“She didn’t say, Gen, just that she needed to see you.” Jemima, Gen’s newest assistant (she’d sacked the last a couple of weeks ago when the dumb witch had mixed up her coffee with a hot chocolate. What stupid &*$^ing witch drank hot chocolate if she was in the public eye all the time?) Ahem, anyway. Gen’s newest assistant Jemima had scurried up to the large table at the centre of the bullpen to tell her boss about an unexpected visitor. Gen, who was gathered around the table with a couple of her editors in discussion about the aesthetics of this week’s upcoming edition, wasn’t exactly pleased with the interruption.

“Tell her to come back tomorrow, Jemima? Once I’ve done this, we’ve got those Spanish veelas coming in for the photoshoot. Have you seen a Spanish veela’s arse?” Jemima shook her head and Gen grinned brightly. “Oh, you will, my little veela arse virgin. You will.”
Clearly uncomfortable with everything about that sentence, Jemima interrupted once more. “She’s an auror, Gen. Auror Roh?”

The smile vanished from Genevieve’s expression, as if someone had just slapped her.
“Finish this.” she waved at the table with various parchment laid out across it. “And get rid of that, I said no to a knitting competition last time. I don’t care if you want to knit thongs or scarves, we’re called Witch Weekly, not Grandma Weekly. For Merlin’s sake…” Auror Roh wasn’t going to come back tomorrow on demand and Gen wasn’t going to wait to find out why she had come to her office seeking her.

Glamourous as ever in her trademark sparkly heels (purple today) a black knee length dress and purple blazer, Gen stepped through the glass doors dividing the bullpen, the main hub of Witch Weekly Headquarters, and her office. Her hair, shoulder length was wavy, neat and sleek, her makeup perfectly done. By now, the black eye had long since faded. There, sat in crimson robes and looking considerably older than 13 years before, was one of the aurors that Gen had been questioned by for hours when Leo had been arrested.

“Auror Roh, how can I help you?”

Zora was not prepared for Genevieve Garcia-Gamp.

She'd milled around reception as an assistant (Jemima, Zora noted) disappeared to summon the editrix. The place was sleek and had that strong feminine energy without being too youthful or pink. She recognized the covers of recent editions that were hung on the walls - Waverley left Witch Weeklys all over the house. Zora'd flipped through them to get a better idea of just what had become from Genevieve Garcia-Gamp since she'd last seen her thirteen years ago.

Jemima returned and led Zora back to a posh office. As the door closed behind her, the usually unflappable Auror was not able to completely hide a brief look of surprise.

Time had been kind to Genevieve. Or it might be more accurate to say she'd laid seige on time, bending it to her wishes and, well, utterly transformed. Everything from her hair, clothing, to her posture and demeanor had changed completely from those interviews so long ago. Back then she'd been nervous and even a little mousy, dressed plainly and clearly affected by her ordeal. Zora had certainly seen her in the news, and her dashing smile graced the first page of every issue she'd perused. But it was a whole other thing to see her in person.

Zora had to be impressed. She adjusted her expectations and adopted a collected and calm expression.

"I'm just here to ask you a few questions. Nothing to be alarmed about."

As Zora had gotten more experienced, she'd honed her strategies. Back when she'd started, she'd been full of snap judgements and a high energy; some of that was still on display thirteen years ago during Genevieve's interrogations. But now, Zora and found the value in keeping things calm as long as possible, delaying any escalation as long as possible.

"We're investigating a suspicious death and thought you might be able to help," she said approaching the desk and having a seat. She pulled two photos from inside her uniform, and handed one across the desk.

It was an employee picture of a middle-aged Asian wizard with short black hair and a short black beard. He looked stern and sturdy and wore the uniform of an Azkaban guard.

"Have you ever seen this man?"

From Gen’s experience, a few questions being asked by aurors was never a good thing. Upon Leo’s arrest, she’d been brought in. Each day, just a few more questions had turned into hours of interrogation. They’d thought she might be involved, she’d thought they’d set Leo up. Maybe she really had been correct. Why else would the Auror have come here with a few questions if not to guage how much Gen knew? Anything an auror did that involved her alarmed Gen.

