August 26th, 1895 - Zelfred's House

Zelda knew the choice she wanted to make, when given the ultimatum from the letter, but she didn't want to choose before talking to her husband. The cook was making dinner, sounds of work emerging from the kitchen, and the nanny was still on for another hour. With both their children occupied, and no imminent domestic tasks, she wasn't going to get a better time to talk to him today.

Not unless she waited for the frosty zone of their bedroom, but — she'd rather do this early.

She found him in the parlor.

"Alfred?" Zelda said, keeping her tone level and normal as she stepped in. They'd been operating in a tense form of stasis ever since Alfred had gotten back from sea this winter, and she didn't want to upset things anymore than they already were. Honestly, that was a large part of why she was asking his opinion on this instead of just deciding — she had an idea that he might like to be asked. "Can I ask your opinion on something? It's related to — work, and werewolves."

J. Alfred Darrow

  

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Even when the Voyager was in storage for the summer months Alfred had access to the ship and his cabin there, and he could have done this there. It would have been easier, arguably; the parlor didn't have any tabletop large enough and clutter-free enough to spread out the nautical charts he was reviewing, trying to plot his route for the upcoming winter season. He was only doing it here because he had been making a concerted effort this summer to spend time with Orion — just the two of them, away from Zelda — and he had been half-hoping that the nanny would be distracted long enough for the boy to slip in and interrupt. He imagined Orion wide-eyed and full of questions. He envisioned letting him climb up into his lap and explaining the colors on the charts to him, and waving the nurse off indulgently when she caught up with her wayward charge.

The interruption he got instead was less welcome. Alfred was in the middle of making a note in a small leather-bound notebook when she spoke, and made a point of finishing it before he responded. He left the pencil in the notebook when he closed it, clearly signalling that he was ready to resume his previous task at the drop of a hat. "I don't have opinions on werewolves."

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Zelda had mentally prepared herself for this, so kept her patience in check in the door frame. Once he'd finished his note, she took a few steps into the room. "Neither do I," she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"But the Wizengamot has asked supervisory staff to prove that we're not werewolves, and I would like your thoughts on my options."

  

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He hadn't been expecting that. He had been peripherally aware of the news about Morwenna Skeeter, and the moral panic that ensued in society, but it seemed so distant from their lives at the Sanditon that he hadn't followed it particularly closely. When Zelda said work and werewolves he had presumed maybe it was something to do with policy — something reactionary to appease the moral-panic folks in the society. That all seemed very English. This seemed a few steps beyond very English. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Options?" he echoed, like he didn't exactly understand. Honestly, he wasn't sure he did. She clearly wasn't a werewolf, so what was there to talk about?

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Zelda nodded. "I get to choose between an in-depth interview with the Chief Warlock," she explained. Her nose wrinkled slightly at the thought — Lucius Lestrange was a known conservative, and Zelda was very much not that. But he'd probably have to be pleasant in an interview, and Zelda had two good pieces of evidence to provide for her not being a werewolf in the form of her children, who both looked very much like their parents.

She added, "Or I could go to a locked-in party at Gringotts, the night of the next full moon."

  

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The interview seemed like the obvious choice, though he wasn't sure what it would actually prove. Unless in-depth meant an eight-hour round of questions, it could be accomplished during the workday and she could be home by the time the children started to run the nanny ragged. So he would have said that — and been confused about why this merited asking his opinion in the first place — except that her phrasing on the second option snagged him and he couldn't quite get past it.

"Locked-in," he echoed. "Locked in how?"

Because if they actually thought someone attending might be a werewolf, surely locking them all together in a vault for a night wasn't... the best idea?

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Zelda hummed, considering the question. "I'm not entirely sure," she said, with a slight frown. "I fear they may be relying on Gringotts for that one." Gringotts seemed like it could lock people anywhere it wished; thieves did not make it into or out of that building easily, or at all.

  

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Exactly what he'd been envisioning, then. Alfred shifted in the chair and let the notebook slide between one leg and the side of the cushion, putting his focus more fully on the conversation she'd started. "That doesn't sound safe."

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Zelda's mouth twisted as he brought up a new angle to what she'd previously been considering an unpleasant work problem. (She ought to be more concerned with the danger, but privately there was a little bit of pleasure in the way the notebook had fallen away from him — for once this summer, he was fully focused on her.)

"Surely a werewolf wouldn't actually show," she said, taking a few more steps into the room and sitting on the chaise with her hands folded on her lap. "But — you make a good point. Even if the Werewolf Capture Unit is there — it's a small space, and a lot of people."

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   J. Alfred Darrow

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"I wouldn't presume to know what a werewolf would or wouldn't do," he countered. An unregistered werewolf, anyway. Not that he had given the matter any significant amount of thought, but if he had been infected he would have registered. Why assume so much risk trying to manage a condition like that oneself when the Ministry was ready to do it for you? (Of course, if he had been infected his entire life would have been upended anyway; there was no managing a condition like that at sea).

(On a moment's reflection his attitude here might have a lot to do with his time at sea — he had been aboard a ship with a plague, once, and had lost a very good executive officer to disease. Hiding symptoms was immoral. A captain deserved to know the state of his crew; otherwise he couldn't protect them).

"You'll do the interview?" Although he had inflected it as a question, it was almost rhetorical.

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MJ made the most Alfredy of sets and then two years later she made it EVEN BETTER

Alfred made a good point; an unregistered werewolf who was invited to the Gringotts party already had more to lose than Zelda could claim to know. She ought not to say that one wouldn't risk the lives of others at Gringotts. They were risking the lives of others every month, and they had plenty of reason to be angry at the Wizengamot.

"I'll do the interview," Zelda said, with a nod. "Thank you for talking through things with me — my instinct was to go to Gringotts."

But if there was a massacre she would not be part of it, and if there wasn't — it was still good to take her husband's advice, sometimes.

  

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