One year ago today, Sera had been Woken Up from the imperius curse that had oppressed most of her adult life. One year later, she was — here. Still with Henry, still married, still the socialite she was born to be — it was almost as if nothing had changed. Oh, she'd developed a reading habit — she was certainly a better mother — she was feeling increasingly lonely. But it was almost like, despite the absence of the curse, nothing had changed.

She felt sick with herself. She'd spent most of the day wandering pockets of wizarding London, sweating into her dress from the extended exertion — she felt purposeless. She didn't even want to go to the bookstore, lest she say something she didn't mean — she didn't want to home, for the same reason.

She leaned against the brick wall of a house and exhaled loudly. (This street of Mayfair had mostly wizarding homes, Sera knew.) She wished for a cigarette, although she had never been a smoker. She wished her hair didn't poof up in humid air.

The gate of the home's walkway creaked open, and Sera saw a familiar woman leaving. "Oh," she said, "Is this your house?" (That would only make sense if Vera had married up, but it was not as if Seraphina would remember either way.)

A business acquaintance's house, which meant that Vera was involved in business — maybe the Chudley Cannons, which her stepson owned. Sera felt a pang in her chest. Despite being widowed, Veronica née Scamander seemed to have the life that Seraphina had always wanted for herself.

She knew she looked a little odd; leaning against the wall was a strange thing to be doing, especially because it was someone else's house. "I'm on a promenade," she said, with a playful quirk of her lips that she could not resist. Poking fun at herself, and maybe she could pretend this whole day was normal. "Or something like it."

"Something like that," Sera said, trying for another playful quirk to her mouth and eyes — but she couldn't manage it, and exhaled a large sigh, expression dropping. "Well, not at all, really."