For once, she was on time to meet someone. Early, even, as her date for the afternoon was evidently nowhere to be found in their rendezvous point of Hogsmeade's only sporting goods store when she made the round before stepping out to wait outside.
Underneath the awning of the store window, Nola huffed warm air into her palms and rubbed her gloved hands together as she watched the hustling and bustling of fellow holiday shoppers stampeding through powdered sugar snow. Perhaps the effort to warm her hands might have been made more effective by rearranging the thick scarf around her neck, which swallowed practically half of her head. Then again, she could barely feel the tip of her nose even as it was buried beneath the finest cashmere. The former Hufflepuff had forgotten how cold it truly got up here in the north during winter. She had an inkling that did at least prompt her to bundle up more than she typically might have.
It was probably some kind of phantom trauma.
Speaking of trauma, she tried not to fret as she kept her gaze peeled for a familiar face in the passing crowds, which was not to say that she wasn't looking forward to see him. Yet, it was admittedly also true that his face was possibly one of the only parts about him that, to her, could comfortably and accurately be described as familiar.
This was a terrible, terrible idea.
Until it wasn't, of course.
Unless it was.