Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognise, all rights reserved to J.K. Rowling and the creators of Criminal Minds. Lola, however, is my creation.
Enjoy!
The envelope was a curious colour, and she flipped it over in her hands; inspecting the green calligraphy writing that spelled out her name. She'd never received post that was meant for her directly, anything concerning her welfare was usually addressed to her dad. It read:
Miss Lola Reid,
No. 11 Carnaby Street,
London,
England,
SW23 6TI
There was an odd wax seal on the back, the red substance having been indented with what seemed like a house crest. It gave off the impression of old money – but who did she know from an important aristocracy? Nevertheless, she cautiously tore at the parchment, (it was certainly too thick to be normal paper) holding her breath as her heart shook and her pulse beat faster.
The paper inside was of the same thickness of the envelope but what was written on there had her mostly logical mind going round in twists. She was sure this was a cruel joke – perhaps one of her former classmates had found themselves to bored on this rainy summer day (she hadn't heard the postman either, which only further confirmed her suspicions). The actual letter itself caused a feeling of disbelief in her bones. It said:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
Dear Miss Reid,
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 by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
The perfectly articulated language and grammar was far beyond the talents of a fellow 11-year-old, and the realisation that it may indeed be true was enough for her little brain and large intelligence to run wild – she had never considered that magic may indeed exist. She'd always considered it to be a part of the imagination, not quite real but was fantasy enough to satisfy the many publishers and film directors of the world.
She huffed, pushing the dark curls of her hair behind her ears; frustration was evident on her rounded cheeks and button nose.
She made forth to reread the letter, hoping that scanning it a second time may help to settle the confusion that was swirling around her mind and twisting its way into her, usually, very clever and perceptive thought process. And then another letter appeared from behind the first.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
1. First-year students will require:
2. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
3. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
4. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
5. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
SET BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
There was so much new information that she could barely retain it all. Was she really a witch? Was this odd and very much baffling letter true? There were lots of questions floating around in her mind, and she hadn't the faintest idea on how to answer any of them. Perhaps she could ask her dad, he was incredibly knowledgeable. Although the notion that this could be real was so unlikely in her mind that she feared that her dad might think her to have gone crazy, but then again, he rarely judged when curiosity got the better of her rationality. In the end, she absolved herself to inquire about it later, when her dad returned from his impromptu meeting with his colleagues down at the police station.
She spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around, attempting to read a novel she'd selected from the wall-to-wall bookcase in their living room.
The flat that she'd called home for the entirety of her life was modest to say the least: the size was moderate, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen/dining area that had hosted lots of dinners with her dads work friends; her bedroom was like a sanctuary and the comforting scene of film posters, records and the various awards from football tournaments made her immensely happy; her dad's room was as messy as his chaotic brain, but only on his side – her mum's side of the room was untouched, everything as it had been before she'd passed.
Her mum's reading glasses were placed neatly atop the pile of novels she had been reading: Life of Pi (not for the first time), Debutante Divorcee (because it was a welcomed comedic relief), and The Bible (she'd continued her research, even when inches away from death). The fluffy white slippers were sat by her freshly dusted bed-side cabinet, and the left-hand side wardrobe was full to the brim with all her clothes – jumpers and dresses hanging limply from the hooks. Sometimes, when she missed her mum so much that it became hard to breathe, Lola would go into that wardrobe and pick out the same thick red knitted jumper, putting it on and wearing it for a few hours – it would always smell of pine and peonies, the scent easing the pain of her loss.
The earlier fog of confusion had still not lifted by the time she heard the key in the lock, signalling her dad's return, and so she leapt up from the sofa, leaving Little Women face down on the page she'd been absorbing.
Her dad looked as scruffy as usual, his long and badly done tie swung in the air as he put his umbrella in its stand, – the water dripping onto the maroon carpet – his mop of curly brown hair, not unlike her own, was as tangled as it always was and his lanky limbs reached out to engulf Lola in her favourite kind of hug.
"Hey, sweetie," he said, muffled as he kissed the top of her head. "How's your day been?"
Even after years of living in dreary old England, her dad still had that American accent that had always confused her friends from school, considering she herself sounded very much British.
"I'm good, thanks. But um, I might need some clarification on something." She replied, twisting her fingers in her hands as she followed him into the kitchen.
