Preparing oneself mentally for an interview with a Daily Prophet reporter was a challenge enough for normal members of the public. For the editor of Witch Weekly magazine, it was even tougher. She was the one who asked the questions, who chose the direction of an article or exposé. She was the one who chose which quotes to include and which to completely ignore. Seeking Cuffe’s support with her current predicament of course meant that she had been forced to relinquish such control.

When the door to her small apartment above Witch Weekly was knocked on, Gen had already consumed 4 strong coffees and she’d tidied the apartment thrice. There was a strange restlessness and nervousness to the witch whom usually seemed so in control of herself. She put a hand to the wavy hair falling to her shoulders and smoothed the black t-shirt down which sat over a pair of slim fitting jeans. She wore no heels, instead a pair of glittery purple flip flops.

“Cuffe really must be jumping over this story more than a randy dog if he’s sent his favourite into the enemy’s territory.” He clearly thought the story was worth chasing. For that, Gen was relieved. Her warm, but marginally nervous smile was flashed at Thursby and she leaned in, giving the witch a kiss on each cheek. “I’m glad it’s you.” She stepped back, waving her old colleague into the flat.

It was all open plan other that a few doors which led off to her bedroom, Dante’s room, and a small bathroom. Light flooded in through the enormous windows. Waving a hand at the sofa, Gen moved over to the kitchen area.
“Drink? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey? Wine?” It was only 10am in the morning. That hadn’t necessarily stopped the witch in the past.

Genevieve didn't know it, but Niobe was probably as nervous as she was. Cuffe had told her enough to know this interview had nothing to do with commercial competition or long-standing rivalries. This interview was part of a some carefully devised plan to keep one Leo Gamp in Azkaban where he belonged. Niobe got caught up on that end of things - no pressure, right?

The door opened and Niobe blinked. Enemy? But Gen softened the greeting, let her in, and offered her a drink.  Niobe smiled back.

"Thank you," said the Irish witch as she took off the smart autumn over-robe. "Coffee, and milk if you have it."

She laid her robe on the back of a sofa, and looked around. "Your place is really nice, Gen. Great sun."

Not always the easiest to find in the cramped urban spaces of Diagon Ally. Niobe stepped further into the space, and set her bag down on a coffee table. Inside were her notebooks and enchanted quill.

"How are you? It's been ages."  Technically no - Niobe had been witness to Gen's dramatic arrival at the Daily Prophet a few days ago, but it wasn't really the moment to catch up. They were mostly contemporaries in the business, and had been close. But just the same, they'd never really been rivals either. Niobe wouldn't be shy to admit she didn't have a great deal of respect for the Witch Weekly, but time had taught her that what Gen had accomplished in so short a time was nothing short of incredible. Game respects game, as they say?

“It’s an exhibitionist’s dream.” Gen responded before really considering. No, she wasn’t an exhibitionist, but she’d always considered how one would appreciate the giant windows. A shrug lifted her shoulders before Gen waved her wand and sent a tray of cups, a cafetière and a small jug of milk dancing over to the coffee table. “It’s small but it’s just me most of the year now.” There was no question that it was a million times better than the dump she’d been shacked up in Knockturn Alley while working for the Daily Prophet. While most people probably thought Gen was pretty well off nowadays, few knew how she had stored most of the money made from her book for Dante’s future.

Gen came to join Niobe and dropped herself into an armchair. Her habitual move would have been to remove the flipflops and curl up comfortably. She was in her own home, after all. But this discussion wasn’t going to be comfortable. She’d been mentally preparing herself for days.

“I’ve been better.” The smile didn’t reach her eyes and she chose to fuss over pouring two coffees. She’d turn into a coffee after much more! Or at least start jumping off the ceiling under the influence of a caffeine buzz. “You?” They may as well have a mini catch up first. She’d seen Niobe stood in the bullpen as she’d made her grand entrance earlier that week. “When you’re done being yelled at by the crusty old tyrant, I could always use eager reporters after sacking Snigger.” It was her front as Queen G that winked and offered the mug of steaming coffee. “That’s if you’re ready to dispose of your morals and help grow my pile of stinking refuse[1]. I don’t throw things” she paused and smirked, “often.”

1.	Friendship in Print

There were two types of people who'd comment on Barnabas Cuffe to Niobe: those who were in awe of him and angling for influence; and those who used to work under him. Actually being in the employ of the giant rather dimmed the halo, surely, but the abuse for Niobe had been well worth it. She'd learned not to hang her pride on his approval, instead her maneuvers into his favor being about getting better and better opportunities to do the good work of outing Truth. But that was a dull story to tell. Tales from the trenches were far more entertaining, and so she provided them happily to that second type of asker.

Niobe laughed brightly at the bold offer - Gen had to know it'd never happen, but it was amusing to play. "Let me know when you get a news division and I'll trade my bunker for the editor's desk."

Now seated across from Gen and gratefully collecting her coffee. "Other than dodging canonfire, things are on the up-and-up. Really, though, it means something you're okay with me doing your interview."

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, fingers drumming the mug she held in both hands. "I mean, dunno who else could pull it off, but..." Niobe winked.

