Rowena's Quill

Rowan Rockrimmon considered his wedding day to be the happiest of his life, but six years later, when he found out he would soon become a father, he was just as elated.

Sophie told him when he'd come home from work and they celebrated privately. She was tired the next morning and only stirred from her sleep when he was already dressed to leave.

"Sleep in, sleep in," he said gently, stroking her cheek.

She yawned and pointed to a stack of books she'd promised to translate.

"You've always said the flexible schedule was the main advantage of freelancing. Sleep in. You need it."

"No," she said, stretching and getting up. "I'll have breakfast with you, work a little, and nap later."

Rowan was glad. For twenty minutes, they savored their happy news and Muggle-bought sweet rolls together.

"If it's a girl," he said, "she'll be precociously profound, just like you were."

"If it's a boy, he'll have a sterling mind and heart like yours."

"I must say, it's a pleasure to contemplate this side of the life of a soul when I am so often occupied with the other. Of course, it's really all one, but the barriers of time and space cloud our perception."

Sophie reached for his hand and kissed it. "I love it when you talk shop in the morning."

"Please don't look at me with those irresistible eyes or I will never get to work."

"So?" asked Sophie, with a glint in her eye.

"Really, you know I must," he said, standing up. "Feel good and get some sleep, won't you? The translations can wait."

"Whatever you say, Healer Rockrimmon." She stood up beside him and they kissed for full on the mouth. After a few minutes, he very reluctantly left for work.

It was a balmy summer day, so Rowan decided to walk rather than apparate to work. It would prolong his happy frame of mind, which would do him good at the Department. As much as the veil was a portal, it was also a barrier, and mentally traversing it was always a challenge. But love had the power to break through the barrier. Sophie had taught him that more than anyone.

He remembered when he first met her, fifteen years old and describing her perceptions of her father's passing more clearly than any mourner he had ever interviewed. Even then she had led him to many of his later breakthroughs, and it only continued more strongly after they were married.

Sophie scarcely believed him when he told her, but when he quoted their old conversations verbatim, described in her words how she'd felt her father whispering words of comfort and advice to her, she knew it was the truth. She blushed and acted flattered, though that Rowan could never understand. With her lineage and all her accomplishments, of course she was one of the most insightful witches of the generation. He was certain she would make an excellent Unspeakable herself, but he felt better with her at home, translating textbooks in complete safety.

He turned the corner onto the next street. Even from this distance, he could hear howler headlines coming from the newsstand blocks ahead, though he could not make out the words. It had to be bad news. Howler headlines always were.

"Time to put my personal joys aside," he thought. As he neared the kiosk, he could make out the words, "HOUSE ELF ON TRIAL! ACCUSED OF THE MURDER OF HER MISTRESS!"

Rowan shuddered. The story was horrifying enough, but it meant there might be activity in his Department, and of a very unpleasant sort. A natural death was one thing, but capital punishment was something he hoped never to witness.

He fished a few coins out of his pocket and bought a copy of The Prophet. The house elf was long in her mistress' employ and speculation was that she caused the death accidentally.

"If so," thought Rowan, "it'll be life imprisonment." His own good mood dashed, he apparated the rest of the way to work.

Predictably, the entrance to the Ministry was crowded with dozens of people, reporters and spectators mostly. Rowan watched as the Minister's secretaries tried to push the victim's family members to the front. Meanwhile, aggressive press wizards were questioning every staff member that passed them.

"That's the Unspeakable Rockrimmon!" he heard one of them say. He quickened his steps and slipped in quietly through the staff entrance.

His own Department was appropriately silent, awesome even. He could hear the Wizengamot assembling themselves upstairs. He sat down and began his own meditations, but was not fully entranced when he sensed another soul in the Department with him, a soul in the "living" state, one contained within a body, though altered somehow. He turned around.

"Merlin's beard! Tom Riddle! What in the world are you doing here? Did you come to see the trial? It's upstairs."

"No, I've come to get permission to travel to the wizarding colonies abroad," said Tom. "As I've told you and your wife, I've been saving up to do this since I graduated Hogwarts."

Rowan nodded. Indeed Tom had mentioned such plans many times on his visits to their house. It explained his reason for taking the job at Borgin & Burkes. A Hogwarts Head Boy could work anywhere he chose, but Tom always claimed that until he'd traveled extensively, he did not want to tie himself to a career.

If Tom was finally leaving, Rowan would not be sorry. He always sensed something very strange about Tom Riddle, not only in his aura, but in his behavior. Once, when Sophie's favorite crystal goblet fell, broke, and fixed itself without even a "Reparo," Tom questioned her so closely, he was downright intrusive.

"Nothing of mine ever stays broken or missing for long," she explained. "I first noticed it in the year I taught at Hogwarts."

That should have ended the subject, but Tom continued to hint at it in later visits, leaving Rowan to wonder what he might be after. He did not know the origins of the charm protecting Sophie's possessions, but he was grateful for it and did not want it undone.

