21 October, 1893 — Dempsey Estate, Galway, Ireland

After leaving his sister pleading with Oscar's empty room that morning, Victor had taken time to consider his options. He still needed to know what had happened to Christabel, and wasn't sure he could trust his recollection of the events. There was simply no logical explanation for what he'd seen and experienced. He hadn't imagined her touching him, he didn't think, but he had no way to reconcile that with the fact that she had gone through the floo and taken her body with her. Unless she had spontaneously become a poltergeist (which he didn't believe was possible) he couldn't reconcile it. Rather than risk looking crazy or being dismissed when he tried to ask for help next, he had decided to take a different approach: perfectly mundane, just a spirit in need of a little assistance. This was the sort of thing the spirit division was meant to help with on the daily, wasn't it? Desi Morgan had said he could always come to their office with concerns. So in the mid-afternoon he'd drifted back to the Ministry, this time to a much more crowded Atrium. He'd had to ask for directions from the Welcome Witches, but then he'd gotten down to the spirit division and asked quite nonchalantly if someone wouldn't mind escorting him to the Dempsey Estate, since his wife was there and he needed to get a message to her. He said it as casually as though he just needed to remind her of something she'd forgotten, and didn't mention any of the strange events of yesterday or the argument they'd had.

It worked. One of the employees cheerfully escorted him to the nearest floo without even asking any follow-up questions, except whether he would need to be escorted through so that someone could get him back as well. Victor said yes, just to be spared the indignity of asking one of the Dempseys to floo him home if things went poorly. And then they were through, and the facade dropped immediately. Servants typically came to greet anyone who flooed into the parlor — he recalled this from when he'd courted her — but Victor didn't wait for them, instead floating straight through the wall into the hallway and leaving the hapless Ministry man to scramble to follow him. A servant caught up with him on the staircase (which was probably good, because he wasn't entirely sure where he was going) and Victor announced, "I'm here to talk with my wife. And don't pretend she isn't here."

---

Oz had been in the study most of the day, because the mail just wouldn't stop coming. Presumably once he was sworn in he would be able to deflect much of this to his secretary, but he didn't have a secretary yet, and he was having a hard time parsing exactly what of his incoming mail was actually important and what the writers had just wanted to seem important, so it was taking him a while to respond to all of this. And he had nothing to distract him, because Sina had disappeared on errands — talking to the Destiny Hotel about a tea, which seemed like an appropriate thing for the Minister's wife to be doing, he supposed. He was, however, eager for a distraction from all of this mail, so when he heard Daphnel's voice on the stair he was quick to rise to his feet.

He'd only talked to Christabel late last night, after she'd had some time to calm down and discuss things with their mother, and he didn't really understand what was going on. But as he'd never particularly liked Daphnel and had at one point advised her against marrying him, he was happy to support her in whatever her quibble with the man was at this point. And even if he had liked Daphnel, and even if he had ever suspected that Daphnel cared for her in more than a passing sense, he still would have been on her side; if any of his sisters implied someone had been cruel to them, he would have cut the villain down without question.

"My sister doesn't want to be interrupted," he said as he opened the study door and stepped out onto the landing. Then, fully sarcastic, he continued, "Perhaps you'd like to leave a card."

---

Victor had been expecting some sort of interruption before he was able to actually see her; she'd run here presumably for the express purpose of being surrounded by family, and he'd always gotten the impression that she was close with her siblings, so her oldest brother appearing a few steps above him wasn't much of a surprise. And at least now he had the confirmation that she was not, in fact, dead. It seemed like the sort of thing Ozymandias Dempsey would have mentioned — and he wasn't in mourning clothes, or anything, that Victor could tell. Neither was the servant. Probably not dead, then.

"Tell her I'm here," Victor pleaded. Christabel may have been angry when she left, but he was sure that half a day of consideration would have softened it enough that she would at least be willing to talk. "Tell her there's been a misunderstanding and I need to clear things up."

---

Oz had little doubt that if he passed Daphnel's message along, Christabel probably would agree to see him — and furthermore that whatever excuse he had for their argument they'd been in would be sufficient to smooth her anger over and have her go back with him. She had married him, knowing that he didn't love her, because she'd supposed herself in love. She was too romantic to have a clean break. But Oz was rather of the impression that Daphnel shouldn't get a second chance to make his sister cry (or a third, really — although he knew it wasn't fair Oz did hold Daphnel's sudden death at least a little against him), so he was disinclined to pass the request along. Even if they hadn't had an argument the previous night, Oz didn't think living in a house with a ghost and keeping to mourning attire was in his sister's best interest. She'd been happier during his campaign, he thought — out and about in the world and moving with purpose. That ought to be her life now, not moping alongside a spirit who had never loved her in the first place.