Despite her mistrust and current anxiety level at having an auror in her office, Gen lowered herself into her seat and chose to busy her hands, opening the bottle of water that was sat next to a pile of parchments.
“Why would I be able to help?” She frowned and took the photo offered. Dark eyes scanned over the man’s image. It was clear as day, this was the guard she’d blackmailed for a meeting with Theodora Kingstreet. Her lips parted and eyes snapped back up to the auror. A blatant ‘no’ would clearly be a lie. Gen knew she’d reacted too quickly.

“He’s a guard at Azkaban, isn’t he?” She asked, no lie there. But why would she have remembered him so clearly? “Asked me for an autograph for his wife, I think.” That was a risk, did he have a wife? “He’s dead?”

Was he an Azkaban guard?

"Mmhmm."

Zora wasn't expecting that. What business did Genevieve have with an Azkaban guard? Perhaps she has visited the prison to see her husband? Although he wasn't housed in Shahidi's block. And wasn't she estranged from Leo Gamp? But perhaps he wasn't acting in his capacity as a guard at the time - it can't be far-fetched for Genevieve to be approached by fans.

She took out a little notebook and scribbled down notes to follow up.

"Afraid so," Zora said solemnly, "A piece ran in the Daily Prophet three days ago. Surprised you didn't see it," she said glancing up to gauge a reaction.

"When did the autograph happen? Where were you?"

Roh was scribbling in a notebook, making notes of what Gen said. This, quite evidently, put Gen on edge and she found herself feeling as if she’d been dragged back 13 years. Some of Leo’s old colleagues had been understanding and hadn’t judged her. They’d admitted how they too hadn’t had any idea. But those like Roh, she’d been a dog with a big juicy bone and it had left Gen reeling. Therefore, whatever plan Gen had come into her office with when it came to being polite and getting this done with quickly, started to vanish.

“I have other ways of getting news, Auror. I’m not about to put money into Cuffe’s pocket.” That was a lie, she read the Daily Prophet every day and she was basically friends with Barnabas Cuffe. She’d probably skimmed past the article, an Azkaban guard not exactly featuring on her radar. That was a mistake.

When did the aurograph happen? Gen shrugged, shaking her head. She lifted her water bottle to her lips and took a gulp.
“I don’t know. Probably last month. When I found out you idiots are *^&%ing moronic.” Gen replaced the lid on the bottle and looked back at Roh. “If he is innocent, I will make sure that every one of you loses your job and pays for what you’ve done to our family. Write that in your little notebook.”

Well, that had escalated quickly. Zora had to stop short in her note-taking when seemingly out of nowhere Genevieve cranked up the hostility.

"You mean your husband," Zora said, needlessly clarifying who Genevieve referenced as possibly 'innocent'. She wasn't completely surprised Leo Gamp had come up, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon.

Genevieve was getting rattled. But was it to do with Shahidi or just that she had a familiar Auror in her office? Zora sat back to show she was keeping her cool (although she found it daft that she'd blame Aurors for what was ultimately the work of the Wizengamot).

"Well, I'm not here for that, Mrs. Garcia-Gamp. As far as we know, this has nothing to do with ancient history."

Zora shouldn't have baited her. As quickly as she could, she slid over the second photograph. It was a high-heeled shoe. Filligree stiletto, slightly platform, and covered in bright red glitter.

Ancient history was what the auror called her husband’s case. What the nasty little witch called ‘ancient history’ was something that Gen and her son had to live every day. What she forget was something that Gen was reminded of every time she saw her son. People in positions such as Roh’s struggled to really empathise and really understand but they needed to be held accountable. They would be. Years ago, she’d had no power. Now, Gen had the media behind her. Presently, Genevieve was visibly irked by the auror’s poor use of vocabulary.

“Tell my 12-year-old son that it’s ancient history, auror.” The editor snapped, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk. Even if Leo had done the things he’d been arrested for, Dante didn’t deserve to pay for it. There wasn’t, however, time to continue, because Roh quickly slipped another photo across the busy desk and Gen snatched it up, lifting it for a better look.

“What the @%&^ are you doing with a picture of my shoe?!” She blurted out. Next, she glanced up to the open door and waved her hand. The glass door swung shut and the windows that allowed her to see everything occurring in the bullpen misted up. “Are you trying to pin a murder on me now, Roh? Have you reserved me a shared cell with my husband? Get the @%&^ out of my office!”

Zora's heart began pounding, but her years of training allowed her to resist flinching. She'd dealt with worse. Although, she really shouldn't have baited Genevieve, but she had it coming with her snark about Aurors.  Sure, there was always collateral damage in the wake of arduous investigations and that was sad. But Zora had done her job during one of the most tumultuous and dangerous times to be an Auror in the last century. And what the Wizengamot did after? Not her problem.

