Rowena's Quill

Dumbledore left the Department of Mysteries with his heart heavy and his mind awhirl.

"Poor Rowan! Poor Sophie!" he thought. "They had barely begun building their life together."

But it was not his time to mourn. For him, it was time to act. His first step was to obtain a list of all Ministry visitors' passes granted that day. Because of the trial, hundreds of names were on it. A chill went through Dumbledore as he read, "Tom Riddle, obtaining permit for international travel."

Dumbledore then examined the much longer list of spells cast in the Ministry that day. With so many wizards, there had been thousands of spells, everything from Alohamora to animagus transformations, but no Unforgivable Curses.

"Of course not," thought Dumbledore. "Nobody would risk it under the nose of the Ministry." But if Rowan had indeed been murdered, it was impossible from that vast list to know which weapon his murderer had chosen.

Though Dumbledore had accepted the task of breaking the tragic news to Sophie, he felt his more pressing duty was to go to Azkaban and interview Hokey. The two deaths, both appearing to be accidental, might be connected, and Hokey might know something.

Dumbledore apparated to the prison and was shown immediately to Hokey's cell. With wizards and dementors everywhere, the poor creature was nearly terrified out of her wits, but when she saw that at least one wizard in the world cared to hear what she had to say, she calmed down and spoke. Her recollections were telling; everything pointed to Tom. Dumbledore could even detect the traces of his memory modification, but he knew only too well that even his word would not help Hokey. Prejudice was standing in the way. The injustice rankled him.

Tom's motive for killing Hepzibah Smith seemed obvious enough, but Dumbledore was less certain as to why he'd been after Rockrimmon. Had he tortured Rowan into revealing a Department secret, causing his instantaneous death? It did not seem likely. Rowan was absolutely meticulous about his Vows, and he would endure any torture and cling to life if only for Sophie's sake.

Did it have something to do with Sophie? Dumbledore had always been concerned about Tom's peculiar interest in her. If he had stolen the Hufflepuff cup and the Slytherin necklace, might he have been after something of Ravenclaw's in Sophie's possession? Acutely alarmed for her safety, he apparated immediately to the Rockrimmons' house.

Nobody answered his knock, but the door had been left unlocked, so Dumbledore entered. The house had the distinct aura of trauma and desertion. The Rockrimmons' possessions were in complete disarray, much worse than usual.

"He has been here and was looking for something," thought Dumbledore. "But where is Sophie?"

Wand at the ready, Dumbledore went invisible and checked every room in the house. Sophie was nowhere to be found.

"It cannot be. Not her. Not her," he thought desperately. He apparated to Sophie's childhood home.

"Oh, Albus! Thank G-d you came!" said Mrs. Starkle when her house elf showed him in.

"She's here? How is she?"

"Inconsolable," said her mother simply.

So she knew. Without anyone telling her, she knew.

"She found out by premonition?" Dumbledore asked.

"It seems so," said Mrs. Starkle. "She'd been sleeping and she awoke with a terrible fright. She knew it was no nightmare, she fled to me. The Unspeakables confirmed it, and told us you were coming. Oh, I warned her that it was risky to marry an Unspeakable, but she loved him so! And now she is a widow at a younger age than I was, and she will raise her baby all alone!" Mrs. Starkle dissolved into tears.

"You mean she's -?"

Mrs. Starkle nodded, unable to speak.

"That is bittersweet news indeed," said Dumbledore, "but you must see the hope in it. With a child to care for, in fact, because of the child, Sophie will recover from this, great a loss as it is. May I see her?"

"She's in there," said her mother pointing to the very room Dumbledore knew had been Sophie's in her girlhood. He knocked on the door and heard a very quiet, almost indistinct "Come in."

Sophie rose from her seat as soon as he entered. If ever there was a moment in which Dumbledore could have foregone this formality, this was it. He sighed and pulled up a chair opposite where she'd been sitting. When she sat down, too, he conjured up two steaming hot mugs of cocoa.

"Abysmally small comfort, I know, but you must keep up your strength." He took a long sip so that she would copy him.

"I knew you would come."

"I am sorry I could not come earlier."

"You're here now. That's all that matters."

"Have some more cocoa," he urged her, taking another long sip himself. When she had finished, he asked, "Do you remember if there were there any visitors to your house today?"

"No. I was resting all morning until . . . Rowan woke me." With this she shuddered and broke down into uncontrollable sobs. Dumbledore murmured words of comfort, though he found himself shedding tears along with her.

After a few minutes, he dried his beard and said, "Sophie, please look at me."

She raised her head, and when her trusting eyes met his, images of Rowan came pouring forth. Rowan holding her hands as they took their wedding vows, Rowan sitting with her at nighttime by the sea, Rowan hanging onto her as she lost her balance on Muggle skates, Rowan kissing her goodbye, perhaps that very morning, neither of them realizing it would be their last kiss. Words came forward, too, words in the half-dozen languages she knew, and all of them expressing love and loss.

"If a memory charm has been used," thought Dumbledore, "I will not be able to determine it as long as she is in mourning." As a fresh bout of tears sprung from her eyes, he concluded, "And cruel of me to try."

"Thank you," said Sophie, at last breaking the eye contact. She lowered her face so that her long hair covered her, and she shook and cried silently. After a while, she spoke again. "I understand that Rowan's death might not have been an accident. I suppose there might be dark wizards who wanted to suppress what he knew, but I don't understand what any of that has to do with me."

"Have some more cocoa," said Dumbledore.

"What did you put in it?"

"Just a little liquid nourishment. Now drink up."

She obeyed, and then he answered her, "Perhaps someone wished to steal something from you and thought he must get your protector out of the way."

Sophie shook her head. "I don't think it's possible for anyone to steal from me." She made a sweeping gesture around the room. Slowly and steadily, books, papers, and clothing began to apparate into the room.

"Your possessions are following you here," he observed.

"They always do," she said as a small black quill and her game of Rack 'n Rune appeared between them. "I thought that was a charm I'd picked up while teaching at Hogwarts. I've never lost anything since then, and by nature I'm dreadfully disorganized."

"Ah, the little things we forget," said Dumbledore, remembering the first lesson she taught at Hogwarts. He cast the spell to protect her from Tom's greed even then.

"You were embarrassed when I cast that spell, but actually, I've used it on myself, too." He waved his wand over her and all her possessions and said, "Tillhiasit."

Everything in the room straightened itself into neat piles. Even Sophie's hair was smoothed back from her face. "That should do for future generations, as well" he told her. "Now, the Unspeakables want to know if you are willing to go to the veil and try and reach Rowan. Personally, I recommend against it. It is evident to me that whatever Rowan wants to tell you, you will hear, and I doubt there is anything to be gained by your going to the Ministry. But please, take good care of yourself."

"I will."

"And if you need anything, anything at all, please write to me at Hogwarts."

"I will."

"And by all means, please write to me with good news when it comes."

And much to Dumbledore's relief, for the first time in the conversation, Sophie smiled. He stood up, and she followed, and the house elf escorted him out.

Dumbledore did not hear from Sophie Starkle Rockrimmon until nearly a year later. Her letter read:

Dear Professor,

I am sorry it has taken me so long to write and thank you for your caring treatment of me on what was the worst day in my life. I am sure that by now the news has reached you that I have had a daughter, and she really is the light of my life. I try not to dwell too much on what I have lost, though I feel it at all times. Sometimes I have the sense that Rowan is cheering me on, helping me to buck up, but never once have I gotten a single clue as to how or why he died.

I've named my daughter Rowena. Whatever people may think or say, she is named her after her father.