Atop a hill somewhere in Brecon, Wales

Brecon was a favourite haunt for Irene Carstairs when she needed to clear her mind. It was quiet and gave one the sensation of being alone in the world. One could walk or run for miles over the sprawling countryside, fields and hills without seeing a soul. For a witch and wizard recognised on sight by other wixes, it seemed an apt place to come for this discussion.

A couple of evenings prior, Irene had sought some advice from her close friends, who also happened to be family members of her husband, and she’d resolved to go ahead with her intentions. It was best to wait, however, until the weekend when Solomon wouldn’t be at the office and they could have adequate time to talk.

Saturday morning had come, and now was the time. The previous evening, she’d suggested the walk to Solomon, posing it as an opportunity to talk. So, in Irene’s usual style, a small rucksack had been magically expanded, holding a picnic, a blanket, a flask of tea and a flask of coffee, and a small bottle of whiskey to share. They’d apparated to the chosen spot in the late morning, and had been walking uphill for about an hour when Irene came to a stop. She was dressed for the countryside, with a pair of beige trousers, walking boots, and a warm brown jacket. Her hair had been clipped up but the wind had left many strands around her face loose and messy.

Amongst the small talk about their last few days, an update on the werewolf alliance situation and a little bit of Ministry gossip, Irene had been considering how to word what she wanted to say. She’d always been good with her hands and her imagination, Solomon was the one that knew how to use words.

It seemed as good a spot as ever, not a soul in sight, other than a few sheep, and a beautiful view across the valley. Irene took the bag off her shoulders and kneeled, opening it to retrieve both flasks and the small bottle of whiskey. She passed the coffee to her husband before opening her own flask of tea to add a dribble of whiskey to the steaming liquid.

“We need to end this.” She said quietly, holding the whiskey out to Solomon. “This separation. It isn’t what I want, not anymore.”

He supposed she wanted to talk. Solomon could tell, and it was no hardship to get out the country tweeds and boots to brave the February cold in Brecon.

His winter walks were generally limited to city pavements and the fields not far from their cottage on the Cam. So it was something of a novelty to be out here with Irene, chatting about nothing particularly pressing while he admired the view. He realised that he should maybe be doing this manner of thing more often. There was never time - but he could make time.

When they'd found a pretty bit of the hill to stop at, Sol took off his flat cap and gloves. The uphill exertion had warmed him pleasantly enough. Irene handed him coffee and he took it distractedly, thoughts drifting.

Then she spoke. Sol blinked at her; his heart had done a little flip but with the whiskey came the rest of her words and a puzzled smile replaced his surprise.

"It isn't?" he put down the bottle, deciding with half his brain that he didn't need it. "Where is this coming from?" Solomon heard the interrogative nature of his words and held up his hand to indicate he needed a second.

Wanting to end their separation seemed... hopeful. He wasn't above hope. Things had been better, lately. Less tense. More like it used to be.

But he didn't want to presume. "What do you want," Sol managed more sensibly, "if not this seperation?"

She’d not been clear in her first statement, perhaps deliberately. Despite deep down knowing this suggestion wouldn’t be outright rejected, Irene couldn’t help but have her doubts. It was only a couple of years ago that Solomon had pulled the cosy fur lined rug from under her feet, after all. He could still do that once more and leave her reeling all over again. While she was ready to finally move forward from this, she still felt some need to protect her heart from the man who could do and had done the most damage.

Stalling for a moment, Irene zipped back up the bag and stood once more. She looked up at him, cradling the tea flask with cold hands. It was crazy, to feel awkward speaking to her own husband. If one didn’t know their secret, they would also think it bizarre. Irene had been in love with Solomon since she was 19 years old. They’d withstood 35 years, raised 2 children, survived a war and coped with a life changing werewolf bite and countless transformations. Perhaps they could also endure despite his infidelity. Irene may have joked that she was too old to find another wizard, or too damaged by this one for anyone to take her but Solomon and she were two pieces of a jigsaw that fit together, despite what he’d done, possibly in spite of it.

“I want to try and be us again.” Irene frowned, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I want to try and forgive you and salvage our marriage.” Don’t dither, Edgar had said, he won’t startle. But she might, Irene considered. She wanted to cross her arms, as if to protect her against what might come, but instead she merely cradled the cup, a barrier between her and Solomon’s response. “I’ve put over 30 years of my life into this, I’m too old and stubborn to go through that rigmarole again so my wizard will have to do.” A bit of dry humour came out despite the nerves. It was Solomon she was speaking to, not a stranger. “If you still want to be my wizard, that is.”

He was glad she appeared to be taking her time, each word carried forward by caution. Solomon needed the time to consider what was being said - although he dared hope for things to improve between them, the last few years had been difficult. What was more, Irene had changed in that time.

This wasn't the same witch who once lived in ignorance of his infidelities.

"I... I do," he replied, allowing only a moment's pause so that she did not think him liable to say otherwise. "Of course I want us to be like we were before, or as close to. You're the only person I can do this with, the only person I want to."

