WHO: Gwendolyn Vane & Barnaby Snell. WHAT: Coming up with a plan. WHEN: Backdated to Tuesday, 9 January. WHERE: BGC flat, Tinworth.
Several hours in DMLE questioning combined with someone’s idea of a practical joke resulted in a feeling that was akin to a hangover. Barnaby was exhausted, listlessly drifting around the flat with a slowly receding headache and a drink he was tempted to spike. It was a little too early for alcohol, but then again, could anyone really blame him? The last few days had been a wild ride.
Baz stepped into the living room with a yawn, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sight of Gwen with her nose in a book. He set his mug down of the coffee table before flopping down across the sofa, burying his face in a pillow. For a moment, everything was quiet — it was just his breathing, Gwen’s breathing, and soft snores from Toby as he slept, curled up in a ball at Gwen’s feet. Then, his voice muffled by the pillow, Baz declared, “I hate everything.”
“Hmm,” Gwen said, at first, a noise that doubled as a response when she hadn’t been really been listening. The book in front of her was an easy read, something she could sink into, not have to think too much about, but she’d found herself wrapped up in the words anyway, burrowing into them. Words were an easy retreat and she fell towards them whenever she could. Although she’d noticed Baz come in, heard him speak, it took a moment for her to extricate herself.
Blinking, she replied his words and then said, “Not everything, surely. I’m burning that nice cinnamon candle, aren’t I?” She nodded at the mantelpiece, where the small flame flickered, the scent creeping towards them. It was small, but she smiled softly and then looked at Baz again. “Don’t smother yourself with that pillow.”
“You have no idea how tempting that is,” he replied, angling his head so he could get a better look at Gwen. Baz’s gaze flicked over to the candle and he smiled, taking in an exaggeratedly deep breath before adding, “I’ve always wanted to die in a room that smells delicious.”
“I’m helping your dreams come true then,” Gwen said, lightly, keeping her voice breezy as she looked at Baz. She wanted to tell him that everything they’d had to deal with was the worst of it, that the past twenty-four hours were probably going to be his only brush with the law. It would likely be a lie, so instead she moved slightly, every shift making Toby’s snores louder. “If you smother yourself, I won’t do anything, I’ll just leave you there, and then Chelsea will raise you from the dead to tell you she can’t believe you smothered yourself with her favourite pillow and ruined it. You don’t want that.”
Baz rolled over so he was on his back, clutching one hand to his heart and draping the other across his forehead. “You’d let Chelsea lecture me even after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil? That’s cold, G.”
“Please,” Gwen said, with a scoff. “Of course I would. You’d be dead so it’s not like you’d mind the lecture at that point.”
“I’ve had enough of Chelsea’s lectures for a lifetime,” Baz said with a slightly uncomfortable laugh. Snippets of his conversation with her conversation from the night before swirled around his head and set his teeth on edge — snippets like dangerous consequences. Determined to file those thoughts away to the far reaches of his mind, he quickly tacked on, “But at least she got a glowing review in the Prophet, yeah? It’s a shame the rest of the article was such shit.”
A slightly bitter laugh escaped Gwen and she flung herself backwards slightly, letting the breath leave her lungs in a steady rush. So much of what the Prophet published wasn’t what she wished it was, what she’d always wanted ti to be. She closed her eyes briefly, mouth twisting into an unhappy grin, and then she looked at Baz again. “Yes, at least we were nice about her. C deserves it, even if the rest of everything is such utter nonsense.” She laughed, as if it didn’t matter to her.
Baz frowned a little, the corners of his mouth tensing, as he let his gaze wander over the room. “I used to think I’d eventually migrate over to the Prophet. Or do both? The occasional sports column or something. But I wouldn’t want to be associated with it now.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “And the WWN is just as bad.”
Gwen groaned and looked at her book. No one dealt with exactly this predicament in it: all of Caryl’s trials and tribulations were lighter somehow, sure to be easily fixed at the end. And she had a much more interesting name.
“That would have been nice. I’d have thrown things at the back of your head and probably blamed somebody else. Betty, or Byron. Bs turning against the newest B.” She smiled and then pushed her shoulders back into the large cushion she was lying on. “Nothing is good anymore. Not that comes with official seal of approval anyway.”
“Narcissa Malfoy ruins everything,” Baz groaned, mouth twisting into a weary smile. “Imagine what things would be like if you didn’t have to worry about her seal of approval.” His expression softened as he continued, “You’re the best writer I know, G. It’d be amazing.”
“Oh shush,” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose at the compliment, a smile appearing on her face. “I’m a growing writer. There’s loads better than me. I’ve a lot to do, still.” She looked at Baz, her head tilted to the side and said, “You’re a great reporter too, you know. You’ve done loads for the WWN. They should treat you better.”
“Everybody should treat me better,” he retorted. Then, with an exaggerated wink, “I’d make it worth your while.”
Gwen, as she tended to, pretended not to hear him for a moment and then said, “Financially. Bankroll me for a whole three years and we’ll do it.”
