Emotional Intelligence

"What?"

Harry wasn't sure if he'd heard wrong.

"I'm asking what you want for dinner tonight. I'll make it," Cassandra said without turning around.

"You'll cook—you can cook?" Harry had originally wanted to ask whether anything she cooked was edible, but his emotional intelligence forcibly stopped him from saying it.

Come on, if he said that out loud, Cassandra would poke him to death with a Weather Charm, wouldn't she?

He really would get poked to death, right?!

"I don't know many dishes, but it's still better than you rummaging through the Kitchen for leftovers." Cassandra rolled her eyes.

Harry laughed. "Then I'm not picky. Whatever you make, I'll eat."

"Fine. See you at seven, at my place," she said.

At exactly seven, Harry knocked on the door.

By the time Cassandra opened it, she had changed into an ordinary dark green robe, an apron tied around her waist and a spatula in her hand.

She stepped aside to let Harry in and casually said, "Find somewhere to sit. The pot's almost done."

The pot on the little stove in the corner bubbled away, giving off the mingled scent of tomatoes and herbs, with a hint of rich butter.

Harry sat at the small round table by the window and yawned.

"Your place is pretty quiet," Harry said.

"The third floor is too noisy. Students are always coming and going." With her back to him, Cassandra sprinkled a little salt into the pot. "I applied for this room, and Minerva approved it."

Harry leaned back in his chair, watching her busy silhouette without saying anything.

Cassandra had always been efficient, and cooking was no exception.

She ladled the contents of the pot into two deep plates and brought them to the table. As she set them down, she untied her