Rowena's Quill

Sophie woke up the next morning with an idea for her next date with Rowan. Now that he had treated her to such a wonderful night, she would return the favor and entertain him. Since he liked Muggle cooking, she would try her hand at it. She bounded out of bed and rushed downstairs to the kitchen where Pudders was already busily making breakfast.

"Do we have any Muggle cookbooks, Pudders?"

"Doesn't miss like my cooking?" squeaked the elf.

"Oh, Mother and I love your cooking, you know that," said Sophie reassuringly. "It's just that Mr. Rockrimmon, the gentleman who was here last night, fancies Muggle cooking, so I thought I might try it. Have you ever heard of 'scratch?'"

"No, Miss," said Pudders, her eyes growing wider, at the strange requests. "But we do have Muggle cookbooks." With her own magic, she summoned a small stack of them.

"Oh, thank you!" cried Sophie. She chose a book called Classic French Cuisine, sat down at the table, and flipped through the pages until she found a recipe for bread.

"They served cut bread in baskets at the restaurant last night," she told Pudders. With this information, the house elf summoned flour, eggs, and a large, gleaming bowl to the counter.

"No, no, put those back, Pudders! No magic allowed!" Sophie exclaimed, but when Pudders' shoulders sagged as though she had just been reprimanded, Sophie quickly added, "You can put them away with magic."

Much relieved, Pudders smiled, but just as soon she had everything back in its place, Sophie jumped from her seat and began to place everything on the counter again, including the cookbook. She gathered all the other ingredients, too, and read, "Sift flour. . . Well, that's easy enough. I've sifted powders for potions." And though it took her much longer than she expected, she followed directions, and hour later, she had a bowl full of dough.

"Let rise for two hours and punch down," read Sophie. "Punch down? That must be a mistake."

"Merlin's beard, Sophie!" cried her mother, entering the kitchen, "You're not cooking, are you?"

"Yes, Mother," said Sophie.

Mrs. Starkle sighed and sat down at the table while Pudders served her breakfast. "Come join me," she said to her daughter. Sophie sat down.

"Dearest, you're making a big mistake."

"You told me so last night," said Sophie, shoveling cereal into her mouth so she could get back to work. "No need to repeat it."

"Last night I gave you a warning because of his profession. I have no objections to him personally. As a matter of fact, I quite like him."

"You do?"

"Yes. He's from a fine family, and I remember him from that summer at Lorelei's. I couldn't help but notice him; you never stopped talking about him. I was actually impressed by your taste, though of course, you were very young."

Sophie got up from her chair and embraced her mother. "I could never be completely happy without your approval, but oh! Here I am getting ahead of myself again. He hasn't asked me for anything more than a second date yet. I hope I can impress him with my cooking. He says Muggle cooking has a magic all its own. I was hoping to tap into it."

"There's your mistake, Sophie. He already likes you. You don't have to work so hard to impress him. And you have never cooked a thing in your life."

"It can't be much different than brewing potions. Gather the ingredients and follow instructions."

"You may well be right that cooking is like brewing potions. Potions take a certain intuition born of experience. You have none. But you are a grown woman and I will not argue with you."

Glad for that, Sophie ate a few more spoonfuls of cereal and flipped through the recipe book again. "The French are known for their onion soup, so I think I'll try that next."

Pudders, who never entered her mistresses' conversations except in emergencies, bounced up and down and cried, "Miss, you cannot chop onions without magic. It's dangerous!"

"Don't be silly, Pudders. What's dangerous about onions?"

"Let her do as she wishes, Pudders. Just wash up the breakfast dishes and then tidy up the rest of the house. Good luck to you, Sophie."

Pleased to be left to her own devices, Sophie started right off on the onions, and then she discovered what Pudders had meant. Her eyes stung and tears coursed down her cheeks, liberally flavoring the onions.

"I can do it for you, Miss," offered Pudders, bringing out more onions. Sophie waved her away.

