Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Hogsmeade => Scotland => Kaldfjord => Topic started by: Sasha RW Snow on December 23, 2016, 01:14:02 AM
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Did the wizarding world have an equivalent of a nobel prize? If so, the inventor of the impervious charm certainly deserved one. It proved to be the perfect idea for a long day of persistent, steady rain. While the edges of those wonderfully sleek dragon skin boots sunk into the mud with an unpleasant squelch, they remained wonderfully shiny when they reemerged with each stride. Mud oozing into the leather tooling would have been a rather sad way to end the day of carefree shopping.
The same charm kept his new cloak likewise clean and dry. It would have been a shame to see water spots appearing on those new buttons. It was exceptionally nice to, finally, dress in quality, dapper, wizarding style.
This weekend had marked Sasha's first trip to Hogsmeade after gaining full, legal-adult control of his finances. While the Ravenclaw had never wanted before, there was only so much he could siphon away to the wizarding world without having to answer awkward questions from the trust lawyers. He'd never been in a position to browse and shop with the same carefree abandon that he could in the muggle world and his wardrobe had always reflected that imbalance. This first post-exam shopping spree had started in Munich and had followed Sasha back to Diagon Alley and, finally, Hogsmeade. Shop owners all along the way were more than eager to help Sasha correct the imbalance.
The (admittedly shallow) enjoyment from a new outfit also helped overshadow the anticipation of finally meeting the next key member of this newly uncovered branch of the family tree: Miranda Storm. They'd flirted with the potential of meeting several times before but reasons to put those meetings off had been far too easy to come by. Studying. Meeting. Pending exams. Snow. The matter proved easy enough to avoid until an attack had left Professor Storm - his father - barely clinging to life.
Death had become a far too familiar visitor and, with each visit, it seemed to leave perspectives in slightly different alignments. Sasha had quickly surmised from Miranda Storm that his being at St. Mungo's wasn't the most welcome, so he'd done his best to make his presence and concern known while giving her her space.
Professor Storm was, thankfully, very much on the mend. Sasha had suspected the stereotypical convalescing gift of flowers would have been, at best, humorously tolerated so he'd opted for a bottle of German elfish wine, instead. He took a moment to (unnecessarily) straighten the lapels of his coat and smooth his hair before knocking on the front door.
How bad could this really be?
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It was a rarity to find Miranda Storm (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=213620759) at home on a Saturday afternoon. Saturday afternoons and evenings were habitually the busiest times for her hospital during the normal working week. If one excepted Christmas day and New Year’s Eve, it was on a Saturday that people were the most reckless and ridiculous. Reckless Saturday’s kept the witch’s hospital full. The previous Saturdays, however, Miranda had remained home, deciding she was able to do some of her duties from the desk in their small study.
Miranda was on her way to the kitchen for another cup of tea when there was a knock on the door. With Gerda tinkering in the garden and Ignan up to Merlin knew what all day, it was left to her to see who insisted on disturbing them. Her glasses hung from a string around her neck and her feet were bare on the wooden floor.
With mild irritation, the door was pulled open and Miranda was forced to look up towards a set of eyes she recognised immediately. They bore far too much similarity to her husband’s that she didn’t need to be told who this was. Pale lips immediately pressed together and her body stiffened.
This child had received no invitation.
There was little point in pretending she hadn’t figured out who was stood at their doorway towering over her. There was also little point in ignoring the fact he was there.
Her now alert mind flashed back to the last visitors she’d let into their house and her husband’s now healing injuries. with such a reminder, the door was shut without a word, leaving the boy on the doorstep and Miranda walked into the kitchen to see Ignan sat at the table.
“You have a visitor.” Her voice was cold. “He has your eyes.”
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Ignan had come home from St Mungo’s a fortnight ago, and in that time, Miranda had made more of a point to be home. At first it had been to keep a sharper eye on him, particularly as the recovery in the wake of the curse had been a lot slower than the average magical malady. Then, with a strict timetable of potions (Miranda’s enchanted parchment had delivered suitable threat at least twice in that first week) and the most sleep Ignan had taken in decades, things began to pick up. He still wasn’t entirely himself, but considering he had been given less than a day to live at the end of the previous month, he was remarkably healthy.
With Miranda taking over the cottage's very modest study to work (her favourite hobby and primary occupation) and write more of her book if not attend to St Mungo’s business, Ignan had commandeered the kitchen table instead. Minerva had relieved him of Hogwarts duties with the news he might be unable to work for the foreseeable future, but part of getting back to normal was to pick up work again. Being stubborn as a mule, nobody apart from Miranda could dissuade him, and even she appreciated how a normal routine made one feel well again. He would restart teaching on Monday. It was fortunate he’d only lost a week of lessons.
Mira addressed him sharply on entering the kitchen. Ignan immediately dropped his left hand from rubbing at his sore right shoulder through the thick navy wool jumper as he marked second year homework from March with a quill. However, the experienced healer did not seem to give a crap about such things, stating they had a visitor.
“…. He has your eyes.”
Ignan did not immediately make the connection, first of all considering who might want to deliver eyeballs to him when he hadn’t requested any or needed any potions supplies for lessons. His mind quickly considered whether Miranda meant them as some sort of remedy he needed to consume, and then his mind but her behaviour and a visitor together and gave a start.
“He… I didn’t hear the door? I... am not expecting him.” Ignan uttered quietly with a frown, placing aside his quill and getting to his feet. He avoided his wife’s sharp gaze on his route out of the kitchen. The living room was empty, and there was no sounds within apart from the rain outside and a distant clatter from the garden where Gerda was weeding under a floating umbrella. To his initial surprise, Ignan realised that Miranda meant Sasha was on the doorstep, and hadn’t been invited in. He reached out and opened the door with his good arm.
“Sasha,” Ignan addressed, tone mildly surprised. He suppressed the instinctive reaction to address the teenager as Schlagenweit. The boy was dressed smartly, in robes which Ignan had not noticed or observed before, and the toes of dragon skin boots were visible beneath the hem of the cloak. The Professor paused a moment, considering implications, making a small movement as if about to invite him inside before thinking better. “Forgive us, given recent events, might I ask you what the topic of our last lesson was?” He asked, referring to theory work on the precautions of using fire curses for defence in an enclosed space which he had taught two weeks before the Easter holiday.
Once Sasha had responded sufficiently, Ignan nodded and stepped back, holding the door open for him to enter. “I hadn’t expect you back in the area until tomorrow,” he added, “you find us both working.” The professor closed the door behind them and looked to the kitchen door nearby. Lowering his voice, he gestured with a raised finger to his son and spoke quietly in their mutually understood language which Miranda would not understand, “Forgive me, there is no good time to introduce you both of late, and not all our visitors, as you can imagine, have been welcome.”
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The door swung open and a somewhat familiar face peered through the threshold at him. A few quiet breaths passed before the door swung shut, again, and the muffled sound of footsteps faded, quickly. Sasha stared at the face of the newly-closed door then glanced up at the rainwater collecting along the eaves and dribbling down in steady streams.
Well, he hadn't been hexed or yelled at. Things could be off to a worse start, right?
However, it did leave an open question: was that it? Were they waiting for him to give up and turn to leave? Should he ... was it even safe to attempt knocking again? He'd avoided being hexed the first time; he wasn't sure if he should tempt fate a second time. At least he had the wine if he started to get cold.
He could see the headline now: student found drinking on Deputy Headmaster's doorstep. Protest or prank? Luckily, it was only a few moments before the door swung open, again, and Sasha was saved from having to warm himself with ethanol. Assuming that was what gave elvish wine it's inebriating qualities. An interesting question to add to the growing list of things to investigate.
