Barnabas Cuffe and Agatha Pendragon's London House
2pm, 24 January 2012

The posh London house were Barnabas Cuffe lived with his wife Agatha Pendragon was empty. Empty of course was the house of its occupants, both Barnabas and Agatha as well as the two house elves. But empty, too, was the house of every twig of furniture, any scrap of paper, all of Agatha’s wardrobe. The fine cigars were gone as was the chest they were kept in. The wine celler was only a cellar, lacking any trace of its namesake or original purpose. There was no bed in the bedroom, and no one living in the living room. The kitchen maintained its sink, stove, icebox, and cabinets, but there wasn’t so much as a tea saucer or grain of rice in the place.

Barnabas Cuffe and Agatha Pendragon had gone and left no forwarding address.

The entire evacuation had been accomplished with great efficiency despite the volume and detail required. The house elves with their ancient and paradoxical powers had no trouble blinking everything away while Barnabas tended to his papers and effects and Agatha to her scotch and sapphires.

One afternoon, Barnabas had swept into the house much earlier than his normal arrival home from the Daily Prophet and he found his wife in the sitting room sitting in a chair. (This was before they’d vanished the chairs.)

“Pack your things,” he whispered sharply. “It’s &@^$ing happened, it’s time, why are you still sitting there? The chair’s going, it’s all going.”

Agatha without any alarm because she didn’t yet know what the alarm concerned replied without looking up from her book.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alfred of St. Ruan’s is all aflush over the advances of King Richard the Lionheart and so help me if you snap me from my revelries I shall hex you terribly.”

Barnabas moved at her swifly and positioned his face inches from her ear.

“She’s back,” he said. “She is back and she’s coming.”

That caused Agatha to lower the book. (An old favorite, historical Byzantium, heretics, fey magic, shame and lust, and Anglia.)

“You don’t mean…?”

“I do mean.”

Agatha rose from her seat quickly, the book abandoned. “Well, we’ll have to be leaving now. Not a word to anyone.”

“Not a word to anyone,” Barnabas echoed. Then he moved to leave. “We’ll take everything. The elves can do it, but you should handle -”

“I’ll handle the scotch and sapphires,” Agatha finished his sentence.

“You handle the scotch and I’ll -” Barnabas said.

“You’ll handle your effects, your papers. The elves can take everything else.”

“Stop doing that.”

“I won’t. Go.”

Barnabas hesitated a moment, then went back to his wife and kissed her on the forehead.

“No one can know. We’ll leave no trace behind. She’ll not find us this time,” he said gravely.

“No post either, make sure the owls can’t forward,” Agatha advised.

“Especially no the post.”