"Merlin's pointy hat! What happened to your face?"

The stout figure of Mrs. Moore filled the doorway, casting a long shadow on the small girl in the entryway. Her round face grew sullen with the approach of the household's cook, she had been hoping the kitchen would be empty. Pots and ovens steamed with the promise of their dinner meal, just about ready and already too long of a wait. The cook spared no hesitation in her domain, sizing up the youngest Potts child with a glance, an astute nod accompanying the answer to her own question. "It's filthy!"

Mildred Potts stooped as low as she could, staring up into Mrs. Moore's face. She clasped her hands tight behind her back, standing up in defiance of the accusation. Her chin barely reached the large woman's navel, so she held it higher, nudging the basket of her morning bounty forward with a foot. "It's not my fault! It was Jerome..."

"That vermin?" The young witch nearly grinned at the woman's sympathetic curse, nodding confirmation. She winced, as if slapped, when the cook's approval carried no further than that. "Weren't you told to stay away from him?"

"But I did, Mrs. Moore! I was coming back, an' I had to stop at my trees to say 'hi,' 'cause they'd lose their leaves if they didn't have someone to say 'Happy Christmas' to them, an' that's about as far away as I can get from him living on the other side of the block, an' there was Jerome standing right in the way back to the road, an' he had a dirt clod 'with my name on it,' an' well..." The young girl groused, but she held her hands firmly against her back rather than folding them across her chest. It had the effect of making her look less like a stubborn child, and more like the victim that her family's most loyal servant ought to recognize. For a brief instant, Millie thought she might have done it, and hope flashed across her eyes.

"On Christmas Eve Day?!" The sturdy cook clucked her tongue, seeding delight in the face of her young charge. She bent down to retrieve the basket as Millie slipped off her boots by their heel, shaking her feet to dislodge the last, stubborn one from her foot. Mrs. Moore gave her an eyebrow as she noticed, rising up to her full height again. The child froze, color seeping from her face as hope drained from her soul. They stared across the time and space between them, before the sharp woman made a move with her head. "Go wash up, Miss Millie, you don't want your poor mother to catch her death at the state of you."

The young witch did grin with delight then, scampering to the other end of the kitchen. In the sitting room, her brothers were sitting with her father, and she ducked from view before Cecil Potts could catch sight of her. She might have completed her escape unnoticed, if not for the telltale swish of skirts and soft thrumming of the slippers her mother wore indoors. Millie skidded to a stop on the wooden floors, harder to do with stocking feet. She would love nothing more than to peel them off right alongside her shoes, but today the young witch was trying to be on her best behavior.

"I thought I sent you to the market, young lady, not out to play." The dulcet tones of her mother's voice floated down from above, sounding as sweet as a lullaby. Crestfallen, the young witch looked down, eyes meeting her feet. She curled her toes, clutching her hands tightly behind her back again. Beth Potts crouched to her daughter, tipping her chin up with a hand until her sapphire eyes met Millie's dull hazel. "Mildred, what did I tell you this morning?"

Her mouth turned to the side, her stomach matching it to twist up all her insides. Millie knew perfectly well what her mother told her, and it came out with a lilting imitation of her mother's melodic cadence. "If I could get through the day without an incident, I could have a cup of cocoa."

"Hmm, I'm not sure I said it quite that way," her mother hid her emotions behind a straight-lipped face. She was hard to read on the best of days, and so far Millie was hardly having her best day. The young witch was just glad she had hit Jerome square in the pants on her second try, gifting her with the satisfying pitch of his pained howl. If she couldn't have coca today, she'd drink her fill of that Christmas memory for a week.

"It was the brat, ma'am, Jerome. Him and his dirt clods."

Mrs. Moore was dusting her apron, the smell of fresh bread drifting behind her from the kitchen. The child spared a glance at her would-be defender, turning back with her most innocent face on. Her head bobbed in affirmation, willing her mother to support her cause as well. Millie still wanted a taste of the cocoa, it smelled too good to sit by without it. "I see." Her mothers warmth was slow to unfold, and her hands brushed at the dirt on her daughter's brow. Millie held her breath, biting at her inner lip not to spoil the moment. Then, her mother's voice came as gently as she commanded, "Show me your hands, Mildred."

The edge of her eyes drooped as her mouth gaped, her heart struck with the blade of the words. Millie's fate had been decided with a single command, without even the need to say it. Her mother was as quick as she was firm, the child had no choice but to lay her hands in her mother's open palms. She bit the inside of her lip until it nearly bled, willing her eyes not to leak as she turned them to the ceiling, until she could bear it no more. "But he started it, mum, an' I had to throw one back. He'd've followed me all the way back here, an' I didn't want him to ruin my dress! Not on Christmas, an' not when—"

Not when cocoa was on the line.

Her mother's eyes silently appraised her green, floral dress. The child swore an eternity had passed, each with a thousand Christmasses, before she heard the desperate grace of her reprieve. "You did a good job minding your dress, young lady." A long breath touched the nape of Millie's neck, who closed her eyes to await the final word. "Very well, I suppose I can overlook this indiscretion today. It is almost Christmas Eve, after all."

Millie felt the touch of her mother's hand on her face again, and looked into the warm smile it held. Her toes uncurled and her heart started beating once more, she nearly hugged her mother but held back for dirt-covered hands. "There's those beautiful eyes. I'd like to see them more, Mildred, you give them too easily to your books and your shoes." As the child gave her mother an odd glance, Beth Potts changed her tone. "Eyes to the world, dear, show them who you are. A brave, if somewhat dirty, young lady who remembers what's important to her mother."

A smile grew to mirror the one on her mother's face, leaving Millie to nod soundlessly at the advice. Her heart bounced from her chest, and she skipped by the women, leaving to go wash up without another reminder. As she scrubbed creases and fingernails, the young witch breathed in deeply, her nose seeking out that one smell out of all those drifting through the house.

The joyous smell of hot cocoa.

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