Miles couldn't believe what he'd discovered, and couldn't wait to show Lola (who was due to arrive any minute). Apparently the fire grate in the Hufflepuff common room worked just as splendidly as an outdoor bonfire when it came to melting treats. And those funny pokers the elves used to keep the flames thriving? Made for great marshmallow-roasting sticks.

American muggles had a funny camping tradition of making something called s'mores, which sounded quite a lot like snores in Miles' opinion, but they tasted much better than what snores probably tasted like. The boy had first tried to recreate them two years ago with his sister Trine, back home in Dublin. They had started a miniature fire at the edge of a compost pile where the city workers were building more houses. Because Miles almost never made his own meals, let alone ones that required open camp fires, the plan had not gone quite as well as he'd hoped. But after many days of practice and with Trine at his side, they had eventually created an edible version of the legendary treat.

Now sprawled out on the floor of the Hufflepuff common room, stomach planted atop a quilt he'd had since before he could walk, and blue socks bared to the world, Miles stabbed a resiliently rubbery marshmallow with one of the pokers. He'd heard a rumor that marshmallows had horses or chopped cow bits or something funny like that in them, but he hoped Lola wouldn't mind too terribly because s'mores weren't s'mores without the gooey white marshmallow guts. But, if Miles was honest, these s'mores weren't s'mores at all. No, he'd deemed this version s'miles, a name courtesy of the genius Lola Ingberg, though she didn't know it yet.

"S'miles" were comprised entirely of Honeydukes marshmallows and chocolate. The delicious cinnamon graham biscuits were from Lola's father's bakery. Bless the poor muggles and Dublin-made chocolate of summers past, but the magically-made ingredients in s'miles seemed much more suited for melting than the ones in s'mores, if the Hufflepuff was allowed to say so.

Lola sat in the Great Hall with one leg crossed over the other as she poured over her books with great zeal. Although not particularly bright, Lola enjoyed looking over books on occasion to fill herself with knowledge which she could later relay to other people. Lovely! As she flipped the pages in the book the smell of dust mixed with mold mixed with the sweat from various fingers that had worn the pages before Lola tickled her nose causing her to sneeze loudly. Whenever she sneezed, she had a habit of saying ‘Thank You’ before anyone answered because she figured no one would say ‘Merlin Bless You’ to her anyway. But this time she had forgotten as she was quite immersed in the book before her. Talk about engaging.

But what exactly was this book about? Whales. Yes, Whales. Big, monstrous, murderous, free Whales. Well actually, it was about a Whale named Willy who was free. But before that she had skimmed through a book about Pirahnas and she was quite irrationally afraid of sea creatures and reptiles for the whole month of April. She’d get over her fear eventually, but for the month she had refused to sit directly on the toilet seat or bathe in close vicinity to the drain. She’d heard of snakes liking sewage systems and do you know who was closely related to snakes? Nessie. That’s right. Who knew what that giant man-eating snake had in mind?

Stealing a bit of cantaloupe from the snack trays that had just been set out, Lola placed a few slices in a paper napkin and gathered her things. She fixed her sock as she slid over the bench and nibbled on the orange fruit. It tasted a bit like watered down stockings with a bit of sugar added but hunger waited for no one, plus? Once you got started the taste became more bearable. And then she made her way through the portrait hole only to spot Miles lying on the ground. With a mouthful of cantaloupe she kneeled down beside him, her knee touching his side slightly, and slid off her bags. “Cantarope?” she offered, the watery fruit still in her mouth, scrunching her nose a little as she swallowed.

Not having noticed the fire in front of him, she surveyed as the small white blob seemed to morph into a bizarre and bloated shape as the heat tinged parts of it light brown. Connected to the marshmallow was one of the fire pokers… and they were impaling a white blob? How incredibly bizarre! “Smiles, what are you burning?” She said, tilting her head completely fixed on whatever it was that was morphing before her eyes. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be over the fire like that, is it? What if it explodes?” The cantaloupe still in her hand, she wondered if the horrid fruit would melt if she placed it in the fire like that.

At the sound of Lola's voice (distinguishable even when full of fruit, it seemed), Miles turned his head to greet her with a lazy grin, leaving the marshmallow to fend for itself. He purposely bumped his leg against her knee, since his arms were too occupied for hugs, and his tummy was too warm to leave its spot. The whoas of being productive!

"Too watery," he lamented jovially. "Watermelon, though, that's the good stuff. They should trade names." Cantaloupe was a million times more interesting of a name, and reminded Miles of Camelot. He continued to grin even as he spoke, and followed Lola's eyes back to his marshmallow project.

"S'miles," he announced, balancing the poker in one hand and forcing himself up with a heave of the other. His limbs protested, and the perfect little imprint on the blanket seemed to fade as he sat up with his legs crossed. He leaned his head closer to Lola's, but kept his eyes on the gooey blob, which was now beginning to brown. In the time he'd taken to greet her, it had caught fire. "Well, this is actually a marshmallow. Those fluffy things they coat in green crystallized sugar and turn into fake dragons and basilisks, you know? But I'm toasting it to make s'miles instead. With melted chocolate and your dad's biscuits. Like those muggle s'mores. But better."