Sol looked down into his coffee, then back up to take in the view again. It really was beautiful. He had seen so much in his life, ugly and pretty - and for most of that time, Irene was always next to him.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he licked his lips, turned back to her. "Are you sure? My work, it won't change. You already put up with so much."

The hesitation came from somewhere inside him that Solomon couldn't pinpoint. Perhaps he had seen how passionately Irene handled the sit-in, how unforgiving their enemies could be of her views. He'd hurt her once. That was as much as he could bear.

“Your work has never been the problem.” Responded Irene. She’d always supported his career and, despite the spotlight turning on their family, she’d been proud to be married to the Minister for Magic, that he was her wizard. But he hadn’t been just her wizard. Sharing Solomon with his job was expected, and she’d done it their entire marriage. Irene hadn’t questioned the late nights or the exhausted wizard who came home and needed to decompress in his study. Perhaps she should have, because it hadn’t been only his job she’d shared him with. Now, she knew better. Now, trust was the problem, and they needed to find a way to work through that if they were to salvage their relationship.

Irene sighed and took a sip of tea. It was a delicate conversation to have. A couple of years ago, Solomon had brought into question everything Irene had thought she’d known about him and a marriage that she’d believed to be strong and healthy. They’d been affectionate, tactile, deeply supportive of one another and he’d made her feel like she was the only witch in his world. She wanted that back but still questioned if it would be at the expense of her own sanity. She questioned if he would betray her again because she was too easy to trust and love.

“The question is if you have changed, not your work. Am I truly the only person? No more someones?” It was what she called the other women. Someones. He’d referred to them like that when he’d told her. “Because, I tell you now, Solomon, if I give you my heart again, you need to be a one witch man. If you betray me again…” Irene stopped. She wasn’t the sort to make threats. Instead, she sighed, and looked across at her husband, her expression serious. He was still an extremely handsome wizard. Even after this many years she was attracted to him. But handsomeness wasn’t enough. “I need to be able to trust you. I really want to trust you.”

It was never a question of whether he wanted this. Of course he did - Solomon had taken great pains to keep his wife ignorant so that he could continue to have this, so that they could continue to be them.

He drank his coffee as she spoke, careful not to talk over her or over the time she was taking to choose her words. Irene was making her intentions and expectations clear: she was always so much better at this kind of thing than he was.

"There hadn't been any someones for years, before I told you," Sol reminded her with a searching look. "I want you to be able to trust me as well. If... if this is what you really want, then I want to be able to live up to your trust."

There were moments he wished he never told her and this was one of them. It would have made things so much easier. Solomon looked away - the view was less distressing than having to look at Irene whilst holding that thought.

"I don't want to hurt you again," he spoke to the hills.

“Then don’t.” Countered Irene. It was well within Solomon’s control as to if he would hurt her again the moment she lowered her guard. He was a grown wizard with self regulation and will power. He’d also seen the destruction his selfishness could cause. A third chance wouldn’t even come to him, surely he knew that.

“I’m exhausted, Solomon, this chasm between us is emotionally draining. You said it yourself, it’s not working.” Irene turned her head to look at him once more. “You were my best friend, the first person I wanted to talk to about anything, the one I want to wake up next to and…” she shook her head. “I miss you, I really miss you.”

She’d thought really hard on this matter, not willing to allow this decision to be impulsive. The risks of hurt were there, but Irene had always been a believer in not living in regret. She would do exactly that if she officially ended things now when she still felt so strongly for the wizard she’d married all those years ago. Irene had always been a believer in soulmates, and Solomon Carstairs, for better or worse, happened to be hers.

“Who am I really punishing by continuing with this charade?”

It was a strange reality, to miss the person you live with. Solomon swallowed back that emotion and nodded - of course he missed her too and he missed what they used to have. The way he could come home from the Ministry to their own world.

He clasped his coffee tighter, still staring out at the countryside.

"It isn't a charade..." Sol trailed off into a brief pause. "It was necessary. For us to be apart without the world looking on and questioning it. I can see that now, in retrospect."

As much as they passed it off as something they did to preserve his reputation as Minister, it served the more real purpose of them figuring out what to do next. Of Irene coming to terms with what she wanted. Or did not want, which was the conclusion Solomon expected in place of this conversation.

"I would like for us to try," he sighed and turned back to her, serious. "If that's what you want, it's what I want. I never imagined doing this with anyone but you."

If she had chosen to leave him, Sol was unlikely to marry again. It was one thing to find companionship in bed but not companionship in life.

“And yet here we are.” Irene couldn’t help herself from making the comment. Wanting to forgive Solomon and actually forgiving him were two separate things. Despite time passing, the hurt of betrayal was still there. He claimed to have never wanted to do this, to do life without her yet he’d taken himself into the beds of other women as if she didn’t matter. The insecurity would remain until he finally told her why he’d done it. Regardless of Solomon’s insistence that it hadn’t been about her, Irene still couldn’t help but wonder. What had been missing from their relationship that he’d felt the need to seek elsewhere? Did he have some strange fetish that only the likes of Queen G and the other home wrecking witches could satisfy? Did he still find her attractive? Why had he stayed married to her when he’d clearly been unable to remain faithful?

