Ida was grateful, then, for the change in direction of their conversation. Made a mental note to herself to never talk about marriage or married people again, actually, because that was far too close to Candid Conversation about Futures. It also betrayed how nervous the whole thing made her, which would only reflect poorly in prospects or through gossip. No. Better to keep things focused on what her company likes.

Fortunately Ida was an intellectually curious type, and could find something intriguing to latch onto in most intelligible conversations that aren’t about the weather (though that, too, she could talk about – complain how humidity affects one’s potions, for example). “So you don’t think the muggles can talk to the spirits in that way?” she asked, intrigued to hear his take. She knew plenty of muggles who saw legitimate spirits – well, not saw them but felt them, sensed them maybe. And whether the person was magical or not, it was a cornerstone of her culture, to pray and connect with one’s ancestors.

It was on that train of thought that she shrugged at his question, “My mother,” she responded thoughtlessly. Though as soon as the words were out she instantly regretted it. This was not something she ordinarily spoke to even friends about, much less older brothers of peers at soirees. Ida tried to play off her remorse for saying something so personal with a careful sip of her wine – the better to play aloof with. Then she added hastily, “Though if you say anyone, well. Merlin, obviously. Or perhaps Rowena Ravenclaw.” Clawing back to bland safety, she inquired, “And how about you? If you could speak with anyone.”

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