"She made it quite clear she did not intend to accept callers this afternoon," Oz said. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway, as though daring Daphnel to push back.

---

Victor's brow creased. He hadn't come here intending to fight with any of Belle's siblings, but her brother was being purposefully and needlessly antagonistic here. To refer to him as a caller was beyond the pale.

"She's my wife," Victor said, volume raising.

---

This was supposed to have been a quick little break from his afternoon paperwork, a nice way to stretch his legs while still technically in performance of his job duties, but when Victor Daphnel headed straight through the wall without waiting for him Ford had begun to suspect something was a little off. Daphnel was pretty recently deceased, in the grand scheme of things, and usually spirits this new did not forget that other people needed to use doors. In any case, he'd scrambled to catch up, and was now arriving at the bottom of a large staircase, with the future Minister of Magic towering a floor above him and the ghost caught in the middle.

Ford had known which house he was going to when he'd said the address, but since the errand was with Mrs. Christabel Daphnel he had not actually expected to see the future Minister, much less find himself witnessing what was (if Daphnel's volume was any indication) quickly turning into an argument involving the man. This was — perhaps approaching there was an incident territory, if things continued to escalate, and Ford had not been prepared for incidents. He grimaced and put one foot tentatively on the bottom stair, not sure whether he ought to go up and intervene or stay where he was and hope not to be noticed.

---

This was exactly what Oz had been goading him into — Daphnel was so simple, when it came down to it. Of course he had never been worthy of Christabel, but at a moment like this Oz was baffled by what Chris had ever thought she'd seen in him. If she was going to marry someone who didn't care for her under the assumption that she was in love, couldn't the bloke have at least been clever?

"Legally, I don't believe she is," he said, drawing out the word legally as though the word itself were delicious. He had talked with Chris about this already, of course. After Daphnel had died, he'd told her she was welcome to come back home, that she was a Dempsey long before she was ever a Daphnel, and that any tie she'd had to that place and that family was broken. But she'd still thought herself devoted to him then, and facts were not going to dissuade her from what she felt her duty was.

Well, it was over now. She'd broken free of him once and Oz didn't intend to allow him another chance to persuade her back. Maybe Christabel could marry again someday, if she ever found someone who actually cared about her, and be free of his spectre for good.

The man at the bottom of the stairs moved slightly, which drew Oz's attention to him. A Ministry man, judging by the robes. Oz didn't recognize him, but could guess that he was probably something to do with spirits, if he'd arrived in tow with Daphnel. "Ah," he said, with a gesture down the stairs. "A subject-matter expert, it seems. Shall we ask him?"

---

Oh, dear. Now he was being pulled into the middle of it, which was the last place he wanted to be — particularly when he still felt he was missing a good deal of context. He'd gathered that Daphnel wanted to see Mrs. Daphnel, and the Minister-elect had said no, but what on earth was going on beyond that? Why was she even here in the first place, if she usually lived in Hogsmeade?

"Uhm," was all he managed in response to the remark.

---

What the hell did Dempsey have up his ass? Legally. Legally! As if Victor had come here for a lecture on the legalities of life after death. If he'd been hoping for a seminar, he would have stayed at the Spirit Division and gotten another useless chat from Morgan. And maybe legally Dempsey was right, but Belle had been living in his house for nine months since he'd died, and no one had ever gone dancing around pointing out that technically they weren't married now before. Hell of a time to play a card like that, when all Victor was trying to do was talk to her. Between this and his sister's tantrum that morning, it felt as though the universe was conspiring against him. What the hell had he done to deserve this?

"I'm going to talk to her whether you like it or not," he insisted. "So either call her down or I'll go up."

---

This last remark from Daphnel had the cadence of a threat, and Oz pushed himself off from where he'd been leaning against the wall and pulled his shoulders back (though it wasn't as though it changed much, really — Daphnel was still four feet below him, so the extra half inch wasn't likely to be especially intimidating).