"Sir," Sasha offered in response to the greeting. "You mean, apart from reminding us again to not be complacent about our upcoming examinations?" The mild quip had been a stalling tactic; that lesson's topic had been somewhat overshadowed by the subsequent events and a little muddled by a week's worth of disjointed substitute teaching. "But, if I'm recalling correctly, it had something to do with not lighting fires in spaces too small to accommodate them. Followed, I think, by at least two examples of why not to do so outside of class." Neither of which, he suspected, had been intentional. His year seemed to have its fair share of accident-prone students. "I'm not entirely sure you were aware of that." Which made for a somewhat poor impromptu security answer.
The Ravenclaw stepped into the living room and offered an apologetic grin, non-verbally acknowledging the unplanned visit. He followed his father's lead when the older wizard switched to German and kept his voice low. "I apologize for dropping by unexpected. I hadn't expected to be up this way, either, but my appointment with the Gringott's goblins had to be rescheduled last minute. So, I had some unplanned free time." He omitted that he'd been the one to cancel the appointment. Not just because this felt more important; he also wanted to try to do some more research on his own before delving too much into any financial dealings with the goblins. Perhaps, even, hire a wizarding lawyer just to make sure he didn't make any stupid rookie-wizard mistakes.
"I realized it was probably foolish to think there would actually be a good time for this. With NEWTs and career days and last-minute homework, I don't think that's going to change after tomorrow." Sasha shifted the bottle of wine from his arm to his hand and extended it to the wizard. "Besides, once I've resumed the role of student, a 'Get Well' gift might seem a bit strange. Though, I suppose it's more of a 'be well' gift."
Following the direction of Professor Storm's glance towards one of the closed doors, Sasha added. "However, I can leave, if you think that's for the best. It's not my intention to be too intrusive. I'm satisfied with seeing you're still alright."
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Sasha took the hint and also switched language so that Miranda could not easily overhear. Gerda would understand, but she was still out in the garden as far as he knew. The younger wizard extended a bottle to his father, and Ignan was mildly surprised at the gesture, revealed only by a twitch of his silver eyebrow.
“...it’s more of a ‘be well’ gift.” Sasha admitted, as Ignan extended his left hand to take the bottle by the base and glance at the label before glancing up and uttering humble thanks.
“Thank you,” Ignan spoke in English this time, “We can’t all wait until the right moment.” He gave Sasha a respectful nod.
The door to the kitchen had come open again and Miranda was stood in the doorway[1] watching them both. Perhaps the low voices and the language she didn’t really know had piqued her curiosity. Ignan had assumed she did not want to be introduced given the manner she’d greeted Sasha. Miranda had, in contrast, been a lot more willing to get to know other members of the extended family without closing the door on them. He very much doubted Miranda had suddenly taken the security precautions to heart with Musgrave and Bombay under watch in London.
“Miranda,” Ignan addressed, “Sasha, Sasha, Miranda.” He introduced simply. “Apologies for leaving you on the doorstep,” he added to Sasha on Miranda’s behalf, “with the two of you not yet introduced, Miranda would not be able to verify who you were.” He delivered it as convincingly as he could, though his lingering gaze to his wife indicated caution. There was a pause, Ignan weighing up his wish to keep Sasha at arm’s length, Miranda’s distrust over the fact he had lied about being a father, and the fact he had nearly died. There had been other near misses, but none that definite that he was effectively cheating death now.
“Come, sit down.” Ignan invited, going to lift his right arm to gesture, but only managing a mild gesture. He was probably due yet another dose of potions. “Better to be acquainted over tea than my corpse.” He looked past Sasha to Miranda and fixed her with an intense stare.
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Sasha turned as the kitchen door swung open and saw the woman standing in the doorway, appearing to acknowledge Sasha’s presence without fully committing to entering the room. Despite many year’s worth of etiquette lessons at his disposal, Sasha wasn’t entirely sure what was the best approach. Not for a lack of consideration, of course. He'd had quite a few hours to ponder the options on the train ride north.
The Ravenclaw started to step forward, raising his hand to extend it as Professor Storm exchanged names but thought better of it. The Healer was still standing in the doorway and nothing in her demeanor suggested encroaching upon her space was a good idea, even in the name of formalities. He let his arm fall back to his side and offered a polite nod, instead. Despite opting against offering a handshake, Sasha couldn't let go of formalities enough to use first names. That felt far too awkward.
“Mrs. Storm, it’s a privilege to meet you,” he offered. Sasha remembered the witch from when she worked at Hogwarts but that had been … Certainly before Darcy Bloxham had set fire to the infirmary[1]. That had been the start of his fifth year, after Snark had expelled Foley. Back when Sasha had his own family and avoided any activity that might warrant an owl home. To the best of his ability, he’d avoided detentions, trips to the infirmary or anything that might have been noteworthy like his life depended on it. By extension, he’d avoided the healer as much as he could manage.
How distant that all seemed now; like a whole other life that belonged to someone else.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said to both of them. “It’s understandable, under the circumstances. I should have sent an owl, but I’d left Jack[2] in London. And, I suspect bullet trains are faster than my tiny owl.” Sasha had also suspected that forewarning would have just provided opportunities to find scheduling conflicts.
The Ravenclaw took the proffered seat, grimacing slightly at the blunt reasoning. But, yes, Professor Storm had summed it up nicely. Or, even if no corpse was involved, before something else happened and Johann wasn’t around to think of Sasha.
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Apparently Ignan hadn’t expected the teenaged intruder. His reaction was believable but his wife wasn’t eager to believe due to the pure inconvenience the unanticipated visitor had caused. She’d been quite content to never meet the secret son of her secretive husband. The child was a reminder of the many things she probably didn’t know about the wizard she now shared a life and a name with.
It was little surprise that the Healer remained in the kitchen for a moment to school herself and try to push back the irritation. Ignan could handle the anger and she didn’t care at all if his son could or not. She didn’t, however, wish to start another bout of the couple not speaking because of secret family members and resentments.
This was about the only driving force behind her finally appearing in the doorway to survey father and son conversing in their native tongue. The irritation resurfaced and her lips were pressed tightly together. The similarities were unpleasantly obvious to the witch who lived in such close proximity to the father. It sickened her that he’d failed to tell her. It sickened her that he failed to be a father. Many things she could have said about her former husband, but neglectful to his children, he wasn’t.
Mrs Storm… Miranda’s expression suddenly softened somewhat. It wasn’t this kid’s fault and yet her husband had maintained such formalities with his son! Ignan was the person to be irritated with. He was even the one levelling her with a stare. What did he think she would do?
“You shouldn’t need to owl your own flesh and blood, Sasha. Only an ignorant fool would think otherwise.” There was no smile with the words but the witch did step into the living room and took a seat in Ignan’s armchair along with the black cat.
“Ignan can make the tea. He needs to use his shoulder.”
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Professor Storm could not fault Sasha’s manners most days. Despite first name terms on introduction, he kept to surnames. He’d only ever called his father sir, as far as Ignan could remember. The older wizard did not expect his son to change that any time soon. The fact they had discovered each other’s relation a year or so into the habit of Professor and Schlagenweit and maintained an illusion of barely knowing each other during term time didn’t lend itself to anything more familiar. As Ignan glanced to Sasha now, he reflected that the two of them knew hardly anything better than he did of most students despite their blood ties. It had always felt intrusive. Ignan was secretive at best, and Sasha had other confidantes.
