3rd August, 1895 — Ministry Atrium

Work parties were the worst invention of wizardkind and Marlena included self-cleaning socks in that list; the only thing more unpleasant than one’s feet being soapy and wet because the magic inevitably malfunctioned was having to make extra small talk with people whose small talk bored you to tears through the working week. At least it could not last forever, she thought, as she glanced at the clock for the second time in as many minutes, though it was doing a reasonable impression of something that could.

One more drink and she would floo home.

At least her colleagues were suffering too – Miss Whitledge and Mrs Moony looked moments away from committing murder and Watson seemed happy enough talking to his fiancé but he had been waylaid and the woman was walking towards her instead. It was then, and only then, Marlena realised she recognised the woman.

“Effie?”

She looked the same as she had at school, although Lena had never thought to see her with a man on her arm; she had also assumed some things did not change with age.

“Is that really you?”

@"Effie Clarke" | Elias Grimstone

  

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MJ: still raising the graphics bar as of 2022

She was trying, rigorously, to be normal, to seem – happy and joyful and excited and not at all tense about the wedding next weekend, but the note had rattled her, to say the least. She hadn’t told anyone about it – she certainly did not want to ask Brooks about it – so it was still burning a hole in her pocket and in her brain while she stood at this unfortunate gathering, overwhelmed by everything.

It had even been difficult enough to look Brooks in the eye while they spoke tonight – she had excused herself from his side without quite knowing where she was heading instead – and it took her a moment to decipher the familiar face as more than a looming reminder of her past. If Miss Woodcroft had been the first time in her youth she had tried to act on a true feeling, Miss Scamander had been the first person she had tried to talk about her true feelings to. She had seemed a safe receptacle for her secrets then; but they had never talked quite as candidly since, and indeed, Effie hadn’t seen her in quite some time.

So it did seem ominous to her that Marlena should be resurfacing this very minute, when her nerves were fraying by the minute about the prospect of being married. “In the flesh,” Effie replied, with just a slight strained edge behind her bright plastered smile, wondering if Marlena recalled her and that awkward conversation of many years ago less or as well as she still did. But of course she was an Unspeakable these days – of course that meant she knew Brooks, too. “Hello, Lena. How are you?”

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Being skilled in social observation was not an entry requirement for the Department of Mysteries and Lena freely admitted that she was terrible at it, however, even she could not fail to notice the edge to Effie’s voice. And it took no skill whatsoever for her to hazard a guess as to the reason, though she could not be certain. It had been years, after all, and perhaps something had changed for Effie in the interim?

She was marrying Brooks, after all. Surely being a spinster in society’s eyes was better than marrying someone you did not love at least a little bit?

“Well, the company has just improved considerably,” she said, toasting her glass in a mocking salute to Effie. “But I was never one for parties. How about you? Are you…” She nodded her head towards the man still chatting away, but couldn’t find the words to describe what he may or may not be.

  

Her smile grew wry and then softened to something more sincere, taking a little of the edge of tension off. She was pleased to find Lena Scamander was no less candid now than she had ever been. Although Effie’s throat felt extremely dry at the unfinished question put to her: there was something worse in the unsaid. And never mind that the other woman may know enough about her to almost read her mind.

“No, nor Brooks nor I either,” Effie admitted freely, as if their introverted natures and fondness for hard work could ever be enough to explain the match. “But – yes. Getting married next weekend,” she answered, hoping her plain matter-of-factness would make the outcome seem the more settled, the more natural. At least the wedding itself would be modest and small, no grand occasion to weather. And she had always intended to marry, so she had been perfectly contented with her decision until the nerves had, in these final days, set in. “Better late than –” never, she had been going to say, but then Marlena was certainly still a Scamander after all these years, so that sounded horrible now, didn’t it?! Effie trailed off with another slightly pained smile.

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