Still smiling, Miles pulled the poker away from the flames and leaned forward to blow on the fiery marshmallow. It had melted into a wonderful mess of unrecognizable paste, like warm butter with a crispy crust. As soon as it was extinguished, he caught it between two biscuits and attempted to coax it off the poker's end-- all the while avoiding the hot metal. With sticky fingers, he managed to add a chunk of Honeyduke's best milk chocolate. Though Miles and his father were not close, the man undoubtedly would be proud of the cholesterol-consuming habits his son had inherited.

"See? S'miles." He winked and took a massive, proud bite of the gooey, zebra-colored mess before offering the other half to Lola. He hoped it wouldn't have a toothpaste-and-orange-juice effect after the cantaloupe she'd eaten. "No 'splosions," he proclaimed successfully, with his mouth half full. He swallowed and leaned around the girl to grab the bag of marshmallows.

“Would a fruit of any other name taste as delicious?” She replied, eyeing the fruit in her hand. “Like strawberries! Why can’t everything taste like strawberries?” She set the cantaloupe down next to her. “Whoever named Watermelon wasn’t very creative, because it doesn’t make you think really.” Not that fruit names were chosen to analyze. “Watermelon is just a watery melon. But who decided to call melons melons?” She pondered, her eyes still fixed on the suspicious white blob. “We may never know!” She put a finger to her lips and squinted her eyes, she shook her head in a ‘what-a-shame’ manner.

Lola was rather confused when Miles repeated his name, Smiles. She wondered if he’d been possessed by one of those neo-demons who gave you pneumonia and made you quite flexible. “Are you alright?” she said, a look of concern spreading over her face, before she listened to the rest of what he was saying. “Oh! Those fluffy things! Did you see the ones shaped like Snitches? I think they were special edition for the World Cup but they were groovy,” she nodded as he said Smiles once more. Maybe he needed reminding? Maybe he had hit his head on the four post beds, Lola had always thought they were quite unsafe, and maybe now he had a small case of amnesia! “Yes,” she nodded, a wide smile on her face to reassure him. “You are Smiles. Miles Faraday, in fact!” Did he think he could clone himself? Because he seemed quite keen on making smiles. “No, Miles, I think there is only one Miles.”

She was confused. She had never even heard of S’mores and she had no idea what they had to do with anything!

So he had made a Smiles! That explained everything. But the gooey pastry looked nothing like him! Miles had quite defined features actually, not that she’d noticed. She took the half he had left her and thanked him with a smile while he retrieved the marshmallows. She placed the sweet in the palm of her hands and surveyed it. Was it meant to be eaten? Or was it like when rodents ate their young? When in Rome do as the Romans. Taking a bite she had never ever felt so glad to have been in Rome, or the Hufflepuff common room. Perfectly sweet and melty! “Wow! These are fantastic, what do you call them?” But wait, were they called S’miles?

At that moment she had a bright idea. Miles’ potential demon possession aside, Lola wasn’t about to break out the eggs and the sage for an anti-demon ritual when there were delicious marshmallow chocolate thingies to be had! Finishing the last bit of the sweet, she pulled her bag toward her and fished out a sandwich that she had only half eaten. “I wonder if you can make S’mamwiches.”

"Strawberries," Miles repeated pensively. His mother made fantastic strawberry ice-cream. It was only rivaled by the desserts the school elves could produce-- and Mr. Ingberg's baked delicacies, naturally. "I feel bad for people who are allergic. I'd probably be broken out in hives all the time," he laughed. "Melons is a weird word," he agreed, nodding philosophically. "You should make that your next investigation, Miss Lola-Cola."

If his friend was confused, Miles was equally so. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. Did he look flushed or ill? Maybe the warmth of the fire had gotten to him. It was nearly May, after all, and summer was a mere month to follow. "Fine, yes," he assured her in a mutter, now blinking at the girl. Or maybe he wasn't? Maybe something was wrong and he didn't even know what. Perhaps the pie at lunchtime had been contaminated. Leave it to Lola to uncover such a mystery!

Of course he was Miles! The boy found himself wondering whether there were impostors planning the infiltrate the castle. Surely they could have chosen someone more believable than him! He wasn't the least bit conniving. "Has part of the Potion Master's Polyjuice stock gone missing?" He asked with a calm-but-somehow-still-slightly-nervous laugh. He hoped it was the real Lola to whom he was speaking! But it had to be: only Lola would ask where the word melon came from. Miles heaved his shoulders with an eased sigh. "We should have a code word for impostors, like those people during the war." He'd read about them before settling on elves for his history assignment.

With mounting anticipation, the boy waited silently for Lola to try the melted concoction. The grin that had barely left broke over his face again when she gave a highly positive reaction. "S'miles," he repeated. "Better than the fluffy, crunchy Snitch versions, right?"

S'mamwiches? Oh, Lola was a genius. "Brilliant!" He abandoned the bag of marshmallows mid-reach and instead held out a hand for part of Lola's sandwich. "What kind? Jam would probably work... or cheese." His stomach grumbled in agreement. He wiped his gooey hands over each other and licked them, not thinking to use his wand. That was for stuffy adults.