Anticipating Miranda would also distance herself, due to her reaction and also her unwillingness to pursue conversation about Sasha at any point, Ignan was pleased to hear her speak evenly to the younger wizard. The pleasure was shortlived, an edge of sarcasm beneath Miranda’s tone. He very much doubted Miranda would enjoy Maya turning up on the doorstep lately, if her brother’s explanation of an argument stood. Still, Miranda had been content to tolerate Bug stealing from her for the sake of her daughter’s happiness, well, to a point. She’d been overjoyed when Ignan had dissuaded the butcher. In a way that only Miranda could be ‘overjoyed’.
Sasha had taken a seat on the sofa, for the living room was very modest, and the cat was occupying Ignan’s armchair. The more he discouraged it, the more it preferred it. The thing had fallen asleep on him during the first week of his recuperation, and Ignan had been too tired to protest. He’d done a lot of sleeping that week, and the cat had rejoiced in the adoption of its sleeping schedule. Miranda took a place beside it, sharing the armchair. If a cat could look smug, then that cat was exactly that as it stared at Ignan now.
“Ignan can make the tea. He needs to use his shoulder.” Miranda’s suggestion was received with no verbal response, just a subtle nod before he retreated to the kitchen, leaving the door ajar.
Within their modest kitchen, Ignan made a face and rubbed at his shoulder, and flicked his wand at the kettle and the tea tray. He reached for the familiar bottles on the counter, turning briskly as the back door opened. He visibly relaxed as he saw Gerda, their house elf, step through, shaking off the umbrella before setting it against the doorframe. The back door swung shut of its own accord. Her enormous eyes took in the scene, confused at why her master was boiling the kettle for three cups of tea. Ignan pressed a finger to his lips, discouraging the elf from speaking, and then made gestures to her to finish the job - tailed with a thankful thumbs up as she bowed. Ignan carefully crept back towards the door to the living room, attempting to overhear.
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The dynamics in the room had shifted discernibly, though Sasha couldn't say for sure what had prompted the shift. There was still a palpable strain to the gathering but some of the edge seemed to have lifted. Whatever the cause, Sasha took it as a good sign when Mrs. Storm stepped into the living room and took a seat in the armchair.
First, no hexing. Now, sitting down to the join the conversation. Not too shabby of a start, from what Sasha could tell.
The Ravenclaw wasn't sure how to respond to the remark about not needing to owl and he watched as Professor Storm stepped into the kitchen to prepare the tea. How many times had he played through this scenario in his head on the train ride back to Britain? Given all the mental practice, he would have thought he would have been better prepared. But, the witch across from his was an unknown entity. He wasn't even sure who had been the intended ignorant fool.
"We tended to be fairly proper in my household when I was growing up. It wasn't uncommon for me to notify my parents ahead of time if I intended to come home during holidays," he offered in explanation. "And, I don't think anyone really knows what's proper etiquette in, you know, this scenario."
The Ravenclaw offered a slight grin and shrugged. "I suppose it's a good thing I have an owl that's only slightly better than useless. I just didn't want to overstep my bounds, again."
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The boy’s comment about his parents sparked questions for the healer but she did nothing but stroke the cat lying beside her in the armchair. The black feline stirred, the commencement of purring automatic as he stretched, stood and found his way onto his owner’s lap.
“Yet you still showed up.” Her tone was plain, her gaze intent. For a boy that didn’t want to merely show up unannounced, he’d certainly failed at this plan. As for his description of a home life, Miranda couldn’t help but feel he’d been brought up by rather pompous if not overly formal parents. But who were the parents if her husband hadn’t been on the scene?
“I guess you were worried for him.” Dark eyes strayed down to the cat now curling up in her lap. “The absent father nearly dying.” A short pause followed before her tone hardened. “Or was there disappointment that he didn’t?”
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“Yet you still showed up.”
Sasha slowly nodded, confirming the obvious. Though the signs were, thus far, positive, Sasha had a feeling the jury was still out on whether he had overstepped his bounds.
He continued to nod his head, thinking he was wordlessly confirming the other motivations for his visit until Miranda Storm posed her question. The Ravenclaw stiffened, bristling at the insinuation. Granted, he was almost a complete stranger and she knew nothing about him, but was she actually entertaining the possibility that he'd hoped for a different outcome? He flinched, stung by the accusation.
A barrage of defensive responses were forming in the Ravenclaw's head, ranging from a flippant dismissal to questions about the witch's sanity. He dropped his eyes to his hands and the floor beneath his feet and when he finally responded, his spoke slowly, picking his words with care. "Even if I hated him for being absent, which I don't, I would not wish him ill. And I certainly wouldn't wish ..." He faltered, biting the inside of his lip.
If he'd wanted Professor Storm dead, there would have been no need to wait in the hopes that fate or someone else would take care of it. At the slightest indication, Malvivicus would have jumped at the opportunity to do away with the competition. There was some painful irony in the thought. Sasha had been more than prepared to follow whatever plan Malvivicus had for him, if that would keep the old man content and others, including his father, safe.
Sasha took a deep breath and looked up at Miranda Storm. "I had far more reason to wish my step-father dead; much more than Professor Storm. Even then, I never thought that of him. I ... I'll live with the guilt of his death - with all of my family's death for the rest of my life. The thought of losing Pro- my father, too ... you have no idea. I am more relieved that he's recovering than you can ever imagine. He could be absent the rest of my life and that wouldn't change."
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The boy grew tongue-tied, struggling against Miranda’s probably ridiculous suggestion. Her gaze didn’t decrease in intensity. Why ever he would have wished death on his step father, the witch wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Getting too involved in other people’s lives could become messy and she wasn’t at all interested in that. She was playing nice for Ignan’s sake and probably for his health, too. Had this been before the attack, she may have been stubborn enough to return to St Mungo’s with a poor excuse.
Unfortunately for the emotionally stunted witch, the boy got deeper and started talking about guilt associated with the deaths in the family. Miranda stiffened and glanced at the kitchen door. Ignan was taking his bloody time.
“Hm.” Having no wish to question him on his ‘family’, she wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sure he’ll be comforted to hear such a thing.” There was an awkward twist of her lips as an attempt at a smile. Instead of continuing to look at the boy, she glanced down at the nameless cat in her lap who was purring loudly as she willed her husband to return and ease the awkward situation.
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Sasha blinked and stared at the witch in complete bafflement. He wasn't entirely surprised that she'd been put off by the answer but it had been a rather off putting question. Had she really posed it as a simple 'yes or no' question? Did she really hoped he would have offered a simple and casual 'yea, just a little bit' or 'no, not really'?
“I’m sure he’ll be comforted to hear such a thing.”
"I would like to think he doesn't feel a need to hear such a thing." Was it a false assumption that the question had just come from Miranda Storm? Sasha glanced between the witch and the door to the kitchen. Professor Storm hadn't actually considered that Sasha had wished for a different outcome, had he? The idea didn't even make any logical sense. "If that's what I was hoping for, I'd have nothing to gain from coming here. I could have just waited to read it in the Prophet."
He'd visualized a myriad of potential variations of this scenario during the train ride back from Germany, but he'd never imagined this. Mrs. Storm averted her gaze, seemingly surrendering to the awkward silence. It seemed prudent to rein the conversation back towards something that resembled control.
Sasha shifted in his seat so he could slip his hand into his pocket; the bottle of wine hadn't been the only peace offering he'd packed for the visit. Trying to decide what gift would be best suited for Mrs. Storm hadn't been entirely stress free. None of the typical hostess gifts seemed appropriate and Sasha didn't know the witch well enough to attempt any personalized gift.
