“It feels weird,” Delilah started as she leaned against the table toward her sister, pleased that she had been able to come alone without her husband (Lila didn’t need him that well and had yet to form an opinion of him), “that I don’t have to chaperone you anymore.” Jemima had a pension for getting in trouble with one anyway – look at her rushed marriage because of the scandal. Well, Delilah wasn’t going to hold it against her because what is done is done. All they could do was hold their heads high and ignore the rude people who felt they could put their nose in business that had nothing to do with them.

She pursed her lips together as she studied Jemima for a moment before pushing a cup of hot tea toward her, her own stirring the sugar she’d just poured in. She didn’t look downright miserable, so that was something, but looks could be deceiving. Delilah leaned back and curled her hands around the teacup as she smiled at her little sister. “How are you doing?” She had a thousand other questions she could ask, but none of them seemed appropriate for right now, as she needed to gauge how Jemima was – if Ford was treating her poorly then Delilah just might kill him.

She was a healer and knew her poisons well enough to (probably) get away with it.

---

Jemima Greengrass // Elias Grimstone

---

In all honesty, it still felt weird to her too. Still – “You can’t possibly miss it,” Jemima teased jovially, because she remembered her time as a debutante bemoaning and fretting about nearly everything, and she was sure Delilah had been bored sick of her as the seasons went on, particularly when she had other, better things to do. But, in spite of that, Jemima did hope a little that her elder sister missed her a little, now that she had been gone from home for more than half a year.

She looked at her sister over the tea she’d just been passed, pouring the milk and stirring without paying much attention to it. “I’m well,” she said brightly, feeling as though Delilah’s tone was very determinedly searching, but also feeling as though she was no longer pretending with an upbeat answer, the way she had had to in the earliest days of being married, and scrutinised by all of society for how she would lie in the bed she had made. She smiled back, feeling shy. In a lower, confidential tone, she added: “And I really do think I mean that.”

---

Delilah laughed as she shook her head. “I don’t miss all of it, but it was always nice to spend some quality time with you. The house feels a little empty still.” Even if some (well, most) of it had been trying to console Jemima that someone was going to come along and be perfect for her. Her sister would find new things to fret over if she hadn’t already, such as running a household or deciding if her husband’s actions meant that he liked her or not. Was he kind to her? Did they get along? Or perhaps they just ignored each other’s existence outside of when they appeared in public together.

Delilah narrowed her eyes for a moment as she tried to determine if Jemima was just parroting what she had been saying for a while now, although it wasn’t until she followed up with the amendment did Delilah’s expression soften. She sipped her tea thoughtfully, noting how her smile turned more sincere, unguarded. “Good.” Was all she could say to that, hoping that her little sister wouldn’t lie to her.

She gave Jemima a fond look. “Is it everything you hoped for?” Marriage, her husband, moving out? Well, Delilah wasn’t sure which one she meant, although perhaps it was all of them. She hoped that the experience hadn’t soured what she had hoped for her future.

---

Elias Grimstone // Jemima Greengrass

---

Everything she had hoped for? For all she had fretted (usually in Delilah’s vicinity, too) about her prospects and finding a husband, Jemima had come to realise she had never thought terribly hard about what came after the wedding, imagined what truly came of being married. That had been the finish line to a race she had always felt she was losing – and then she had stumbled gracelessly across that finish line, and had to reevaluate everything.

Delilah’s fond look had lulled her into a false sense of security; Jemima glanced down at her teacup, trying to be coy but feeling her cheeks heat up at all the things she wanted to say. I think I have a crush on my husband was hardly something she could admit to, not in public and not anywhere else, either. How ridiculous it sounded! She didn’t know if anyone in society had been naive enough to believe their spun tale about being already-head-over-heels after the coatroom affair, but they had made the best of things behind closed doors, as they had promised. And maybe Jemima had been so prepared to be miserable for the rest of her life, but Ford was actually... funny, and kind, and thoughtful. He had a sincerity and a sweetness which made him charming in a different way – almost inadvertently, not at all like those men for whom it felt smooth and disingenuous, entirely rehearsed. He was honest, then. She liked his embraces, and his kisses; she blushed just to think it. She was even fond of his family.

“I don’t know what I hoped for,” Jemima admitted, in a fairly low tone, so that no one but her sister would hear it, “but – it’s better than I expected.” She took a sip to hide the full width of her smile, and once she had set the teacup down again she had grown thoughtful. “I just – don’t know if I’m a good wife, yet. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.” She glanced at Delilah imploringly – her sister had been married, and her life had seemed to be smooth. Delilah had even managed to be a healer as well as a wife. Jemima did nothing outside of the household and barely anything for it, so she still felt a little useless at it. There must be something she was missing. Maybe her sister would enlighten her on how to be better.

---

The cogs in Jemima’s head seemed to be turning, and Delilah was going to give her time to think about her answer before spurring her for a reply. If her sister was thinking about her words, it meant she was having some kind of emotions, although whether they were good or bad was yet to be seen. She knew that Jemima hadn’t been in love with Ford, but given that Lila wasn’t a fly on the wall in their home, she had no idea if things had changed for the better or if things had gone to hell. Of course she hoped it was the former.

