17 September, 1895 — Diagon Alley Newsstand

Magnolia wasn't a regular at the newsstand, but since the mist had struck Irvingly she had been slowing her walk each time she passed by it, skimming the headlines. Today she found the one she had been waiting for: a list of the vanished.

"Excuse me," she said briskly to the young woman between her and the nearest paper. "If you don't mind —?"

Interrupting was unlike her; being assertive in any environment outside of the Auguery Beak Cafe was unlike her. Assertive women were noticed, and she had spent years doing her best to go unnoticed. But she still had family in Irvingly — family who had no way to contact her, no way of knowing if she was even alive or dead, and whom she had been fretting about nearly constantly since the stories of the mist had started spreading. Her sister Ruby and her father were already gone, perished in the dragon attacks, but there was Delight, Sebastian, and the whole clan of McGonagalls to consider.

It wasn't as though she could do anything with the knowledge, if one of them had vanished. She could do nothing to comfort those that remained without revealing herself, and it could not be much comfort to her to know the details of what had befallen them. Still, the not knowing was driving her mad.

She produced a knut and nearly tore the paper from the stand, scanning the list for an Urquart.

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Effie May Woodcroft

  

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Ever since the rally she and the others had staged in Hogsmeade, she'd been checking the paper daily. If they had been a big enough nuisance, it would have made it into the Prophet. If it made it into the Prophet, it would have given the movement that extra boost of momentum that it needed. And maybe, just maybe, they would have a woman for minister once more. It had been over a hundred years since Minister Lufkin's reign, and the ministry was in poor shape because of it. It was nearing a fortnight since the rally, and still, there was no sign of an article. Perhaps they needed to make stronger connections with the reporters...

Her musings were interrupted by the request to move aside, which she acquiesced to with a side step, "Yes, of course." Effie May ought to have been paying better attention. She couldn't stand when people weren't aware of their surroundings and made it more difficult for everyone else around them. Here she was, doing that very thing herself!

She turned toward the woman, an apology on her lips—only to blink in surprise. "Mrs. Darrow!" She flushed at the sight of her superior, whom she'd just been inconvenient to. "I apologize, I should have–" the rather intense look on Zelda's face was enough to cut her words short. It was very rare that she saw any emotion within this range from her typically unruffled boss. So it was with some concern that she asked, "Are you alright?"

  

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There were no McGonagalls on the list, and she was still skimming through looking for the right section for the Us when someone leveled a salutation at her that put ice in her veins. Mrs. Darrow. It was bound to happen eventually, she supposed; wizarding Britain wasn't so large a place once one really started moving in it. It had seemed such an expanse when she had spent her days confined to her home in Irvingly, but now she knew a bit better... She had spent months lurking only on the farthest reaches of London society, living in a poor Muggle-heavy neighborhood and keeping to herself on the hopes that she wouldn't cross paths with anyone that knew either her previous life or the face that she was wearing. Over time she'd started to venture out a bit more into the rest of London, but clearly Diagon Alley today had been a mistake.

Her options now: either she could pretend to be Mrs. Darrow, or she could tell this woman she was mistaken. Magnolia occasionally did pretend to be Mrs. Darrow, at the Sanditon — she had gone back precisely twice since her arrival in London, both times to steal more hair to fuel her polyjuice potion. But her goal in those situations was to avoid interaction at all, or to keep it as brief as possible, and she was only waving at Mrs. Darrow's neighbors. She didn't know who this woman was or how well she knew Mrs. Darrow, so the chances she could get through an interaction like this were slim. Not to mention that she was dressed wrong for it — Magnolia Addams still wore widow's black in her day to day life, while Mrs. Darrow had — to the best of Magnolia's knowledge — no reason to be mourning.

"... I'm sorry," she said, with a tone as though she was confused at being addressed. "You must have me mistaken for someone."

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Effie May couldn't place the flicker of emotion that had flitted across Mrs. Darrow's face before it was gone—replaced with utter confusion. Her dark brows knit in befuddlement. Though this woman said she wasn't Zelda, she certainly looked like her, and sounded like her. Besides, this woman was wearing what was very clearly mourning clothes. She certainly would have heard if something terrible had happened to Mr. Darrow, wouldn't she? She would have known if Zelda had a twin sister, as well. (She did not.)

"Forgive me, ma'am." She said politely, "You could be the identical twin to Mrs. Zelda Darrow. She's my superior at the ministry." Why was she explaining herself? There was no way this woman actually cared. She'd stood in front of her and blocked her reach for the paper, and now she was bothering her with a mistaken identity. She ought to just leave this poor woman alone so she could get on with her life.

  

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"Ministry? Oh, dear, no," Magnolia said immediately. Maybe too quickly? She had started wondering if there had been a too-perceptible pause between the woman greeting her as Mrs. Darrow and her response, and might have overcompensated now. And her accent — Merlin take it all, she'd entirely forgotten her American accent when she replied, though she'd laid it on perhaps too thick in the word Ministry. The accent she used in her daily interactions now was more subtle, since she'd been living in London over a year, but she still made an effort to include it. She was too flustered to handle this well. This woman had caught her off-guard with her mind on the paper and she hadn't taken the time to think. And now she'd reacted to Ministry and probably needed to explain that before she could make an excuse to leave. Sweet Merlin. Maybe if someone else recognized her as Mrs. Darrow, the safest course of action would be to pretend she hadn't heard them and try to leave without talking.

"I hardly leave London," she fumbled. "The Ministry seems a world away."

Was this going to get her into trouble, too? Had this woman noticed how keenly she was reading the news about Irvingly? Would she wonder what business a woman who hardly left London could have with a town a full country away?

Stop overthinking it! she thought wildly. Her cheeks flushed as she looked at the woman and the paper crinkled in her hands as her grip tightened from anxiety.

"Excuse me," she said abruptly, and made a break for the open street behind the woman — only for her foot to catch on someone's shin, sending her sprawling towards the cobblestones.

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Miss Not Darrow was correct in her suspicions—Effie had begun to pick up on the nervousness of the other woman. The rather quick response, as if she'd been expecting it. The alarmed look and frenetic energy surrounding her person. The fact that she had abruptly decided to hurl herself into the street. Effie didn't have to be an investigator to pick up on the clues the woman was leaving. She was behaving as if she were guilty, though Effie had no idea why.

Now, had this woman looked like anyone else, she would have simply minded her own business and gone on her way. However, the fact that she looked like Zelda but did not have her comportment, knowledge of the Ministry (which was, in fact, in London), nor her manner of speech was simply too coincidental for her to ignore. The polite smile she had worn was gone as she watched the woman collapse onto the street.

Rather than ask after her well-being as manners dictated she ought to do, she closed the distance between them in a few quick steps, her boot pinning the woman's skirts in place. She was going to get to whatever the bottom of this mess was, if only to settle her curiosity. (Fine, and concern. There was a little bit of concern for Mrs. Darrow. But it was mostly curiosity.) The others around them were much more polite, asking after the woman and if she was alright. Effie said nothing, merely watched her prey with sharp eyes until their eyes met.

"Explain yourself," She said bluntly, arms crossed over her chest.

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   Magnolia Addams

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