Their Saturday morning walk had been a greatly appreciated step away from the world to talk between themselves. Irene and Solomon had been out for a few hours in total. Excluding events she’d been compelled to attend with him, this had been the longest they had spent in each other's company for a long time. The peace and the truce had been broken, however, when they’d come through the front door to find the newly published edition of Witch Weekly[1] lying on the doormat. Quite understandably, Irene had cancelled her subscription to Witch Weekly when she’d found out about her husband’s connection to the magazine’s editor. After reading, Irene had done the only thing she could to stop from imploding. She’d changed into her running clothes and left via the back door, completely alone and not saying a word to Solomon.

On Sunday morning, the photographer had once more left the house, this time heading with her Ministry shadow to her studio. Unfortunately, further fraying of her nerves came with the regular enormous ELF posters plastered to the front door on the street, and the pile of flyers dropped outside the door and through the letterbox.

Irene spent most of the day at her studio, only leaving when she needed to for the planned family meeting in response to the dreadful article. When she came through the front door to their cottage and discarded her cloak, Irene was hit with the smell of food and suddenly became aware that she’d yet again not eaten all day. Irene was dressed simply, in beige chino trousers, a simple white blouse, a brown cardigan and a white pumps. There was undoubtedly a slight lingering aroma of gillyweed about her person. She was carrying the pile of ELF flyers and the ripped up poster.

In the kitchen, the family had already gathered. Solomon, Earnest and Cynthia. No family lawyer yet. His arrival was likely imminent. Irene dropped the pile she’d been carrying on the table, a pointed sign for the supposedly powerful husband that said nothing could be done about the harassment.

“I love that dress, darling. Stunning colour.” To Cynthia, her mother gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. To Earnest, Irene frowned and pressed her lips together. She’d not seen him since that morning in his kitchen. Still, she embraced him briefly with a quiet “Hello, love”.

Solomon didn’t receive any sign of affection, other than a brief glance in his direction. Atop the stove was a steaming pot with whatever was planned for dinner, but Irene went straight for the breadbasket, snatching up a bread roll just to put something in her stomach.

Irene began to tear it apart, glancing at Solomon.
“I could start a bonfire with the flyers that have been piling up, Solomon.” she muttered before popping a chunk of bread in her mouth. That could be a perfect photograph to send back to the ELF; their promotional material going up in flames.

1.	A Letter to Minister Carstairs From Queen G

"You should allow Greenie that care of those," Earnest said to his mother. He was at the table, dressed more casually than usual; he looked like he did when he was prepped to spend a week on the road for the team in warm-ups and trainers. He was referring to the family's experienced house elf who would, of course, do anything they asked.

"That'll solve it," Cynthia said. She seemed genuinely concerned today and may likely be actually offended at Earnest's suggestion.

"You know I meant," Earnest said back with a sigh.

Earnest had been very pro-active in confronting Genevieve García after his father had told him of their mutual acquaintance. He'd been very pro-active in discreetly seeking his own outside advice the day before from Augusta Wilde. But he'd told his family nothing of either conversation; he'd given his parents no warning at all that Gen had threatened to do something just like what she ended up doing.

"What can Oz do, anyway?"

He turned a page in the evening paper, looking up over the rim of his spectacles as his wife returned with comments for all. Solomon had spent much of his day tending to paperwork and reading in preparation for the week's meetings. Now he lounged at the kitchen table and skimmed lighter articles with a mug of tea.

There was an air of restless about the house but he recognised it as separate from himself. For Irene, the Witch Weekly article was a shoe they had hoped would never drop. And for Earnest, well, it must all seem personal at that age.

"I don't know," Sol smiled faintly at his son. "I imagine he'll have something to say. Oz always does."

That his affairs would come to light was always a possibility. If anything, he felt Queen G's letter to be the best way for it to come out - the unfounded accusations of a famously dramatic, promiscuous woman.

       "Can we sue her, you think?" Cynthia mused, picking at a dinner roll.
"And make a circus out of all this?" he replied dryly and closed the paper. "It's a fashion rag, darling."
       "A fashion rag everyone reads..." his daughter muttered acidly.

Solomon shook his head at her, sighing. "Let's leave it to Oz. You mustn't let this get to you," he removed his spectacles. "People will forget, come the next scandal."