"No, Pudders, I'm doing this myself," she insisted. She began to toss the tear-soaked onions into the bin, but then thought the better of it. Tears shed for unrequited love were the key ingredient in the most powerful love potions. Onion-induced tears might not be quite the same, but they were shed for Rowan, though indirectly. If her tears had just given her onions magical power, it was one spell she could not pass up.

In time, Sophie had the soup simmering on the stovetop, and she sent her owl with an invitation to Rowan for that night. She hoped she wasn't being too forward or that he wouldn't get tired of seeing her so frequently.

She turned back to Classic French Cuisine to find a good main course. Fish looked the simplest, and it didn't require onions, but she would have to go out to buy the fish. She didn't feel justified in using Pudders even for that, so she headed out to the store alone.

"Of course the store uses house elves, too," Sophie thought ruefully, "and the fish itself is Mer-caught. It's not quite authentic Muggle food. But at least it's real fish, and not conjured."

She was brief at the store, and with her package of fish carefully wrapped, she hoped to hurry home and get back to work, but on the way, she met up with some of her mother's neighbors.

"Why, I declare, Sophie Starkle! How grown up you look!" cried Mrs. Ofenius. "You were abroad for a very long time."

"Yes, seven years, ma'am," said Sophie, ever respectful of her elders.

"Do I hear correctly that you are teaching Runes at Hogwarts?" asked Mrs. Prince.

"Yes, ma'am," said Sophie, hoping to keep the conversation short.

"Hogwarts? Then you must know my great niece, Olive."

"Olive Hornby?" asked Sophie, realizing with a sinking feeling that this conversation would be anything but short.

"That's my girl! She's a darling, isn't she?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Sophie, grateful she hadn't had to give an accounting of how Olive had fared on her last few Runes exams.

Mrs. Prince sniffed. "And do you know my granddaughter Eileen?"

"I've heard her name, ma'am," said Sophie. "She's made quite a reputation for herself at Gobstones."

"Gobstones, schmobstones," said Mrs. Prince. "She's a brilliant child with far greater abilities than that."

"I'm sure, ma'am," said Sophie. "Have a good -"

"But nobody beats Olive for charm; am I right, Sophie?"

"Yes," agreed Sophie, now anxious to get away before these two started a boasting match.

"She created her own club, you know, a beauty club, so that the girls could exchange tips. And because she's so big-hearted, she accepts in younger, plainer girls who can benefit from her advice." Looking pointedly at her friend, Mrs. Ofenius added, "Has Eileen joined?"

Sophie gasped at the implication, but Mrs. Prince was unfazed and replied, "Eileen can't be bothered with something so trivial. Gobstones is her hobby, but she studies quite hard. She's got all O's in Potions."

"Very impressive," said Sophie, earning herself a glare from Mrs. Ofenius.

"But Eileen hasn't signed up for Runes like Olive, and everyone knows it takes real brains to decipher Runes."

"Hogwarts offers many challenging courses," said Sophie diplomatically, although from sound of it, she thought she'd prefer the apparently clever Eileen Prince as a student over vapid Olive Hornby.

"Indeed," said Mrs. Prince. "And what did you do with yourself while abroad?"

Sophie sighed and told them briefly as she could about the places she'd seen and the languages she'd studied in seven years. Mrs. Ofenius' eyes seemed to glaze over, but Mrs. Prince listened attentively, satisfying herself that she and her granddaughter were cleverer than her companion.

"My, look at the time!" said Sophie. "I really must get home. It was a pleasure seeing both of you."

She took her leave of them, but when she finally arrived home, she was shocked at the state of her dough. It looked like it had been treated to a double engorgement charm. It was spilling over its bowl and spreading itself all over the counter-top.

Sophie nearly whipped out her wand and called for Pudders, but she caught herself. She rolled up her sleeves and began stuffing the dough back into its bowl with her bare hands.

"Oh, where did I leave that recipe book?" she said aloud, pacing all over the kitchen until she found it. With dough-covered hands, she found the bread recipe, and proceeded to roll the loaves in accordance with the instructions.

