28 March, 1894 — Modiste, Hogsmeade High Street

Like his sister, Ezra had always appreciated a good puzzle. The Applegate siblings had more in common than most people realized. Hanna's puzzles were physical, pictures cut into odd shapes, while his were typically... well, Mysteries — but at the heart of it, Ezra thought it was much the same. Picking up a dozen disparate pieces and working through them, sorting them and fitting them together and trying different things until finally the whole picture was revealed. It was unfortunate for him that his curse didn't seem satisfied by just the experience of solving puzzles, the way hers presumably was, because otherwise his choice of career might have seen him happy and healthy and unbothered the rest of his days.

But he was having a good day today — not a shadow in sight — and his work had dropped a most delightful puzzle into his lap. They had equipment back at the Ministry for detecting incidents, and today there had been an incident — but anything more than that he positively could not say. Something, perhaps, to do with thought — his area of specialization — so off he went, notebook under one arm and rather more of a spring in his step than was probably warranted given that he was likely arriving to the scene of a magical disaster in progress.

As he closed on the address in question his eyes scanned the building. Nothing on fire, no enormous trees growing up through the roof, no one shrieking in dismay — he would not have minded if any of these things had been the case, as louder symptoms often made it that much easier to determine what was going on, but given the (supposed) nature of the incident he hadn't expected anything loud. Crises of the mind tended not to be very loud, until suddenly they were.

He slipped into the door of the modiste and used his wand to lock it behind him — a precaution to contain the incident until he'd gotten the measure of it. Then he cast a spell used to identify traces of certain types of magic left lingering in the air, and watched attentively to see whether the small cloudpuff that had emanated from the tip of his wand turned any particular color. He held the notebook poised to begin scribbling down the results, if there were any. Then he noticed that one of the shop's occupants was peering at him curiously.

"Hello!" he said brightly. "I'm Mr. Applegate, from the Ministry. I'm afraid you've been involved in a slight magical mishap," he explained. It was probably not slight at all, given that it had registered in the Department of Mysteries, but best to downplay the issue until he had more information, so as not to alarm them. "Have you noticed anything odd in the past — twenty minutes or so?"

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For the people who responded to this plot!

  

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She had left.

One moment, her mother had been harping at the modiste about a more flattering colour for Persephone to wear to the upcoming luncheon (apparently "blood red" was not what her mother had had in mind when she had initially allowed Persy to choose "a nice, striking colour") and the next she was walking out without so much as a by-your-leave, leaving the disdainful debutante in a half-finished dress, pins digging into her side when she didn't move carefully enough, and the modiste's assistant looking at her with complete and utter confusion, the cause of which was not forthcoming.

The feeling of unease clutched her more tightly than the corset the witch wore, the idea that something was wrong. It was a feeling Persephone Broadmoor had experienced before, or at least, this feeling was a lighter echo of that one. Nature had been upended; there was a malady of some sort here.

And then he arrived, the same Mr. Applegate she had been introduced to at the Flint Institute around Christmastime. He did not bring answers by any stretch, but at least he seemed to be moving the plot, however ambiguous it was, forward in some capacity.

"Have you noticed anything odd in the past — twenty minutes or so?"

"I have." The words as she spoke them were matter-of-fact, neither betraying the unease she felt nor proffering any details she simply did not have at this time.

Ezra Applegate et al.

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

The brief mention of her failed engagement in Witch Weekly had lit a flame in her mother that Rosalie had believed to be extinguished years ago. Since then, despite her research projects and work concerns, her mother had determined they would accept every extended invitation. Rosalie had tried to protest at first, she'd even gone as far as to pretend she hadn't received the countless reminders owled to her. And yet, all of her efforts were proven fruitless: Rosalie was to be a society darling once more.

And, as Lenore Hunniford was keen to keep reminding Rosalie, a debutante must have a wardrobe flush with the latest styles.

It was an exhausting morning. She'd been pricked and pinned to the limits of her patience when at last her mother returned to the counter to order the selected dresses. They were to go to the teahouse next, then there were three other stops to be made before Rosalie would be released for her evening shift at the hospital. Rosalie loitered near the display of gloves, eyeing the different materials with a hint of disdain, when rather abruptly, the conversation about the gowns shifted abruptly to Delphine.

Rosalie wouldn't have cared if the dresses were for Delphine or not were she not trying to make amends with her sister. Their relationship had been delicate for years now with each step forward taken on fragile footing. She refused to allow the mention of her dance with Mr. Gallivan be the cause of Delphine being dragged back into the spotlight. However, as Rosalie lightly touched her mother's arm to offer her gentle correction, she was met with a foreign look. One that her mother might've offered a stranger that had stepped too close.