“If this is going to work, no secrets. We communicate.” That would be difficult for the both of them, Irene understood that. While she hadn’t done anything on Solomon’s level, she’d been shut off from him for over two years. She’d attended the sit-in without warning him, knowing full well how it would look. She’d actively pushed back about appearing in public with him at any public function. Irene knew that if she wanted from him what she was asking, she would need to give too. She would need to drop the barriers she’d put up.

Over the last couple of nights, the Minister’s wife had considered in depth how to word what she had to say to her husband. Especially what she had to say next, “I need us to see a marriage counsellor. Someone very discreet, obviously.” Irene’s blue eyes danced between her husband’s to judge his reaction. He wouldn’t be keen. “And you need to actually talk and take it seriously. That’s my main non-negotiable.”

Non-negotiable.

He had been quietly sipping on his coffee as she spoke - Solomon knew enough to let Irene have her say, to let her opinion on this take precedence as she was the wronged party. Still, he couldn't help giving her a look of surprise.

"A marriage counsellor," Sol said, almost to himself, tasting the word without pleasure. "You... you want to invite a third person into this...?"

It was bizarre. This wasn't something people did, at least not in his circles. As far as he was concerned, marriage was a private affair and what two people said to one another should remain between them - Solomon did not even countenance the opinions of his children on this matter.

"I mean," he quickly added, hearing the skepticism in his voice, "if that's what you need in order to make us work, I don't really have a choice, do I? But it seems so ugly to have to involve someone else in our discussions."

And they weren't ugly people, were they? They were Carstairs. Sol did not mirror his father's strict manners and classical rigor but he believed that there was a certain amount of decorum to it all.

Predictably, Solomon wasn’t enamoured by her suggestion. Truthfully she’d questioned it herself when Edgar had mentioned the idea of a marriage counsellor. It wasn’t something done in the sort of family they had. She’d been married to the family long enough to fully recognise that the Carstairs family didn’t talk about feelings and emotions. If Irene hadn’t caught glimpses over the long years with Solomon, she might have said he had the emotional range and a brick. She knew the truth, he’d been taught that it wasn’t appropriate to display emotions and share feelings. Too bad, he needed to now.

“It’s no more ugly than climbing into another witch’s bed, is it?” He’d invited someone else into their relationship first, several someones. Irene closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. She needed to push the frustration down or what was supposed to be a reunion and a chance to come together again could turn into an argument. She wasn’t seeking an argument. She wanted to stop feeling like her husband was a stranger. “This is what you need to do if you want to come back into our bed.”

Irene pulled the rucksack back onto her shoulders and indicated for them to start walking again. She needed to get out the pent up energy from the anxiety over approaching this with him.
“It’s not going to kill you to open up, love. You might even like spilling your innermost thoughts.” She looked back to him, half smiling. “Give it a couple of sessions and you’ll be blubbering on my shoulder like an emotional wreck.”

Beds! He sighed at this phrasing but did not comment - it wasn't about returning to their bed. Solomon could understand why his wife felt as much, seeing as how it was their marriage bed he betrayed, but he was more affected by other aspects of their separation.

He enjoyed physical intimacy as an extension of romance or feeling. His wife had grown bitter over the years; her ocassional remarks often turned him away from thoughts of sharing a bed.

"Blubbering?" Sol snorted, smiling fondly at her once they were on the move again. "Such melodrama. You've been reading too many romances."

He hadn't blubbered since childhood. The wizard glanced out across the countryside again as they walked along the ridge of the hill. He supposed there were worse things than having to sort themselves out with a mediator.

"Do you have someone in mind?" he asked - it was all a surprise to him but Irene had clearly been contemplating this for longer.

It was likely a wise choice to not inform her husband that the only romance she’d been able to experience in the past couple of years came in the form of a novel. She wasn’t the sort of witch to complain and act all ‘woe is me’, so Irene merely flashed a smile back at him. She deeply missed lighthearted comments batted back and forth between them, but Irene was acutely aware that it would take a really long time if they ever resumed the closeness they’d once had, if at all. While she didn’t want to consider it now, how long would she give it to see if they could find that again?

“There’s a witch in Slandermouth that I’ve heard is discreet,” responded Irene. She would liaise with one of his assistants to ensure the appointments took priority. Irene fully expected her husband to duck and dive if he could.

“I know it isn’t something you’re comfortable with, speaking with a therapist, but you hurt me Solomon. I don’t believe that even now you realise how much. This week should at least show you the effect it had on our entire family.” She may be talking about making another go of their relationship, but it would take time to get over Genevieve García’s actions with their son. “We won’t get past this if we don’t talk about it openly and I’m ready to try.”

Irene fell quiet. He’d agreed, there was little point in explaining her reasoning. So she just walked beside them, at least feeling the anxiety dissipate. Nothing was perfect, and it likely wouldn’t be for a long time. But it was a step in the right direction.