There was always a next scandal, fortunately for them.

They’d talked about how to handle his infidelity becoming public knowledge, but that didn’t mean Irene felt prepared for it. The conversations had never been something she’d been a willing participant in, considering her anger at him only telling her because he’d had no choice. If the threat of the media hadn’t loomed, would she still be ignorant to what her husband was really capable of? Would he have ever told her about his betrayal?

Now, the hypothetical had materialised into reality and by now, everyone in the country will have heard the gossip that Solomon Carstairs was a cheat and his silly wife hid from the cameras because she was ashamed. Solomon may have been unfazed by the situation, but his wife was a different breed, and she loathed being the subject of gossip, especially if there was a painful truth to it.

Irene chose not to comment on how much more useful their house elf would be in dealing with the ELF flyers than the Minister for Magic himself. She drowned the words with another bite from the bread roll.

“People will not forget, they will merely find another focus.” Irene moved over to the table and poured herself a cup of tea from the teapot. “Let us simply hope it is as far removed from our family as possible.” Blue eyes darted between both of her wizards; husband and son each attracted attention while her daughter merely wanted it. It was Earnest and Solomon that had brought the article into fruition, after all.

“Honestly, Earnest, there is nothing wrong with finding someone your own age, someone that doesn’t eat their mate after he’s been of use.” The witch said to her son before claiming a sip of tea.

“Black widow. That’s dark, mum.” Cynthia interjected with a look at her brother.

“Yet clearly true.”

Oswald Prewett
Attorney, Slaughter Fulbright.

When Oz Prewett knocked, he knocked lightly and without ceremony. He was expected and one of the house elves let him in the usual fashion - taking coat and hat and remarking on the weather.

Solomon's pleasant home by the Cam was comfortable and familiar. He did not need to be shown into the kitchen, and made his way there as any old family friend might. No reason to announce oneself or dress up - indeed, he had come straight from home in an old cardigan over his shirt and slacks.

       "... ow be reasonable Irene," Sol was speaking. "It isn't his fault Gen has no morals."
"Not his fault she's a bitch, you mean?" Cynthia added on.

"Cynthia!" Oz scolded charmingly as he walked in, wagging his finger. "Don't let them catch you saying that, child."

The witch pulled a face. She could be grey-haired and hunched, and she would still be child in his eyes. Unlike Earnest, who had graduated to young man some time ago.

Solomon was on his feet, smiling warmly, and the two clasped hands. It had been a busy time for the Minister and this was the first they had seen of one another in weeks. "You look well," Oz said kindly before glancing about. "To food and business, then?"

He could tell the wife was in a mood - she simply wasn't cut out for this kind of thing. Irene couldn't help being common as she was, however, so Oz often made excuses for her to himself.

Be reasonable, Solomon said. Irene had spent her life being reasonable. She sat back quietly when werewolves were lambasted, not showing her own anger because she was being reasonable. She’d endured Solomon’s rise to political fame, standing by in support despite her loathing of public attention because she was reasonable and it was right for him. She’d remained in their family home, silently grieving their marriage without saying a word of his infidelity outside of their intimate circle because she was reasonable and his public image mattered. She’d stepped back from the Queen G fiasco with Earnest, leaving Solomon to handle it because she was reasonable.

It was clear to Irene that any emotional response to this mess would never be reasonable enough.

She said nothing in response, partly because Oswald entered the kitchen, lightly reprimanding her daughter for her choice of words, as if Cynthia were a child. In fact, he even used the word ‘child’. Both mother and daughter exchanged looks as Solomon and the snobbish and rather misogynistic lawyer shook hands.

“Oswald.” greeted Irene with a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes before taking another sip from her teacup. The extended Carstairs family had kept this lawyer on retainer since before Irene had even met Solomon, and her husband trusted him with their legal matters. While Irene believed that he had the Carstairs family interests in mind, he clearly didn’t see her as a member of the family. He seemed to encompass much of what was wrong with the world her husband inhabited, especially the snobbery.

“Only this family could discuss adultery over Boeuf Bourguignon and call it business.” Irene quietly commented to her daughter before she drained her teacup, returned it to the table and followed the wizards into the dining room.