Predictably, her dad wandered straight over to the coffee pot, refilling the empty jug and heating it. She had never understood his fascination with the drink, she rather thought it so be far too bitter for her tastes – her mum had thought the same, moaning about the stench of it in the mornings, when her dad would have to have three mugs of it before work to wake himself up, whilst she sipped happily on her Earl Grey tea. Which was the hot drink that Lola preferred too – the sweetness was much more enjoyable than the over-caffeinated concoction that her dad drank like it was water.
She pondered about how the best way to explain was. Would he think her to be mad? She doubted it, he'd seen much worse things in his field of work.
Her dad used to be an FBI profiler for the Behavorial Analysis Unit. This meant that he'd caught a lot of criminals, mainly serial killers, and had seen more horrors than anybody ever should, yet he was still standing. So surely, Dr Spencer Reid wouldn't be fazed by his 11-year-old daughter asking whether he thought magic was real?
"I got a letter this morning." That was good enough to start.
Her dad turned around, leaning against the counter, his detective brain set in motion because he knew that his daughter rarely got letters, if ever. He could see that she was struggling to put into words what it was that she wanted to say, she had inherited his difficulty with emotions he reckoned, and so he let her have the time she needed to sort out the sentences she wanted to get across to him.
Even as a little girl, Lola had been quiet, and not much good when it came to conversation, but that had gradually improved as she got older, blossoming into an independent young lady. Which he was extremely proud to say out loud. But sometimes, usually when she thought she'd be ridiculed for her opinion, which she never would be under this roof, she struggled more than normal to articulate her words.
"It was an odd letter, about some things that I um," she paused, breathing calmly. "Thought wasn't real."
She watched her dad for any sign of recognition, but when he stared back, waiting patiently for her to continue, she resolved herself to finish the sentence.
"It said that I've been accepted to Hogwarts, a magic school, for witches and wizards."
It felt a strangle relief to say it out loud, and her dad's face seemed as though he had heard of something to do with it before. His eyebrows were bunched, and his lips contorted into a frown that she knew to be his 'thinking face'.
She looked down at her hands, they were fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt, and wondered what her dad was thinking – really, she was hoping he had an answer for her. Her dad always had answers for everything.
The forty something year old sighed, running a hand across his face, and bent down to her level, eyes pleading for her to hear him out.
"Okay, sweetie." He hung his head, thinking again. "It's about time that you knew."
She hadn't the faintest idea what he was going on about as he led her back into the living room, sitting down on the sofa and began to tell the tale that he had been keeping close to his chest for most of her short life – the coffee sat forgotten in the pot.
Lola nodded and asked questions where appropriate, but even still, her mind couldn't comprehend the newfound identity she had. Because it was true, it was all true. The letter, the fact that she was a witch – a fact which was completely reality shattering – and it turns out that she came from a long line of witches and wizards, including her mum.
That had been the biggest shock of all.
Her very own mum. The slender, willowy woman who'd had enough love for an entire small village, who'd spent her life trying to figure out if there really was a divine being (hence the Bible), and who'd spent every waking moment of her daughter's life ensuring that her little girl had every opportunity that she'd had, muggle or otherwise, had been a bloody witch.
Muggle was also a new word that she had learnt in the last half an hour.
It was a word that referenced somebody with non-magical blood. Her dad was a muggle, apparently.
She took in the state her dad looked for a moment. His hair was rumpled even more, if that was even possible, his hands were fidgeting nervously, and she noticed a glossiness to his eyes – there were unshed tears there. It dawned on her that she couldn't recall a time where her dad had spoken so much about her mum, not since she'd passed. His mood was expected, she supposed, he'd loved her mum like nothing before, that had been clear, even to her little and naive gaze that had watched them slow dance to the radio in the late summer evenings, or when she'd come down in the mornings on a weekend and find them curled up on the sofa with a book. Her parents were both relatively quiet people, her dad more so than her mum, but they'd always managed just to enjoy each other's company – words didn't always have to be said, there was a lovely companionship between them. Just being with each other was enough to keep the flame of their love alight.
She shifted from her fetal position in the corner of the sofa, sitting upright and straightening herself out as she attempted to process the insane information that she now had swimming around in her brain.
She made a list in her mind to help. Lists always helped. It read:
1. I really am a witch.
2. My mum was a witch.
3. My dad knows where we can get all the school stuff.
4. I don't have to go if I don't want to.
5. I'm curious about this other 'Wizarding world'.
At that moment in time, she wasn't entirely sure that the list had helped her understand any of this odd stuff she now knew, but it helped to put the situation itself into perspective, though.
