Eglantine turned her eyes from her own reflection to the man she could see in the corner of the mirror and laughed openly. Emelius was sitting next to their bed and scouring the underneath of it with his right hand, a look of extreme concentration on his face. Eglantine placed her hairbrush on the dressing table and turned around.

"Do you know what you've just reminded me of?" she asked with a peppy lilt in her tone, a merry glint in her eyes.

Emelius didn't break his concentration on the task at hand and replied absently, "No, I do not know that, my dear."

"You remind me of the first time you were in this room," Eglantine replied. When her husband looked up at her and his ears turned red, she let out a hearty chortle.

She threw her favourite lavender blouse over the back of the armchair in her room and proceeded to undo the button on the back of her skirt. An ugly orange stain sneered at her from the front of the skirt, and she pushed it down fiercely. It wasn't her fault she had never been taught to cook! All she'd wanted to do was to help Emelius in the kitchen, and they'd ended up having a row. The skirt joined the blouse and the cardigan on the armchair. If you could even call it a row—a few reprimanding words from the man and the sullen witch had already uttered the incantation that turned the fetching Mr. Browne into a fluffy white rabbit.

Eglantine caught a glimpse of herself in her white slip in the mirror, and her unhappy expression made her feel even worse. What kind of a mother would she be to their three children if she couldn't even make a decent pot of stew? What sort of a wife would she make for Emelius, who could do everything, even use magic? Eglantine sniffed and averted her eyes from her dispirited face in the mirror; and her attention was caught by some orange and yellow sparkles in the air next to her bed.

Eglantine turned on her heel and crossed the room with three quick strides. When she came to a stop at the foot of the bed, she found herself staring down at Emelius, sitting on the carpet and looking around himself, happy as a lark. Eglantine's eyes widened and she tried instinctively to conceal her meagrely covered body with her hands. "Mr. Browne!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "What is the meaning of this?"

The change in Emelius's face had happened even before it had in Eglantine's. He turned his head to the side and brought a hand up to cover his eyes, merely out of respect for his future bride's unique modesty. Although his face reddened notably, he actually seemed rather amused by the scene. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he said. "But I wasn't exactly aware of which room I was in."

Eglantine flew to her closet and sought for her robe. When she found it, she wrapped herself up in it, all the while eyeing the man on the floor crossly. She'd never had a man in her bedroom before, and she could feel a bright blush creep onto her cheeks.

"You see, I was hiding from Cosmic Creepers," Emelius added and when he was positive it was safe to look at his bride again, he got up from the floor. "I certainly didn't mean to catch you at an inconvenient moment."

He walked over to Eglantine and placed his hands on her upper arms, gaining no objection from the heavily blushing woman. She cast down her eyes at the recollection of her earlier stormy behaviour, as opposed to Emelius's gentle touch now.

"Well, what's the matter, my dear?" Emelius asked softly. "You haven't been yourself all day."

Eglantine looked up at him, surprised that he had noticed her gloomy mood. Of course, the dear man was always ever so attentive. "Well, I..." The way he looked at her—with such warm care and tenderness in his eyes—made her feel so silly to ask, "Why would you have anything to do with a woman who can't even cook for her family?"

Emelius looked at her silently for a long moment, and Eglantine felt unwanted tears welling up in her eyes. No one had ever looked at her so lovingly before. "Oh, my dear Eglantine..." Emelius whispered. Whether he pulled her closer or Eglantine herself stepped forward—either way the witch found herself in her husband-to-be's embrace. "Because you have bewitched me, in every possible meaning of the word," Emelius said as he held her tightly. "I would want to spend the rest of my life with you even if you couldn't make a pot of tea or clean a room. It wouldn't matter a wit to me."

Eglantine chuckled into his shoulder, and pulled away just enough to be able to look at Emelius. "That I can do."

Emelius's eyes travelled down from her face momentarily and up again. "And if you want to learn to cook," he added, pulling the lapels of Eglantine's robe closer together over her chest, "then I will be more than happy to teach you. Even if it takes me forty years to get you to boil a potato." His future wife beamed at him happily. "Even if I have to spend half of it on four paws."

"It didn't take that long at all," Eglantine commented dreamily.

"I wish I could say the same for this here," Emelius said, sprawled half-way under the bed. "Aha! I've got you now!" He reappeared with a look of pride on his face and triumphantly waved his recovered slipper above his head. "Without that Substitutiary Locomotion spell you are no match for me!"