2 April, 1894 — Applegate House, Cotswolds

He had no memories of her, but what he did have were data points.

Data point: he knew her family. They had been to dinner at his house, and he had been to dinner at theirs. He remembered interacting with them at parties and other social events, even meeting up with them in Padmore Park on a sunny day to stroll around the lake as though they were close family friends. He remembered this happening years ago, and not since.

Data point: she had been cold to him up until last night. He had dismissed her brusqueness at the modiste as a symptom of shock or generic emotional distress; it was a situation most people did not expect to find themselves in, so it was quite understandable that being polite to the Ministry official dispatched to the case was not the highest of her priorities. When she had come to the Ministry for her interview later that day, though, it had been harder to ignore how short she was with him. She'd said then that they were acquainted, but hadn't told him how.

Data point: she knew where he lived, knew his first name, knew his family's routine well enough to get into the house without someone realizing she was there immediately. She was bold enough to search his things without telling him and without even seeming particularly ashamed to be caught doing it. She knew about the ring, when even Ezra hadn't known about the ring. Which of course brought them to...

Data point: all of the things he had hidden away in the drawer in the unused room, monogrammed with her initials.

He was nervous. He'd tried to control as much of this upcoming conversation as he could, thought it through from every angle, but he still felt he was coming into it at a disadvantage. To him, she was a stranger, but to her he was something else. What exactly remained to be seen. He knew what she'd told him, but it also felt as though she wasn't being entirely upfront — maybe not even with herself. There were bits of this that stood in conflict and that he was still trying to resolve. She had ended things between the two of them, apparently, and said she wished she hadn't — but she didn't act as though she trusted him or even especially liked him. She knew about his curse — impossible, he would have thought — but admitted to having thrown the ring in his face when he told her. He knew what they had been to each other once, if he took her story as truth, but he didn't know what they were to each other now.

The floo lit up. She was barely over the threshold before he was on his feet. "Sit down," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs, before he took out his wand and shut the floo down. He'd already locked the parlor door. He didn't want them to be interrupted. "I have the ring. But first I have questions."

---

Rosalie Hunniford

  

---

The emotional fatigue was wearing on Rosalie, so much so that she'd spent the better part of the afternoon curled beneath the covers of her rented bed as she stared off into space. She still hadn't been able to convince her family to allow her to search for the box, the bracelet was still missing, and Ezra - well, Ezra either didn't believe her or didn't want to. He didn't seem to like her much, which wasn't entirely unfair of him considering her behaviors but -

But talking to him was hard on a normal day. Talking to him like this ... it was simply too much.

She'd all but given up hope on him reaching out about the ring at all when the owl dropped the letter on her windowsill. Rosalie read it with trembling hands and tears of relief cascading down on her cheeks until she'd curled back up into her ball to sob. He'd found the ring and tomorrow they'd perform the ritual and then she could go home. Ezra and she could then return to their prolonged periods of no contact.

Everything would be normal again.

Rosalie had done the best she could to mask any evidence of her emotional afternoon but knew it likely wasn't enough. Her Ezra had always been able to read her like she was an open book. Then again, maybe this version of him wouldn't notice as much. Her eyes were still a bit redder than normal, her hands still shook with nerves she wouldn't be able to steady without a calming draught. Everything else though - from her hair to her dress to the set of her shoulders - was impeccable.

She startled when he was suddenly moving towards her with such strict instructions. Him having questions made sense, but having any sort of conversation about this when his memories were still missing was ridiculous. Another day, that was all he had to wait and then he'd be able to answer everything on his own. The floo was locked before she was even seated though, and she knew from experience the apparition wards on the estate kept her from simply disappearing once she held the ring. "Okay," she agreed a bit reluctantly. "What do you want to know?"

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

Ezra tucked his wand away and crossed the room. He'd gestured for her to sit on one of the armchairs in the parlor that was within arm's reach of a low table used for setting out tea things. He took position on the other side of the tea table, sitting on his knees directly on the floor so that he could use it like a desk. He put his index finger of his left hand on his temple, leaned his elbow on the table. He had to at least make an effort to appear official and presentable when he was out on Department of Mysteries business, but he was making no such presumptions here. If her story was right, he assumed she'd already seen him at least this agitated and probably moreso, so why bother clinging to appearances?

"First of all, when," he said, withdrawing a piece of paper he'd stashed on the bottom level of the tea table and retrieving a quill he'd left on its surface. "When I proposed, when it ended." He could get a very rough idea of it from thinking through when he'd interacted with her family, but honestly he didn't remember exactly when that had started or stopped — none of the memories he had of them seemed very significant, and none of them were particularly relevant to other milestones in his life. So the best he could really come up with was years ago, probably, and he needed something much more specific than that.

---

  

---

He was approaching this as a professional, like he could somehow make sense of their relationship with specific dates and points to reference. Rosalie's brows furrowed, her confusion obvious in her expression. Did he think the ritual would fail somehow and with it he'd lose any opportunities for resolution? Or did he somehow need this information to reverse the magic?