Delilah busied herself with stirring the spoon in her cup again, only looking up once Jemima finally spoke. She set her own cup down with care, which clinked softly against the saucer, before she leaned forward just a touch. “Better than you expected?” Lila hummed before her lips curled into a soft smile. “You’re already ahead of a few others who were married this season, so that’s something.” While she wasn’t fully involved with the Season anymore, Delilah had heard of some who married for status or money, which very rarely seemed to work out. Hopefully her little sister would eventually become fond of her husband.

Her smile softened as she studied Jemima, as if what she was feeling would suddenly appear on her forehead. “As for what you’re supposed to be doing… Well, you’ll figure it out as you go. No one has written a proper manual on how to be a good wife.” Though wouldn’t that be something – Delilah should really pitch the idea to one of her writer friends. Delilah had been in love with her late husband but they still had their spats and disagreements, so she knew that Jemima and Ford would have some bumps along the way.

Delilah gently nudged her sister’s leg under the table. “Although if you’re really fretting about not being a good wife, show him that he made the right choice by marrying you. You could always learn how to make his favorite pudding or take up something he enjoys.” Although what that was, Delilah didn’t know. Who was Ford actually, anyway?

---

Jemima had never considered it that way – ahead of other people. She had been so absorbed by her own perils that she had not spared as much thought as usual to other people’s affairs – other society marriages and scandals and the like. She supposed once it was happening to oneself that the taste for it soured slightly.

And most of Jemima’s friends, save Dahlia Potts-now-Honeyduke, weren’t married yet, so this was uncharted territory. She wished she had paid more attention to Delilah’s, before she had been widowed, but she had been – a little anxious and self-absorbed even then.

The nudge under the table made her smile, a little – but she pulled a pouting face to tease her. “I’m not sure he’d thank me for trying to make puddings,” she said, jokingly – but she was hardly like Dahlia in that regard. Adding groceries to the weekly shopping list and marking recipes that sounded nice was as far as she dared meddle, generally, in the kitchen. It would probably be a disaster if she seriously tried to make any kind of pudding. Besides, she didn’t know Ford’s favourite there either... although perhaps she ought to try? Oh: maybe she could try to make a homemade version of those miniature tartlets she’d liked so well at the Coming Out Ball...

She shook herself out of the idea at that last, startled into laughing a little at take up something he enjoys. “Well, he likes ghosts, and poetry,” she explained. “But I’m not sure any amount of practice will make me a worthwhile poet.” Not enough to convince any husband in the world he had made the right choice when he hadn’t wanted to marry her in the first place. But it was a little bit fun to pretend that she could, anyway.

---

Jemima had a point – Delilah couldn’t imagine her in the kitchen trying to cook anything, let alone something like a pudding. The point was to impress her husband, not make him wonder what the hell was going on, and if he should be worried that he was about to be poisoned. It wasn’t that her sister was daft or anything, Lila just assumed that she would be more adept… in other places. So that was a strike, but there were other ways to get to know her husband.

The laugh that slipped out of Jemima made Delilah pause, although the explanation had her nodding. Ghosts and poetry… huh, those were some interesting hobbies. “Poetry is hard to write and enjoy.” She offered rather unhelpfully, before sighing. Of course she tried to hide this behind a sip of her tea. When she set it down, after having a moment to think, Lila smiled at her sister. “I suppose that’s not entirely fair,” she conceded. “Some poetry is nice to listen to.”

Lila leaned forward, a small laugh coming from her this time. “Well, we could venture to Muggle London to visit a book shop there. Maybe they’ll have a book he doesn’t have yet.” It wasn’t exactly picking up his hobbies, but it could be a start. “Or you could always try to find a ghost poet willing to help you write one for him.” That wasn’t something she’d recommend, especially not when Jemima thought there was no helping her become a poet.

---

She couldn’t decide whether Delilah was laughing more at her or her description of Ford, but Jemima couldn’t truly take it to heart, when her sister was taking the situation mostly seriously. Or at least providing a listening ear.

It was nice to talk about these things, even tentatively – it always felt impossible to make sense of her feelings at all until she tried to talk, to make them somehow real. “I like it,” Jemima agreed, about poetry – but she was not sure she was always clever enough to understand it.

But she beamed at the suggestion of visiting a bookshop to find him something new, and didn’t even falter at the thought of a ghost poet. (Could she trust Barnaby Wye to write something? Even the thought was a little terrifying) “And I’d like that,” she added, clarifying with a guileless grin – “the bookshop idea. Thank you.” Besides, even if it accomplished nothing else – it would be valuable time spent with her sister.

---

Someone in the family had to like the arts and it definitely wasn’t her, so honestly it was a good thing that Jemima liked poetry to some extent. Maybe Delilah would encourage her children to take music and art at Hogwarts in hopes that they might be able to enjoy it, too. But they still had a couple more years before Lavinia’s letter came, so she wasn’t going to worry about anything Hogwarts just yet.

Jemima beamed and Delilah couldn’t help but smile at her sister, pleased that something good had come from their meeting. They’d have to make it a habit now, to deliberately meet so they could keep up with each other’s lives now. “Anything for you.” She said, finding that she meant it. She just wanted her siblings to be happy despite the curveballs that life kept throwing at them. “Though, if you do decide to compose a poem at any point, I fully expect a dramatic reading of it.”

---