“We have news. It’s just not Daily Prophet style news.” Gen lifted her coffee cup to her mouth for a sip of the hot fluid while Bruce, the 20-year-old shorthaired tabby cat slowly meandered towards them, brushing himself up against Niobe’s legs. Bruce was Gen’s cat, a stray she’d ended up with many years ago. A stray that now frequented the Witch Weekly offices below.

Niobe was too kind to work for Cuffe, Gen concluded as the Irish witch almost headed down the route of being soppy about doing the interview herself.
“I’d really rather there was no need for one at all.” The editor muttered, looking down into her coffee with a frown. How much she would give to go back a week to not knowing anything about any of this. Blissfull ignorance was a beautiful thing. Fretting over Lil Snigger’s antics and Sandy’s reaction to it all was far more favourable to this.

“Let’s get on with it, yes?” A surge of energy and motivation to get it done with came over the witch and she plonked her coffee cup down on the table. 

Niobe reached down to give the kitty a soft stroke along his back and he arched to press into it harder. Sweet fellow.

Gen wanted to get down to it, so Niobe set down her coffee and began digging into her back. She opened a notebook and flipped to a blank page, then set it on the table between them. Then, she produced something that looked like a wand box, but inside was a fluffy black quill. Niobe shook it out, uttered and incantantion and set its nib onto the notebook, like someone setting a needle onto a vinyl record. When she let go, it stayed upright on its own.

As she set up, she explained, as she always did. "The quill will take everything down word-for-word, but I'll take my own notes." Making good on her promise, had also taken out a ballpoint pen and a second, smaller notebook.

Gen was ready, so Niobe didn't delay. She began speaking and the Verbatis quill began scratching.

"Fourteen October twenty-eleven. Interview with Genevieve Garcia-Gamp."

Niobe sat back and began asking questions she'd prepared, occasionally inserting follow-ups or clarifications.

...

"I don't want to rehash your book, but who was Leo Gamp when you met him?"

...

"And when did you realize he had become someone different? Looking back, were there any signs he might be dangerous?"

...

"What was the trial like?"

"I don't want to rehash your book, but who was Leo Gamp when you met him?"


 “He was just a kid.” Gen responded quickly. “A seventeen-year-old with a career as an auror ahead of him and a smile that had every girl ogling over. I thought that I was the lucky one when he chose me to ask out. He was smart, attentive and kind. He promised me the world.” It sounded ridiculous now.

"And when did you realize he had become someone different? Looking back, were there any signs he might be dangerous?"

“None.” She shook her head and once more lifting her coffee, using
the beverage to stall and think on the question. “Obviously, he was working a lot more, or so he told me. I rarely saw him for months. But when I did see him, nothing different. Just grouchier? I put it down to being overworked at the time.” A frown twisted Gen’s expression and she sat back in the seat. “I’ve spent many nights over the years lying awake and going over every one of those final encounters with Leo. I’ve watched those memories and dissected them. People still question if I really was oblivious. Maybe it was stupidity. But I honestly can’t see or remember any signs and trust me I’ve tried.”

"What was the trial like?"

“Like someone was cutting my heart out with a spoon. Our whole lives were laid bare and I was hearing all these terrible things being said about my husband, the man I’d loved since I was 16. I’d only just found out I was pregnant when Leo was arrested, it was terrifying.”

Niobe valiantly attempted to filter her reactions to what Gen was telling her. Dominik Weidman had been no Death Eater, but his influence was nothing short of criminal.[1] And Cinead Tawse?  How had she ever let that happen? It wasn't until this interview that she realized how close she might have been to standing in Gen's shoes. But then, Gen had been fooled. Niobe had hurried towards the chaos. She bit her lip and took a deep breath, focusing back in on the subject at hand.

She wanted to reassure Gen that none of this could be her fault, but not the time. They were working.

"I see. What was he ultimately charged with?"

...

"Were you two in contact at all during the trial?"

...

"And now, when is the last time you've seen him? Spoken to him?"

1.	Niobe and Dominik

"I see. What was he ultimately charged with?"

“You want the list?” Gen asked quickly. The world knew what Leo Gamp had been charged with. His face had been plastered over the papers in 1998. “Murder, torture, kidnapping,” The counts were reeled off as if she were reading from a shopping list. There was a point years ago that Gen had been quite convinced she would never talk of the ordeal with little or no emotion, but after so long and so many questions and judgements through the years, it had become a simple and unavoidable part of life.

"Were you two in contact at all during the trial?"

“I visited him once during the trial. A couple of times since his conviction.”

"And now, when is the last time you've seen him? Spoken to him?"

“Last Saturday.” Gen took a sip of tea, recalling the carefully thought out words she’d considered before Niobe’s arrival. “As you probably know, I’ve tried to divorce him multiple times. Every time he’s refused. When I had this visit request, that was what I was hoping for; a signed declaration. I’ve instructed a new lawyer, you see.” Now was when the lack of emotion ceased and Gen dropped her cup to the coffee table between them once more. “I was let into the room and he was angry. Really angry. Nothing like I’d ever seen before, as if Azkaban had changed him.”