She looked to her dad, he was gazing at her expectantly, and had a reserved air about his body language – shoulders hunched, head lower than normal, and his hands were by his sides. If she could do anything well, it was reading body language, and right now she could tell her dad was worried about her reaction.
"I'm not mad."
His head shot up and relief washed across his face like a tidal wave as she spoke. His shoulders relaxed and she watched him slip slowly back into himself, as though having this conversation had required a different side to him to get the message across. He had been very direct and to the point during their conversation, and her dad was, often, a waffler – he tended to take a while to get to the point.
"Do you want to go?" Her dad questioned quietly.
Lola took a minute to think. Did she want to go? Yes, she rather found that she did.
There was a massive hole in both her brain and her heart now, like she was missing a piece of herself. But maybe if she did go to this school for magic people, then she might feel closer to her mum, and would get to understand her world – the thought itself was incredibly intriguing.
But what about her dad?
From what she'd gathered so far, this school was quite a while away, and up in Scotland for goodness sake, so it was inevitably going to be a boarding school, meaning her dad would be left by himself for several months of the year. He already felt empty enough without her mum around, what would her absence do to him?
It was as if her dad could read her thoughts, because what he said next was very on the nose.
"Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'm not alone." He shuffled closer, taking her little hands in his long fingers. "Prentiss is just down the road, and Morgan is planning a trip to visit near Christmas, not to mention, Hotch is on the other end of the phone."
She nodded and chewed on her bottom lip nervously.
"I still don't want to leave you by yourself." She sighed, shaking her head.
"But you want to go."
She looked up at him sheepishly, a guilty feeling settling in her stomach, resentment for her selfishness dropping like a stone in water.
"I do, yeah."
That was it. Her whole world was turned on its head and the rest of the summer passed by in a flurry of organised chaos, meaning that her dad flapped about all the stuff she'd need, but she'd already packed it, last minute faffing was not her forte. She had to have at least a week's notice for things, or she wasn't going.
Her usual, muggle, things were all sorted by the morning of August 31st, but her schoolbooks and 'robes' were not purchased yet, and so that was the plan for the day. She didn't really know how she'd felt about it, to be perfectly honest, she was quite scared.
What if she didn't like it? What if everybody was horrible to her?
She tried not to think about 'what ifs' too much, because it only instilled a horrible dread in the pit of her body, churning her insides and making her feel dizzy. The more important focus was that she'd get to understand everything about her mum and her mum's life before she'd been born, and that was something that she really liked the sound of.
She came to a halt in the kitchen, her dad was on his phone, messaging someone – most likely Emily, who he told everything to, who, she had no doubt, already knew about her heritage – and sipping on the last dregs of his coffee. She went over to her trainers, slipping them on and alerted her dad to her presence.
"Morning, dad."
"Hey, sweetie." He drained the last of the horrid drink. "Emily wants to come and see you off tomorrow, is that okay?"
She had been right, of course.
Emily Prentiss was one of her dad's best friends and was the only American he knew that lived in London. She was round for dinner a few times a week and she always popped in to make sure they had enough food and supplies – her dad's brain sometimes missed things off the list, like bread or toilet cleaner. She was especially helpful after her mum had passed. Every day she was at the flat, comforting her dad and consoling her little goddaughter, then returning home to her own family most likely just as upset, for she too had loved Mrs Reid.
"Yeah, it's cool." She nodded, grabbing her coat from her chair at the dinner table.
It might have been august, but British weather was not the same if it did not rain at least once a week. She looked out the kitchen window and winced – it was properly down-pouring outside and she silently wished that her dad had learnt to drive, because they would have to walk in that.
"Right, come on then." Her dad said, pulling on his trench coat and snatching up the keys.
She hurried along to catch up – he had ridiculously long legs and therefore walked fast, a trait she had not inherited – and they locked up the flat, strolling out into the drizzling skies, then breaking into a run when the wind picked up and the clouds broke even more.
The bus ride into London city centre felt full of nervous apprehension, both her dad and her felt on the edge of some strange precipice – after today, and even more so tomorrow, everything will change and maybe nothing will ever be the same again. She didn't really know where they were going, but she was sure that the few times that she'd been shopping in London that there hadn't been any shops selling spell books, her dad, however, seemed to know where to get everything so she followed him blindly towards and old and shabby pub – it was then that she started to worry slightly.
"Uh, dad?" She whispered cautiously as they went inside. "Where are we going?"
"Don't worry sweetheart, you're not in any danger." He grabbed her hand so as not to lose her in and amongst the myriad of sticky tables.