“Guinevere, my love, I’m afraid you’re much too expensive for me.” But an idea seemed to dawn on Baz as he sat up, his eyes flashing with a bright hint of excitement. “We should work on something together, though. A blog or something. A podcast. Fuck Narcissa Malfoy and the WWN.”
Gwen blinked at Baz, at the suddenness and ferocity of the movement, so at odds with her in the moment. She’d been about to recline deeper into the sofa, a part of her willing it to comfort her further. “What?” she asked, blinking more. She stared at him for a moment, turning it over in her head. Fuck them was her first thought, loud and harsh and angry, brighter than anything else.
“You want to do what?”
“I want us to help get the truth out there,” he explained, gesticulating wildly. Just getting the words out there filled him with a thrill. There was a wide, wild smile on Baz’s face, and, despite his exhaustion, he was now buzzing with energy. “You can write, I can do a podcast, and people find out about shit the Prophet’s not covering. Attacks on muggles, muggleborn murders, things like your Tinworth coverage. That was brilliant.”
“It was nothing,” Gwen said, automatically, and then she closed her mouth. She looked at Baz again for a long moment, focusing on him intently. He looked alive, even though she knew he must have been exhausted, worn down by the day (and every day, lately).
“It’s important people know what’s happening,” she said, after a moment. “I don’t think spoonfeeding them Death Eater propaganda is going to be good for anyone. We all know better, or we should, and — Barnaby, it’d be a huge risk.”
“It would be, but—” The threat of danger seemed to deflate Baz, just a little, but he still pressed on. He met Gwen’s gaze in a level stare as he suggested, “I can disguise my voice. We don’t have to attach our names to anything.”
Gwen shook her head instantly, a litany of, “No no no, no, of course not. We wouldn’t be attaching our names. We’re much too smart for that.” She looked at Baz appraisingly, something distant in her gaze as she went over the suggestion again and again.
“I don’t know how we’d set it up,” she said, finally. “You have to come out strong. Especially with — well, with the Quibbler.”
Baz raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not publishing anymore, are they?” Gwen said, voice low. “God knows what happened, but I doubt it’s anything good.”
“Right,” came his quiet sigh. He turned away from Gwen, his gaze flickering over to the candle on the mantelpiece. Its flickering was mesmerizing to watch, but it offered no solutions to their problem. Scrubbing a hand against the side of his beard, he sunk back into the sofa. “We can hype it up on hooter, maybe? Then, after some promotion, maybe kick it up with a podcast or an article about — something that’s happening. I don’t know, what do you think?”
There was barely a pause before Gwen said, “I think we should do it. I really do. That's what this is meant to be, you know? Actually doing something that matters. Saying something that isn't the Death Eater party line.” Her fingers twisted inwards, pressing shapes into her palm. She stared at her hands for a moment. She was a writer; she deserved to use them for something important, something she loved.
“Yeah, B. Let's go for it.”
“Yeah?” Baz’s grin cracked wide across his face as he rose to his feet, crossing the room and kneeling down in front of Gwen’s chair. (A move that earned a disgruntled growl from Toby.) He reached for her hands and grinned up at her, and a small little thrill swelled in his chest. “This is going to be great, I promise. And we’re going to be okay.”
“We better be,” Gwen said, softly, a smile crawling slowly across her face. She laughed, but it was mostly noiseless, withdrawing one of her hands from Baz’s and using it to ruffle his hair. “Course it’ll be great, anyway. We’re gonna be a team.”
“A sexy team,” Baz added with a wink.
“No,” Gwen laughed. “We’re keeping it strictly PG.”
“For penis galore?” Baz quipped, his smile turning sly.
“I’m sorry, I just beeped out your bad words in real life!” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose. “In my head. It was very loud.” There was beat and then, “Oh, I’m in charge of beeping you out on the podcast. Please. Give me a beeper.”
“I’m sorry, but the masses deserve me raw and uncut.” He paused for a moment, his eyes bright with mirth. “I will refrain from making the obvious joke here.”
Gwen screwed up her face, pressing her laughter down, trying not to show it too obviously as she lifted her hand and mimed pressing a beeper. “Beep,” she said, shaking her head. “Beeped the WHOLE thing out, Barnaby.”
He grinned as he pitched his voice lower, adopting what he referred to as his ‘radio presenter voice.’ “This is Barnaby Snell and Gwendolyn Vane at the top of the hour. Stay tuned for more x-rated and explicit news.”
Gwen gasped loudly, hand flying to cover her heart. “Wow, B. I think we just made a great discovery — the tag line reject pile!” She started to laugh, though, her laughter encroaching on her words, practically eating them up. “Explicit. Terrible.”
“We’ll have to come up with a name and a tagline,” he said, tapping his chin in thought. “But I guess we have time to figure that out, yeah?”
“Yeah, we’ve got some time.” Gwen copied his pose and then, gently said, “It’ll be great, B. I can feel it.”