“He called me a backstabbing, vindictive, lying, vicious whore.” Each word from the quote was said slowly, her mouth and tongue working their way around the words that left such a lingering distaste.

The quill seemed to be trying to capture the intensity of Gen's retelling. It stabbed and scratched at the paper with each word. Niobe covered her mouth and nodded with brows furrowed.

"Did he threaten you? Did he threaten your son? Had he ever been threatening to you before?"

It wasn't easy to hear about this kind of abuse, but it wasn't an uncommon part of her job. This kind of thing didn't haunt her as much as it used to; it made her more resolute. Gen had the manner of someone who'd had to do the same.

There was a silence as Gen considered whether her husband’s words and actions had been threatening. They hadn’t. He’d been angry, he’d clearly had the sudden urge to launch across the table that had divided them but he’d been controlled.

“No.” The quill moved with her single word, scribbling the two letters hurriedly. “No verbal threats.” If Gen wanted him to stay in prison, she needed to up the ante and exaggerate. But did she realy want him to remain there? Did she not want to find out it had all been a terrible mistake and the man she’d loved for so long wasn’t a monster?
“He tried to launch himself across the table at me. There was something really dark there that I never saw before.”

“He called me an unfit mother. If he’s released, he’ll be coming after my son and I won’t be able to do anything about it. My twelve-year-old boy caught in the middle and he’s not asked for any of this.”

Contemptible, him going for her like that. He physically intimidates her and thinks it's fair to accuse her of being the unfit parent? He'd have to try harder than that. Niobe scoffed and shook her head. She was quiet a moment while she considered her notes. Cuffe needed her to bring up the Ministry and the handling of the case - the current case - because that was the point, really. They had to frame this whole thing as a messy charade, an easily influenced, possibly biased affair.

It was ... borderline for Niobe.

"Alright," she said. Moving on.

"So time-turn back to today. Tell me about what it was like to get notified of the new proceedings."

Niobe asked for other details, like how Gen was informed, how much was the Ministry of Magic updating her, what precautions were they taking.

“Well I found out from my husband himself. A surprise when I’d met with Solomon Carstairs a week prior and he’d not mentioned a thing. Not only is he the Head of Law Enforcement, but he was the auror to bring me in for questioning when Leo had been arrested.” The frustration in Gen’s tone wasn’t heightened or faked, it was real emotion driving her forward now with this interview.

“As you can imagine, I was rather angry that no one from Level 2 or the ministry at all had contacted me in mere warning that this might happen. Not for my protection, but my son will be deeply affected by all of this. Well, I sought out Carstairs for answers[1]. He’d known and he had the nerve to ask if it had put me in a state.”

“He told me that I should perhaps make more friends on Level 2 and how he needed to remain impartial. Does pointing out my lack of supporters on Level 2 sound impartial to you?” Today Gen had no qualms in throwing Carstairs under the knightbus.

1.	Life's little scar ingrained in my skull

That was odd. It was even outside of the normal Level Two deflections. Even outside of what she'd come to expect from the media-savvy, tight-lipped Solomon Carstairs. Something was up. Maybe Cuffe was actually onto something, and now Niobe couldn't help but wonder if this could in any way be connected with the fishy handling of Balfour Spectre ...

Suddenly, Niobe flicked the Verbatis quill and it fell over. She leaned forward, an almost hungry look in her eyes along with concern.

"Gen, off-the-record. Do you have any reason to suspect Carstairs being a git has anything to do with Balfour Spectre hexing up Misselthorpe?"

She shook her head. "I mean, I have never heard of Level Two ever favoring the side of a convicted Death Eater. They should be motivated as anyone else to keep Gamp locked up. I mean, can you imagine what it would mean if Gamp was let out? Every other conviction could be called into question?"

Niobe was speaking rapidly. It could all be far-fetched, but then that's how all the best (worst?) stories started.

"I mean, Sandy didn't even press charges. What grudge could Carstairs have?"

For a moment, Gen allowed herself to be mentally swept away by Niobe’s far-fetched idea. And what reporter wouldn’t? But Gen knew better. Carstairs was, unfortunately, too straight for such dodgy dealings. He was, innately, a dull fellow.

“I don’t think there is a connection, no. The Ministry of Magic have a problem with Witch Weekly because we stick our noses where we shouldn’t and we air the dirty shit the Daily Prophet won’t. Carstairs had a choice of looking like he was silencing freedom of speech by permitting what Spectre did, or punishing an emotional father wanting to protect his son from the cruel press. He let Spectre off with a telling off like a naughty boy and I had my own condescending rebuke from him. He’s a philandering cheat but he’s not corrupt.”

“I don’t want to think there could be so much corruption but look at it this way,” Gen was sitting on the edge of her seat, both hands moving about as she spoke.
“What story looks better? Leo Gamp was an auror who used his position of authority to prey on innocent muggleborns who trusted the badge and the ministry? Or he was another victim of the regime, convicted before the ministry was fully cleansed. How good do they look now releasing him? Ministry officials aren’t corrupt. Voldemort’s poison simply took longer to flush out than originally presumed. They’re going to spin this mistake with my husband.”