Sophie was more trusting. "It's all in the pursuit of knowledge. It's an unusual charm and he wants to understand it," she insisted. "Besides, he's a challenging opponent in Rack 'n Rune."

From then on, Rowan put up with Tom's visits but he never left Sophie alone with him.

"You need the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Rowan told Tom. "That's on the opposite end of the building, fifth floor." Suspicious, he added, "How did you get in here? Security is usually very tight."

Tom shrugged. "A wrong turn, I suppose."

"Allow me to see you out then." They walked down the hallway leading out of the Department of Mysteries and up the stairs. "When will you be leaving?" Rowan asked.

"As soon as I have the permit. I won't have much time for goodbyes, I'm afraid. Please send my regards to your wife."

"I will," said Rowan, much preferring it that way. They stopped in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. The lobby was teeming with people. Every security wizard in the Ministry must have been called to deal with the chaos.

"Curious that the trial of a house elf trial should generate so much excitement," Rowan remarked. "It's a first, of course, since they always obey orders, but generally, people don't care enough about them to pay attention."

"It's a clear-cut case, anyway," said Tom. "The elf was old and incompetent. The whole trial is just a formality."

"I see you share The Prophet's opinion," said Rowan. He offered Tom his hand, "Well, goodbye, Tom, and good luck."

They shook hands and went in separate directions. Rowan quickly returned to his own department, but with all the distractions, it was hard for him to get entranced. Focusing inward, on himself, Sophie, and the new soul they had conceived, he was able to enter the proper state.

Time did not exist in this realm, and physical sensations were to be ignored. He tuned his mind into the whisperings beyond the veil, concentrating hard on the patterns and possible messages, and did not pay attention to the strange clinging around his leg, which inched up to his chest and then his neck. The sudden searing pain took him completely by surprise. In an instant, he, in both body and soul, was on the opposite side of the veil.

Departed souls of the people he had loved surrounded and greeted him. He saw things that even Goswick, the most venerated of Unspeakables, had never reported. It was a realm of comfort and beauty, but oh, the pain of departure!

With all of his might, he shouted across the veil, "Sophie! I'm all right! Take care of yourself and the baby!" The other souls tried coaxing him in further, but he remained at the portal's edge, calling to his colleagues.

Goswick was first to notice him missing, the first to enter the chamber. Staring at the veil in horror, he cried, "Dear G-d, no!"

Croaker and Bode heard him and broke trance, too, running in from their own stations in the Hall of Prophecy. They too looked at the veil and then at the elder wizard's grief-stricken eyes.

"He slipped across?" Croaker whispered.

"It appears so," answered Goswick.

"Not Rockrimmon! Of all people, he could not have an accident like this!" cried Bode.

The three men embraced each other.

"It's a warning to us all," said Goswick. "It could happen to anyone, even a wizard as competent as he." The three bowed their heads in silent tribute. At length, Goswick spoke again. "Of course, we will have to carry on an investigation."

"The Ministry will suppress it," said Croaker.

"How many wizards in the Ministry understand what we do here? We are independent researchers, dedicated to truth." He looked at the veil sadly, "and I need to do this for my own peace of mind."

"What shall I do, sir?" asked Bode.

"Please bring down Warlock Dumbledore. He'll be upstairs at the trial."

"Yes, sir," said Bode. After several minutes, he returned with Dumbledore.

"Has the trial concluded?" Croaker asked.

"Yes," said Dumbledore heavily. "The elf has been sentenced to Azkaban, though the evidence does not add up. The family reports missing treasure, but elves aren't wont to steal, much less kill. I have tried to press for further investigation, but nobody will listen. Everyone is perfectly content to believe it was an accident."

The Unspeakables exchanged dark looks with each other.

"As you see," said Goswick, "there has been an accident amongst us as well."

Dumbledore looked at the other three wizards. "Dear G-d, not Rockrimmon!" His eyes scanned the veil.

"Go to Sophie!" cried Rowan from the opposite side. "Let her hear it from you!"

"I will attempt to communicate with him myself, of course," said Goswick, "but following his own methods, his widow would have a far greater chance of success."

"Rowan always said she had a unique potential," said Bode.

"She's an extraordinary witch," Dumbledore agreed.

"Don't risk her!" begged Rowan across the veil. "Especially not now!"

"But she is untrained, and it might be a terrible risk for her," said Goswick.

"Oh, my dear friends!" said Rowan. "Thank goodness you are hearing me."

"I see your dilemma," said Dumbledore. "I think the choice should be hers. Different mourners have different reactions. I am an old friend of her family's. Do you gentlemen consent that I should be the one to ask her?"

"Yes! Yes!" shouted Rowan.

"I think that is the best way to proceed," said Goswick. "Please convey our deepest sympathies to her. We all mourn his loss."

They looked at the veil and allowed themselves a few more private tears. Rowan lurked at the edge a little longer, but the welcome from the souls surrounding him was so inviting. He succumbed and receded, trusting in the love that would call him to Sophie whenever she needed him.