The Hufflepuff portrait swung open and Fauna stepped into the common room, where she immediately headed towards her favorite couch and flopped on it. She let out a huge yawn and put one arm over her eyes. If it were up to her, she’d take a nice, long nap, and forget about her worries today. She’d just come back from a talk with Devlin Matthews that had not gone the way she’d expected. It hadn’t ended badly, not at all, but count on her to try to scold someone and end up comforting him. Fauna sighed. Then there was the question of what to do about Ollie…

Her eyes popped open. She sniffed, nostrils flaring. Was her mother in the common room? Because it smelled like baked goods and treats! Her mouth watered, and she slowly lifted her arm from her face and sat up.

Lola and Miles chatted by the fire animatedly, discussing fruit and other foods that Fauna wasn’t paying much attention to. She only had eyes for the s’mores. Fauna, as if in a trance, stood from the couch and walked over to the pair, her hair sticking up and her once sleepy eyes, alert.

She hovered over them for a moment and smiled. “Are you guys pretending to be camping? We need… pillows, hotdogs, and ghost stories then, you know.”

“But.. then again, the s’mores are the most important part.” Fauna sat next to Lola, pulled her knees to her chest, and hoped she wasn’t intruding on them. Still, the smell… you couldn’t cook such a savory treat in public and expect to be left in peace!

Lola watched as Miles checked if he was sick, with the same look of concern on her face. What if he was sick? Fine? No, that didn’t seem right. “Here, let me see,” she said, taking the back of her own hand and placing it on his cheek. “Mum says that you can never take your own temperature because you don’t feel a difference if you place a hot hand to a hot forehead.” She wasn’t sure about the exact validity of this statement, since she didn’t go around checking temperature. Disappointed, she withdrew her hand.“You don’t feel ill. Are you sure? Did you eat something funny?” She looked at the marshmallows and back at Miles.

What an odd development. Why was he asking about Polyjuice potion? Was a demon force possessing him in order to get the Potion master’s Polyjuice potion? She looked at Miles, looking for any signs of possession. On her list were glassy eyes, scratches, and pale skin. She observed him quietly, while she spoke, “Well, I was their earlier today when I went to go ask for help on my essay but it was still there. It’s under lock and key though, so it might be very hard to pick open the lock.” She nodded. No, he didn’t look possessed. “We should have a code for imposters. A safe word.” Imposters? What was he talking about? Demons? “What kind of imposters?”

“Yes, you are Smiles,” she agreed. Even if he were possessed by demons she wouldn’t mind, unless he started to snarl and bite because that was frightening. “But I don’t think I ever tried the Snitch ones. I’ve always had an aversion to those sweets because the outside tastes like medicine. Do you think it really is a medicine disguised as a sweet for young children? I always felt a little woozy after eating those, I think,” Or was she imagining it? She wasn’t sure. “I do believe this one is…” she trailed of as she pulled apart the top and bottom breads of the sandwich to figure out what kind it was. “This one is cheese and tomato.”  She broke off half of the sandwich and placed it in the boy’s hand.

So focused on the task before her and her best friend, she jumped a little when Fauna joined them. She hadn’t noticed anyone else come into the common room. “Oh, hi Fauna!” she greeted, a smile on her face. “S’mores?” She giggled. “What is that?” Lola had never been camping, as the family had a business to run. But the idea of camping in the Hufflepuff common room was tantalizing. “I’m not quite sure about those hot dogs. I heard they were made from actual dogs and rat heads and Miles is already a bit sick, I think, but I’m not sure.” She made a sad face at her dear Miles, and continued, unfazed by the gross information she had just shared. Stuffing the remainder of her S’mile in her mouth, she mused, “Dee-licious! I think you should let the world know about these things. You could be a galleonaire!”

Miles held his breath and tried not to laugh when Lola took his temperature. It was a very serious matter, but he couldn't help it. It reminded him of his when his oldest sister had tried to convince him he was dying of a lethal strain of dragon pox. She'd pocked him with red ink while he was sleeping, and then charmed a thermometer to read much higher than was humanly possible. Their ma had almost beat her with the neighbor's Nimbus broom when she finally discovered them in the cellar of the apartment building, where Miles had climbed into an old storage-box-turned-coffin, fully prepared to be buried alive.

"Only marshmallows, chocolate, biscuits..." He pondered what he'd eaten that day, and attempted to stare upward at Lola's hand. "And that potato pie at lunch, with some extra cereal on the side. And more cereal at breakfast. And a waffle and sausage... oh, and some clementine sections with whipped cream and lemon pudding." Could the fruit have been the culprit? Certainly not the pudding! "And a bottle of fizzy pumpkin juice when we were doing our homework out by the lake," he recalled, nodding. It was much easier for Miles to claim that he could adopt some unique, environmentally-friendly diet than it was to actually give up soda and dessert. Maybe after Hogwarts, when he went through his poor post-graduate stage, he thought. He and Lola could live on raw salads and granola and fresh almond milk. And cereal. Always cereal. They would play guitars in the middle of the Ministry Floo center, busking for knuts for Hungarian dragons and preaching world peace.

Glad to learn that no one had thieved the school supply of Polyjuice, Miles attempted to come up with an appropriate code word. "How about vid-eo camera," he suggested, tilting his head a little and squinting to remember the details of the memory-recording device they'd learned about in Muggle Studies. No Polyjuice Impostor would be interested in video cameras, he didn't think. Probably more interested in stealing old wizarding secrets or breaking into the Ministry.

