"You've been in there too long. Come on, dear, it's time to come out—we're going to visit your father."
"No."
"I'll blast down the door."
"No, you won't. That'd be awfully expensive to repair."
"Please come out, Lola. He'll want to see you."
A small, skinny girl with a lot of messy fair hair opened the door. "Yeah. Right."
"Let's go, love." The kind, matronly woman tucked her wand back in the folds of her robes and offered her hand to Lola. They climbed into the fireplace by the window together, and with a flash of green fire, they disappeared.
They reappeared in another fireplace, this one of cold, white marble, just like everything around it. There was no warmth in the building, and the two newcomers certainly had no place among the white-clad Healers bustling over their carts and papers, with their colorful robes and actual emotions.
"Pomfrey, I hate this place," Lola declared, not bothering to keep her voice down.
"Shh. The ward is this way."
There was a Healer there waiting for them. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Pomfrey, Miss Creevey. Mr. Creevey will be with you in just a minute."
"Will he?" Lola said coldly. The Healer looked rather taken aback for a moment. Then she laughed, a hard, barking sound that contained no mirth whatsoever.
"Of course he will, Miss Creevey."
"You needn't call me that. Lola will do just fine."
"That was rude, Lola!"Mrs. Pomfrey exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Healer Spavin, she's in a bad way today."
"That's perfectly all right," said Healer Spavin listlessly. She always is in a bad way, thought the Healer. "One moment, please."
When she came out, she was escorting a man. He was too young to be called middle-aged, but he no longer had the alive look of youth. He was leaning on the Healer, and his fair hair was thinning.
"Hello, Mr. Creevey," Mrs. Pomfrey said softly. "Lola...greet your father, love. Go on."
"Hullo, Pop," Lola muttered, her eyes firmly fixed on her trainers.
Mr. Creevey didn't reply. He only looked at the wall.
"Well, this was a wonderful visit," Mrs. Pomfrey said with an air of false cheer. "Until next week, Mr. Creevey."
Healer Spavin looked as though she was deeply struggling to refrain from rolling her eyes. She led Mr. Creevey back into the ward, and Mrs. Pomfrey and Lola headed back to the fireplace they Flooed in.
"Why do we even bother going?" Lola grumbled as they brush ash off of their fronts.
"Because he's your father, love," Mrs. Pomfrey said simply.
"Why can't we visit Mum instead?"
"I— your mother isn't—"
"I know she's not alive," Lola said, waving this off as though it didn't matter. "Gee whiz, Pomfrey, give me some credit. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm daft."
"Don't be dramatic, darling, you know I wasn't insinuating anything of the kind." Mrs. Pomfrey pulled out a mug. "Hot chocolate?"
"Yes."
"Yes, please."
"I don't have to say 'please.' You offered it."
"All the same..." Mrs. Pomfrey murmured, flicking her wand to heat the milk. "Go fetch the mail, would you, Lola? I'm expecting a letter from that Zeller woman up at the school on how things are going in the hospital wing."
"I shan't do it if you don't say please," Lola said obnoxiously.
"Fine, you insolent little girl," Mrs. Pomfrey replied, an amused note in her voice. "Please?"
"Well...I suppose I could." Lola hopped off of her kitchen stool. A moment later there was a shout, and she scurried back into the room, clutching a letter.
"Pomfrey! Pomfrey, I've a letter—really! For me! It has my name on it, and everything! Ooh...this is so very fancy. It's written in green ink. I didn't know you could have coloured ink—would you get me some for my birthday? Look at it!" Lola brandished the letter in Mrs. Pomfrey's face. "Miss Lola Creevey, The Bedroom on the Left, Number 144, 38th Street...Gee whiz! I wonder who's writing to me! Open it, Pomfrey—please! My hands are shaking." The bitter girl from the hospital vanished, replaced by an excited child.
"Would you like me to read it?"
"Yes—Yes, I would."
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Hogwarts? Is that the school?"
"Yes. Might I continue?"
"Please," said Lola, her brown eyes alight with curiosity.
"Very well. Headmaster: Stewart Ackerley, Order of Merlin, Second Class.
Dear Miss Creevey,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl—"
"I don't have an owl."
"Yes, dear, but I do."
"I know that—but they asked for my owl, didn't they?"
"It doesn't matter whose owl it is. They just want confirmation that you can attend."
"Oh."
"And if you keep interrupting like that, it'll take days to finish the letter—and don't you want to hear it all now?"
"Sorry, Pomfrey. Go on...please."
"We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Neville Longbottom
Deputy Headmaster," Mrs. Pomfrey finished. "That's exciting, isn't it, Lola? Your first Hogwarts letter. I should have it framed."
"Don't make such a fuss about it," Lola said, yawning and pushing her empty hot chocolate mug across the counter. "Loads of kids get them...I suppose it is terribly thrilling, though. I just hope Doris doesn't get hers."
"Doris is a Muggle, she won't receive one."
"Good. I hate Doris."
"Don't say that word."
"What? Hate? But I do hate her, Pomfrey. It's not a bad word, is it? I use it an awful lot."
"I've noticed."
"It's not like the 'M' word."
"No," Mrs. Pomfrey agreed, "it's not quite as bad. But still, darling, nobody will want to be around you if you're so bad-tempered that you throw around the word 'hate.'"
"Good. I don't want anyone to be around me."
"You're very antisocial, Lola."
"I guess I am, aren't I?" Lola replied absentmindedly. "That's too bad. Mum was a big social butterfly, according to Doris's grandmother. I should have liked to be like Mum."
"You are, dear."
"Hm. Maybe I am—maybe I'm not. We'll see, won't we? Now, when are we going to go shop for all my magic things? I'm dreadfully excited to get a wand. Then I'll be able to give Doris boils."