5 January, 1895 — Diagon Alley

Ezra had spent all yesterday holed up in his bedroom, surrounded by books, trying to figure out what was the matter with him. What was newly the matter with him, that was. All of the usual things still applied, but this week had been nearly unmanageable from a social standpoint. He was offending people by being too blunt, or burning bridges when he gave an honest opinion instead of a polite deflection. The best defense he'd found was simply to avoid speaking at all. He'd pretended a hangover at work on Friday so that no one would try to ask him questions. This was, obviously, not sustainable. He thought he'd pinned it down to the woman with the pop-up stall — another damn curse? — but pinning the source down didn't help him in the slightest when she and her wares had vanished into thin air. He'd spent Saturday guessing what she might have done and trying out counter-curses on himself, then dropping in on one of his siblings to test whether it had worked. Ask me something invasive, he would say, and then after he had blurted out a too-honest answer he would flush and retreat to his bedroom again. He had exhausted his own collection of relevant books, so today was earmarked for finding others. He was heading to Flourish & Blott's first, then the library — the library probably had a larger assortment of useful books, but if he wanted to get into the higher levels he wouldn't be able to take them home with him unless he had a valid work reason, and he didn't. Given how uncomfortable it was to be out in public at the moment, anything he could buy was a safer bet than something he had to read at a table.

He'd timed it poorly; it was early afternoon when he was emerging from the shop with an armful of books with curse in the title, and the street was awash with people either in search of lunch or off on their weekend errands. He should have gotten here earlier to reduce his odds of seeing someone he would be obliged to converse with. Someone like —

Rosalie Hunniford. She was right there, an arm's reach away. He was absolutely not obliged to talk to her and no one would fault him for just pressing on without a second glance. Don't say something stupid. Talking to her, of all people, would be disastrous. And there was nothing to say, because they hadn't seen each other since — well, she hadn't seen him since August.

"I saw you," he said — why the hell was he talking — "At the mistletoe." — and why that? It was so much worse than saying he'd seen her at the Minister's Winter Ball. He flushed and considered the merits of disapparating on the spot.

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Rosalie Hunniford

  

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Rosalie had made three resolutions to herself upon entering the New Year - the foremost of which being to let her love for Ezra go. She had packed her stacks upon stacks of research into different curses (it was a blood curse, she was certain of that at least by now as nothing else made sense) into a trunk and directed the staff to bury it deep in the basement. Then, not trusting herself to not go looking for it on a particularly weak night, instructed them to hide it elsewhere and return it to her only if asked. She wasn't ashamed to go looking but she would be mortified to ask for a relic of her past, even if the staff had no idea what was packed within.

She nearly included her engagement ring in the trunk as well. It made sense to if she was committed to the idea of moving on. It wasn't as though the ring was serving her well in its hidden box in the bottom of her desk drawer. Rosalie never opened the box anymore, never even lifted it from its designated spot, but she was aware of it as one is aware of a cut or a scab. It was too easy to pick at it, too easy to reopen those wounds and allow the memories back in. However, every time she went to pack the box a deeply rooted sense of panic threatened to choke her. The ring was a step too far still, but some day - hopefully soon - she would be able to pack it as well.

For now, it would live in her desk.

The other resolutions were what set her towards the library on her day off. She'd stopped at the bakery for a small treat and a warm cup of tea first, which was perhaps a mistake because there in front of her holding a stack of books was the very man she was determined not to see.

It would have been easy for them both to keep walking. There was nothing left to say, no apologies left or promises to make. He knew her heart and still didn't want her back. And yet - "oh," she breathed in response, the sweet after taste of the apple tart turning sour in her mouth at his statement. Many had witnessed Noble and her kiss, but it'd been weeks since and nothing was ever going to happen again there. Still, her cheeks turned rosy with embarrassment and shame.

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stunning set by Lady <3

She looked exactly as mortified as he felt. What had possessed him to say anything at all? Well, he knew what — or he didn't, yet, but he knew it wasn't solely his fault. It probably wouldn't help matters to try and explain that, he thought... then he imagined how she might react if he tried to blame it on a curse. She'd think he was making fun of her, or being cruel. Now that he had a curse he could tell her about she would never have believed him. It might have been funny if it weren't so tragic. Ha!

For far too long he simply stared at her, paralyzed by the flush on her cheeks. Then he ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

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"Oh, no. I'm- I'm sorry." She stammered. There hadn't been any alternatives than kissing Noble at the ball, not unless they were at all willing to stand there trapped until the charm presumably wore off. Rosalie might have been willing to be trapped if he were anyone else, but Noble and she had shared far too much for her to stomach remaining silent while being that close to him.

Still, she recognized (she begrudgingly hoped was) the grief of watching her with someone else. If it had been him - if she had had to witness that - Rosalie wouldn't have been able to bear it. "I - it was the only way out." She managed.

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stunning set by Lady <3

"No, I know," he said, too fast, as though he wanted to cut her off and keep her from saying too much. Of course it had been. Of course it hadn't meant anything, even if it had been a little... lingering. But maybe that wasn't even right, maybe it was just that time had seemed to slow down for him when he realized what he was looking at. "Of course it was. Of course."