"You know, like..." He paused and ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "Maybe someone who wants to get into the Hufflepuff Common Room... to find out whether we  have windows in the dormitories because we're under ground." Ge gestured to the ceiling. The floor overhead lead to the Entrance Hall and outdoors. That logic seemed reasonable enough. "So they might take Lola-flavored Polyjuice potion and trick me into sharing my S'miles with them." He inclined his brows at her, and then narrowed them again, along with his eyes, but soon broke into silent laughter. "Kidding."

"I never understood medicines like that." Miles was the sort of child who would have downed a bottle of sleeping potion if his mother convinced him it was maple syrup, even if it tasted like vaguely-grape-flavored-cat-vomit. "Dangerous, if you ask me. But I get it, they are kind of gross," he admitted, pulling a face. The ones shaped like baby chickens and given out with painted chocolate eggs were especially gross. He was glad that something about threatening marshmallows with flames made them instantly delicious. It was a magic in its own right.

Taking his half of the sandwich, Miles lifted the poker he'd used toast the marshmallow, but paused mid-impalement at the sound of Fauna's voice. He didn't recognize it immediately, not without turning to look at the girl, but then his open-mouthed expression morphed into its usual easy, jovial one. "Hiya, Fauna," he said, echoing Lola in greeting the girl. "I've never been camping, either, but hot dogs are delicious." He would vouch for them. Especially burnt ones covered in fattening things. "Especially the ones they deep fry in batter. I had them at a fair in Diagon Alley. They're kind of like sausage, but not."

Miles poked the sandwich through and held it out to the flame, using his other hand to offer the bag of marshmallows to their housemate. "Be our camping guest," he insisted, bowing a little, even in his pretzel position. "But these are s'miles, not s'mores." He winked at the girl as he said it, and then looked admirably back toward Lola, who had seemed endearingly confused when Fauna brought up s'mores. Miles figured he hadn't done a good enough job explaining that his were a recreation of the original, but it only it more fun. "Lots of people already know about them, I think... But you're just supposed to make your own versions. It's more special, you know? You can add whatever you want. Like cheese and tomato." He gave the poker a little shake, and the quickly-melting cheese threatened to drop into the fire. He pulled it back and tore off half, and it came apart like an expertly-prepared cheese toastie.

"Do you camp often, Fauna?" He asked, taking a bite and trying not to get it all over his fingers. He gave Lola an approving nod at the deliciousness that was S'mamwiches. "My neighbors in Dublin have a tent." Of course, it was a Wizarding tent, with bedrooms, a kitchenette, and running water. The closest the boy had ever been to camping were daytime picnic excursions with Lola. No fires included.


(oh my stars, I made this too long.)

“S’mores?” She giggled. “What is that? ...Dee-licious! I think you should let the world know about these things. You could be a galleonaire!”

Fauna raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth a few times, trying to correct or give an answer, and one time, to giggle, but it wasn’t until the end of Lola’s greeting that she spoke. By that time she forget everything she was going to say. Everything, except…

“Oh. No, no! Not rat heads. Hot dogs are not made from rat heads. Or dogs.” She nodded firmly and finally let out the giggle that had been waiting to burst.

Fauna was reminded of why she dealt with Lola in small doses, and never with Miles. She liked both of them, she truly did, but being around the two of them together always left her feeling disoriented and slightly dizzy.

"I've never been camping, either, but hot dogs are delicious." He would vouch for them. Especially burnt ones covered in fattening things. "Especially the ones they deep fry in batter. I had them at a fair in Diagon Alley. They're kind of like sausage, but not.”

“Corndogs!” Fauna supplied, smiling. Then she looked at Lola. “Um, those aren’t really dogs either. Or corn. It’s just… well we have a lot of strange names for things, don’t we.”

She could do with s’miles. They sounded more entertaining than s’mores, anyway. She very happily grabbed the offered bag of marshmallows, picked one, and put it on a poker stick. Fauna held it close to the fire, mimicking the position she thought she’d be in if she ever went fishing. She was just fishing for flames, and gooey goodness, of course.

“Camping? Oh no,” she admitted to Miles. “See, I live in a house overrun with females. Even my pet rat is female. And… none of them like bugs. Or dirt. Or the lack of a loo. So…” she paused, realizing that their babbling was contagious. Which was the best thing for her, actually, but no less surprising. “The most camping I’ve done is in our backyard, with air conditioning and all that good stuff ten feet away.”

Fauna watched one side of the marshmallow turn a crispy black and twirled it to the other side. “It was fun though. We looked at the stars. I tried to tell ghost stories… oh! And then my stupid sister’s boyfriend sneaked up on us and tried to scare us with one of his wolf masks.”

She took the crispy marshmallow out of the fire and waited for it to cool. “I thought about hexing him, but I was only thirteen at the time, so I would have gotten in trouble.” She glanced between the pair of Hufflepuffs with a sheepish smile, and then poked the marshmallow with her finger to see if it was cool enough to eat.

(I tried to shorten it, I swear.)

“I don’t like the sound of that lemon pudding,” she said, shaking her head. “Lemon? Blech, everyone knows vanilla beats lemon, but not literally because then we would need a special administrative force to deal with violent puddings.” She nodded her head completely forgetting what they had been talking about before. Oh right. “Well, I don’t know, Miles. Maybe you should go ask the house elves for an herbal tea? Or better yet!” she said, simply smiling at the thought. “Why don’t you let the house elves direct you to the herbal teas and you make it yourself!” Lola was always one for the rights of house elves. House elves were just such hard workers and they never got any credit, she had always dreamed of saving the house elves with Miles.