Zora had walked in here with good faith, easy questions, no accusations, and what did Genevieve do with it? Set a match to it.

She'd been ordered out of the office, but she didn't move. She merely pressed on, her tone firm.

"Ma'am, no one has been charged and the death hasn't been ruled a murder. This shoe was found at the scene, at the base of a cliff in Yorkshire near Mr Shahidi's body. It doesn't belong to his family. It has your monogram, and Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley remembered you had shoes custom made from time to time."

"Are you sure it's yours?" Zelda asked, hoping the question would settle Genevieve down. By her reaction and their intel, it clearly was, but stranger things had happened than forged shoes planted at crime scenes.

"Have you noticed if anything has gone missing from your home or office...?"

Genevieve hadn’t consciously stood up, but when, calm as anything, the auror pressed on, she realised that she was now out of her chair, palms flat on the desk. Having always had a fiery temper, it was no surprise that Roh’s reappearance in her life had set the flame burning once more. This particular auror could have told her that her hair looked fabulous and her arse looked amazing in that dress; Gen still would have flipped out because of their ‘ancient history’ being so recent in her mind.

“Did you try it on him, Auror?” The editor shook her head upon considering that was far too early to make a comment like that. “I know it doesn’t belong to his family, that is my shoe.” Gen’s finger pointed to the purple item of footwear on the picture. The unpleasant auror wasn’t moving so she abandoned the desk and her water bottle, realising with crystal clear clarity that she was going to make herself a suspect if she continued to freak out. From a cabinet behind her desk, she pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and filled a small tumbler.

“Of course, it’s mine.” It was with irritation that Gen waved away the silly question. “You measure it. Six-inch heel. Red and gold glitter. Gold sole with a red G on the base.” At the final question, Queen G took a swig of her whiskey and looked incredulously at Roh. “Clearly not, auror. There’s only certain things that go well with a red shoe. I’m not a total maverick; it’s a weekend shoe.” Shame on the auror for not realising.

Probably the last useful thing Zora could say right now was 'calm down', but Genevieve really needed to relax. She was making a few routine questions about her last fifteen years of tragedy, a completely unnecesary move. Fortunately for Genevieive, she hadn't actually said anything that made Zora think she was any more than a wix of interest.

So even though she didn't tell Genevieve to calm down, Zora's whole demeanor said as much. A condescending sigh and a shift more comfortable in the chair, leaning back, and quietly recording a few notes. At least Genevieve had confirmed without too much resistance that the shoe was hers. And that she knew the deceased. Genevieve, in Zora's book, was now a wix of more interest.

"Weekend shoe..." Zora said aloud with a mocking tone as she recorded that superfluous detail in her notebook. "Very helpful."

She knew her next question wasn't going to deescalate the encounter, but it really was what she came here to find out.

"Ma'am, do you have any idea how the shoe could have ended up in Yorkshire?"

Roh’s snark would have been deeply amusing to Genevieve were Roh not one of the aurors that had harassed her over a decade previously. As it were, now Gen was wondering how she could quickly get rid of the nasty red robed bitch and continue with her day. Those Spanish veela arses weren’t going to grope themselves, after all. Unfortunately, Gen was getting the feeling that the more she said, the more Roh planned on staying just to terrorise her. Yet, sadly for the auror, Gen wasn’t the weak push over that she’d been 13 years before. The Gen that Zora Roh was now encountering was one who’d made it out of the fire stronger than ever. She wasn’t about to back down and cry like she had done after hours of questioning back then.

“Oh well,” Sarcasm began to drip from Gen’s voice as she opened one of the drawers to her desk and took out a small diary, “Let me just check my correspondence log and see if I’ve had one of our owls sent to Yorkshire with a single shoe.” She opened the diary and began to flick through the pages. “These things are easy to forget, Auror.”

For most people, the realisation that Genevieve was about to have would have come sooner. But she was so consumed with a long-standing resentment of this woman that it had clouded her mind. It wasn’t until she glanced down at her diary, a prop used more to make a badly judge joke at Roh, that Gen realised the implication of her shoe being in Yorkshire.
Suddenly, the editor looked up, her face paling. “Someone’s been in my flat.”

