"Wait!" he said a little louder than he might have wanted to. Cuffe's next works were spoken as he chased after Genevieve. He caught her hand, but let go almost as quickly. He spoke in a whisper, his eyes worried.

"Where are you going? What are you going to do? Bleeding mercy, Genevieve, I -"

She could leave if she wanted to, and he might have liked to forget about all this, but their fates were tied in this. That, and he didn't want to see her killed, or worse.

"Please, don't go.  I'm trying to tell you, whatever you think happened up there, whether your husband is innocent or not, that because... " he paused and tried to speak slowly for his own benefit. He ran a hand through his wild white hair.

"Because you have been to see Theodora Kingstreet, your life could be in danger. And should the worst be true and he's been wrongly convicted, you'll do no good to anyone dead."

Unfamiliar fingers grabbed her hand and Genevieve was quick to spin around, her gaze now angry. A moment ago, he’d clearly not wanted to help. No one could hear them, she needed to forget it all. So why was he now grabbing her and telling her to wait? what did it seriously matter to him where she chose to go now and what she chose to do?

“Have you gone all the way to mad?” Was this a joke now? Did he intend to torture her for disrupting his nice sophisticated party with his nice actress wife and fake friends? Why had she even thought to come here? Who else did she have to seek help from? Kurby was probably at the end of his tether with her and Gen didn’t really want to destroy the relationship she’d somewhat forced him into with her. She didn’t have any real friends. It was lonely being Queen G.

“Dead? I went to see her locked up in Azkaban, Cuffe. All magical chains and forbidden from even being in the same room as a quill and parchment. She’s mentally unstable but she doesn’t have a hope in hell of killing me.” Gen shook her head, hand landing on the doorknob. “You’ve lost it if you think that old bat can do anything to me.”

Barnabas just stared at her, his expressive face frozen and aghast. He began to realize there really was no way to explain what Kingstreet was capable of; she was beyond fathoming. Her depravity and imagination were uniquely harrowing, and to convince Genevieve, he'd have to tell her what Kingstreet had done to him, and that was simply not possible.

Genevieve was brave. Too brave. She was going to get herself killed. She was going to get him killed.

He held up his hands again, trying to emphasize he wasn't her enemy on this.

"Alright, then I've lost it. You're right, I'm a drafty old man. Just, humor an old codger and be careful."

Maybe Genevieve was right, maybe the Ministry of Magic had truly found a way to lock Kingstreet up properly. But he was still spooked, loathe to have Genevieve running off into the night.

"Will you stay for awhile? We can t-try to make sense of this bloody &$@'ing nightmare?"

Anger, stress, tiredness and frustration were all getting too much for Gen. First Cuffe thought she was insane for going to Azkaban, he wanted to silence her. Now, he was telling her how she was no longer safe and that she needed to stay here to discuss how to handle it. Painfully confused, the witch lifted her hand off the doorstep and frowned at him. Her eyes were glistening with frustrated tears.

“Why? You’ve just said it yourself, Cuffe, I’m a fool.” A fool for what, Gen still didn’t know. Had she been a fool all those years ago for believing the lies of aurors and lawers? Was she a fool now for believing Kingstreet now? She wanted desperately to have someone to talk it through with, but Cuffe may not have been the person for that.

“It’s my ^*&@ing nightmare, not yours.”

"Bloody, shambling hell, witch!" Cuffe raised his voice louder than he'd want at this moment.

"Do you want my -" he bit back another shouting oath, "do you want my help or don't you? What ...! What ..."

To be frank, Genevieve's tears was unsettling to Barnabas. Whatever their relationships past or present, there was something comforting about Genevieve Garcia-Gamp's eternal unbreakableness, her unassailable bulwark of confidence. To see her a bit crumbly, well, it made the ground unsteady.

"What is wrong with you?" he finally managed to beg with curled pleading fingers

“What is wrong with me?!” Genevieve was incredulous, staring at Cuffe as if he’d just grown a second nose and horns. “Have you taken a hex to the head, Barney?” As if that would get him to help her any more than before! Too many thoughts were swimming through her mind, but now the overwhelming one was that she’d come to the wrong place for help. It was depressing to think this was about the only place she could come, however. Kurby didn’t want to hear any more of the saga, especially that she now believed Leo may have been innocent. No one wanted to hear constantly of the murderous husband of the woman you were sleeping with.

“12 years ago, my husband was arrested and sent to Azkaban for being a Death Eater. He was my husband who I’d known since I was 15 years old! There were absolutely no signs that he had ever been that person to do those terrible things. He wasn’t an angel but he was a good person. Now, there is a chance that he was innocent, Barney! But I believe he did those things! I kept our son from him and I wrote such horrible things in my book.” Gen closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the emotion. Her head hurt, but not as much as her heart was hurting.

“If this is true, Barney, if Leo is innocent, I not only abandoned my husband, but I stopped my son from ever knowing his father.”

