The Vinculum

“Plimpy Pie in twenty minutes, dear!” The blithe airy voice floated in from the kitchen, forming a smile on Rolf Scamander’s lips as it reached his ears. He knew that this phrase would be followed by the return of his wife to the living room, and sure enough, Luna waltzed in a moment after her voice, trailing flour from her long blonde hair and clenching one hand within the other.

“What took you so long today, dear? And why are you- oh my, what’s happened to your hand?”

“My wand has left me again,” sighed Luna, staring at him with her wide silver-grey eyes. “But Hermione gave me a – what was it – ‘cook’s book’ on my last birthday, so I‘m making lunch like a Muggle today. Fire without magic is not as easy as it sounds.” As if to demonstrate she opened her hand with a faint wince to reveal a red line scalded deep into the palm.

Rolf twitched slightly, and straightened up his spectacles. “Are you sure? I’ll go and look for your wand, or help you make it myself.”

“No thanks. It’ll turn up eventually, it always does. I’ve finished now and besides, even without a wand my cooking is still tastier than yours.” Rolf smiled a lopsided sort of smile. A remark like that from anyone else might have hurt, but he knew that his wife would only say such a thing if it were an inescapable truth. Taking her injured hand, he fished his own wand from his robe and pressed the tip into the seared flesh.

“Episkey. There, that should do it. So, what are you planning after lunch, my dear?”

“Dabberblimps,” Luna replied, watching the blistered skin bubble away and return to its normal unblemished state. “I’m going down to the pond to see if we’ve caught any yet. So long as the boys don’t wake up,” she added, gesturing to two silk slings in the corner of the room in which their sons were swaddled.

“They won’t; they sleep like angels in those hammocks you made. Make sure you take note of the exact number of the little critters you see.”

“Of course, dear. But today is all about you!” she exclaimed suddenly, throwing her hands up in excitement. “Look at you, all dressed up in lovely robes and ready for your big lecture!”

“Ah, don’t make such a big deal out of it, please,” said Rolf. “The Ottery St Catchpole Magizoologists’ Convention... alright, it’s a big deal, sure, but how many people will actually come and listen to me? The Daily Prophet weren’t very kind reviewing my Crumple-Horned Snorkack seminar last month...”

“Now don’t talk silly!” Luna said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll be fine, because you know more about the feeding habits of the Umgubular Slashkilter than anyone else in the world. Those witches and wizards should be thrilled to hear what you have to say.”

Inspired, Rolf returned to redrafting his speech notes with vigour. As Luna gazed at him working there was an impatient hoot from the window. Luna took the mail from the owl with a small curtsy, and returned to sitting by her husband to open them.

“Oh, how lovely! We have our first letters for the boys! Look, one from the Weasleys and one from the Potters. That’s nice. Listen... None of them expected twins... They’ll all be over to visit at Christmas... Albus started school last week, and so did Rose... oh, Ron has just bought his first car – Dad doesn’t trust cars, he says they are crude Muggle magic... ‘Neville will no doubt forget to send a letter but he gives his congratulations too’... they hope we’re all well, that’s nice... ‘All the best, Hermione, Ron, Rose and Hugo Weasley’... ‘Best wishes, Harry, Ginny, James, Albus and Lily Potter’.”

Rolf’s quill froze mid-sentence. “Did you... Harry Potter? You met the Harry Potter?!”

“Oh yes,” Luna said airily. “We were at Hogwarts together. We fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters too. He told me I was his friend. I thought that was a very nice thing for him to say. I think he is my friend too.”

“Remarkable! You must tell me more about your school days sometime... oh, Twaddlesticks!” Rolf muttered, observing the large black puddle where the quill had been resting. He swallowed and turned to face his wife. “You realise this does mean we have a little problem, Luna.”

“We do?” Luna queried, her eyes protruding more than ever.

“Well, money is getting quite short. We spent the last of the funds the Magical Creatures Department granted us looking for those Heliopaths on the Greek islands. They said it was one failed expedition too many. And we can’t get by with just the sponsorship of The Quibbler alone. Not any more, now that we have more mouths to feed.”

“Oh.” Luna’s head lowered as she sank back in the chair. “Maybe you’re right, Rolf. I shall have to leave the exploring up to you while I take care of Lorcan and Lysander. I suppose I can still look for Dabberblimps that way...”

Rolf twitched again. The twinkle was dimming in her eyes, and her voice had become heavy and low. This called for immediate remedial action. “Hey, don’t be like that, dear. We can take turns on expeditions, or once we scrape together a few Galleons we can hire someone to look after them while we’re away. Or better still, once the boys are a bit older they will come with us and we can explore the world together! Won’t that be nice?” He reached for his wand again and whispered gently into it “Orchideous!”

Looking up, Luna gave a squeak of happiness, and plucked the bouquet of flowers that sprouted from the tip of Rolf’s wand. Disaster averted, he thought. As his wife leant across to smother him with hugs and kisses he felt the same familiar rush of affection for Luna, for the unbridled joy she showed every time he performed this tiny charm, as though it were the first time he had ever done it. His happy thoughts were interrupted by the vociferous chiming of the clock.

“Merlin’s beard!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “I have to go right away! Where are my notes? What about my robes? How am I looking?”

“Pulchritudinous, dear.”

“Thank you. See you soon. Love you.” Rolf exhaled deeply, threw one more kiss each at Luna and his sons, and Disapparated in a whirl of parchments.

Luna beamed for a few moments at the empty space where her husband had stood, then wandered away towards the garden, before deciding that the smell of burning Plimpy coming from the kitchen was perhaps a more pressing issue.

Twenty years ago, Claire Wolfe said: "It's too late the work within the system, but too early to shoot the bastards."

That's about to change me thinks.