"Mr. Daphnel, you are in my house, and I have made it clear you are not welcome," he said icily. (It was not, technically, his house yet — but he was here and his father wasn't, so he didn't mind pretending. It would be his someday, and it would still be a week or so before he and Sina temporarily relocated to London. In any case, it was more his than it would ever be Daphnel's, and he felt fully within his rights to offer his sister sanctuary here).

---

"Oh, and what are you going to do about it?" Victor demanded, as he floated up a few more of the stairs and put himself on even footing with Dempsey. Dempsey was significantly taller, but there was an advantage to being a spirit in that Victor didn't actually need his feet to be anywhere near the ground. "Stand in my way?"

---

... Ah. Unfortunately Daphnel had a bit of a point there. Oz couldn't necessarily physically prevent him from going around the place as he pleased, and he couldn't wave his hand and ask the servants to forcibly escort him off the property, either. Presumably there was some kind of magic that could help, but Oz didn't have a wealth of experience in this area, so he wasn't sure what to try. He'd never been in the position of needing to duel a ghost before. Could one use standard attack spells, or would they go right through? His mother would be rather cross if he ended up breaking vases and portraits in the stairway while trying to slow Daphnel down. And more to the point, he didn't want to give Daphnel the satisfaction of Ozymandias looking like an idiot while he tried to trial- and- error his way to a viable solution.

He glanced down at the young man in the Ministry robes. "You," he called. "You've got something for this, I'm sure?"

Presumably the Spirit Division dealt with diffident ghosts far more frequently than Oz did. There had to be something that had been proven effective, didn't there? Knowing how unpleasant people in general could be, he simply couldn't believe that the majority of spirits were any better. There had to be a way of evicting trespassing ghosts and keeping them out of places where they weren't wanted.

---

This was definitely not what Ford had been expecting when he'd agreed to escort Mr. Daphnel to his wife. Ford had admittedly gotten a little lost in the spectacle of it — things were getting quite dramatic — and was surprised to be singled out again, as though he were watching a play and one of the actors had unexpectedly broken the fourth wall.

"Uhm," he said again, and fumbled for his wand. He did have something for this, but it wasn't something he used very often. He was much more comfortable talking spirits down from whatever they were upset about — this was all quite distressing.

---

Out of the corner of his eye Victor saw the Ministry fellow reaching for his pockets. He knew that he could get away if he wanted to — he could burst straight through Dempsey and leave him shivering and then go through wall after wall until they didn't know which room he was in anymore, and that would at least buy him time — but he didn't want to scamper around the Dempsey house like a rat avoiding an eager cat, and he shouldn't have had to. He wasn't a criminal, or a ruffian; he wasn't someone who had wandered in off the streets and had no good reason to be here. He was an upstanding member of society (or at least he had been before he died — now he was something else that he couldn't exactly define). He was used to being treated with respect, not held at wandpoint for making reasonable requests.

"You're going to attack me, because he said so?" Victor demanded of the Ministry fellow, while jabbing a spectral finger in Dempsey's direction. "Because I want to talk to the woman I married?" Turning his attention back to his brother-in-law, Victor scowled. "It's not my fault I'm dead, you know," he pointed out. "And it's no excuse to treat me like I don't exist."

---

Oz scoffed. He'd had sympathy for Christabel, when her husband had unexpectedly died, but he had none for Daphnel himself. "Not your fault you're dead, of course not," he said, tone incredulous. "Though I will say that I've managed to attend quite a few New Year's parties and never gotten drunk enough to be defeated by a balcony."

Maybe he would have had more sympathy for Daphnel if he'd been killed by something like a creeping illness that had seen him bedridden for months, or if he'd been murdered, or something. But this entire thing was so entirely preventable, and that was difficult to look past. Oz hadn't been at the party where he'd died, but he'd gotten the details through Christabel or through the grapevine. How drunk did one have to be to wander upstairs, to a bedroom that was clearly not part of the festivities, and then through that bedroom to a balcony, and then fall off of it and die? It was an incredible series of stupid decisions — that, or Daphnel had been upstairs trying to steal from Malcorvus Flint's room, and had gotten caught and pushed off the balcony — but the idea that he might have been a surprised criminal did little to endear him to Oz.

It also would have all been much more forgivable if he'd ever loved Christabel, but he hadn't, so. That was rather open and shut, from Oz's perspective. No reason at all to give him the benefit of the doubt, in any area.

---