Joel started the fire under the cauldron, measuring out the water they needed to start with.  While it heated, he laid out the instructions and sorted the tools they needed to work with the ingredients.  The cutting board and two knives, the mortar and pestle, the grater, the spruce stirring stick, the scales, everything was set out and waiting and Cora still wasn’t back yet.  Joel frowned across the room, wondering if she was stalling to avoid him.  That seemed fairly pointless under the circumstances.  He used his wand to check the temperature of the water.  Almost warm enough.  He leaned back on the stool, his eyes following Cora’s bottom while she gathered what they still needed.  

Things were so weird with Cora now.  For so long he’d soaked up her worshipful doe eyes and her warm touch, and then in a moment it had all gone to pieces.  Joel had been sure he was in love with her.  Now he wasn’t at all sure what that meant.  As much as his heart had grown less partial, he’d found it near impossible to scrub some things from his mind.  Just looking across the room at her – he would always know exactly what her bottom looked like under that skirt.  And when he was talking to her, it was hard not to remember that he’d sunk his tongue into that delirium between her thighs.  It was also hard not to remember that, when he’d done that, she had already promised her heart and body to someone else.  

Joel checked the temperature of the water again, his eyes straying back to the hem of her skirt until she moved to return and he focused on the instructions.  “Aye,” he answered her.  “Cutting it is.”  Joel set to work, chopping the little root into tiny, even pieces.  He placed them on the scale, cut a little more.  “So,” he said, making an attempt at conversation.  “How’ve you been, then?  Managing your NEWTs alright?”


JOEL WATKINS