It wasn't supposed to hurt any more. The spells he'd experimented with other the summer; they were supposed to have dulled all of this. He'd put it aside when Cecilia died, and undone all of his hard work, it seemed — because this felt just like it had before, a year ago, five years ago. Even if he succeeded in numbing it all he suspected he would still feel the echo of the pain.

I wish, he thought, and he could feel his mouth opening to say it. He clamped it shut and hugged the books to his chest, desperately biting back the remark before he could further betray himself. "I'm sorry," he blurted instead. "Something's wrong with me."

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Before Rosalie could summon a response (one that would have mortified her to admit after the resolution she'd made only days ago), Ezra shifted his books and was confessing to something being wrong. The abrupt change of conversation was a relief, though she was also pained to realize that as well. Rosalie would never wish him ill, had just about driven herself mad to try and find a cure for him, but if something else was wrong ... something that would detract from her having kissed someone else - well Rosalie felt incredibly grateful for it.

It was then that she caught sight of the books tucked in his arms. Curses, curses and more curses. "Are you - " investigating? Rosalie's eyes were wide with surprise. If Ezra was trying to break the curse again, if he had regained some hope - had something changed? "Something else besides -?"

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   Ezra Applegate

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Ezra followed her eyes down to the books in his arms and he realized what she must have thought. He flushed. "Er — yes. Something besides," he said. He wasn't sure what he would and wouldn't be able to say, but he didn't need to say much with her. She understood what they were talking about without any specifics. "I've been saying things I don't mean to say," he continued — ironically surprising himself with the admission. Shut up shut up shut up, he tried to tell himself. This wasn't Rosie's problem. None of his life was her problem anymore.

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Hadn't he always done that? All that Rosalie understood about his curse was centered upon his saying things he didn't mean. It was why they were no longer together, why she had lived in heartbreak for years instead of as a blissfully happy wife. Ezra always said things he didn't mean, so what changed to make him open to research once more?

She eyed the titles in his hands. "That one won't help you any, it's a load of gibberish." Rosalie had annotated nearly every one of his collection, her notes meticulous and questions tucked inside the cover of each. "I - I've read most of these. I can show you my notes if you - " she flushed again. Of course Ezra wouldn't want her help, when had he ever? And if something changed, it was likely someone that had sparked it.

Someone else.

She cleared her throat before adding, "if it would help."

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stunning set by Lady <3

It was a kind gesture, he recognized that. She didn't understand that he was talking about something else that was wrong with him, something new, and he wasn't sure he wanted to clarify for her (she didn't need to know about his problems), but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. And he ought to have just said thank you, but no; thank you, I'll be fine. Something polite. Even saying sure, fine, send them to me if you want. That's very helpful, thank you, very kind. He didn't say that. He said, "Spending time with you would do more harm than good."

He met her eyes, horrified. Sweet Merlin.

"It's a new thing," he blurted, because he was no longer concerned with trying not to tell her too much; anything was fine if it helped shift focus away from that. "Something happened recently. I'm trying to fix it. It's not — your notes wouldn't be relevant, probably. I've been — I'm so sorry. I've just been saying things, things I shouldn't be saying out loud — I am so sorry."

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His words, however unintentional, struck her like a physical blow. She flinched away from him, certain in that moment that this was some sort of revenge for kissing Noble. Ezra could have offered a whole host of polite excuses, could have agreed and then canceled at the last minute, anything other than the piercing unintentional barb.

Rosalie barely heard his reasonings. This was why she had packed the notes into her trunk and abandoned all hope with him. This ache pulsing through her veins was why she'd sworn to dedicate herself to moving on. Rosalie couldn't do this, not with him, not anymore. She couldn't keep reliving this pain time and time again.

"I didn't realize my presence was harmful to you." Rosalie managed, her voice cracking with unshed emotions. "I - I wish you - " she didn't finish, couldn't unless she wanted to be further mortified and cry in front of him as well.

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Ezra flinched at the expression on her face. He'd hurt her and he could see it. "It wasn't always," he said softly, a conciliatory remark. Once upon a time she had buoyed him up so much that he hardly had to worry about the curse. But now...

"It reacts to how I'm feeling," he said. He wasn't sure if he had ever made this connection explicitly before, but as soon as the words hit the air he recognized that they were obviously true. It all compounded; the shadows moved in and made him feel hopeless and then the hopelessness made the shadows move in more, and along the way he stopped doing the things that helped fend them off, and then it all collapsed in on itself. "So when things are hard — everything is hard."

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"It doesn't-" have to be hard. It was instinctive to argue with him, to fight for the love she'd lost time and time again. Rosalie was no longer looking at him. Not at the gentle apologetic expression on his face or the consideration in his gaze. Whatever had changed had allowed him to be truthful regardless of how the truth would impact her.

She took another step back, nearly colliding with someone passing behind them. "I have to - I can't - " Nothing she offered would ever fix her mistakes. Nothing would ever fill those gaps. "Please, excuse me." Rosalie mumbled as she turned from him to flee for what she hoped was the last time.

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