[Harold Prendergast]

"Well," Harold pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "Rather, that is to say... Montgomery made quite the compelling argument, and I suppose... I suppose there is something to be said for Ockham's Razor. The time travel theory is... not... the fewest number of multiplicative entities."

He took his glasses off entirely, and folded them up one-handedly before putting them in his breast pocket. Then let his free hand cover his eyes, pinching just below his temples with thumb and middle finger. Something about the physical tension eased the headache that was otherwise pounding away.

"The library," he said at last, "wasn't really where I was looking. It was, occasionally a distraction, occasionally a source of comfort, and well, rather an excuse to not think too deeply about the consequential nature of what had happened." He wasn't sure how, or possibly why, he was this open to the situation but something about the manner of Montgomery's conversation had loosened the knot in his brain. And with his hand over his eyes - if he didn't have to see the world, it was somehow easier to bear.

"I have talked to people. I have a few more lines of inquiry that, well, I haven't yet exhausted - but too few. Most people simply do not wish to speak about it - which in itself is rather suggestive. I have begun to wonder if these people have been quite opaque with me, to spare my feelings, and obfuscating the truth from me."

He stopped pinching the sides of his face, and re-established the little wire framed lenses in their proper position. "There will, I rather suspect, be no need to speak to the Ministry in any official capacity. If you are right - and I am quite certain that you are at the very least less wrong about this than I am - I do not believe we... I... will find recourse in any official doings."

"You are, absolutely, correct in one detail," Harold mused, with a smile. "There is always hope when there is tea. I shall acquire a pot for us forthwith, and we can discuss something other than the comings and goings of my wife. Anything at all will do."

[Rose Pemberton]

Rose was almost tempted to take Harold's glasses away, as he couldn't stop fidgeting with them. It was difficult to stand by and watch. He needed somebody to be there for him and help him with his situation. She wasn't sure she'd have volunteered for the job if anyone had asked her a couple of hours ago, but now she felt invested in helping Harold through this. It always felt good to help another person, and maybe it would take her mind of her own issues for a little while.

Harold was coming around to the way she saw things and interestingly Montgomery agreed with her. Somehow, Rose wouldn't have pegged those two men as good friends, but it made for a pleasant surprise. Still, she struggled to imagine them side by side having a civil conversation. It didn't appear as though the two of them had an awful lot in common.

She snapped her attention back to what Harold was saying. He had a point that people were possibly avoiding conversations with him to spare his feelings or perhaps their own. She nodded in agreement.

"You're right. We will figure this out together, Hal. You don't have to do this alone."

Rose wanted to emphasise this point, as it hadn't escaped her notice that he had corrected himself when speaking. Of course, she would be there for him.

 "I don't have as many friends in the ministry as I used to a couple of years ago, but I can ask around. I think one of the ladies who worked with me married an Unspeakable. Maybe we can make a social call."

She swallowed at the idea she'd just proposed. Before things had gone wrong with Winterbourne she'd had friends at the ministry. Of course, after what had happened, she couldn't speak to them anymore. What would they think of her? However, the notion of calling Verity Vainewrite over the floo wasn't as terrifying now as it had once been. Of course, she was Verity Bannatyne these days, but they'd enjoyed each other's company once. Maybe enough time had passed for it to not be awkward.

"Leave it with me," Rose said a little firmer after having thought about it. "I think I have an idea how to get us into one of these fancy soirées where things get discussed off the record. That is if you are up for it." Part of her wanted to make him promise her that he wouldn't part from her side on such an evening; that he wouldn't interact with the Winterbourne family if any were in attendance, but of course she couldn't ask for such a thing without owing many explanations.

[Harold Prendergast]

"I couldn't possibly impose upon you for such things!" Well, the better part of Harold took the view that he couldn't possibly impose and that this was his battle and his alone. But quietly in a corner of his mind, one he would prefer not to articulate, he appreciated the offer immensely. Anything to shed light on this dreadful business. At this point he was coming to the conclusion that there was an answer to be had and that it was less wholesome than he had wanted to believe - but that there was an answer and he should rather well prefer to have it than not.

Then it dawned on him exactly what she'd said - his rebuttal, his desire to not be an imposition, was generic and more importantly not tied to any single thing Rose had suggested.

"A... a soirée, you say? As in some fancy to-do in a grand hall or mansion?" Harold flushed. "If you think it best, and that perhaps, well, I might get some kind of answer from it, I'm certain we can give it a try. Though, rather, I should prefer if it didn't involve dancing. My mother always insisted I had two left feet and I should be awfully embarrassed if I trip one or both of us over in some kind of dance."

He did rather hope that whatever Rose had in mind was far more socialite and convivial with drinks and canapés - especially those uniquely awkward cheese-and-pineapple-on-a-stick things - with plenty of opportunity to ask discreet questions of discerning punters.