She quietly sighed then and squeezed her hands together. "We were introduced in the spring of 1889, by June we were courting. You proposed in November, it was snowing that evening..." She trailed off, her gaze having moved from him to a spot somewhere on his left. There were so many people over her house that night that he had pulled her onto the terrace for a moment alone. Ezra had knelt on the thin layer of snow while he made his speech. Would he remember the soaked pant leg if she mentioned it? Would he recall the way the snowflakes had stuck to his eyelashes?

She didn't want to know what this version of him would think of that, she realized. This cold, distant version was hardened by years of forgotten heartache. Rosalie didn't want to hear his comments or watch his expression shift into one of disbelief.

Rosalie took a breath before continuing, "we were to be wed on May 6th of 1890 in my Grandmother's gardens. But, in March -" She broke off suddenly, her eyes widening with surprise of a newly found personal connection. A hysterical, delirious laugh bubbled up in her throat.

March 28th, 1890 was the day she threw his ring back at him.

March 28th, 1894 was the day he'd forgotten she existed.

Rosalie would never leave the house again on that date if she somehow got her life back.

"On March 28th of that year things ended." She added lastly once she'd managed to stomach her laughter. "I didn't see you again until the following February."

---

The following 1 user Likes Rosalie Hunniford's post:1 user Likes Rosalie Hunniford's post
   Ezra Applegate

---

stunning set by Lady <3

He scribbled dates down as she mentioned them. He had asked when he'd proposed because he wanted to get a sense of how long their involvement had been, but he was more interested in the date it had ended. This was one possibility that had occurred to him the night before while he'd been pacing around his room thinking it through, but he'd thought it unfair to pin all the blame for it on her unless he had some proof that it was true. But here it was: the dates lined up too well for him to think it a coincidence. She'd left him just ahead of the biggest, longest, hardest brush with his curse he'd had to date.

"No one saw me until February," he pointed out dryly. He assumed she already knew this and was just talking around it for the sake of politeness. She knew about the curse, so there were two possibilities that presented themselves in his mind: either she'd left because she'd known that was coming, somehow — maybe he'd known and had told her, could he have forgotten that too? — or her leaving had caused it. Either way she would have been very much aware of the hell he'd been through. And this was difficult to reconcile: a woman who said their relationship had been magical and special, who said she regretted having left, and yet would let him face all that alone.

"Was I 'sick' when you left?" he asked. He had never been sick, but assumed she would know what he was referring to. If she knew about the curse, she knew how much trouble he had talking about it. "Had it started yet?"

---

  

---

She wasn't able to mask her surprise at his words. The distance between them in those days was intentional, a forceful shove of separation to drill the break into their hearts. No one — not her family, friends or coworkers — mentioned anything about him then, even now it was a rare that his name was brought up at all. Still, someone would have seen him between March and February. His coworkers, his family, his friends — someone had to have noticed him after his wedding fell through. "What do you mean by no one?" Rosalie asked, unable to stop herself from pushing.

His questions made her pause though. It felt wrong to discuss the curse with him when he'd made his position clear. She had hundreds of questions for him, countless possible solutions to try, and hadn't mentioned any because of his boundary. Rosalie was waiting until she found something she was certain would work to reach out again. Maybe then he'd be willing to listen.

Still, any solutions found wouldn't help with the questions he was currently asking.

"I'm not sure what you mean by it," she eventually honestly answered. "Your curse in general or something specific? I only ever saw two instances of something bothering you beyond the altered speech and both times were well after 1890."

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

If she hadn't seen it starting, that meant she'd caused it. He raised an eyebrow at her questions, because they made it sound as though she didn't know, but how was that possible? If she knew about the curse, if it had been her choice to end things, how had she not pieced together what was happening when he disappeared from civilized society for most of the next year?

"1890 wasn't a good year," he said in explanation, trusting she could fill in the blanks for herself. He wasn't in the habit of speaking too directly about his curse; he didn't know how he'd been able to tell her about it in the first place, when it had never worked for anyone else in his life, but if she knew then he must have done it somehow.

"Do you recognize these?" he asked, reaching below the table and pulling out a few items, one at a time, that he had brought down from the drawer in the spare room. A pair of soft kid gloves with initials monogrammed on the inside wrist. A delicately embroidered handkerchief. A locket with an opal set in the face. A silver stationary seal with initials in the face. He watched her features as he removed them and laid them on the table, trying to catch any flicker of emotion.

---

  

---

Of course it wasn't a good year, she nearly argued. Except — except he said it in context with his curse. She hadn't seen it starting, she didn't even know what was happening, but the timing of it was too exact for it to not have been her fault. "I'm sorry." She offered quietly, for there was nothing else she could say to this version of him that would soothe that particular wound.