“Vid-eo camera is brilliant!” But what if this password was really just the demon’s way to fool her into thinking it was Miles when he really wasn’t. “To officially instate this rule into the ‘Millores’ rule book, you must state your birth date in the date, month, year format. And?” She squinted one eye and gazed into the distance thinking of other ways she had read Ministry agents uncovered real criminals. Veritaserum was out of the question. “You must state your full name. I am Dolores Analise Ingberg, twelve, oh four, nineteen ninety-one.” She laughed at the idea of someone thinking the Hufflepuff common room didn’t have windows but the polyjuice Lola was possible by one girl whose surname began with D and ended with X. She seemed only slightly concerned before noticing he was joking and joining in the laughter.

“Oh really? Then why would you call something a hot dog if it isn’t a dog? That makes no sense!” She said looking at Miles. “Oh, like sausages? Hmm,” she said, imagining what a hot dog must taste like. “Are they as questionable as sausages?” Deep fried batter sounded delicious. “Have you ever tried funn-ill cakes? I had it at a carnival once and it was amazing! Like waffles, only crispier! But then I want on that wheel thing, and the seat was rocking so I felt a bit sick and I felt so sorry for the woman below us. She must have thought it was raining!” She giggled a little at her own embarrassing story. “Ohhh! S’miles! You’re so clever!” she said, grinning widely at Miles and reaching over for a fire poker. On the fire poker she placed one marshmallow, followed by the sandwich, followed by a marshmallow. “To S’miles!” she toasted, before placing her combination in the fire.

As the concoction warmed up in the fire, she listened to Fauna speak. “I’ve always wanted to camp, well, we went camping once didn’t we Miles?” Well, only kind of. It was more of a tea party. She watched as the marshmallows browned as well as the sandwich and burst into laughter at Fauna’s story. “You’re making me want to go camping just so that I can frighten Miles with a goblin mask,” she said with a dazed smile. Actually, she’d feel bad and then she’d try to make it up to him by baking cupcakes with hearts, cameras, and M’s on them. “Do you know any good ghost stories?”

Hearing a sizzle, she jumped and was so startled that she dropped the fire poker into the fire causing it to crackle and sizzle even more. “Oh no!” she said, picking up the marshmallow, cheese-laden treat to find that it now had pieces of charred wood on one side. She crinkled her eyes and slid the concoction off between two biscuits. “This is what I get for saying I’d scare you, but I was just kidding,” she reached out and pinched his barely there cheeks, “because I’d never scare you!” She grinned. And she wouldn’t. Best best best friends didn’t let best best best friends scare their best best best friends. “Well, I wouldn’t want to waste this,” she said looking at the S’mamwich between her fingers. Taking a bite, it was just as she imagined. An odd combination but it was okay tasting! “Anyone?” she said, holding out the sandwich to the others present.

The boy couldn't blame Lola for wondering what was in hot dogs. She wondered the same thing about many foods, most of them far less mysterious in nature. The word "hot dog" along with the food's general inconsistency was simply an invitation for investigation. But he was equally glad to hear Fauna confirm that neither rats nor puppies went into the making of the delicious, greasy food he liked to enjoy in summertime. He laughed, glad to be in the company of two people who didn't seem to mind his laid-backness.

"Corndogs, yes. And funnel cakes, oh Merlin. You're going to give me artery attacks, both of you," he noted pleasantly, nodding slowly with appreciation. If he'd been wearing a hat, it would have been an ideal time to tip it over his eye and lean back to reminisce about fair food and hot weather. He wasn't wearing one, so he simply did the latter, and enjoyed the feel of the fire, and the smell of melting marshmallows and cheese, and other wonderfully fattening things that teenage boys could consume like human garbage disposals. Summer was only weeks away; Miles was counting down the days. "We're roasting sandwiches today. Maybe we can deep fry s'mo-- s'miles in batter tomorrow," he suggested. He knew his stomach would not disagree with such a plan. "But no ferris wheels afterward, right?"

Miles picked up a second poker and held it out to the fire, tapping both toward the flames like a pair of drumsticks. He wondered whose marshmallows would be done first; this was the kind of race he could agree to. "Ahh, me too. Lots of women in my house. No rats, though." Miles raised both brows as he said it, sounding not the least bit put off by the idea of pet rats, but rather plain curious. "That must be a high-maintenance rat if doesn't like bugs and dirt," he mused aloud, meaning no harm. "Do you have it here at Hogwarts?" He asked Fauna. Miles had been meaning to find a perfect pet of his own, but ever since his dog back home in Dublin had died two years ago, he couldn't bring himself to adopt an owl or cat.

"That sounds like the best way to camp, actually. Midnight adventures to the fridge," he laughed. That's certainly where his own lanterns, rope, and knapsack would lead him. "I think I'd bring a banjo, though. Or a Wireless. Music always sounds better outdoors." Even if Miles couldn't play the banjo, he saw great appeal in 'camp songs'. It was very free-spirited. "Then your guitar or whatever could double as a weapon, too, to chase away those pesky sibling boyfriends." Miles wasn't sure what he would think if-- or when-- Trine brought home a boy to introduce to the family. It had never happened thus far. He wasn't exactly the most aggressive of brothers, though. "Not that I support violence," he added, bringing one of the pokers in for examination, and glancing sideways to grin.

