If Gen had been asked to predict what Leo may have come out with next, she wouldn’t have come at all close to the proposal of a sequel to ‘The Death Eater in my Bed’. What might she name a sequel? ‘The Death Eater on my Sofa?’ ‘The ex-Azzie that glares at me?’

She stared down at the wizard, lips pressed together as she considered what he was saying. It wasn’t a joke because the Leo that had returned from Azkaban seemed to have lost his sense of humour. All that angry scribbling lingered at the forefront of her mind as she listened to him twisting what he clearly hoped would help him.

“They really would,” Gen agreed quietly, but her tone lacked any certainty. “But who’s experience do you suggest I write, Leo?” Gen met his gaze, unflinching. They may not have discussed this specifically, but she’d known they would need to one day. “You called me a lying bitch[1]. You really want me to write your story?” There was little point in skirting the issue. Gen had no intentions in writing some twisted piece to have the public pity her husband. She still wasn’t sure he deserved their pity.

1.	What Happened to Flowers?

Genny didn't seem nearly as enthusiastic as he was, but Leo barely noticed. Thoughts were churning visibly behind his green eyes. Up until his second trial, no one had ever heard his side of the story. If his wife could move magical society so sharply against him, what might her efforts do to bring them back? If public sentiment was on his side, neither Ed Pratt nor anyone at the Ministry would be able to keep him from reclaiming what was rightfully his.

"It would be a --...a continuation." He was still meeting her gaze, but he'd barely registered her protests. For the first time in a long while, his expression had a hint of the liveliness that had made him seem so charismatic over a decade ago. "Of both sides of the story. One chapter covers the years that I spent lonely and suffering in Azkaban; the next on the years you spent forlorn and lonely out here. Unsure if you could trust me, wanting to give up but I'd never let you..."

The teacup of gin was now long forgotten in front of him. "You asking for a divorce so you could set me free, but me loving you too much to give up on us. Then --"

He snapped his fingers, a spark in his green eyes. "A second chance. The night before my second trial, we make up lovingly in Azkaban. You're not sure if the Wizengamot will believe it, but you hope against hope that it could be true. And then, finally, a happy ending!" His mouth twisted into a grin, and he directed it at Genny, beaming. "That's what all of your readers want anyway, isn't it?"

A glimpse of the old Leo that Gen had fallen for all those years ago shone through as he narrated their story as if it were taken from one of the romance novels that she used to read as a younger witch. They’d spent hours in their youth comparing themselves to star-crossed lovers, with Leo unknowingly mentioning all of those doomed lovers from the classic tales. Maybe Gen should have seen how doomed they were back then.

Mr and Mrs Gamp’s tale was now, however, from a romance novel. Gen knew that Leo did not see it as he’d explained, yet it pained her to wipe the grin off the wizard who’d been a mopey drain whenever Dante wasn’t in his presence.

Her mind lingering on ‘wanting to give up but I'd never let you...’ Gen pushed off the table and instead pulled a seat out to take. A third bludger had been added to this conversation, and she needed grounding. He hadn’t let her give up because he hadn’t let her have the divorce she’d asked for so many times. She’d been trapped all those years, and they certainly hadn’t made up lovingly.

“My readers would love that. But it is a pretty rosy take on a messy reality, Leo. Or has the gin gone to your head?”

When they'd been young, Genny had always been the one to leap in feet first to a crazy idea. Dropping out of Hogwarts, moving in with him -- she'd been the one to initiate all of it, even if she'd never been thrilled with the shitty little castle they ended up in afterwards.

This time around, 'The Death Eater In My Bed' had been the crazy idea. She hadn't cared much then about how true it was: all that had mattered was making sure that she could put food on the table for Dante, as she'd told him over and over again. But now that he was asking for a follow-up, it was all messy realities and gin going to his head.

His smile faded slightly as he regarded her, his green eyes flat.

"You had no problem delving into messy realities last time," he pointed out. It wasn't that the words were heated, necessarily -- but there was a shortness to them that hadn't been there a moment before. "But now that I can't get my job back because of what you wrote, you're worried about making our lives seem too rosy?"

Like magic, here Leo returned. He’d seemed so excited about the prospect of a book painting him in a good light, making him look like a hero brought down by the evil ministry. Maybe he was, Gen still hadn’t made her mind up completely. It was why, even after all of these months, they hadn’t fully reunited as husband and wife.

Now? Leo seeked to blame her words for stopping him getting his old job back. According to him, the only way for her to seek forgiveness for her gross acts against him would be to pen another book, sharing grotesque lies about them and their love for one another. While Gen had always been the fearless impulsive sort, she’d still always told her truth. Leo’s romantic rendition of history was far from it.

“That is exactly what I mean, Leo. It’s a messy reality, not a romance novel. Evidently, you still resent me for what I wrote about us. You spent years in Azkaban hating me and you wouldn’t agree to a divorce because that would mean I could move on. We barely made up before your trial. I’m by no means putting all of that on you because I abandoned you, I’ll own that. But that is the reality, not a classic love story with a happy ending.”

Gen looked down at her hands clasped together on the table between them. “If I’m writing a sequel, so to speak, it has to be real. The hatred and resentment. The fear. The raining books. The yelling. The uncertainty and loss. The unknown. The pushing back everything for the sake of our son. The slow reconnection despite everything that’s gone on. That’s our story.”

Back in Azkaban, when there had only been the cold stone walls all around him, his anger at Genny had felt like a dark fire smoldering deep inside him. It had been too easy to let it fester and burn even when she'd been far away. When he'd faced the darkest moment of his life, she'd put herself first. She'd been equally afraid to lie for him and to tell the truth for him.

Now that the magical prison was nothing but a shadow over his nightmares, weeks went by when he could almost pretend that the fire of his anger had burned itself out. He could forget how furious he'd been; forget the cold bite of his wife's betrayal; forget that the reason why he was so eager to know his son now was because Dante had been denied to him for so long.

But then Genny went and did something stupid and refused to play along with the fantasy.

"That's your story," he snapped, temper rising. "You can't ever let anyone else tell one, can you?"

Just like that, Genevive realised that she’d tickled the beast just a little too much. Leo clearly favoured his own distorted version of events and woe betide the wife that suggested he was wrong to do so. Well, unfortunately for the grumpy former Azkaban prisoner, Gen was not the young and easily influenced witch she’d been as a teenager. While the excited lover of stories and poems still remained within, her experiences had given her a much more realistic view of the world. Over a decade of living without Leo had changed Gen’s attitude to many things; changes her husband clearly didn’t understand.

It was a frustrating circumstance, to be tied to someone in so many ways but feel so estranged. Since the start of the summer, Leo had been staying at her flat in Diagon alley under the guise of spending time with Dante. Yet, truthfully, Gen had very little grasp on what her own relationship with him was. Did he wish to reconnect or was he simply looking for a training dummy to verbally attack every time he felt angry? In all of this, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. Leo Gamp had once been her everything, but now remained an angry shadow of the boy she’d dropped out of Hogwarts for.

“Well, I’m not going to put ink to a load of colourful and romantic lies.” Stated the magazine editor, none too plussed by the rising temper of the wizard sat opposite her. “You’ve just asked me to write a sequel. You don’t actually believe your romanticised story do you?” Dark eyes danced over his face, unsure if she should be poking the beast even more. Well, she’d started now. “You could always write it if you think I’m some evil liar. I’ll even lend you a typewriter. Courtesy of Witch Weekly.”