The objects he displayed made her heart break further. Rosalie could do nothing to disguise the devastation spreading throughout her body. Her expression crumpled, her shoulders slumped. She was curling in on herself as if that would somehow stop the grief from wrecking her once again.

She moved from the chair to the floor, the ground solid in a way the plush chair could never be. "No," she managed after a long pause, her voice thick with emotion. Rosalie could hardly look from the small glove, from the future that she had destroyed. "No, you never - I -" Her head shook with her continued denial.

And then, much to her intense horror, she began to cry.

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

He'd had a reason for asking, because he was still trying to determine the depths of the feelings he'd had for her. If she'd had explanations for these things, if she had asked for them or they'd shopped for them together or they were the accumulated gifts of several years of courtship that she had later returned, it would have been one thing. The fact that she didn't recognize them meant that he'd spent a good deal of time and effort while she wasn't around thinking about her and acquiring gifts for her — looking ahead to their future together, planning it out, hoping. So the distinction here was an important data point for him, and that was why he'd brought these things down and why he'd asked. He had failed to consider how she might be affected by them, though. He'd been watching her so carefully because he had expected that any emotion she displayed would be a short flicker before she masked it with composure — he had not expected her to cry.

His mouth fell open slightly as he tried to figure out how to react. He was locked in his parlor with a crying woman who was, for all practical purposes, a stranger. He didn't know how to comfort her, but he could hardly expect anyone or anything else to step in and do it for him. He moved the items he'd produced over to the edge of the table, sheepish, as though having them less in the way would make any tangible difference. He ought to say something, but a long moment stretched where he failed to come up with anything to say.

"You're still in love with me," he said eventually — not a question but an observation. From the way she'd talked the night before to her reaction now, it seemed apparent. Even her coldness in the initial interactions could have been evidence in support of this conclusion. "Did I know that?"

---

The following 1 user Likes Ezra Applegate's post:1 user Likes Ezra Applegate's post
   Rosalie Hunniford

---

Rosalie didn't notice him moving the things aside until it was too late. By the time her cries had subsided enough for her to focus on anything beyond the tiny hand that might've filled that glove, they were discarded in a pile he meant to have out of sight. Would the gloves serve as a sentimental enough item? Rosalie would sacrifice any hope of seeing the ring again for knowledge of their security, for some sort of tangible proof of the life she was supposed to have.

She was still wiping away tears with a now soaked handkerchief when she shrugged. Ezra had to realize she still harbored some sort of feelings for him, otherwise why would she have gone as far as researching the curse or insisting that they mattered? He had to have known on some level.

It took her a minute to compose herself enough to respond. When she did it was with a sad smile that echoed the one he gave her a week prior and said, "maybe, but it wouldn't have changed anything."

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

It wouldn't have changed anything, she said, but Ezra couldn't see how that could possibly be true. So that answered his next question, then, before he'd asked it. He was willing to say certainly that he was still in love with her, too — when he remembered her — but she must not have known. She hadn't known about his keeping a drawer full of mementos, hadn't known how far he'd fallen. It seemed entirely likely to him that if she'd wanted to rekindle things he would have jumped at the chance. So she didn't know how he felt, and he didn't think he'd really known how she felt, whatever she thought.

This was bad. Because now Ezra did know, and this was a woman who had nearly killed him once. And right now he could recognize that being close to her would be a terrible idea, but now he was able to look at things objectively — just the facts. If he fixed the memory issue, he would have feelings to contend with — and he was worried he might lose sight of what was actually safe and sane.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. He wished she was still sitting on the chair because he wanted to stand up, but he thought walking around the room while she was on the rug would be too awkward. "Here's the ring," he said, producing it from his pocket and setting it on the table between them. "You can keep it, after the ritual. I don't want it back."

If he had it in his possession, he might be tempted to give it to her again.

---

  

---

"I'll - if it's alright with you, could you decide that after you remember?" Rosalie asked as she took in the ring for the first time in four years. It was just as perfect as she remembered it to be. "I don't want you to have another reason to resent me." She added once she was looking back up at him.

---

  

---

stunning set by Lady <3

He didn't want the ring, and he didn't want to put off the decision — but he did want her out of the parlor, so it seemed the most expeditious course of action to agree. He nodded and said nothing, then pushed himself up off the floor and moved to get the floo back online. Why ask him to wait and make the decision after he remembered her? Why keep the ring at all? The only reason was if he still wanted to be reminded of the past — if he still had hope for reconciliation in the future. And he couldn't reconcile with her, he absolutely could not — not if she had been the cause of the strife he'd been through in 1890. It didn't matter if she hadn't known, or hadn't intended it; the problem was that being with her had caused that once, and being with her again would open up him up to it again. And he couldn't survive it a second time.

"I'll meet you at the modiste tomorrow," he said, moving past her towards the parlor door. He left the mementos on the table, along with his scattered notes — he just wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

---

  

---