As soon as she had them in the oven, her owl returned with Rowan's response. It was short and to the point, but Sophie could not help re-reading it several times. She knew she was being foolish. After all, he didn't write it in Runes; he had no hidden messages to convey. But still she searched for hints of love until she noticed the smoke filling the kitchen. The soup had boiled out and the pot was smoldering.

"Ohhhhh! Scourgify!" she cried.

The pot floated over to the bin, poured out its contents, and then in the next instant, it was magically covered in suds, which quickly disappeared, leaving the pot shiny clean. Sophie could have kicked herself for relying on magic again, but chalked it up to momentary weakness. She took out some more onions and began to chop all over again, though being in a bit of a temper, she thought it best to be more careful about where her tears fell. Angry tears, she was afraid, would spoil the soup.

When she got more soup simmering again, she went to work on the fish, and when she felt she had it all under control, she went to her bedroom and asked Pudders for help her dress for her date. That too took longer than expected because there was an upset when the doorbell screeched like a banshee in an apparent effort to ward off an intruder. Sophie, her mother, and Pudders all rushed to the window to see, but the intruder seemed to have disapparated.

By the time Sophie returned to the kitchen, everything was half-burnt and barely edible. There were only two courses of action. One would be to throw the whole thing out and have Pudders conjure up a decent meal, and the other was to hope that 'scratch' would still work its magic. She opted for the latter. She set a table for two, complete with white tablecloth and a hand-lit candle.

Rowan showed up promptly and with flowers. They were a nice touch, and brightened up their dinner table. But the food was a fiasco. Rowan was kind enough to eat a few bites, but Sophie could not put him through it.

"Pudders!" she called, and commanded the house elf to make dinner. It took her mere moments and Rowan declared it delicious.

For Sophie, it was a humiliating defeat. She felt like crying, and perhaps might have produced her most potent tears of the day, but she would not be so childish. She would just have to buck up and prove herself some other way.

"How about that game of Rack 'n Rune?" she suggested.

"Sounds good," said Rowan.

"Accio Rack 'n Rune! Accio quill!" Sophie called out with determination. She stood up and caught the quill mid-air. The game landed on the table. "What alphabet shall we use?" she asked. "Celtic, Teutonic, or Sanskrit?" She hoped that would impress him. She was reasonably certain he wouldn't know Sanskrit.

"Celtic."

She tapped the game with her quill and off it went. She played commandingly, decoding words seldom seen by anyone but Runes experts like herself, and she won easily.

"Another game?" she asked. "Teutonic this time?"

"Celtic is fine."

They played again. She won again. But somehow the conversation was not flowing as freely as it had when they were skating. Sophie didn't understand it. Oughtn't two intellectuals connect this way, as a meeting of two minds? Perhaps it was the mess she'd made of dinner. She tried telling herself that if food mattered so much to him, she didn't need him in her life, but she couldn't quite believe it.

"Look at the time!" he said at shortly after ten. "I really must go; I have to work in the morning. Thank you for dinner and the game"

"You're . . .very . . .welcome," Sophie replied, struggling hard to hide her disappointment.

"Would you like to meet on New Year's Eve?"

"Oh, yes, please!" cried Sophie, sounding far too eager to her own ears. Modulating her voice to sound calmer and more mature, she added, "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought we might venture into Muggle London again. They have an old custom of listening to the chimes of Big Ben at midnight."

"Sounds lovely," said Sophie, who would have considered a dungeon lovely, as long as Rowan was there.

"Very good. Shall we meet at the Leaky Cauldron at nine, then?"

Sophie agreed, and when he left, she actually danced for joy. But after a few minutes and some strange looks from Pudders, doubt took hold of her. He would not be coming to collect her at home next time, and she had so loved his gallantry in escorting her. Now she would just apparate and meet him at the Leaky Cauldron, like any pair of wizard friends. Perhaps he still enjoyed her company, but evidently, his feelings were cooling.