He'd only had enough time to turn as the angry footsteps approached, then he had a familiar–yet worse for wear–bouquet tossed at his feet. Barnabas blinked in surprise, then looked up to see who the offender was. He recognized him immediately. Fisk. He'd been a year ahead at Hogwarts and a prefect. What he was doing here so angry and with the flowers Barnabas had left at Amelia's grave earlier that day?

"There's been a misunderstanding here, Fisk," He congenially leaned on his cane, as if he weren't bothered with the crushed flowers that had cost him a good chunk of coin, "Miss Evans and I, we were in love once, you know. Almost got married even. I certainly didn't damage anything."