment.

When she finally noticed him, Miles raised a hand in greeting, his smirk becoming more of a sheepish grin. He ran his hand through his hair and watched her duck away to find the ingredients she needed for Homemade (Lolamade) tea.

“Welly welly welly well, when did you arrive?”

“Oh, you know... last Christmas.” He sauntered forward, leaning into the counter to watch her at work. “I’ll just have to get a snowcheck for my hug, then, huh?” His eyes followed her hands, committing to memory every detail of the simple process, from warming the kettle to pouring water over the fragrant bag and cubes of sugar. “Or you could just get...” He looked around, spotting the wake of her brother. He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “What did you say his new name was? Ugly?” He chuckled. “You could get Ugly to do it for you, and give me a proper tour instead.”

Dancing in place, a sort of elderly person shuffle as Lola attached herself to his midsection, Miles squeezed her back. He would have squeezed the life force right out of her, but he loved her too much to live without her just for one selfish, over-indulgent hug. “Once. Back in third year, ‘member? Your dad made us top-secret cinnamon loaf for our tent picnic...”

It had been raining, and the delicious bread and thermoses of sugary tea had kept the pair of them busy, huddled over maps and pirate books in their pile of blankets in the corner of the Ingberg garden.

He gave a nod of greeting to both Mr. Ingberg, and Lola’s little brother. He’d always liked Lola’s family. They were very... family-ish.

“You can’t name all those and expect me to choose,” he protested, following her gaze over the expansive menu and across a colorful, delectably scented display of fresh treats. “How about... angel cake and coffee... with toffee syrup in it.” He grinned, his eyebrows darting upward. Toffee was Miles’ favorite anything.

Blinking he, looked from Lo, to her father, back to lo, and down at his hands, which seemed to rise of their own accord and plant themselves over his eyes. He peaked just barely between two fingers, a hint of brilliant blue against his pale, Irish complexion. “Not looking,” he promised. Really, he couldn’t see much more than a dash of Lola’s hair and diamond-cut cheek. That wasn’t cheating, was it?