The Scamander household was not so traditional that it forced its daughters down the same narrow path that led to marriage, but it was clear from a young age that Helga had chosen to walk—or, rather, fling herself—down that path. From a young age she dreamed of marriage, of a husband who treated her well and could support the lifestyle she dreamed of, of a household of children who she'd place on her knee and read bedtime stories to, of the evening spent as a Mrs. hosting events for her husband. It was the life she had always dreamed of.
And yet, despite her advantageous friendships, her invitations to exclusive society events, and her (in her own opinion) delightful personality, Helga reached the age of twenty-and-two without a single proposal.
Five seasons had treated her well, all things considered. She'd once been named the jewel of the season, had articles in magazines list her among the women who would most definitely secure a husband that season, and had received plenty of male attention despite none of them choosing to pursue her beyond the harmless flirting. Perhaps her standards were too high—or perhaps she had been outshone by her younger, richer, better-connected friends.
Whatever the reason, whatever lied in the past, Helga remained committed to her goal: she would be married.
Callers were less common now than they had been in recent years, which gave her all the more reason to delight in them. Mr. Aldous Crouch was a good man—and definitely a successful one. The head of a Ministry department, he possessed power and connections that checked off a number of the little boxes on the list of requirements for a husband, and yet his appearance—while not displeasing—did not emanate that power.
That was not, she decided, necessarily a bad thing. If anything it made him easier to talk to.
"Oh yes," she said, casting a glance in the direction of the arrangement on the table, "She's always had an eye for that sort of thing." Years of small talk meant the words left her mouth with ease, but her mind was elsewhere. Surely Mr. Crouch did not care about flowers, he surely was too clever to fall into dull chatter about them. "You would think she prefers purple, but it's really my Papa who loves the color. She always makes sure to take his tastes into account."
And yet, despite her advantageous friendships, her invitations to exclusive society events, and her (in her own opinion) delightful personality, Helga reached the age of twenty-and-two without a single proposal.
Five seasons had treated her well, all things considered. She'd once been named the jewel of the season, had articles in magazines list her among the women who would most definitely secure a husband that season, and had received plenty of male attention despite none of them choosing to pursue her beyond the harmless flirting. Perhaps her standards were too high—or perhaps she had been outshone by her younger, richer, better-connected friends.
Whatever the reason, whatever lied in the past, Helga remained committed to her goal: she would be married.
Callers were less common now than they had been in recent years, which gave her all the more reason to delight in them. Mr. Aldous Crouch was a good man—and definitely a successful one. The head of a Ministry department, he possessed power and connections that checked off a number of the little boxes on the list of requirements for a husband, and yet his appearance—while not displeasing—did not emanate that power.
That was not, she decided, necessarily a bad thing. If anything it made him easier to talk to.
"Oh yes," she said, casting a glance in the direction of the arrangement on the table, "She's always had an eye for that sort of thing." Years of small talk meant the words left her mouth with ease, but her mind was elsewhere. Surely Mr. Crouch did not care about flowers, he surely was too clever to fall into dull chatter about them. "You would think she prefers purple, but it's really my Papa who loves the color. She always makes sure to take his tastes into account."
— set by MJ! <3 —