28 March, 1894 — Ministry of Magic Meeting Room

"Thank you for your patience, Miss —" Ezra glanced down at his notes to check her name. There were four of them who might as well have been interchangeable as far as he was concerned, but he'd written the names down at the modiste and was starting to get his bearings. Broadmoor was the one who claimed to be related to the auror of his acquaintance (a claim he had as yet not been able to verify). One of them had given her name as Dempsey, and he remembered that one had dark hair — possibly related to the Minister, though that was currently unverified, too. He'd just spoken with Miss Daphnel a second ago, so that made this one...

"...Hunniford," he concluded, hoping his notes were accurate and that he'd read them correctly. Sometimes his handwriting while taking notes on the go could be a bit dodgy. "You can take a seat. I'll try to make this brief, so that we can get straight to the business of putting things back to rights," he said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. They were in one of the miscellaneous meeting rooms at the Ministry, since he obviously couldn't take her down to where he actually worked, and he had his notes from the site of the incident and one of the other statements laid out neatly in front of him, next to a blank sheet of parchment where he intended to fill in her details. He wet his quill. "Who were you with today at the modiste?"

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The summons had been brief. Her provided statement was too short, her instructions on how to proceed too unclear, for her to avoid this second interaction with him. She had delayed coming back in for as long as possible, using whatever stolen time she had to steel herself against the second emotional onslaught that was to come. She might've been able to stomach the entire world forgetting her if there had been even the slightest hint of remembrance in his eyes. They mattered, she had insisted only last week.

Evidently, not enough.

She ought to have requested another Ministry official. There had to be someone — anyone — equally qualified to take her statement, someone that wouldn't push her to the verge of tears by simply not knowing her name. "My mother, Mrs. Lenore Hunniford. You've met her before, she looks like an older version of me." Rosalie managed to reply, her expression tense as her nails dug painfully into her palms.

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stunning set by Lady <3

Ezra peered at her, curious. He remembered — now that she had prompted him to — her mother. He remembered hosting the Hunnifords for dinner parties several years ago, though he couldn't recall why. Probably her mother was a friend of his mother, he imagined. As for why they hadn't continued coming for dinner parties, that seemed obvious: his family had been rather a disaster in recent years. Byron's breakdown, his father's gradual but continuous decline, his own struggles. It seemed entirely reasonable the Hunnifords had cut contact.

She would have been at those dinner parties, though, unless she had good reason not to be. She was old enough that she wouldn't have still been in Hogwarts, he didn't think. Maybe traveling? Or maybe she was another person he had met and subsequently forgotten.

"Interesting," he said, scribbling down a note. "And had we met, prior to today?"

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Rosalie could have laughed if she wasn't tethering on the edge of sobs. Had they met? She still dreamt of his hands on her skin, of what could have happened in that repurposed closet had his sense of morality not kicked in at the last second. She had mountains of research about ways to help him tucked into every corner of her bedroom. And he didn't remember her. He didn't even have the sense that they might be important to one another.

"Yes." She answered, her tone clipped. "Many times."

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stunning set by Lady <3

Ezra frowned. Her tone implied she was annoyed at him, which felt a little unfair given that he didn't remember her at all and therefore didn't know how he'd misstepped.

"Miss Broadmoor describing how we had met and interacted previously was very helpful in determining the rough size and shape of the problem," he pointed out. "If you're willing to walk me through it I'm sure it would be useful. But if you'd rather not...?" He let it hang for a second; her tone had certainly implied that she would rather not. "... then we could focus on anything you noticed this afternoon instead."

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She did laugh this time, a short, incredulous laugh that did nothing but further derail her mood. Miss Broadmoor, indeed. Ezra and she hadn't spoken in a year before the wedding, but surely if there was any significant development he'd have warned her last week. He wouldn't have been stuck musing on their failed nuptials as she was.

"The size and shape of the problem is significant." Rosalie said instead of revealing what they were to one another. To say we were meant to wed would break her entirely under these circumstances, and Rosalie didn't know much of what was happening but she knew with certainty that if she began crying she wouldn't soon stop. "It's as though I have been wiped from existence." Distantly, she wondered if he would have preferred it that way. If it would be cruel of her to force him to remember.

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stunning set by Lady <3

Ezra's brows furrowed. The laugh had him thinking that maybe the animosity he'd detected in her tone was less directed at him and more at the situation, which was understandable (though exasperating; any time he had to dedicate to calming someone down from hysterical crying was time not spent further triaging the problem). But he recognized that this was an emotionally charged situation, and responding to the resulting emotions was a necessary part of this process. He wouldn't be able to progress without addressing it.

"You've not been wiped from existence," he said, words firm but tone gentle. "You're here, and you're unharmed. I'll figure out how to fix this and you'll be straight back to your life as if it never happened," he assured her. "This is what I do, Miss, investigating and solving things like this. You're in good hands."

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Rosalie shook and turned her head to look at the adjacent wall. It was too difficult to see him like this, so earnest and kind, while he lacked the context for how to actually soothe her fears. Perhaps it would be best for them both for her to request another ministry official, someone she could at least look at without this agonizing ache in her chest.

"Will you abandon those of us affected if the solution proves difficult?" She asked suddenly, still not looking at him. After all, he had given up on himself, proving he had a threshold for how challenging a task could be before he washed his hands of it.

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stunning set by Lady <3

That was a strange question, and he wasn't sure whether he ought to interpret it as a pointed one or a panicked one. He was getting the sense that she didn't much like him, but everything she'd said or done so far could still just as easily be attributed to her still struggling with her new circumstances, so he didn't want to jump to hasty conclusions. He decided it was best to keep his response neutral, then; level and unaffected.

"I won't. We'll be conducting a thorough investigation. We won't stop until it's sorted." After a beat, he added a little more lightly, "I enjoy difficult problems, Miss Hunniford."

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"Okay, fine." Rosalie agreed despite remaining uncertain with his abilities. It took powerful magic to erase someone from everyone's memories, magic she didn't know whether it could be reversed. Then she would be alone for the rest of her life with no career or family or love.

Her nails drew blood from her palms.

"What do you need from me?" She then asked as she turned to face him once more.

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stunning set by Lady <3

Ezra still couldn't shake the feeling that she disliked him, and this was doing nothing to help. Fine. What do you need? One would have thought he'd killed her beloved cat, the way she was acting. And who knew? Maybe he had.

If she was going to confine herself to one or two word answers, though, this was a waste of time for both of them. He wasn't going to learn anything new if she didn't want to talk to him. He had tests running at the modiste now which might be finished; he could go check their progress and start to actually work towards solving this thing rather than sit here getting a cold shoulder from a woman he didn't remember.

"Nothing," he decided, tone now matching hers. He scrawled out Pandora Foxglove's name on the bottom of the parchment and tore it off to give it to her. "If you think of anything that might be useful to the investigation you can send it to my supervisor, Miss Foxglove, and she'll see that it gets to me. Good day."

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