20th December, 1894 — Minister’s Winter Ball, Destiny Hotel, London

Her dress was new – even if the first event she was wearing it to was still as much a Ministry affair as it was purely society. Still, it was a strange, heady feeling for Effie, to actually be wearing something perfectly new, for no reason at all. After quitting the season, giving up as it were (and Annie might not have given up on getting married in spite of her work, and she oughtn’t, but – privately – Effie had, years ago), new gowns had been a needless, irresponsible expense.

But now she had Brooks. Somehow she had Brooks; somehow her luck seemed to have all changed course this year. Old worries were evaporating before her eyes. She could afford – this, to press a pin better into her hair and swan about in her new skirts and smile over at the man who was possibly, probably, actually, going to marry her.

His attention seemed elsewhere, though he was standing alone; she extricated herself from a slightly-too-loud transportation debate and took advantage of the moment – to save herself or to rescue him, both. “Will you dance with me, Mr. Watson?” Effie said dryly, flicking his arm gently with the dance card attached to her wrist, jokingly. “If you don’t, I might actually mistake myself for not having left work for the day at all.” She could have rolled her eyes at every conversation she’d had, because never mind her entirely new dress or her rather new courtship, no one else seemed to have cared a whit about those – most of the ball had thus far been with her colleagues, or her superiors, or with people talking about the Floo network, anyway. Perhaps he’d had a better time.

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Brooks Watson

  

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Brooks wasn't enough of a fan of most of his colleagues to want to spend extra time with them, especially when his department was not exactly allowed to talk shop outside of their offices in the basement. He too had been trapped in a pointless conversation, when Effie sidled up to him. He warmed instantly, passing her a reserved smile, chuckling quietly at her comments.

"It would be my utmost pleasure." He held out his arm to her and excused himself from the current conversation, relieved to have a realistic escape from the monotony. Brooks had never been very good at hearing about the woes of the other departments; he was always too wrapped up in his own work to give much thought to what the rest of the ministry was up to; save for Effie's department. He didn't mind hearing about her days. "It is quite strange to socialize with colleagues outside of work." He wouldn't do it if he could avoid it. This always seemed like a function he wasn't really allowed to skip out on.

He stood before her as the music queued up, bowing slightly. "Your dress is lovely." A good color for her. "I do hope that's not what they expect you to wear in the Floo if you haven't quite left work yet?" He teased lightly, still getting used to getting back into the swing of such intimacies.

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Social events were much nicer when one had someone to attend with, Effie decided. She suspected Brooks enjoyed them less than she did, but she didn’t expect much – even a late courtship was not going to turn her into the next grand socialite. So she had no intention of trying his patience or being frivolous about it: they did not have to go to every party there was – they could pick and choose their invitations, and go where and when they wanted to. It would be nice to have the freedom to do entirely as they pleased, she thought. And she thought, or hoped, she would be able to please Brooks. That they were alike enough to get along.

And he had already pleased her well enough by the time he had accepted the dance, so the compliment to her dress was really the cherry on top. Effie wondered whether the boost to her mood he brought would make her a better dancer, just like that – she fancied her steps already felt lighter. “It’s the new uniform, haven’t you heard?” she teased back, with a dry little laugh. “It’ll turn black with soot within the week, but.” She shrugged, and softened enough to acknowledge the compliment shyly. “Thank you.” Effie didn’t know how to follow that, though – ought she comment on his clothes in turn, or something else? In the end, she followed up on his utter bemusement at the prospect of socialising with colleagues. (She supposed his department simply did not do that in the way the rest of the Ministry folk did.) “Have you talked to anyone interesting?”

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"What a pity that would be," Brooks mused. It was a good color for her. New maybe. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't very good at paying attention to those things, but he could make a better effort. It was only Effie's wardrobe he needed to pay attention to, after all.

Her question had him chuckling. "Not until now," he would much rather converse with Effie than anybody else in attendance tonight. "I'm always dodging questions about the department, even though people very well know I can't say anything." It was like they forgot that it was the Department of Mysteries for a reason. He was contractually-bound not to say anything; he couldn't even tell Effie. Brooks liked his job too much to jeopardize that. "But listening to someone drone on about infestations of pixies or a ludicrous patent does make me feel like we haven't left work." Maybe that why he enjoyed his department; he couldn't talk about it and bore others. Not that his work was boring by any stretch of the imagination, but he assumed most people wouldn't understand the intricacies of it.

"And you? Anything of note on the evening?" He wondered if he was being too cynical, perhaps he should tone it down.

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“Not until now,” Effie echoed back at him, with a smaller, more honest smile just for him. She was being a little silly – for she had friends at the Ministry enough, and her work wasn’t so dreadful as she made it out to be, and she had avoided ludicrous patents tonight. But she had other, more selfish reasons to enjoy herself now – and some sliver of light of an escape route from it all, if Brooks gave her it.

“I promise I only have one question about work for you,” she said, mock-serious, “and it is that I hope even the Department of Mysteries is allowing its employees some time off over Christmas? Because my other question is when might I expect to see you next.”

She shot him another hopeful smile. Effie was supposed to visit her muggle family in Edinburgh on Christmas Eve, though she was well-accustomed to finding excuses to leave, and she was sure she could rely on her friends to occupy her through the holiday season otherwise, but the rest of the time she would be left to her own devices. Brooks was without family too, so she imagined his time would be spent similarly, and perhaps indeed he would be in need of some distraction. And she did not mean to monopolise his time, even if they were courting – she was always perfectly at ease spending her days alone – but she had grown fond of him, and of spending time in his company.

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   Brooks Watson

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Brooks chuckled at her reply in appreciation. Effie had always been witty like that, though quietly so, which he had come to enjoy about her. There was a softness to her that Brooks hoped, in the long run, would help him even out from the sharp, jaded creature he had become in recent years. It may have been unfair of him to unknowingly pin that on her, but he needed something to keep him going forward.

"That they do," he smiled again. "I should be free all Christmas afternoon and the day after." He would be headed to spend Christmas morning with his best mate's family, as had been tradition for over twenty years now. He still felt like an interloper sometimes, though they had always made him feel welcome, it had changed a bit as he'd gotten older, no long a child or a fledgling adult. He would never say no to them however, not after everything they had done for him. "I would very much like to see you, if you are free." He still had presents to give her and a ring burning a hole in his desk drawer at home.

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