"I read the interview," Cuffe seethed, referring to the orchestrated story where Gen gave Thursby a manipulative tell-all.

He knew her sorry story, he knew it thrice over. It was a terrible tragedy. It was a tangle of lies and betrayals and may very well go through to the highest rungs of government and now had reached the most depraved minds in the shallowest grave.

The old wizard shrugged, sighed, and deflated watching Genevieve and the intensity of her sorrow. He remembered that first day back in his office where they'd hatched a plan to keep Enid Jingleberry at bay, to keep the public opinion on Genevieve's side should the worst happen. What piece was Cuffe missing?

He rested one hand on his hip, and ran the other through his wild white hair. He paced away, unsure exactly of what to say next. He eventually took a stance leaning against his desk.

"Are you an honest person, Genevieve? At least, are you honest with yourself?"

“I read the interview,” Cuffe told Genevieve plainly and the Witch Weekly Editor found herself wanting to scream in his face about why he’d asked her what was wrong with her. Wasn’t it glaringly obvious what was wrong? She was freaking out and he was *#^*ing useless!

His question; that stumped her. Gen stared at Cuffe for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed and brow creased as she thought over his words. Right now, she wasn’t going anywhere and her eye was still hurting so she snatched up the ice once more and put it against the quickly forming bruise.
“You know I am, Barney. I’ve made a career out of being too honest.” Some people called it a blatant disregard for privacy, Gen called it an ability to sniff out hippogriff shit and only write the truth. In her time as Editor, Witch Weekly had built a reputation for no holds barred exposés and wittily written articles which handed the messy truth on a platter to its readers.
“The only lie I’ve ever told about any of this is that I believe he did any of those things he stood trial for. He could be nasty, Barney, but he wanted to save people, not kill them.”

Cuffe watched as Genevieve moved about the room, no less distress but at least a little less likely to rake his eyes out, at least to his estimation. He prepared himself to offer the only advice he had left, but the door handle began to slowly turn. Cuffe rose from his leaning to catch whoever had wandered away from the dinner party. But instead of a wayward guest it was his stately wife, the perfectly aged Agatha Pendragon.

"Agatha, I'm sorry but -"

"Oh don't worry, Barnabas, we can all hear you," she purred. She slipped her slight frame through the door, her vintage, velvet 1920s dinner coat hugging her in the move desirable silhouette from that era. Her wrists full of braclets quietly jangled.

"But I did you two the favor of a muffling charm. Oh. Darling."  Agatha seemed to take notice of Genevieve for the first time, even though she knew perfectly well the state of her from when they'd met at the door. She glided over closer and laid the absolute gentlest hand on her shoulder, her face a look of pity.

With a blink, she turned her glare to Cuffe.

"Barnabas, what in heaven and earth have you said to her? Genevieve, has he been a blunt instrument? You can't let him do that."

The old wizard massaged his aching temple. This was all he needed. If Agatha found out about Theodora Kingstreet - and she may have already from eavesdropping - this did not bode well for domestic peace. But what if ... there was no love lost between his wife and his, well, whatever she was, Genevieve. What if Agatha could deign not to be so condescending she might be able to help.

Daddy Cuffe, for the first time ever, seemed to have nothing to say immediately. That was when the door opened and in walked Mommy Cuffe, informing them that everything had been heard and she’d put a muffling charm on the door. Gen was past the point of caring what people did and didn’t know about any of this. Her personal life had been laid bare for all to see too many times to remember; people loved to hear about the catastrophes of other’s lives. So did it really matter what their friends had heard? Perhaps Gen could be the party piece and prance around singing about her sorry tale?

Gen’s gaze snapped immediately to the hand. Why had Momma Cuffe AKA Barney’s stick up the arse vintage wife just placed a hand on her shoulder? Why was Barney’s stick up the arse vintage wife pretending she cared? Was this because she was in front of her dear husband? Did he know how unwilling she’d been to give Gen access to their home and to him?

“I need a blunt instrument, Agatha.” Gen frowned and then flinched when it hurt. “Wow. Now I feel like I’m 16 again telling Mamá and Papá that I was dropping out of Hogwarts for a boy. There’s Daddy all angry and not sure what to say and Mommy a little clueless about what’s going on.”

Agatha was on the prowl. Barnabas needed a drink. There was little to be done when his dear wife involved herself. What had she heard that had made her coo over Genevieve and put on this little domestic show? More brandy in his glass, more brandy down the hatch.

"What I was trying to say, Genevieve," Barnabas interjected, "is that a witch or wizard may only control their own process. The outcome, whatever it might be, will be what it will be. You'll twist your own head off trying."

Agatha had gone silent but steady at Genevieve's side, her heavily lidded eyes in calm regard of her husband's testimony. For all his ambition and savvy duplicity, for all his pushing and shoving and eccentricity, he was a good man trying to do good.