"Given everything that happened around Christmas, I was remiss on the customary gift giving ritual. I suppose it could also be a house warming gift or, simply, a hostess gift." Whichever would be least offensive. "I suspect you tend to be rather busy. I know, sometimes, I get into that state where I'm trying to do too much at once and someone has just asked for something else and you suspect something might explode. Sometimes, thirty seconds of mindless, pointless nothing is a good mental vacation for me." He set the wooden zen garden (https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/dc/5c/90/dc5c903f8a1a829238c5ab3ed4dd5885.jpg) set with the seedling bonsai on the table.
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From behind the kitchen door, Ignan listened, and swigged at one bottle and then another of potion, accustomed to the dosage by this point. Behind him, Gerda watched surreptitiously and did her best not to clatter the teacups while they waited for the kettle came up to boil and whistle. She examined with approval the label of the bottle Sasha had gifted.
“… I just didn’t want to overstep my bounds, again.”
“Yet you still showed up.” Ignan frowned at this response. He hadn’t quite decided if Miranda was entirely displeased that Sasha was here, or whether she intended to use it as ammunition. “I guess you were worried for him, the absent father nearly dying, or was there disappointment that he didn’t?”
Ruddy hell Miranda! Ignan frowned in alarm. Gerda, seeing his distraction, and perhaps hearing the very same with those enormous ears, reached for both potions in his hands, so as to stow them away while her master continued to listen. Ignan thought to open the door right there and then to interrupt at such a question, but Sasha had begun to answer, and Ignan stilled again, heart quickening.
“Even if I hated him for being absent…. I would not wish him ill…”
The kettle began to whistle and Ignan glanced back to Gerda who snapped her fingers at it to lift it from the heat. There was little she could do against the nature of water in this case. It covered Sasha’s continued explanations to his newly acquainted step-mother. The frustration passed quickly for Ignan, as it was followed by a feeling of guilt for cowardly eavesdropping.
“I would like to think he doesn’t feel a need to hear such a thing.” Ignan caught as Gerda placed the lid upon the teapot and lifted the tray. There was a moment’s pause of confusion between the elf and her master, as Ignan thought to take the tray from her, and Gerda did not understand why on earth he would. Not only was he her employer but he was also still not entirely healed. Carrying heavy things filled with hot water was not advisable in her understanding. As such, there was a strange, silent dance in the tiny kitchen.
“… pointless nothing is a good mental vacation for me.”
The kitchen door swung open to reveal Gerda and then her much taller wizard shadow. The elf smiled broadly to see Sasha, they had met more than once before (she was one method of message passing while at school) and Gerda had hosted him in the summer holidays when he had come to Godric’s Hollow to visit Ignan while Miranda was not home.
“Young Master Sasha!” Gerda greeted, satisfying her curiosity at who the third teacup was for. Behind her, while the elf distracted Sasha, Ignan shot Miranda a frown which wasn’t altogether friendly. It lasted just enough to convey the sentiment before husband took his pew at the other end of the sofa to his only child. He glanced to Sasha, trying to read how comfortable the younger wizard was following Miranda’s independent questioning.
“How were your exams?” Ignan asked, having remembered something of use and individual to Sasha despite his alarm at Miranda’s questioning. The Muggle exams Sasha had been so obsessed with, had come up in conversation between them at school. Despite perceptions that Ignan didn’t care, he did pay attention, which was his way of indicating he did. “You find out in August, is that correct?”
-
No words came from Miranda’s lips as she stared at the offering from who was, in name, her stepson. What in Merlin’s name would she want with such a gift? A woman who thrived on stressful environments certainly did not need thirty seconds of mindless, pointless nothing. Perhaps her assistant would appreciate such a ridiculous object but Miranda couldn’t possibly fathom what use she would have of it.
Fortunately, she didn’t need to respond before Gerda and her husband came into the room. Gerda greeting the boy with enthusiasm and Miranda’s gaze made contact with Ignan’s.
He wasn’t impressed.
Tough.
She was hardly impressed to have his secret stepson show up on their doorstep.
Ignan, ever the teacher, asked his son about his exams. Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead momentarily distracting herself with the still nameless cat on her lap.
Gerda brought her some tea, one sugar. Miranda did a customary blow on it before taking a small sip.
“Exams? Perhaps you’d better benefit from the rake and sand pot, Sasha.” Another sip of tea hid her smirk.
-
A pregnant silence appeared to build after the gift was offered but it was promptly interrupted by the reappearance for Professor Storm and, Sasha was relieved to see, Gerda. The house elf’s warm greeting was a pleasant contrast to proceeding few minutes. He returned the elf’s broad smile as he accepted the cup of black tea and murmured a danke as he cradled the warm ceramic between his fingers.
Sasha glanced up when Professor Storm inquired about his exams, pleased he'd remembered, but turned his attention towards the Healer as she spoke of the gift. It was obvious, by now, that the gift had missed the mark. That had been a possibility, of course. “I have a redwood bonsai back on my desk in Ravenclaw tower,” Sasha answered simply. “Thank you, though.”
The Ravenclaw had, of course, hoped he would have been able to leave his new step mother with a good impression and, perhaps, leave on relatively good terms. Such results would make things easier in the long run. But, he'd also accepted that such an outcome might not even be possible. Luckily, by the nature of gifts, she was free to do with it what she preferred.
Sasha took a deep breath and turned back to his father. "I think they went well, all things considered. I'm most confident with how the physics exam went - it's part of what Professor Trishna studied." Comparing general physics and astrophysics was likely an over simplification but sufficient, given the current audience. "It was helpful to have someone to ask for clarifications."
"I guess I find out NEWTs and A-Levels sometime in August." Sasha grinned. He was going to have to find something to occupy his mind with while he waited. "Then I'll know if I'll be able to go to muggle university. Or, Laevenstrome. Or, if I'll have to find something else."
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“Exams? Perhaps you’d better benefit from the rake and sand pot, Sasha.” Miranda remarked, and Ignan’s gaze fell back on the items on the table beside the tea tray. Unlike his wife, Ignan had heard of such. Although he’d not chosen to travel to the far east, his travelling partner of a decade had after they parted, and Georg had told him much once they had become reacquainted as Hogwarts colleagues. It didn’t mean he shared his son’s belief of their helpful purpose, or potential interest to Miranda, though.
“I have a redwood bonsai back on my desk in Ravenclaw tower, thank you, though.” Sasha replied evenly to the witch in Ignan’s armchair. Gerda gave them a little bow, looking far too pleased with herself, and left the awkward trio to their fates. Sasha turned to regard Ignan a little better. His father reciprocated unconsciously, Miranda remaining in his peripheral vision.
“I think they went well, all things considered. I’m most confident with how the physics exam went - it’s part of what Professor Trishna studied.” Professor Storm regarded the younger wizard carefully, resting his forearms across his lap, and nodded at the comparison. Tapendra had attempted to elaborate on several occasions. “It was helpful to have someone to ask for clarifications. I guess I find out NEWTs and A-Levels sometime in August. Then I’ll know if I’ll be able to go to muggle university. Or, Laevenstrome. Or, if I’ll have to find something else.”
“Given the hours and dedication,” Ignan ventured with authenticity, “I doubt you will have reason to look elsewhere.” He shifted slightly, still ignoring his cup of tea, “I cannot necessarily understand your reasons for keeping such a grip on your Muggle upbringing,” he added, “only to respect you are attempting to achieve the best of what both worlds have to offer.”