"We did," he agreed, thinking again of the tent picnic in broad daylight. It had been brilliant. And completely Lola's idea. He smothered a double stack of marshmallows between a biscuit and chocolate, and topped it with a second cinnamon-y graham cracker. "I might have to disown you if you turn into a goblin," he joked, tearing into his s'more. He liked Lola just the way she was, but would like her equally if she were a goblin, an elf, a mermaid, or even a banshee. Still, though, he fancied Lola as a girl. "But then that wouldn't be very progressive of me. To Goblins." He raised the other half of his s'more s'mile in cheers before stuffing it into his mouth.

Laughing ever more, Miles shook his head. "Easy there," he said, touching Lola's shoulder. "I think the fire was complimenting your plan." Never one to say no to new things, the Hufflepuff accepted as bit of the cheese-and-marshmallow blend, which by all means should have been vile, but actually tasted quite delicious. "Very good, Chef Lo!" He kissed his fingertips and spread them as he'd seen Italian chefs do in restaurants, and then looked interestedly back to Fauna. "So, about that ghost story..."

She poked the marshmallow again with the her fingertip. Too hot! It was only the third or fourth time she’d tested if it would burn her tongue.

"That must be a high-maintenance rat if doesn't like bugs and dirt," he mused aloud, meaning no harm. "Do you have it here at Hogwarts?"

“Yep!” She replied, wiggling the marshmallow off of the poker carefully. “Her name is Bernadette. I just got her about a year ago. She is kind of high maintenen… enenance,” she finished, giggling at her slip-up. If it had happened in class she would have been mortified, but surrounded by these two, she felt little embarrassment.

“I can bring her out later and introduce you, if you want,” she smiled. Anyone who liked rats was a good person in her book. Fauna listened quietly as Lola and Miles continued chatting and popped the warm marshmallow in her mouth. A huge smile broke out on her face, making her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunch as she chewed. It was a closed smile, of course, because she didn’t want to gross them out.

“Have you ever tried funn-ill cakes? I had it at a carnival once and it was amazing! Like waffles, only crispier! But then I want on that wheel thing, and the seat was rocking so I felt a bit sick and I felt so sorry for the woman below us. She must have thought it was raining!”

Fauna almost choked on her marshmallow and took a few minutes to calm down. They didn’t need another Professor Gunnar moment just yet. She swallowed the last of the treat and looked a bit panicked when Lola asked if she knew any ghost stories. That meant she’d have to talk for a long time, and entertain too. The pressure!

“Uhmf… find of,” she managed to say before her teeth came unstuck. Fauna let the conversation wander a bit and silently blessed Lola’s attention span. As expected, she soon forgot about the possibility of ghost stories with Miles and snacks around.

"So, about that ghost story..."

Her eyes widened. But Miles didn’t! “Oh… uh…” She glanced between the two of them. “Okay.” She wiped her sticky hands on her jeans. “I have to warn you, I’m really bad at telling stories, but… I’ll try.”

Fauna gave them a small smile and tried to think of one that they might like. The legends about murderers and violence always scared her, so she thought she’d go with something more mild, for now.

The only problem with the Hufflepuff common room was that it was not conducive to spookiness! She fished her wand out of her pocket and dimmed the lights. Then, she cast Lumos and put the lit wand underneath her chin. Of course, she soon ruined the effect by giggling.

“Okay, so, it’s dark out, and the wind is windy.” Fauna paused. “And this guy is driving on a... deserted rural road. He’s the only one in the car, and he sees this woman dressed in white-“

She lowered her wand for a moment, distracted by a thought. “Wait, do you guys know what a car is? Vehicle, automobile, smartcar- that’s a type, never mind. Anyway! Um, and in a car, you steer, kind of like riding a broom.”

The wand went back up to highlight her chin. “So, this guy stops by the side of the road because it’s really late out, and he wouldn’t normally stop and pick up hitchhikers because it’s dangerous, but she’s really pretty, so he figures, what the heck.”

Fauna paused again, noticing the look on Lola’s face, and then she realized. “Hitchhikers!” She exclaimed, before anyone could ask her about it. “They are people who need to get somewhere, but they don’t have a ride, or a… a means of transport. So they walk alongside the road and hold their thumb up, like this,” she gestured. “And that tells drivers to stop and pick them up, and if they are going the same direction, then everyone’s happy.”

She lowered her arm and looked confused. “Where was I? Oh! So this pretty woman is in the car, and the driver asks her where she needs to go, and she tells him about this house. This old house. They’re driving, and she’s really quiet, but he doesn’t mind. He does notice, because he’s a nice guy, that she looks cold, so he offers her his jacket. She puts it on and they finally get to the house, and the guys says something- I forget what –he says something like ‘Here we are’, and he turns to look at her, and…”

Fauna leaned forward, trying not to smile. “She’s gone! Vanished! Like she apparated or something! But she didn’t.”