Stunned into silence, Rosalie quickly muttered an apology and returned to the display case. Perhaps she had upset the older woman somehow, perhaps her attitude towards the outing had eaten away at her mother's patience. Neither was the topic for a conversation in the modiste. And yet, she watched in silent horror and mild fascination as the gowns that had been painstakingly chosen for her were reallocated to Delphine.

Ezra's warm voice from behind her broke Rosalie out of her stunned horror, and she turned to face her ex-fiance with a mixed expression of gratitude and concern. If Ezra was here as an agent of the ministry, then something had to be truly amiss. "Me as well, Mr. Applegate." She added after the other blond had spoken. After taking a few steps closer Rosalie more quietly added, "my mother - she doesn't recognize me."

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stunning set by Lady <3

Ah, excellent! Two witnesses who had noticed something awry, though only one had said what it was. This was excellent news because it meant starting the investigation off with at least two clues in his back pocket, as it were. Sometimes these sorts of disturbances went entirely unnoticed by those who were impacted, so he hadn't been at all sure of getting a positive answer to his question. Still, he tried not to look too obviously pleased — especially as the one whose mother hadn't recognized her was probably distraught about it (he imagined he would have been, in her shoes).

"How curious," he said. The spell he'd cast had run its course without doing much of anything, so he waved a hand through the little cloud to dissipate it and turned his attention to the notebook. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough. May I have both your names?" He would want to talk to the mother, if she was still here — and know precisely where they had both been standing through all of their time in the shop — but that could come after getting a more complete statement of what had happened. "And what did you notice, Miss?" he added to the first woman, since she hadn't specified.

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Persephone Broadmoor Rosalie Hunniford

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   Aldous Crouch

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The frown that had already been toying with her lips was tangible now, set upon her features with determination. While there had been no proclimations of love or pledges of life-long friendship, Persephone knew Mr. Applegate, had been introduced to him months prior, and had engaged further in conversation than the typical remarks upon the weather and the size of the punch glasses that so often drove her batty. But here Mr. Applegate stood, looking for all the world as though he had never before glimpsed her.

"Mr. Ezra Applegate," Persy probed for confirmation, wondering if he perhaps had a twin, "of the Department of Mysteries? The same Mr. Applegate to whom I was introduced at the Flint Institute last year, and not his brother or a cousin of startling resemblance?"

Grey eyes shifted their gaze from Mr. Applegate to the other young lady and back again, seeking answers that were not forthcoming.

Ezra Applegate Rosalie Hunniford

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   Ezra Applegate

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

With the upcoming season Kate had decided that and update to some of her daughter's wardrobe was necessary. A much disliked request that had involved multiple visits to the modiste who had insisted that Beatrice's measurements had changed. This particular visit was conducted without her mother and instead under her mother’s favorite maid's watchful eye. Or at least... it was supposed too be until Mrs. Albeit made her way out of the store leaving her charge standing in the shop donned in a pinned mockup and no staff in sight.

Confused, she pulled on the provided wizarding robes and made her way out of the curtained room to catch the tail end of the taller blonde woman's statement.  Slowly she crept to the side of the gathering, face pinched. "And my... my maid just up and left the store. And the staff... I think they forgot about me, Mr. Applegate." Beatrice offered, startled to see she recognized the ministry offical as well. He was the man she'd run into a few months prior who played Ekarut.

  

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MJ is truly magic!!

Ezra quirked an eyebrow at the first young woman (who still had not given her name or what it was she had noticed, but it wasn't entirely unusual for people in these sorts of unexpected magical situations to be a bit scatterbrained or distracted as they grappled to come to terms with the situation). He would have brushed off the supposed familiarity as a potential effect of whatever had happened, something the magic had feigned, except she knew more details than seemed reasonably for someone who hadn't actually met him. He remembered attending an event at the Flint Institute, but he didn't remember her. It was entirely possible the acquaintance had simply slipped his mind, but given what he'd heard from the other two women — a mother forgetting her daughter, staff forgetting their employer — it seemed quite likely it was more than that.

Memory disruption, he scribbled down on the page. Potentially uncontained. People who were here at the time of the disruption forgetting other people who were here was one thing, but Ezra had only walked in a moment ago. If he had forgotten something, that meant there was something larger at play. Perhaps the incident was still ongoing, and it had impacted him when he came in. Perhaps it was localized to the store, and only impacted the people inside.

"Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment, Miss?" he asked the first woman. "To test a theory. And everyone else, please stay here until I've collected your statements. I understand this must be distressing, but the situation is well in hand," (sort of; not really). "We'll get everything sorted out shortly."

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He had not answered her question, and Persephone lacked the self-awareness to recognize that she had also failed to answer hers. Still, as he scribbled something in his little notebook, the witch realized that he was at least doing something about the peculiar circumstances—even if he did not yet know the nature of them. And so, with a curt nod, Persy stepped down from the platform, half-finished dress still clinging to her frame as she made her way out of the shop, a wayward pin occasionally stabbing her in her progress.

The short sleeves and thin fabric proved predictably useless against the March chill, prompting the young lady to cross her arms protectively across her chest, one hand idly rubbing at her bare arm. Hopefully, Applegate would make this quick. Her mother would have been horrified to learn that Persy had gone off in private with a man (well, as private as the High Street could be), but given that she had abandoned her daughter without so much as a "Oh look, there's your Aunt Maude,", Persy was not apt to give this much consideration.

"I do hope whatever you aimed to achieve in going outdoors, Mr. Applegate, can be done relatively swiftly."

Ezra Applegate Rosalie Hunniford Beatrice Daphnel

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

It was nice that she agreed so readily, as it saved him the time of having to convince her. That was probably the Department of Mysteries credential doing most of the heavy lifting for him, he imagined. He hadn't introduced himself as being from the department, but she knew it anyway, and people tended to sit up and take notice when there was something happening out and about that had gained the attention of the Unspeakables.

"Back in a moment," he told the rest of them. "Please don't go anywhere." He was saying this mostly so they wouldn't try the door; he had every intention of magically locking it behind him so as not to lose any of them before he'd made a full assessment of the scene, but it would go much more smoothly for everyone if they did not believe themselves prisoner in the meantime.

Once they were out of the door he sealed it behind him with a spell which he did not bother explaining to the young woman, then turned his attention to her more fully. "That remains to be seen," he admitted. "You ought to have grabbed a cloak, I think — would you like mine?" It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do; he was at least fully dressed beneath the cloak, in his Ministry robes, and whatever she was wearing looked a little... half-finished. Not particularly ideal for a stroll through High Street.

"This is a bit of a triage," he explained, as they moved away from the storefront. "The incident has affected memories, that much is obvious. You remember meeting me and I do not remember meeting you," he continued. "Let's walk to the end of the block, I think — that should be enough to test the theory. Could you describe for me, Miss, what our first interaction was like? In case it jogs anything. And if you see anyone else who ought to recognize you on the street as we walk, please do point them out as well."

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Her scowl was Persy's intitial response to his offer, but at the mention of actually walking to the end of the block, the witch reluctantly extended a hand for it.

"I am not a vain person, Mr. Applegate; I know I am no great beauty. I am, however, an intelligent woman with a habit of being memorable." Not always in a good way, but that was beside the point. "When we first met..." Persephone continued, pausing a moment to firm up the details. It had been several weeks since, but the witch prided herself on attention to detail.

"When we first met, you actually interrupted the introduction, seemingly convinced that I was someone else. I never did ask who, as to be honest, I did not much care. We were introduced by my brother, Mr. Magnus Broadmoor, who was called away by a friend."

Ezra Applegate Rosalie Hunniford Beatrice Daphnel

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

Lycoris did so love getting new gowns. She had been getting fitted for a new one, having done so with a group of friends that were also getting fitted. Things had been going swimmingly but then she had stepped out of the dressing room to show the girls her gown and they had been quite nice but looked at her as they would if someone they did not know came chattering at them. They had discreetly pulled away and shuffled off.

What on Earth? She went to speak to the seamstress that knew her well from her continual business with the shop but she acted like she didn't know her as well. Calling her Miss... with a trail off like she didn't know she was one of the Miss Dempseys and was waiting for Lycoris to supply her surname.

She was feeling quite forlorn and confused when she spotted Miss Daphnel and was close enough to hear what the young woman was saying. There was awkwardness between their two families thanks to the implosion of Christabel and Mister Daphnels marriage. Even so, the familiar face was welcome and would especially be so if she was recognized. And behold! She realized the other woman there was none other than one of her friends. Hopefully this one would recognize her too even though the other friends she had been with earlier had not?