Sasha’s paternal grandfather would have thought the boy odd for studying Muggle techniques, but would have admired his academic dedication. Then, he might not have got that far unless Sasha had been able to demonstrate a stronger backbone and answer back once in a while. The Ravenclaw was able to demonstrate impeccable manners even in the face of Miranda who was goading him for her own sport, and maybe even to get back at Ignan for not disclosing the blood ties until he was more comfortable in their partnership.
Ignan’s gaze faltered momentarily to glance at his wife, anticipating a scoff as he asked Sasha:
“Have you any further thoughts on where your studies might take you at Laevenstrome, or do you remain drawn to non-magical subjects?”
-
The boy had manners that he certainly hadn’t taken from his absentee father. Of course, he already had a ridiculous minute tree and sand back at Hogwarts. Mira considered querying if he used it regularly to become mindless. Was that how Hogwarts students coped with the pressure of exams controlling their future? Did they all waste significant time raking small pots of sand? The look Ignan had given her when he’d entered the room deterred the witch, deciding an argument was better over something she felt far stronger about.
Laevenstrome was at least an understandable endeavour. A continuation of muggle education past the age of 11 was not. Accustomed to a perfected poker face, Miranda let her gaze float between father and son as they discussed the boy’s muggle bound future.
The witch tried to busy herself with her tea, continuing to sip while her stare settled on Sasha and she intently studied him. The intensity could often be uncomfortable.
“What purpose could non-magical studies possibly serve other than should you plan to abandon our world? It’s about as ridiculous as me hiring a muggle trained healing practitioner, or Doctor was they call themselves, who believes in chopping people up and draining their blood like some barbarian.”
“No offence, Sasha, but if you pursued a muggle education, you won’t get a decent job in our world.”
-
Despite himself, Sasha grinned at the vote of confidence from Professor Storm. But, the grin faltered and Sasha took a deep breath when the topic inevitably shifted to his future plans. With the exception of a few choice individuals - Professor Trishna and Dreogan Eleor, namely - Sasha had remained fairly vague about what he planned to do with his admittedly eclectic education. Despite his own enthusiasm, he was well aware of how they were perceived in the wizarding world and there was no need to create unnecessary difficulties for himself before he had even started.
While Professor Storm may not understand, Sasha had been optimistic he wouldn’t be completely dismissive. The nature of his question seemed to confirm that. Miranda Storm, on the other hand, was an unknown entity and Sasha had arrived on the doorsteps with high hopes of leaving a half-way decent impression.
That hope had been fading rapidly and this turn in the conversation was ringing its proverbial death knell.
“Our Astronomy professor, Professor Trishna, managed well enough with both a magical and muggle education. Hogwarts professor seems like a respectably decent job,” Sasha pointed out, turning towards Miranda Storm. “I know it may make it harder, but not impossible. I'll still have thirteen NEWTs, which ought to be worth something. Luckily, I won’t be financially dependent on my employment, so I have the luxury of taking some risks.”
He looked between the witch and the wizard - the two closest thing to a family he had - and tried to quickly decide how to best answer Professor Storm’s question.
“It’s not really about achieving the best of both individual world,” Sasha offered, looking towards Professor Storm. “It’s more about … better understanding how the two worlds interact. We look at them as binary and completely separate. But, in the natural world, they aren’t completely separate, right? I … I couldn’t be here, if that were the case.” Perhaps because it was such a new aspect of his identity, Sasha had given quite a bit of thought to the implications of being a halfblood.
“Haven’t you ever found it curious that, of all the species on this planet, we appear to be the only one that has magically-competent and magically-incompetent individuals? I'd even thought of asking you-" Sasha started but quickly caught himself. That question could wait for later. He had a feeling he was doing enough damage just describing the gist of what he wanted to do. Specifics could wait for a time when Mrs. Storm wasn't around.
"I’m not really interested in having a muggle physician work in St. Mungo’s,” he looked back at the Healer. “I know the statute of secrecy is necessary. I’m more interested in understanding how cells age faster in magically-incompetent people than in magically-competent people. Or why electronics don't work at Hogwarts, but the electrical impulses in our heart and nerves aren't effected. We’re the same species. Which implies we share an evolutionary history but do we even know which came first?”
Sasha pursed his lips and looked down at his hands. "Unfortunately, there isn’t really a distinct education or career path for that. But, if I study both and start with where they intersect, then maybe I can start there.”
-
Sasha appeared pleased with the Professor’s response, which was fortunate. Ignan felt that he’d managed to do something decent for once towards Sasha, which he wasn’t very good at doing ordinarily.
“What purpose could non-magical studies possibly serve, other than should you plan to abandon our world?” Miranda asked scathingly. “It’s about as ridiculous as me hiring a muggle-trained healing practitioner, or ‘Doctor’ as they call themselves, who believes in chopping people up and draining their blood like some barbarian.”
Her husband set his jaw in mild irritation at her opinion.
“No offence, Sasha,” oh there definitely was, Ignan thought as his gaze smoothly transferred to his wife from his son, “but if you pursue a muggle education, you won’t get a decent job in our world.”
Schlagenweit had countered this argument before, given he had to convince the likes of Minerva before, when embarking on both sets of studies. He could muster a half-decent argument in an essay, so Ignan did not leap in to provide any defence.
“Our Astronomy professor, Professor Trishna, managed well enough with both…” He did, though it didn’t stop Ignan (even though he considered him a best friend until reuniting with Georg and marrying Mira) thinking he was rather strange in his ways. “Hogwarts professor seems like a respectably decent job...”
There was a minute inclination of Ignan’s head, enough to suggest to his wife that although he agreed with Sasha, that definition wasn’t strictly true for all his colleagues past.
Sasha did protest a decent argument, though regrettably he did come across as quite the attempted overachiever. Miranda was clever, Ignan dared she might have more intellectual ability than he, though they had long established her shortcomings in his practical expertise. Sasha was a bookish sort, always attempting feats of memory. He lacked common sense often, which suggested he rather did share the same blood as some other Storms they all knew…
“But, in the natural world, they aren’t completely separate, right? I… I couldn’t be here, if that were the case.” Ignan let out a long, low exhalation, averting his eyes downwards at the tea tray. “… I’d even thought of asking you-” Ignan glanced up in surprise at being posed with some sort of question about species, and studied Sasha carefully, but the younger wizard changed his mind.
“It is a more modern approach, certainly,” the Professor agreed with Sasha. “Miranda and I come from a time where the connections were considered unnecessary, unimaginable to pursue, and certainly, as Miranda says, those who have left the magical world for some time can find it more difficult to find work. Well, in more traditional senses. I wouldn’t want to comment on the private research or even of the… questionable… British Ministry.” He shrugged one shoulder more than the other. “Certainly you are fortunate to have privilege not to worry about money, in the short term at least.” He glanced to Miranda, seeking confirmation that neither of them had been ultimately fortunate not to worry about seeking work within months or a year of leaving school. “If only we had been as lucky in our own histories.”
-
Ignan would obviously agree with his son’s suggestion of Hogwarts Professor being a respectable job. Miranda, on the other hand, could think of little worse. She’d been close enough and the thought was dreadful. Far better jobs and careers were out there. But perhaps that was all the job wanted to do with his life. Perhaps after all of this pointless education he would educate children about muggles and their weird quirks. It was needless to say that a young Miranda had never considered an OWL in Muggle Studies.
As if to make him seem stranger, the boy began to tell the couple of his interests in muggle cells and electrical impulses. Had he spent a lifetime with his head in a book?
