The Pettigrew home is a small cottage with three small bedrooms, a parlor with a floo fireplace, and a small kitchen. The cottage is neat and cozy with the heavenly scent of pies baking in the oven. A mousy plump looking witch with matching brown hair and chocolate-covered eyes intently peers into the oven. Maribel Pettigrew (nee Rowle) nods her head in satisfaction at seeing the perfectly golden crust of the pies.
Mrs. Pettigrew expertly removes the pies with a wave of her wand. The golden pies float onto the kitchen counter to cool. "Wonderful," she hummed sniffing the mouthwatering pies.
Removing her kitchen apron and hanging it, Mrs. Pettigrew calls out to the daughter of her third cousin, Euphemia Rowle. "Euphemia, come down dear, the pies are ready." She doesn't hear a response and sighs shaking her head.
Not one to be easily deterred, Mrs. Pettigrew prepares a plate of pie and cold milk for her fourth cousin. Now, Maribel Pettigrew was just as surprised as any witch when just a few weeks ago she awoke to someone desperately pounding at her door at midnight. Opening the door much to her shock, she found a terrified dour-faced young witch.
The young woman was an awful pasty white with her blond hair all a mess. The witch, Euphemia Rowle pleaded with Maribel to take her in. Her father, Livius Rowle was dead and had sent her away for her protection.
Now Maribel Pettigrew held very little love for her third cousin, Livius Rowle. As a branch member of the Rowle family, she had been cast out by her parents and kin for daring to marry her dearly departed husband for being a muggleborn wizard. Livius Rowle as the Head of the Rowle family had not permitted her parents any contact with all these even until their deaths.
Still, Livius Rowle had possessed a measure of decorum despite everything. He had not sent anyone to kill him or her husband. And for that reason alone, Maribel Pettigrew relented and offered sanctuary to Euphemia Rowle.
With a whoosh of her wand, Mrs. Pettigrew went upstairs followed by a floating tray after her that held a slice of piping hot pipe and a glass of cold milk. Not bothering to knock, Mrs. Pettigrew opens the door and steps inside. She frowns at seeing Euphemia Rowle still in bed, her cobalt-colored eyes blankly staring at the ceiling.
With a wave of her wand, the tray gently floats down to rest on top of the vanity desk. "This has gone long enough," Mrs. Pettigrew muttered marching over to pull the curtains open and allow the sunlight in. "Euphemia Rowle, you will get out of bed this instant or so help me, I will dump you into a tub full of icy cold water!"
Euphemia Rowle grunted and rolled to her side causing her blond hair to tangle even further. "Why does it even matter?" She droned. "I have no dowry. My father is dead. And no wizard of proper breeding will ever marry the daughter of a traitor. I might as well die."
"Aguamenti!" Mrs. Pettigrew said dousing Euphemia Rowle with icy water from the tip of her wand.
"Stop!" Euphemia shrieked as she rolled out of bed.
"I warned you," Mrs. Pettigrew answered in a no-nonsense manner as the icy water tapered off. "Enough is enough!"
"Who do you think you are?" Euphemia sputtered looking like a drowned albino rat. "You're nothing but a blood traitor for marrying a mudblood!"
Mrs. Pettigrew drew herself to full height causing her ample chest to rise. "Well, it is the blood traitor who has been housing you for these last few weeks. Since you are so ashamed, then you can go on your way!"
Euphemia looks ashamed for a moment before the sentiment passes. "It's not as though I wanted to live in his miserable shack! I am a Rowle!"
"And your father is dead," Mrs. Pettigrew snorted. "My cousin was many things, but he cared enough to send you away, Euphemia. Do not let your father's efforts go to waste."
Euphemia's lips quiver for a moment, before reluctantly nodding her head. "Fine, what do you want?"
"Well for you to go and wash, dear," Mrs. Pettigrew delicately sniffed. "It smells like a Quidditch locker room in here."
Flushing a blotchy pink, Euphemia scurries away in humiliation to the bathroom to clean herself up. Mrs. Pettigrew with a happy hum changes the sheets with a wave of her wand and sends them down to wash. She easily tides the room with a practiced hand, before bringing the tray of food with her downstairs to the cozy parlor.
With a soft hum, Mrs. Pettigrew grabs a copy of the latest Witch Weekly issue. She quietly reads about the latest tips on potions. She was lucky that she could still afford a copy. With having an extra mouth to feed, it was hard to keep up with the bills. Although her small herbal shop did well enough, it was barely enough for two much less three.
Loud footsteps cause Mrs. Pettigrew to fold her copy of Witch Weekly and set it aside for later to finish. "Now have a bite dear, it's cherry pie, your favorite."
Euphemia grudgingly sits down on the floral settee. She picks at the delectable pie with a fork, before falling into temptation and taking a bit. She is barely able to hide a moan, before eagerly digging into the delicious pie. She finishes the pie crumbs and includes the glass of milk.
Letting Euphemia wipe herself clean, Mrs. Pettigrew waits for her fourth cousin to finish. Seeing the younger witch at last presentable, she says, "Euphemia Rowle, you graduated from Hogwarts did you not?"
"Yes," Euphemia impatiently mumbled. "What of it?"
"Then you can most certainly get a job," Mrs. Pettigrew firmly said.
"A job," Euphemia gasped utterly appalled at the suggestion. "A proper pureblood witch does not work!"
"Only one who is wealthy," Mrs. Pettigrew pointedly reminded her younger cousin as she was a pureblood witch too. "It is time you make something of yourself my dear."
Euphemia Rowle fidgets rather self-consciously. "I did rather well in the Dark Arts and in a few other subjects, but I was only passable in the rest."
"Alright, well then, I suppose an Auror is out of the question," Mrs. Pettigrew muttered to herself. "I know you have met Daffodil Buck and her mother, who frequents my shop. Mrs. Buck is appalled by the fact that Daffodil has been accepted into the Auror Academy to start in the Fall. However, her two older sons, Hyde and Floyd apparently very much approve much to Mrs. Buck's shock. And Daffodil herself is rather happy to commence-."
"They'll never accept me," Euphemia pessimistically interrupted. "I'm a Slytherin with a dead father, who is considered a traitor to both sides."
"That what about the A.P.D.?" Mrs. Pettigrew suggested. "The A.P.D. is growing and you have more than sufficient combat skills if you were raised by my cousin, Livius." She paused to carefully study the younger witch. "Would you be willing to become an Animagus?"
"I suppose," Euphemia grumbled, "but I doubt they would be willing to take me either."
"Nonsense, my dear, you have plenty to offer," Mrs. Pettigrew proudly said. "The Rowle women are robust and full of strength. You'll easily excel. Just wait and see." Euphemia makes a noise of noncommitment apparently not all convinced.