Barnabas caught her staring. She arched an eyebrow indicating that he should carry on by all means, dear.

"You did your best. You were honest. What more could you have possibly done?"

He sat down again.

"He's a stopped clock," Agatha said. "Right, now and again."

Cuffe’s wife was in the room and the old goat started to talk in riddles. Agatha just stared him out, causing Cuffe to continue. But his words didn’t make the witch feel any better. She, too, dropped back down, collapsing into an armchair as if all of the life had been zapped from her. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. The nightmare had begun a month previous and it only continued to get worse, more detailed, more complicated.

“He isn’t right, though, Agatha.” Gen finally said after a few minutes slumped in the chair with her eyes closed. She looked up at the witch whom she’d never really liked at all. “I could have done everything differently but I didn’t.” She took a long swig of her drink, feeling a new desperation to drown herself in alcohol. “What would you do? If Barney was arrested? They tell you he’s a murderer. The entire world tells you he’s a murderer. Talk us through it, Agatha. Pretend it’s one of your shows, if you like.”

Agatha's heavily-lidded control wavered only a flicker as Genevieve went on the attack. Barnabas's own reaction was less subtle.

"Foul play and you know it," he scoffed. "You know absolutely bloody well what I'm trying to tell you."

"Gently, Barnabas, she's clearly traumatized..." Agatha said steadily, although something about her tone was disingenuous. Barnabas waved his wife off interrupting, then laid his hand in his wild white hair.

"No, no no, Agatha wife of mine, she knows what she's doing. Exactly what she's doing. She asks for help, help's provided - at some cost, you know - , and then, suddenly I'm a horrible man and how dare I, and how could I possibly understand!? It's &$@^ing exhausting!"

Agatha arranged her robes. Barnabas was off and cooking.

"Do you really want to know what she'd do, Genevieve? If something was about to be revealed about me that would ruin us? If the lies were all queued up and ready to come tumbling down in an avalanche of excrement and shame? What would the Mrs do? Hm? What did you do, Agatha, wife of mine?"

The old witch rolled her eyes.

"Really? We're doing this now?"

Barnabas was on her feet, yelling in equal parts at both witches.

"She sent the children to visit her mother in Húsavík, deposited the antiques in Gringotts, burned our home to the ground, and paid the fecking extortion demand! Because that's what you do! You do what you must to survive!"

Agatha stood abruptly.  "I can't believe you. I can't believe you've just told her this."

Barnabas rounded on Genevieve and hissed at her.

"Because you don't toy around with Theodora Kingstreet."

The baiting meant for Agatha had clearly caught the wrong fish. Barnabas Cuffe, more like a shark than a mere placid fish, suddenly went for her, angry and frustrated. Gen had clearly flicked a switch in him and she was no longer willing to play by her rules of engagement. But she needed the harsh shark like Cuffe. If Gen had wanted mollycoddling, she’d never have dreamed of turning up at this doorstep tonight.

Daddy Cuffe was off.

In any other situation, Gen would have had a glass of wine in hand and settled in to enjoy the show. But this was aimed at her and tonight she was an emotional wreck. Cuffe and his annoying wife were scared of Kingstreet even now when she was living in a cell on a rock in the middle of the North Sea. She wasn’t dangerous anymore.

“But why, Barney?” Gen shouted back, deeply exasperated. “You keep saying this but what can she actually do? I’m not scared of some psychotic nut job quill pusher who’s behind bars! She’s already had my husband locked up for life for something I truly still can’t believe he did.” Tears were once more rushing back and Gen was starting to lose her control over her emotions. “She can do her worst now and it will still never be as bad as the knowledge that I turned my back on him and let him rot in there for 13 years!”

Sat alone in the armchair, Gen began to sob, great racking sobs as tears flooded down, her hand over her mouth and nose. It wasn’t fear that caused her tears, it was an overwhelming guilt and a crushing sadness over what she’d lost and given up.

Barnabas spun away in a tumultuous effort to contain his anger and frustration, but immediately whirled back for another go. Genevieve now believed Leo Gamp, her murderous, vindictive, threatening, violent - ! She believed he was innocent? That he'd been framed! She-!

But before the irate editor could shout another word, he was stop-stayed by a single raised finger from Agatha who looked suddenly shocked. She stared at Genevieve wide-eyed.

"You... you've had contact with ..."

Agatha had clearly not heard as much as she claimed she had. She'd been stunned that her husband would bring up Kingstreet's name in their home, revealing to the editor of the Witch Weekly that they'd had dealings, but she didn't have time to process why. Her silencing finger held up to her husband began to shake.

"Kingstreet? How? Why? What has she done, Genevieve?"  Agatha drew back and furrowed her brow, her own anger creeping in. "Why have you come here?"

Barnabas defied the silence and interjected in a bizarre attempt to defend Genevieve.

"She couldn't have known."