There wasn’t much immediate opportunity to interrupt the tide of words spilling from the teen’s mouth. Ignan appeased the him, discussing the different situations they’d grown up in and Miranda had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes. Apparently, the boy had money. No wonder he felt he could have forever to waste it on an Education that wouldn’t help him in the future and the absentee father wasn’t discouraging it. Briefly, the witch had a fleeting gratitude that she’d not met Ignan earlier in life where they would have had a child together. He seemed oblivious to the need to advise your offspring.
“The heart isn’t driven by electrical impulses, Sasha.” The witch wasn’t going to move past his silly misconception. “That’s an explanation the muggles have come up with for something that they don’t understand. It’s nothing to do with being competent with magic. You have magic or you don’t. You know about magic or you don’t. Most people in this world fail to understand why you would wish to fill your mind with the pointless knowledge of ignorant muggles.”
A glance in Ignan’s direction made Miranda rethink her words. Sasha was Ignan’s son, not her own.
“You’re speaking to someone who has fix the hash muggle doctors have made treating diseases they know nothing about. To people in my profession, muggles are imbeciles.” She gave a shrug and took a sip of tea.
-
In the proverbial soap opera that was the corridors of Hogwarts, different professors tended to assume different character archetypes. Some, like Professor Frasier, played the warm fatherly type. Professor Trishna, the eccentric though friendly uncle whose name often prompted eye rolls from the adults in the room. Professor Storm was, undoubtedly, grouped among the more rigid and uncompromising denizens of the castle.
Which was why it was peculiar to find Professor Storm assuming the role of the more flexible of the pair. Perhaps it was simply the difference between the professional and personal self or a symptom of the situation Sasha had created. Maybe it was a byproduct of Professor Storm’s recent brush with death. Or, maybe that had always been the dynamic between the two. If so, Sasha couldn't help but wonder if that was why they worked as a pair. He glanced between the two before Professor Storm spoke.
“Miranda and I come from a time where the connections were considered unnecessary, unimaginable to pursue
“For understandable reasons. It’s a fairly common predicament. Different people, cultures, even academic disciplines develop their own understanding of what they perceive based on their own norms and experiences. Sometimes it takes someone who can see things from both sides to, you know, see the forest for the trees. Even Hogwarts classes are starting to engage in more cross-subject collaborations. Herbology taught with Potions to better understand how they two interact. This is no different.”
Mrs. Storm’s rebuttal intrigued him and, already, a flurry of questions and comments were simmering in his head. The content of what she said neither offended nor bothered him; he wanted to see and engage in more conversations on the topic. The differences in perspective were what excited and intrigued him and he was starting to grow bored with just discussing the matter with those that agreed. The more people questioned him, the more focused his ideas on what to study became.
If he, well, didn't care what she thought about him, he'd have no hesitation about delving into a full debate. But, he couldn’t tell whether Mrs. Storm was engaging in the conversation because of some interest on her end or if she was just taking advantage of another opportunity to take another swipe at him. If it was the later, a rebuttal would likely just annoy her.
Sasha glanced between the two before looking down at the discarded gift.
“You’re speaking to someone who has fix the hash muggle doctors have made treating diseases they know nothing about. To people in my profession, muggles are imbeciles.”
He couldn’t help himself and he quickly realized it probably didn't matter. Despite his efforts since he'd arrived, he hadn't managed a decent first impression so it wasn't like there was anything he was trying to protect. If she felt it was in her right to lecture him about the repercussions of muggles treating witches, he wasn’t going to just politely accept it.
“I’m more than aware of the potential implications of muggle doctors not understanding what their dealing with. But, one can’t exactly point fingers at old Rome for thinking the sun revolved around the Earth. Calling muggles imbeciles for not understanding magical physiology is about as fair as calling an infant an imbecile for not knowing advanced arithmancy. It’s about as helpful, as well. Wouldn’t … developing a cohesive understanding that can be used and applied by both magical healers and muggle doctors be a more effective way to avoid hash jobs than just discrediting those that are doing the best with what they have?”
-
As Miranda listened to the child’s words, she gripped her teacup, fighting the urge to take him down several pegs in what some might consider a viciously tongued manner. She would have had Ignan not been there. But who was she really the angriest at? The young wizard who had no career path and was instead claiming to be omnipotent in all issues including her medical speciality, or the wizard who’d thought it acceptable to lie about the former’s existence?
The conversation could go one of two ways, she figured. She could calmly explain how little her truly understood and the importance of their statute of secrecy and how that prevented his naïve ideas. She could go to town on the boy, enjoying making him feel like an idiot. Or she could bow out sensibly and conserve her marriage. Ignan put up with most things from his wife; he enjoyed her vicious tongue the majority of the time. Today, with his son, he probably wasn’t so eager to sit and watch.
With her decision made, Miranda suddenly shoved her hand into her trouser pocket and retrieved a now steaming hot healer’s badge. She placed the teacup on the coffee table and stood.
“Duty calls.” A glance was sent in the direction of her husband who would know exactly what was happening. With any luck, he’d get rid of the young wizard sooner rather than later so Miranda could return home and enjoy what was left of their afternoon.
She didn’t look at Sasha again before she threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the flames to take her to her office at the hospital.
-
Miranda was keen to correct her newly acquainted step-son when it came to healing and muggle interpretations. Ignan couldn’t comment exactly, it wasn’t his area and Mira was Head Healer. Sasha was somewhat on his own in this debate. However, she seemed to cut herself off before she went too far. Ignan wondered if she remembered she was only talking to a young man who wasn’t one of her healers, nor a trainee. In parallel, Sasha, the boy of a hundred and two questions, seemed to swallow them down with Miranda’s reception.
Inside, Ignan sighed. For all her maternal swipes at her husband for hiding Sasha’s existence, she was proving to be less parental than Ignan’s terrible attempts to date. If he interrupted now, Mira would think Sasha couldn’t stand on his own two feet and parry back.
Oh… here it came.
“… about as fair as calling an infant an imbecile for not knowing advanced arithmancy. It’s about as helpful, as well…”
Another internal sigh, this time with an external wince which he covered with a subtle rub to his recovering right shoulder. Whether coincidentally, or by the blessing of fate, Miranda was summoned by her badge. There wasn’t a moment to stand on ceremony, as she vanished into the fireplace. The two wizards on the sofa looked on in surprise.
Gerda reappeared in a shot, carrying a pair of shoes, also staring at the fireplace as the flames flickered back into embers from the floo.
“Did Mistress…?”
“To London, yes.” Ignan replied, still staring at the fireplace without blinking, not requiring the full question. “Best take them to her.” Gerda popped out of sight, complete with shoes.
The Professor exhaled slowly and looked back to Sasha. He wasn’t going to apologise for Miranda. If any apologies were uttered, it would be from the witch herself, and hell might freeze over first.
“As first meetings go,” he began, “I’m sure there have been better. But, I have to consider that it was very nearly over my corpse.” He gestured with an upturned left hand, “there is always worse.” He settled back a little against the sofa, now solely considering Sasha. “Don’t take it personally. She certainly doesn’t.”
-
At first, Sasha, the boy with a hundred questions, had tried to keep his curiosity and need-to-piece-apart-every-detail in check. And, for a few brief moments, he’d been successful. But, when Mrs. Storm started talking about patching up muggle doctor hack jobs, it had been the boy who’d lost his sister not four months before to a very similar situation that had responded. It had been an extension of a desperate attempt to understand why and a painful reflex from a still-sore wound.
Not that it seemed to matter.
Not that anything he’d done or didn’t do seemed to have mattered.