The pub was called 'The Leaky Cauldron' and its inhabitants were every bit as weird as the name of the establishment. Well, maybe weird wasn't the right word, she didn't think it was a nice word either, perhaps unique was better to describe it. The place was dimly lit and had a dingy but oddly cosy presence, with small booths in secluded corners, chairs strewn about as men in long robes chatted animatedly, and there were rows and rows of alcohol behind the far too tall bar.
Everything seemed so large to her, she had to crane her neck to see where they were going because the stools by the bar obstructed her view immensely.
Her dad led her through the throng of red-cheeked and merry men, moving towards a door at the back of the pub and her over-excited and ridiculously curious brain was on the verge of exploding with anticipation. They pushed open the door and her mouth dropped open.
There were so many colours and people. So many people, all dressed in the same billowing robes as the men in the pub had been. She could see shops for miles, all of them a different shade of red, green, blue or anything from the colour wheel. Each window had something fascinating and brilliantly new, like nothing she had ever seen before. Her dad just let her eyes wander around the bustling high-street that was filled with so much joy and noise that you would've thought the muggles could hear them, but alas, they were hidden away – the science of it was interesting to her. But then again, it wasn't science, it was magic.
Lola was thoroughly baffled, amazed and in awe of everything her eyes bore before her. She was quite sure that she was dreaming. She really hoped that she wasn't, though.
"Surprised?" Her dad asked, nudging her slightly, awakening her from her trance.
She could only nod as she breathed in something sweet and metallic – it wasn't food nor was it anything she'd smelt before, but the thrumming of power in her veins told her that it was the magic in the air. She could feel the magic of everybody there, yet another thing she marvelled at.
"You've got the list of things you need, yeah?"
She nodded again and they made their way through the masses of people swarming the streets, stopping every so often so she could gawk at the mysteries within the windows.
Eventually, they found themselves in front of a bookshop and both dad and daughter gaped at it, the brass lettering of 'Flourish and Blotts' shiny and gleaming in the now clear sky above, their hearts happy to have found a shop that they both adore.
It they had anything in common at all, it was books.
She bounded towards the first shelf she could see and picked up a hard-backed leather bound novel. It read:
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.
Her ridiculous eidetic memory (she could recall words, phrases and information from her brain like it was yesterday, even if it was a month ago that she had read them) meant that she remembered that this title was on her list of books for her new school, and she glanced up at the sign above the shelves – back to school books. She piled all the ones she needed in her arms, excitement stirring in her body the more and more she was around these new people.
She could just about see her dad browsing the shelf just a few metres away and she turned to go to him but found that she'd hit something very hard.
"Ow, Merlin, watch where you're going." The voice huffed, sounding slightly pained.
She peeked out from behind her books and gave the person sheepish smile.
"Sorry, my bad." She squeaked.
The boy she'd whacked looked at her funnily for a moment before shaking his head slightly.
"Do you want a hand?"
She didn't quite know what to make of this escalation, she wasn't very good at talking to kids her own age, never mind a wizard. At least, she supposed that was what the boy was. She couldn't quite see him properly, but she took his offered olive branch, nodding slowly and was rather embarrassed to find that her arms benefitted greatly from him taking half of the load.
She could see him now and she was pleased to think that he looked relatively normal. Well, as normal as 11-year-old boy could look, at least she thought he was her age, she could be wrong, but she doubted that she was. He had a roundness to his cheeks that only came accompanied with childhood and he was quite tall, but his eyes were young and mischievous. He had unruly black hair that stood on its ends and a pair of round and wired glasses perched crookedly on his nose – he was certainly normal.
"Thank you." She muttered quietly, cursing her shyness for not being able to be more polite to this kind boy.
He cocked his head the side, staring at her intently, eyes roaming her face for something, and she shook her head slightly, so that her hair hung loosely in front, sheltering her from his curious gaze.
"You're welcome." He paused, thinking. "I'm James."
She looked up at him in surprise – she hadn't expected him to introduce himself, but then again, he had just helped her out, so she supposed that was a social custom. What the hell did she know about social customs though?
He looked at her expectantly and she realised that she had to carry on the conversation. A pink blush crept up her neck and onto her cheeks as she recognised her stupidity.
"I'm Lola, nice to meet you."
She probably would've shaken his hand, but her fingers were otherwise occupied trying to hold up the smaller but still hefty mountain of books.
"Are you a first year, too?" He asked her, intrigue gleaming in his sea-blue eyes.
She didn't know what that meant.