"For fuck sake," Earnest muttered. The bare animus of his Irene and Cynthia was striking him so uncomfortably and at the wrong angle that he was beginning to resent it. He had as much reason to be angry as either of them, at both Gen and Solomon, but he found himself finding a side with Solomon! Maybe they could all go back to ignoring the whole mess.

He took his place at the dining room table, where weeks ago he'd caused a little scene and been scolded. That had been more comfortable than this.

The elves sent in the meal and the drinks poured themselves. The dark heavy stew was unappetizing, and Earnest really just picked at it.

"I ask again," he declared, "what it is Oz is expected to do."

He could not ask any of them to dine in good spirits but Solomon was growing weary of this climate. As such, he reached for wine before food. Luckily for them Oz could always be expected to behave in a can-do and pragmatic manner.

The wizard in question was buttering a bread roll when Earnest spoke up.

       "I'm right here Earnest," Oswald smiled mildly. "You needn't use the third person."

"He's rather affected," Sol replied on his son's behalf, in a dry tone. "But quite blameless, Oz. He didn't know about Gen and me."

In his owl to the family lawyer, he had filled his old friend in on recent events. The cheating was old news of course. Prewett had known about it even before Irene - there were some things your lawyer had a better right to know than your wife.

       "Naturally," Oz shot him a placating look. "Now, as for what I am expected to do..."

He put down his roll, addressing Earnest with the same placid but direct manner Solomon recognised from their after-dinner talks. "Forgive me. Whose interests are we protecting?"

The older wizard glanced at the other faces around the table as if asking them the same.

"The Minister may weather extramarital gossip. Legal action might, in fact, prove Ms. Garcia's truth if she is able to produce evidence," he continued conversationally and looked back to Earnest. "May we assume you were her target? Perhaps through your mother?"

It was routine for Uncle Oz to be tedious and it barely registered that Earnest should be annoyed by it. Something Prewett or Solomon said, though, caused Cynthia to put her fork down loudly and Earnest looked at her. She looked pained or disgusted. He felt indignant imagining she objected to their father calling him 'blameless' but more likely she was unhappy at the open conversation about their father's cheating on their mother.

Earnest hadn't expected the questioning to be turned to him at all. If the topic wasn't Quidditch, he wasn't typically consulted. He sat up a little straighter.

"I don't -"

Was it that obvious?

"The article wasn't about me. I'm - Dad's the Minister of Magic. Surely..."

Cynthia made a sound. "Stop. Is that what we're talking about? Was Earnie also fucking Queen G?"

Earnest threw up his hands and looked around for someone to please save him.

Much like her son, Irene didn’t even touch her dinner. It sat languishing on the plate before her, undisturbed by her knife and fork. A glass of red wine had been poured but she hadn’t picked this up either. The sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the atmosphere around the dinner table had dissipated any hunger the witch may have previously had. It dawned on her as she listened to the conversation that they were dining with the wizard who’d kept her husband’s secret and intended to protect him now as well. Oz was an accomplice in Solomon’s betrayal of her, perhaps even an enabler.

The words slipped from Solomon’s mouth, so easy and unimpeded while he didn’t even spare her a glance. ‘Gen and me.’, as if they were a couple, once entwined. He was emotionless, yet for his wife it was a painful reminder. She looked down at her wine, especially when Cynthia finally realised the gravity of the situation.

Irene may have reprimanded her grown daughter for the use of crass language if she wasn’t presently using every ounce of her willpower to stay in the room and not flee from the situation.

Instead of being the one to confirm to Cynthia the farcicality of their dilemma, Irene looked up from her untouched dinner to her husband. “Is there evidence she can produce, Solomon?” Had he left traces? Had there been owls or physical evidence of their affair?

Oswald Prewett
Attorney, Slaughter Fulbright.

He didn't dare scold Cynthia this time, simply exchanging a look with Solomon that said: you didn't tell her?

The Minister of Magic did what many ministers have probably done when faced with the hysterics of women, and shrugged. Earnest was saved from his sister's next remarks by a pointed question from Irene.

       "Not unless they've started accepting pensieves as evidence," Sol replied dryly.
"We are not moving on from this!" Cynthia interjected, overlapping.

"We most certainly are not," Oswald reassured her with a reproving look. "Your brother very sensibly ended his relations with Ms.Garcia, which seems to me the only plausible motivation for her letter."

He had made some progress with his stew while they'd all been fumbling about for words, though now he took up his wine.