"Oh, Miss Daphnel, Rosalie, please say you know who I am," she requested, coming over to the pair as Miss Broadmoor left with Mister Applegate who was here in an official capacity, it seemed. Surely, at least one of these people she personally recognized would recognize her too? "Are there people forgetting who you all are too?" She asked of the two women she was now talking to. Was this the situation Mister Applegate had been talking about? It was not a very pleasant situation to be in and she was quite ready for something to be done about it.

  

Ezra considered whether he ought to be offended at the way she started. Did he seem like the sort of person who would only remember a conversation if the woman in question was a great beauty? He supposed maybe this was false modesty and she was fishing for a compliment, but if that was the case she was doing a poor job of it; she hadn't even paused before continuing on with her explanation. But the rest of what she said convinced him that this was no false modesty at all, and she did not much seem to care whether or not he held her in any particular regard. As to be honest I did not much care was not a phrase debutantes often directed at him. He was, at any rate, convinced that if this was how she usually carried herself he would have remembered any conversation the pair of them had had, and no only because he knew her brother (alleged brother; he did not remember Broadmoor having sisters, but as they had never been especially close that was perhaps not remarkable in and of itself).

"Hmm," he mumbled, turning it over. His face was thoughtful. He went through every detail that she had offered, trying to jog something, but there was nothing very definite. He thought maybe he recalled an interrupted introduction like the one she'd mentioned, but he was quite certain it hadn't been to her — a dark-haired woman who had prattled on about ants, if he recalled correctly. So either he had met Miss Broadmoor previously and had forgotten it, or she had fabricated the memory — which seemed unlikely, but not impossible. As an Unspeakable Ezra was disinclined to use the word impossible when it came to magical accidents.

"We should pay your brother a visit," he decided. "But I'll have to see to the site, first. Oh — and the rest of them," he added. He hadn't actually forgotten the other two women, but Miss Broadmoor was giving him such a firm trail to progress down that it was difficult to contemplate pausing the pursuit here in order to go talk to someone's mother. He turned back towards the modiste and dispelled the charm once he'd reached the door, which he held open briefly for Miss Broadmoor before entering himself. He might have asked for the cloak back, but was distracted by the appearance of another woman in the group.

"Merlin, you're multiplying," he muttered. "Has someone forgotten you, too, Miss? And — did this all happen at the same time, or is this a recent development? Since it started with them?" he asked, gesturing towards the two young women he'd left behind in the store. He'd thought this was a relatively contained outbreak (though still a poorly understood one) — if it was spreading to others then it was more of an immediate problem than he'd believed.

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   Aldous Crouch

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She wasn't necessarily pleased with being left in the shop while Mr. Applegate left with the other woman. But on the other side of that coin, it wasn't like she was going to tell him not to leave so she turned with pleading eyes towards the remaining blond woman. Surely she was more likely to protest than Beatrice was? But then again, the unknown woman had sounded just as quiet as she had the only time she'd spoken. But then the saving grace. Her own name spoken in the familiar, feminine voice of her sister-in-law. Ex-sister-in-law? She honestly wasn't sure. That didn't matter right now. (Nor did it matter that honestly, they were only in this whole complicated mess because of Bea but that certainly didn't matter now.) What did matter was that she was someone she knew and more importantly right now knew Beatrice. "Miss Dempsey! I think so? My maid just... left? And the staff completely forgot I was here."

Man, sometimes she hated her brother for not making things work with Christabel in the long run. She'd been willing to stay even when he was a ghost. What more could he have asked for? Aside from not being killed by his sister but again not the point. Beatrice had like the Dempseys. She'd even fancied herself thinking that with time she might even find herself more comfortable with them than with her own family. But then Victor had gone and burned his bridges and made everything even more awkward for those left in the land of the living who had to deal with the consequences.

But then Mr. Applegate returned and didn't seem to have forgotten them again - though he clearly hadn't actually remembered them either - but she supposed that if someone walked out of sight they wouldn't forget her all over again was at least beneficial. Oh no, what would she do if went beyond this building? What if Mother forgot her too? What if the staff and Jasper, Oscar, and Victor all did as well? What if no one would let her in the house? She certainly didn't want to sleep on the streets. And she couldn't ask Miss Dempsey for help because if all that was true for Beatrice it would be for Lycoris as well. And while the chance to start over afresh sounded just like one of her novels she didn't actually think it would turn out that well. Again, she'd have no place to stay the night and little more money to her name than the pocket change she'd kept on her. And she certainly didn't have the skills to get a job. Well, her O.W.L.s were okay even if she never got her N.E.W.T.s and she did always have Pendergasts but then if no one remembered her would those even exist anymore either? How far did this 'magical incident' go? Would she have to become - goodness forbid - a maid? Would anyone even hire her as a maid if she had no papers or references? She didn't want to sleep on the streets and starve.

