♤
♤ : Cooking headcanon
1946
"Why doesn’t Da help? Why do I have to to learn how to cook?" Minerva asked sullenly, refusing to look up from the book she was reading.
“He’s busy working. You know that. I need you to learn because I need help fixing meals for your brothers,” Isobel told her. “It’s a useful skill.”
"I don’t want to learn. You’re not going to teach Malcolm or Rob are you? It’s hardly fair that I have to learn if they won’t," Minerva said irritably. Her mother cooked–– her father didn’t. She wanted to be like her father–– not being a minister obviously but working –– and not cooped up in the house. The idea of being married with children like her mother wasn’t appealing–– especially if it meant that she wouldn’t have as much freedom. She was keenly aware of her mother’s sacrifices. “Besides, I’ll just learn how to do it with magic someday.”
"You can’t do it with magic. That’s one of the five principle exceptions to Gamp’s Law. It’s impossible," her mother said. "Cooking is a useful life skill and if you don’t learn how to do it then you will never be a responsible adult."
Minerva pursed her lips. Those words were enough to have the intended effect–– in some respects she was exactly like her father. She shut her book forcefully and set it aside. “I’ll help with dinner,” she said decisively.
_________________
1978
Minerva preferred cooking the Muggle way. Though she occasionally saved time with a wave of her wand–– heating food or summoning ingredients–– she mostly cooked the way her mother taught her years ago. It provided for quiet contemplation. Most of her meals were relatively simple as she cooked primarily for herself alone, but the food was handled with the same care and attention she gave everything else in her life; the dishes were always delectable.
'Maybe I should visit with mum.'
She had been lost in thought–– her memories –– as she absently stirred the stew that she had been heating on the stove. Once it was finished she sat down at the table in her small London flat, enjoying the hot rich stew–– still lost in contemplation and memories.