"Uh, what's that?" Her cheeks burned even brighter with the admission.
He gave her an unabashed smile and ran a hand tough his hair, tousling it even more. He had the books he'd relieved her of balanced on one arm. She did not know how he managed it.
"Are you starting at Hogwarts tomorrow?" He rephrased the question.
A light bulb switched on in her brain. So, a first year was equivalent to a Year 7. She wrote that down on her 'new school' list in her head.
"Oh um, yeah, I am." She chuckled. "Are you?"
She tried to keep the hope from her voice, but he seemed so lovely, and it would be brilliant if there was a familiar face around tomorrow – it would ease the transition slightly.
"Yeah, I can't wait." And she saw his features light up, a broad smile dancing across his lips.
His glee was infectious as she felt her lips tilt upwards, and she suddenly didn't feel so shy anymore – the instinct to hide herself away was not so strong.
"What house do you think you'll end up in?"
And once again, she was confused. There was so much she didn't understand about this world, this school and who it was that she was now. She was having her first conversation with a fellow wizard, and she had no idea what he was on about. This was going to be harder than she previously thought.
"Uh, house? What do you mean?"
She was sure she was doing a very good impersonation of a tomato now. Her cheeks felt hot, and embarrassment flooded her body, her mind swirling with statistics of how likely it was for her to feel like this when she really got to school. So far, the numbers were high.
Something along the lines of realisation crossed his faced and his eyebrows rose up in recognition.
"You're muggle born."
He said it so matter of fact that she wondered why she hadn't clarified it before. Well, technically she wasn't, but she was very much a muggle.
"I'm half-blood, but I grew up as a muggle." She explained, thankful to have understood something in their conversation.
Her dad had told her of her heritage and what that made her. She was half and half because he wasn't of magical blood, but her mum was.
"Ah, that checks out." He nodded.
Lola wanted to ask him if they could be friends, whether she might be able to sit with him on the train, but she thought better of it – it would've been awkward, so she didn't bother.
"There you are sweetie."
She turned and found her dad staring down at her and her new friend. Was he her friend though?
"Hey, dad." She smiled.
She suddenly felt very self-conscious that James was there and holding her books no less. She wondered what her dad thought of the scene before him.
Her dad was rather happy so see his daughter talking to someone that was under the age of eighteen. Lola so often spent time around adults, and he'd always thought it better that she gets out and chats to those her own age and was quite proud to see her doing it too. The boy seemed nice enough and he put enough trust in his daughter that he was quite adamant that she was a good judge of character – if she was uncomfortable, it would be made obvious.
She felt a certain social obligation to introduce her dad to James, who was shifting awkwardly, running another hand though his hair, fluffing it up again. She thought he would look as though he'd been electrocuted if he did it anymore.
"Um, this is James." She nodded to the boy. "He helped me with my books."
She didn't feel quite as quiet now her dad was there. It wasn't as if James made her feel uncomfortable, he really didn't, she just wasn't sure how to proceed with conversations and her social skills were limited.
"Nice to meet you, Sir."
She tried not to giggle at her dad's shocked facial expression – his eyebrows shot up and he lips contorted into a fond smile. She was positive that he had not been called that for a long time.
It was James's turn to blush and his cheeks warmed, his hand going back to ruffle his hair. So, it was a nervous habit, she observed.
The poor boy was saved though, as somebody called out his name and he apologised but said he had to go, and handed the pile he had to her dad, who had offered with his arms open. She tried to suppress the disappointment of his departure but found that she'd wanted to talk more with him.
"I'll see you at school, Lola." He chirped, waving as he headed towards a tall red-headed woman.
"Bye."
He'd flashed her a toothier smile and turned the corner.
Her dad muttered something about paying and they did just that, and then carried on with their shopping.
By the time they were heading back though the creaky old pub, their arms were laden with everything she needed to start her new journey in this world full of unique people and mystifying objects and fancy robes and curious magic – her heart was singing along to the rhythm of the symphony of magic in her veins, and she was all too inclined to let the song play on repeat.
AN:
Hey, there! So, this little plot bunny has been floating around in my brain for a while and I'm really getting aback into writing at the minute, hence the new story. This might possibly turn into a long fic, so that's why I've started it in Lola's first year. This is my first crossover, and I usually don't read these, but it was too good of an opportunity, so I had to write one. Let me know how you feel about it, constructive criticism is always welcomed. Stay safe!
Until next time, happy reading!
Sincerely,
Purpleslytherin xx