"Please fix this," Beatrice croaked, already looking on the verge of tears.

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   Ezra Applegate

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MJ is truly magic!!

Rosalie had watched in stunned silence while Ezra — her Ezra — and Miss Broadmoor stepped outside. Had the other women not been present in the shop with her she might've begun to convince herself that it was the work of his curse. That somehow in the last week he had lost the war within himself and with it his memories. It was the same nightmare she regularly lived.

Except, there were all these other forgotten women too — Lycoris, Miss Daphnael, Miss Broodmoar — so clearly it couldn't have been the case.

Which meant that somehow, and much like her mother had, Ezra had forgotten her.

Rosalie heard nothing of what the other two women said as that realization seeped in. She had always believed there to be a tether between them, a string of destiny keeping them bound regardless of the circumstances. It was why their end had hurt so much, why they couldn't seem to avoid one another when their feelings were high. Rosalie never thought their love was a byproduct of random luck, it was supposed to be more meaningful than that.

And Ezra had chosen Miss Broodmoar of the bunch, effectively ending every belief that he'd choose her time and time again if he could.

Rosalie was near tears by the time Miss Broadmoor returned wearing his cloak. They had spoken at the wedding last week, surely he would have warned her if he was moving on. Surely, he wouldn't have blindsided her like this if he remembered her at all. She waited in continued silence, trembling with loss and fear, until it was time to give her statement — which she made as brief and nondescript as possible — before fleeing the modiste.

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   Persephone Broadmoor

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stunning set by Lady <3

He was, Persephone realized, fascinated. She could not really blame him; in his positon, the aspiring academic would have likely felt much the same—seen the puzzle to work out, the knot to untie. At least Mr. Applegate seemed cognizant of the fact that real people and their actual lives were involved. Persy was less certain she would've done.

Once back in the warm embrace of the modiste's shop, she shrugged out of his cloak, draping it lazily over a nearby chair. After all, the Unspeakable seemed rather busy to worry about it.

As he took the statements of the other young ladies, Persy changed back into her own clothes, scowling at the deep scratch that had been etched into her skin by moving pins in the unfinished garment. The offending dress, she left on the floor. If the modiste did not remember her, it was not as though the thing would be finished. As she did this, a realization struck her, one she voiced aloud as she stepped back into the main area of the shop.

"Mr. Applegate, if we've all been... forgotten, as you say, what is to become of us when we leave here?"

After all, if Persephone herself wasn't altogether self-sufficient, she highly doubted the other young misses were.

  

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do you know what happened that night?

— mj makes glorious sets! —

Ezra's notebook was by now full of scribbled notes. Some of the things he'd written down from each lady's statement would have made perfect sense to someone looking over his shoulder — their names, whom they had arrived with, how those people had reacted to them (or failed to) after the incident occurred. Some of the details would have been entirely baffling to someone without specific experience in the sorts of experiments conducted in the Department of Mystery's exploration of thought. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to explain or justify his notes to anyone; Unspeakable was a panacea when it came to getting out of explanations he didn't want to bother giving.

It didn't make sense that it was these women in particular, when other people had been at the modiste at the time and had not been affected. More baffling to him still was that some of them recognized each other — so whatever had impacted them had also prevented them from suffering the secondary effects that everyone else seemed to be dealing with. He was quite interested in seeing what became of the conversation with Magnus Broadmoor, once he was able to close this site off, but before he could get there he had to see to all the remaining women.

Miss Broadmoor's question at first went entirely over his head. "Changing locations shouldn't impact the magic at all," he said — though she ought to have known, since she'd been the one to go to the corner and back with him. "So things will still be exactly as they are until I make some progress here. I can't imagine anything you do would make anything worse, so you can just carry about — oh," he said, interrupting his own train of thought as he finally realized what she was getting at. "Oh, of course. How thoughtless of me. You are of course all welcome to return to family or friends, but if they don't recognize you and you find yourself in need of accommodation, we can provide that," he said. "The Ministry, I mean — I'll handle that first thing when I get back. For the time being we can get each of you room and board at the Three Broomsticks," he decided. That didn't solve everything — eventually they would need things like changes of clothes — but maybe if he was diligent here, it would tide them over until he had found a solution. "Will that suit?"

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