Sasha’s shoulders slumped as Mrs. Storm made a hasty retreat through the fireplace. In the next breath, Gerda followed suit in a flurry of activity. The Ravenclaw watched the whole scene blankly, feeling numb and defeated. In the quiet that followed the house elf’s departure, Sasha could feel Professor Storm’s attention shift towards him. His gaze settled, again, on the small wooden box in the middle of the table and quietly picked it up, slipped it in his pocket before folding his arms in his laps.
“As first meetings go,” he began, “I’m sure there have been better. But, I have to consider that it was very nearly over my corpse.”
"I know. I'm ... I understand not being too keen on unexpected visitors. Given everything. In hindsight, this does seem like a bad idea. I should have-" What? Continued to wait for the right time and hope that time came before it was too late? Not pushed the issue in the first place? "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to cause trouble."
Slowly, he shook his head. "I can't imagine she'll be very interested in a second meeting. As far as first impressions go, I pretty much biffed that. I don't want to be intrusive."
-
“You’re not intrusive,” the Professor rebutted “Miranda’s irritation is with me, not with you.” Merlin, this was awkward. “She’s uncomfortable, and it’s her own problem, not ours.”
The older wizard sighed audibly this time and finally reached for his own cup of tea with his left arm.
“This month hasn’t been particularly stress-free for her. Being Head Healer of St Mungo’s brings enough without an unhinged stalker and a former employee lying their way into our home, resulting in arrests and my almost certain death. But that is not to say there was ever going to be a good time to meet you - but that a fortnight ago it would have been potentially the worst of all times. I …”
No, he wasn’t going to apologise for her. Though he very nearly was.
"She’s not at her best. As you can imagine, I’ve been rather under her feet here, and she’s convinced I’ll take a turn for the worse. She’s not the easiest to get on with, partly why I married her.” The corner of his mouth upturned for a moment before he took a healthy sip of cooling tea. “As I say... futilely given your current expression… don’t take it personally.”
-
Since the beginning of the visit, Sasha had gotten the feeling that there was some subtext to the situation that he wasn't understanding. Confusion flickered across the Ravenclaw's and he glanced up at Professor Storm.
"Why would she be irritated with you? Does she think you asked me to come without telling her?" As far as Sasha could tell, Professor Storm had remained fairly neutral throughout the entire exchange. If he'd said or done something that would have been interpreted as offensive, it had slipped by Sasha completely unnoticed. Not knowing either of them as well as, presumably, they knew each other, that could very well have been the case.
The residual tension from the pre-departure conversation was gradually ebbing and, with a sigh, Sasha settled back against the couch. It was difficult to completely separate himself from the sting of the previous conversation, he could understand what Professor Storm was saying. At least, he was trying and he probably had more of a reference point than most of his classmates.
"She’s not at her best. As you can imagine, I’ve been rather under her feet here, and she’s convinced I’ll take a turn for the worse."
Sasha looked up, startled. "You aren't actually going to, are you? I mean, that's not actually a risk?" That was a possibility he wasn't keen to consider. He'd be okay if it was a decent amount of time before he saw anymore family members buried.
“As I say... futilely given your current expression… don’t take it personally.”
"No, it's alright. I understand." He'd been overly optimistic and had set himself up for disappointment. "I just really hoped to leave a better impression than ... whatever it happens to be. Timing could have been better but I did just want to know you were doing better before, you know, finding out as a student."
Then, thinking back to that strange conversation. "You do know I'm glad you're not dead, right?"
-
“You do know I’m glad you’re not dead, right?”
The older wizard gave his counterpart a look of mild surprise, not that he had ever imagined Sasha would want him dead, but because the younger man decided he needed to specifically say.
“Of course,” the Professor replied, “Daresay the majority of the students in the castle have wanted me dead at one point or another, but the number who’d dance on my grave isn’t all that high, despite rumour.” He lifted his eyebrows at that mild joke.
Sasha had littered questions between his explanations, unable to keep quiet until his father had said what he meant. Ignan turned the teacup on his saucer, watching the rotation, pausing to consider what he could say.
“You understand I should be dead,” he began, tentatively glancing up to Sasha, feeling altogether guilty, “this is uncharted waters in healing terms. Healer Hughes may eventually write a paper on me as case study, which will make a pleasant change from the Prophet or that awful magazine. But I’ve no intentions of going anywhere.” He gave Sasha a sincere nod. They both knew he couldn’t entirely control that, but Ignan had no interest in putting his own life in danger in the short term at least.
“Miranda’s upset with me for the manner in which I kept your existence quiet until we’d seen each other for six or so months. Split between considering me - rightfully” Ignan gave the briefest of uneasy smiles, “-a terrible parent, and unable to demonstrate herself as any better due to feeling betrayed by me for not disclosing early on in our relationship.” Ignan shrugged and winced visibly, “blame lies entirely with me.”
-
The older man's surprise was, in its own peculiar way, reassuring. "She seemed to wonder that. I wasn't sure if it was just her."
From what little he knew of the man, both inside and out of the classroom, Sasha trusted him to at least be honest. Sasha had never known Professor Storm to blunt, soften or otherwise repackage his words to make them palatable. If the question surprised him, Sasha felt comfortable accepting the question had come from Mrs. Storm, alone.
"Well, you were a bit of a transition from Professor Mainwaring." His mouth pursed slightly into a near-grin. Seven years had almost come and gone; in hindsight, it felt like a miracle he'd made it. "Between him, Professor Gunnar and his bananas, we were use to a different sort. I haven't heard as many death wishes; Ravenclaws are a bit more creative. More ... squid abductions or senility-inspired roughing it with centaurs." Was he violating some sort of student pact?
Sasha winced, offering a non-committal nod when he spoke of those long days at St. Mungo's. "I'd guessed that. The Healers weren't really forthcoming with me, but I knew from Johann that it wasn't ... simple." Back at school, it had been even harder to get information. He'd sought out Professor Duerr, when she was there, and tried to express appropriately casual interest with other professors. In the end, owling Johann had been the safest and most effective way to stay informed. "When will it be, you know, full healed? Or, is it one of those things that never dose?"
"I think I understand but, at the same time, I can't really relate." He'd, obviously, never had that kind of romantic relationship. Beyond that, "I don't think I've ever had a relationship that wasn't based on some sort of lie or concealment. My parents. Malvivicus. Jacoba. Classmates at school - either school. This. It's exhausting, sometimes, but it doesn't seem that abnormal. So, I can kind of see but ... not really?"
On this long cross country trek through the wilds of Awkwardness, Mrs. Storms assessment of the Terrible Parent was certainly amongst the prime vistas. Sasha could really only come back to the conclusion he'd come to months before. "But, you're not under any obligation to be any type of parent and don't I have a say in whether you're terrible or not?"
-
“… don’t I have a say in whether you’re terrible or not?”
The Professor watched Schlagenweit explain himself, and then let out a mildly amused ‘heh’ at this final statement.
“No, I don’t know if it will ever heal, or what will happen, but for now I am alive. Just as any of us are.” He lifted a hand to gingerly lay across his chest where Flynn Hughes had carved runes into his skin. They weren’t visible for his clothes today.
“The incident has given me time to reflect, Sasha. When we spoke in January[1] you wanted to be able to speak more freely of our family ties, I was cautious. Selfish - given that it might all have been disclosed, should I have died, without you making a decision, and I’d not have been alive to worry about it.” The Professor swallowed, uncomfortable at the considerations he’d gone through while stuck in St Mungo’s unable to move much.
“As I said then, I say again now, I can’t stop you. I appreciate you have respected my wish to keep our blood ties private. But do you still feel as strongly about disclosure as you did then?”