“Um… so what happens next… well, the guy, is spooked, and a few days later, he realizes that his jacket is missing. The girl must have forgotten to give it back. So he drives out to the old house, knocks on the door, and an old lady greets him. He tells her the story about driving home a young woman and suddenly, she gets upset and starts to cry.”

Her voice turned somber at this point, and quieter. “He’s confused. I would be too. And then she tells him that she had a daughter, but she died in a car crash ten years ago. The lady leads him out to the backyard and shows him the girl’s headstone, and on the headstone…”

Fauna raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes at them. “Was his jacket!”

(This took so long, I’m so sorry.)

Now they talked about pets, and Lola had only ever had one pet apart from the more common garden slug that she seemed to favor. “Bernadette is a lovely name for a high–maintenance rat! Does she wear high heels and lipstick?” Of course a rat would never wear that, but maybe there was a special clothing line for rats… you’d never know. “I only have Ricardo,” she shrugged. And only Ricardo, indeed. Her lovely thousand hundred million kilo tawny owl, Rich. She wasn’t particularly sure how Ricardo held himself up in order to fly. It was surely magic. “He’s eaten too many bikkies, and I think he’s trying to cut down because I noticed he’s been favoring the lettuce leaves lately,“ She nodded matter–of–factly. Poor Ricardo! Diets were the worst and she was tempted to smear a little marshmallow to the bottom of his lettuce leaf when she fed him that night.

“We should go camping!” she said, nodding hopefully and looking at the pair. “But we should do it the way Muggles do with banjos,” she agreed, “And bigger open fires, and food out of tincans and butterbeer!” Pondering, “Wait, do Muggles have butterbeer? Do they swim in the river? Do they sing Celestina Warbeck songs?” Tilting her head sideways, she recalled something she’d read in a Muggle magazine about music festivals where Muggles lived in the mud like frogs for a few days and watched people sing. That seemed quite exciting, but Lola had never heard of such a thing in the Wizarding World, or maybe she was just too distracted to notice.

Now, Lola liked stories as much as the next person but scary stories were distinct. Scary stories were scary! They were entertaining nonetheless, but she kind of regretted bringing up the ghost story in the first place. Fauna had darkened the room and was now holding a lit wand under her chin causing it to cast frightening shadow on the contours of her face. As Fauna began, Lola became enthralled. Her favorite activity when her mother was bringing her up was story time and although it didn’t appear to be true, since the girl was always babbling, Lola was a good listener.

Wait what was a hitchhiker? And just as the thought had crossed Lola’s mind, Fauna had answered it. She quite liked this, even though most would say it drew away from the story. Lola thought otherwise. She liked knowing what things were and it definitely saved the story from interruptions about many inquiries that had popped into Lola’s mind. As the story went on, Lola inched closer to whatever she was near and grabbed hold of it. In situations where she was scared she’d always felt a little relief if there was someone near. She could’ve sworn it was an arm, Miles’ arm, but at that point she was too engrossed in the story to care.

Her mouth gaping open in the dark, she hung onto Fauna’s every last word. “THE WHAT?” Lola yelped, clutching harder. “BUT HOW HAD IT GOTTEN THERE?” But onto much more serious things, “Why would he go to the woman’s house to remind her that her daughter was dead, that’s a little rude isn’t it? And does she really need a jacket if she's dead? She needs to be a little more practical!” Inquiries aside, “Do you have any others? You deserve an O for storytelling, Fauna!”

Miles watched interestedly as Fauna tested the marshmallow's heat. He was more prone to shoving the whole thing in his mouth and just dealing with the pain. Pain for deliciousness was a fair enough trade off, and the pleasant temperature of the chocolate seemed make it more tolerable. But sometimes he was more cautious, especially if he was testing something for other people. He would never let Lola or Fauna drink a potentially poisonous elixir, for example... but that was mostly common sense. Thus he continued with his own slightly more-messy and far less dainty or cautious way of consuming s'mores... all the while pondering pets. Maybe he should consider a new animal friend to chill with in the common room.

Bernadette the high-maintenance rat and Ricardo the obese owl. It made the Faraday boy smile. One of the best parts of being in Hufflepuff was experiencing the collectively whimsical nature of his housemates (not to mention falling on the dreamer's side of the fence himself). Miles liked that they'd given their pets human names. It made them more important. "Maybe Bernadette and Ricardo could swap lives for a day," he suggested. "High heels must burn a lot of calories for an owl, possibly more than flying. And I'm sure no one would object to extra biscuits," he laughed. "Lettuce, though... hmmm." He winked at Lola, letting her know that he highly approved of a leafy green diet for her fluffy friend. Even if lettuce didn't top Miles personal list of favorites. "And I would love to meet this Bernadette, definitely."

"If they don't have butterbeer, we need to introduce them," he laughed throatily. "I think we should add that to our list of things to do this summer." Upstairs in his dormitory, Miles had been keeping a hastily-jotted list of 'Things to Do Before We Graduate' on a crinkled sheet of paper. He was nearly certain his best friend had a similar list, and it was probably much more detailed because Lola's imagination was quite impressive. They really needed to compare notes and consolidate sometime soon! Maybe it would be a good way to spend the train ride home post-exams.