"It is an exceedingly desperate read," Oz observed as he raised his eyebrows at Earnest, pointedly, "don't you think? Her pride must have been deeply wounded."

With his sister now scandalized and having a well-earned meltdown, Earnest redoubled on a previous commitment he'd made to himself to keep his chin up and head level. His coming to pieces or being passive aggressive wouldn't help anything.

"We were just hooking up," Earnest said across the table to Oz. (Cynthia said, "ew!") "I went over on the thirteenth and told her I knew, and that it was over. And I ..."

Earnest calculated how much or little he would say, but they'd been trained from really young to always tell Uncle Oz the whole truth because Uncle Oz can only help if knows everything. Not that they as kids were ever really needed in those conversations.

"And I asked that she leave mum out of it."

"Earnest..." Solomon trailed off, looking at his son with helpless frustration.

Now it was his turn to put down his cutlery and sit back. That explained it. Before the letter, he had assumed Earnest broke up with Genevieve amicably, seeing as how his own interactions with her had been fleeting and insignificant.

       "Of course," Cynthia grumbled at her brother. "Of course you did!"

Oz did not seem surprised or put off, however. But Oz was rarely caught offguard - he always seemed to expect the worse of people. "Afraid you showed too much of your hand," he told Earnest mildly.

"Yes," Sol agreed with a sigh, "but I didn't think Gen so... fragile."

In his eyes it seemed hardly worth holding a grudge against someone, much less a young wizard with whom her relations were hardly serious. Then again, she had been through the wringer with a Death Eater husband.

       "Mm," Oswald mused after a taste of wine. "We could, if you like, request a retraction on threat of suing. But nobody really pays attention to those things once the cat is out of the bag."

This was sadly the truth. Rags like Witch Weekly probably dealt with such cases on the daily and readers generally overlooked the little 'retractions' tucked into article corners.

Her hand found the stem of the wineglass when Earnest admitted to accidentally dragging her into this mess. His heart had been in the right place, it was just inconvenient that Queen G was like a magpie, seeking gold shiny stories.

“She isn’t necessarily fragile.” Irene quietly corrected her husband. Her blue eyed gaze switched to Earnest, “You took away her control, Sweetheart. She’s a witch who’s worked hard to grasp at control after having lost all of it after the war,”

Irene had known Genevieve Gacía-Gamp back at the Daily Prophet, and she’d seen how the world had set itself against her when Leo Gamp had gone to Azkaban. “As Oswald said, it’s a desperate read, but because we took away her control, in telling Earnest and in his ending things with her.” Despite how personal the situation, Irene spoke calmly without emotion. While their personal life had become gossip for Wizarding Britain, Irene knew she’d weathered much worse. They’d always known this could happen. Who didn’t love a scandal for a powerful wizard?

“Can we not let it merely play out without acknowledgement?” she asked, looking between Solomon and Oswald. “Any denial links almost automatically to guilt,” of which there was, but that hardly mattered. Such guilt was a matter between husband and wife, not the rest of the country. “Instead, we present a united front, no dramatic admissions.” Irene took a sip of wine, stealing herself for the next suggestion she had to make. “We spend some time together in the public eye. You’ve a couple of events coming up, link them to the charities I work with, and I’ll accompany you.” By having that link, it wouldn’t appear to be so clearly a response to the letter.

Oswald Prewett
Attorney, Slaughter Fulbright.

"Ms.Garcia's fragility or control is quite besides the point," he raised his eyebrows at husband and wife, unimpressed.

Oswald had meant to imply a spin on the narrative and it went clean over their heads, perhaps because of their emotional proximity to the witch in question. It wasn't simply the young man who was 'rather affected'. Irene seemed keen to cover her own shame, Solomon stuck on why it happened at all.

"You will all be reached for statements," Oz put down his wine with a nod at Irene. "Easy, perhaps, to respond with no comment. But Earnest is playing for the national team now, isn't he?"

The old wizard glanced at Sol's son, smiling grimly. "Multiple press conferences, cameras in your face. To say nothing of what your team mates might ask..."

People were more interested in Quidditch than in politics - sadly - and of them all, Earnest would rake in the lion's share of popular opinion this year.

"You may want a version of events for unofficial word on the ground," Oz returned to his meal. "A good publicist, some other distraction for the papers."