Zora was not amused by Genevieve's acerbic performance. Just. Answer. The question. Honestly. Zora had almost put quill to paper when Genevieve pulled out the diary, but seeing it was an act of sarcasm, she let her hands drop into her lap.

But Genevieve whole demeanor changed. Zora didn't move, not wanting to set her off again. The reaction seemed genuine, a sharp vector away from everything Genevieve had said or done so far.

"Someone's been in my flat."

Zora just hadn't asked the right question, before. But something had clicked for Genevieve. Shoes don't walk across country on their own.

"You think the shoe was stolen," Zora said, confirming.  If Genevieve hadn't gone as white as a sheet, Zora would presume that Genevieve was doing what every suspect did, claim something key had been planted. For a moment, Genevieve looked like she had fifteen years ago. Worried. Zora softened, just a little, leaning forward with interest.

"Have you had any visitors in the last month? Anyone who had opportunity to take it? Is anything else missing."

If indeed the shoe had been stolen, it would be yet another in a rash of mysterious burglaries, but the only one in which a stolen item had turned up.

It was only now that Genevieve was starting to take this seriously. Someone had been into her flat, her wardrobe and taken something that very clearly belonged to her. It wasn’t a regular pair of trainers or one of her more sensible and bland shoes. This wix had taken something so clearly belonging to Queen G. They had known her, this was personal and more all the more personal by an unpleasant ghost of her past coming knocking on her door.

“No one that would do this.” Gen shook her head. Gone completely was her previous attitude and snark. Someone had invaded her personal space, a fact that made the witch sick to her stomach. The tumbler she’d previously drunk from was left abandoned on the desk and she sat back, brushing fingers through her dark hair. Her visitors included the usual. Niobe, a recently reacquainted friend from the Daily Prophet, and Kurby Bagnold, her regular lay and grumpy boy toy.

“I hadn’t noticed that missing, Roh.” Frustratingly, Gen felt her voice shaking. “Did he steal my shoe? You get all sorts of weirdos nowadays. Desperate for a piece of a celebrity.” Absentmindedly, Gen listed a hand to her hair. She’d heard of these nightmarish tales of stalkers taking clumps of that too. First shoes, then hair.

Zora hadn't gone to Shahidi as the shoe-thief until Genevieve proposed it. Witch Weekly readers were a strange bunch. It wasn't crazy to think a 'fan' had done the break-in. Whatever the circumstances, Genevieve was tangled up in all of this.

"I don't know," she said honestly, taking more quick notes. Many Aurors these days liked the auto-quills for visits like these, but Zora preferred to do it by hand. It stuck information more firmly in her memory.

Both she and Genevieve seemed to be consumed by the task at hand, for the moment away from each others' throats. The truce would probably last about as long as it took for Zora to get around proposing the MLE search her home, so Zora saved that for later.

"We're going to run down any lead we can get," she said firmly, "wherever they take us."

Zora hoped the implication as clear. Whether Genevieve liked it or not, she was going to spending some time with Level Two. But it also meant they were going to try and find out who'd broken in, stole her shoe, and why.

"That said, we're going to need to visit your home, and we'll want a list of your enemies, whoever's visited your place over the last three months..." Zora sighed, anticipating more resistance.

"And you'll need to stay in touch. I'm going to have more questions."

Zora sounded about as excited as she looked. Not very.

The more Zora Roh spoke, the more Gen didn’t like where this was going. Running down leads meant she would be seeing more of Level 2. Giving the names of her visitors and having her home searched was a gross invasion of her privacy. Enemies? Was there a limit to the length of the list? Gen was in one of those careers where people either loved and adored her or detested her. There was rarely a middle ground.

“I understand a list of enemies, but I’m not a suspect here and neither are people that I choose to invite into my home.” Even Gen wasn’t sure right now if she was pushing back because of her concerns over an invasion of her privacy or because of who was making these demands. Why did it have to be this auror coming here today? Why her demanding to check her flat? Gen had spent so many years and so much effort to move one from the horror of 13 years ago, that Zora Roh coming back into her life was like it had all happened mere months before. It was painful and deeply unpleasant.

13 years ago, her Knockturn Alley flat had been full of aurors combing every last inch. They’d violated every part of her basic privacy and Gen remembered clearly being sat amongst the mess and disorder, catatonic for a couple of hours. It had been a dark and painful time for her, and now she was being dragged back there.
“You are not welcome to visit my home, Auror. You will not be stepping foot over the threshold.”