Truth be told, the social pages of the Daily Prophet were a complete mystery to him - he had long given up trying to remember any of the rich and famous, especially those who seemed to be famous for no reason at all. Fancy galas mostly just passed him by - something his father said about not being part of, and not wanting to be part of, the well-to-do crowd.

Though, quietly, it occurred to him that an evening out with Rose wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen, whether he got any answers or not.

[Rose Pemberton]

It occurred to Rose that Hal would be unlikely to accept her offer unless she found a way of dressing it up as him doing her a favour in return. Not that she knew him well, but even from the little she had gleaned Rose knew that he was a proud individual. Proud and unfailingly polite. In a way, his good manners seemed almost unnatural. It was probably how he kept people at an arm's length, making sure that nobody got close enough to hurt him. It made sense, but she couldn't imagine that it was a pleasant life to remain distanced from everybody else.

She was all the more surprised when Harold agreed to her proposal with little friction. She double took, had she only braced herself moments before to spin up some story about needing his help in return. It was a relief that he didn't push her to make even more of a liar of herself. She still wondered how she would talk Verity into giving them both an invitation. Well, truth be told getting Harold invited was probably not much of a challenge. He was a professor and though he'd admitted to not being a pureblood, Rose thought he'd rather easily pass as one. She on the other hand, well, that would take some doing.

"I am afraid these affairs almost always involve dancing, but I am sure we can come up with a way to excuse ourselves from the dance floor." She felt a tinge of sadness at the thought of going to such an event and not enjoying at least a waltz, but she supposed they were going on a mission to find out about Mrs Prendergast rather than to enjoy themselves. It was probably best she kept this in mind at all times. She had a feeling it would be far too easy to forget all about the other woman and just enjoy Harold's company. However, that was not an option. They were friends now. Just friends. She would do extremely well to remember that.

"You do have a fancy set of robes I assume to look appropriate for the occasion?" Rose asked carefully. While she assumed that he did, she was less sure that he would know that he was not supposed to show up in a tweed jacket with arm patches. As he'd admitted himself, he wasn't one to read the society pages in the prophet. As for her own attire, she'd formed half a plan to replicate a gown she had seen a muggle movie around the time she'd started working for the ministry. She'd loved that film and the story of it, often wishing that something similar would happen to her. Of course, it hadn't, but maybe dressing up in the heroine's gown for the ball was the closest she'd ever get to experiencing that story for herself.

"I'll send you a note with the details of the event," Rose said. "I suppose we should meet there." Him picking her up would make it too much like a date in her mind, and though the notion of it was pleasant that just wouldn't do. Rose was sure he'd look very handsome. Oh Merlin, she'd doomed herself making this suggestion. Hopefully, they would find something to do with his wife quickly before her heart gave out from the torture of it all. Why couldn't she just keep her distance from Prendergast? It would make her life easier.

[Harold Prendergast]

Harold, slightly perturbed by the question, laughed awkwardly. "Well, you see, I have a vague sort of understanding of how one should dress for such an occasion; my father did attempt to educate me a number of years ago in etiquette and fashion - and while I believe I picked up some of the more... shall we say... more subtle fixtures of his teachings, dress sense was unfortunately not one of them. At any rate that would have been twenty years ago and I am given to understand that both wizard and muggle fashion sensibilities have changed since then."

He thought about it for a moment. "I am positive I can make a quite trip to Diagon Alley before the ball and pick up something appropriate from Twilfitt and Tattings - as this is presumably an event of such prestige that perhaps is beyond the otherwise-inestimable Madam Malkin?" Harold honestly thought that Madam Malkin was up to the task, even if she wasn't quite as long established as Twilfitt and Tattings, but he wanted to reassure Rose that he understood the general concept of what was expected here. "In any case, I'm certain they can demonstrate to me the latest fashion so that I shan't look out of place."

He added, with a raised eyebrow. "All the better to look 'undercover', I suppose." Harold internally realised that in the overall scheme of things, this ball would be slightly more of 'his' kind of people - people coming from money, people of claimed lineage. The kind of people that, quite frankly, he'd decided to somewhat leave behind.

He idly wondered if now was the time to rekindle the connection with his younger brother Edward who, as far as Harold knew, was still part of the family business and while not of the same strata of power, money or influence as the good folks he was likely to encounter at the ball, the Prendergasts were not historically unconnected.

He reflected, "You know, it is very kind of you to do this for me. I shan't imagine it will be the easiest of evenings - for either of us - being both on the prowl, as they say, for information... but I rather hope we can enjoy ourselves at least a little. I may not be the kind to, say, 'let my hair down' as such, but I'm sure we can find interesting people to talk to for the evening."

He paused, "Well, then, all that remains is to know when and where to be."