Straightening his posture in a way that could only mean he was worried, Miles leaned toward Fauna, who seemed to be choking. "Are we alright, there?" He asked moving his head like a confused dog in order to study her. "Don't die on us, Fauna!" He extended a hand, letting it hover near her shoulder, and was glad when she managed to speak again. Perhaps they had caught her off guard. Ghosts and marshmallows together were quite an extravagance. Miles wondered how the muggles did it, and it made them seem that much more admirable.

Not believing for one moment that Fauna was as bad at story-telling as she must have believed, Miles grinned encouragingly, nodding his head in a 'go-on-you-can-do-it' manner. And it truly seemed she could do it, for a moment later, the lights dimmed, and the room became considerably more like an authentic, remote camping scene. Miles made himself comfortable on the blanket even as he trained his ears to listen extra carefully. His face took on a sort of humorously suspenseful expression, which he managed to keep even when the Blake girl giggled. He found his mind racing to picture the exact sort of car it would be... which, for Miles, happened to be a very sharp and bright yellow invention, exactly like the sort he would buy if he had a muggle drivers' license or knew anything about "engines".

The bit about hitchhikers really was sort of worrisome, he felt. Miles loved helping people, but strangers appearing out of nowhere with their thumbs in the air? Seemed sort of suspicious, especially in the context of a ghost story. Apparently Fauna was very good at this, because halfway through the plot, Miles felt Lola's hand latch onto his arm. Despite the dark, he immediately knew it was her hand. They were simply that close. He did not stir, but instead used his opposite hand to cover Lola's fingers, so that their limbs were stacked like during a schoolyard game. Miles gave her hand a mellow squeeze in hopes of comforting the girl.

Miles' brows rose toward his moppy hair. He was now fully engrossed in Fauna's story. (Well, except for remembering to keep Lola safe. He had enough sense to multi-task when it came to that). When the end of the spooky tale was revealed, the boy raised his arms above his head and clapped loudly, attempting to create an echo of a much larger audience than two teenagers. He brought his hands to his mouth in a sort of wolf howl, except he made it sound like the stereotypical ghost's cry. "You should write books, Fauna," he announced, and then chuckled at Lola's exquisite analysis.

"It is odd, a dead girl with a jacket. Maybe it's symbolic. Hitchhikers probably look better with jackets, too. I would offer mine. Although I don't think I would pick someone up if she had no clothes on." It took him a moment to realize what he'd said. Coming from a teenage boy, it seemed quite the weird thing to say. And he knew Fauna's ghost had probably been fully clothed. Just cold! "I mean, you know what I mean," he laughed, habitually smashing a hand into his hair and rubbing the side of his face. "But I would definitely give her a blanket."

When Fauna finished her story, she could pay proper attention to the phenomenon right in front of her. A peculiar leech attached itself to Miles’ arm. She squinted in the dim light and realized it was Lola. After a moment of silence as Fauna puzzled over this, Lola burst out with questions and Miles clapped. She smiled, pleased with her story and happy that they had enjoyed it.

“I don’t know how the jacket got there…” she murmured, thinking about it. “I don’t think he knew the ghost was a ghost- can ghosts get cold?” Fauna wondered out loud. “Maybe he gave her his jacket because, well, her being there in the car made the temperature drop, and he just assumed…”

“Do you have any others? You deserve an O for storytelling, Fauna!”

"You should write books, Fauna," he announced, and then chuckled at Lola's exquisite analysis.

Fauna grinned at them. If only ghost telling was a class at Hogwarts, then she’d have her first Outstanding ever!

When Miles questioned the wisdom of picking up someone with no clothes on, she clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. What was going on in that boy’s mind?

“She was wearing white, I said!” She protested through her laughter. “A white dress. I don’t know if I mentioned the dress. But it was white! And uh, it was definitely clothing!”

A blanket sounded like a good substitute for a jacket. Speaking of camping and blankets and stories, Fauna hopped up from her spot on the floor and looked down at them. “I’ll be right back!” She flounced off towards the girl’s dorms and vanished down one of the tunnels of the common room.

Fauna reappeared a few minutes later, bogged down with supplies. In her arms she carried the blankets and pillows from her bed, a container of treats from her trunk, and a few pieces of parchment she’d grabbed on impulse. Fauna wobbled towards them, the pile in her arms teetering threateningly, until a pillow escaped from her grasp and then the rest of the items jumped out like lemmings.

“Oh… bugger,” she sighed, keeping her posture perfectly straight and glancing down at the mess. Her rat, Bernadette, perched on top of her head and inched forward to sniff at the air. The rat gave a happy squeak at the smell of roasted marshmallows and crawled down Fauna’s hair and onto her shoulder.

“You silly bean,” Fauna said affectionately, realizing that she could start picking up her pillows and other things now that her rat had picked a safer spot.

“This is Bernie,” she introduced them to her pet, putting the treats next to the other food for Lola and Miles to share. She then wiggled down on her stomach, propped her elbows up on a pillow, and rested her chin in her hands.

“Feel free to grab whatever,” she offered, leaving her wand on the floor to emit some light. “Do you two know any wizard ghost stories?” Fauna asked. The Wizarding world knew that ghosts existed, so she wasn’t sure if they’d consider ghosts to be as scary as muggles did. “Or any scary stories in general? I don’t think I’ve heard any.”

Of course, she excluded the tales she’d heard from History of Magic. Those were real, which made them more frightening than anything she could imagine.