-
Sasha let out a long, slow breath before taking a long sip of his tea. A stalling tactic as his mind scrambled to mold a jumbled mixture of emotions into a reasonably logical answer. On one level, the answer was blatantly simple.
"Yes."
But the decisive knot his insides had just turned into illustrated that it really wasn't that simple. Nothing about this whole situation had ever been simple.
"I know I forced this on you and you didn't ask for it. I know I'm supposed to be an adult and, maybe, it shouldn't be that important. But, it's starting to feel awkward when people say I'm muggleborn, like I'm lying all the time. And, I don't want to keep pretending I'm connected to a man I hate."
Sasha took another sip of his tea as he took another deep breath. "But, I don't want to mess things up. I don't want people to find out because you couldn't stop me. I ... I want people to know because you want them to."
-
The Professor sighed, not out of irritation, more in thought, looking away to the tea tray while he considered Sasha’s view.
“You didn’t come to my office that night expecting to find your father there, I understand that now, even if I did not react that way at the time.” Self-conscious of the terrible way he’d reacted that night, and in subsequent weeks, the older wizard lifted his left hand to his head, smoothing fingers over his silver hair before he looked back to Sasha. “And of all the things that can come back to surprise a man who spent most of his years from place to place, you’re…” well, what exactly, he couldn’t quite verbalise. The most legal, or the least likely to cause a divorce, or unlikely to murder me in revenge didn’t sound right in any context.
“I cannot forbid you to disclose, that’s what’s got us into this quandary,” Ignan acknowledged. “But I am not one for great announcements, especially of my private or family life. By which I do not insinuate you are something I should feel ashamed for - Miranda and I did not publicise our marriage, and this is much the same. It is not my nature. So if you choose to disclose, I only ask you to do it with discretion… caution… for how others will perceive.”
When your wife reacted as she did, and your reasonable, motherly cousin asked if there were any others, and your boss gave you the cold shoulder for non-disclosure in a professional capacity… the papers were never going to treat you kindly.
-
Sasha shook his head and confirmed, "no. I hadn't." When he'd approached the man's office almost a year and a half ago, the reality that had laid its hands on the table had not been the outcome he was hoping for. "I'd been expecting ... I don't know. I think I'd been too nervous to know what I was expecting." He looked up at his father as the man's words trailed off, trying to guess where his thoughts might have been going.
"That wasn't what I meant," Sasha quickly shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at expressing myself when it comes to this kind of stuff," whatever 'this stuff' happened to be. "But I'm not asking for a big announcement. Just knowing you wouldn't be disappointed or angry if people found out is sufficient." He didn't feel comfortable 'getting away with' letting the cat out of the bag.
He glanced up and looked around the small living room until his gaze settled on the empty fireplace.
"So, is there anything I can do? If I wanted to rectify things?" He looked back towards Professor Storm.
-
“… Just knowing you wouldn’t be disappointed or angry if people found out is sufficient.”
“I’m acknowledging your right to.” The Professor replied calmly. “If you feel you want to share it with others, then, you may.” He averted his eyes, and reached forward to pour them both another cup of tea, using his right arm first and then setting the teapot down to use his left.
“So, is there anything I can do? If I wanted to rectify things?” Tea bubbled into the second teacup as Sasha asked, and Ignan took a moment to understand what Sasha meant by rectify. He looked up at the empty fireplace too, before sitting back from the two refreshed cups.
“Ah. Don’t hold your hopes out.” He told his son truthfully. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, sitting forward, and looked back a little over his shoulder at Sasha. “I think the quaffle is in my court there for the time being. But, a word of advice -.” He sat up again and blinked gently, “...in this house, Miranda is the authority on all things healing. It’s a subject best avoided. Safer topics … wine, hippogriffs… a little travel?” He tried to think what Balfour and Johann had survived discussing last they had been for dinner. “Steer clear of dementors, recent events, muggles.” He gave a hint of a smile, “dangerous topics for even her husband.”
-
It was sufficient, knowing that a misplaced comment or slip of the tongue wouldn’t jeopardize what had already been established. Despite how new his connection to the Storm family was, Sasha was keenly aware that he needed the sense of security that came from being connected to something beyond oneself. Especially as he transition from life at Hogwarts to the real world.
He didn’t have a very good track record when it came to navigating the real world.
“Dementors?” Perhaps it was his muggle upbringing, but those creatures didn’t seem to be a common conversation topic. “Stick to non-controversial, cocktail party-friendly conversation topics. I can do that. Years of etiquette lessons prepared me well.”
Logically and unemotionally, the Ravenclaw understood why questions about healing hadn’t gone over well though, after years of being surrounded by educators, it was a bit surprising that an expert would react so poorly to questions. But, while the questions had initially been rooted in genuine curiosity, he knew they’d held a touch of accusation once she’d mentioned botched healing. “It hadn’t been my intention to get that emotional. I’d-“ He hesitated a moment before distracting himself by reaching forward and picking up the freshened cup of tea. “Please pass along my apologies.”
Sasha took a slow sip of his tea. "Sir-" Sasha started, before setting the teacup back on its saucer. "In full disclosure, given everything-" and since they had been on a related topic. "I'm planning on changing my name after Hogwarts. I don't want to keep carrying that man's name. And, ... there are a variety of reasons. I assumed this wasn't an option and figured I'd just make something up. I haven't figured out what, though."
-
“Please pass along my apologies.” Ignan nodded in agreement at the request. He refocused on the younger man as he broached a slight change in subject.
“… there are a variety of reasons…” Hopefully not just the fact the Schlagenweit name was shortened into all comical array of insults by classmates, the Professor hoped in passing.
“It is a good time to consider a change if you wish it,” he agreed. “Though whatever you change it to will stick, and be questioned by those who have known you before. Though, small irritation to endure in the moral circumstances.” He sighed. “Are there any other names you might consider - your mother’s maiden name, perhaps? A complete unknown would be a fresh start, though you might need to research carefully for unexpected namesakes.” He held back on suggesting Sasha took his family name. It didn’t have the best of associations in recent years.
-
There were many reasons Sasha had considered changing his name but the abundance of nicknames was certainly far less important than the main one: he did not want to spend the rest of his life pretending to be Gerhard’s son. He didn’t deserve it and Sasha didn’t feel he owed the man that.
“Though whatever you change it to will stick, and be questioned by those who have known you before.”
“And, unfortunately, that will be true in both the wizarding and muggle worlds. I thought of my mother’s maiden name but…” Sasha hesitated, glancing up from the tea cup with a quizzical glance. Was it safe to assume his father understood the very basics of muggle history? “It carries some historical significance in the muggle world. The Waldgrafs weren’t on the right side of history during the war.”
“I thought of going with Snow. Sasha Snow,” Sasha added with a grin, fairly confident the association would be lost on the older wizard. “I don’t know. I'll figure out something.”
-
“… I thought of going with Snow, Sasha Snow.” The literary association was indeed lost on Ignan, who rather understood the English historical meaning of the name instead.
“In preparation for looking as white as your father?” He asked Sasha, a hint of humour in his voice. It was a name that had links to South England and the pale hair of Northern European invaders than to actual ice or snow. “English though, rather than German? I suppose us Storms cannot talk. We left Britain generations back and took the surname with us. Less of a surprise we should return here, on reflection.” Ignan’s gaze raised to the low ceiling of the cramped cottage’s sitting room, thinking back.
“Had my mother, your late grandmother, not married my father on following him back after conceiving me, I’d have been a Murray. I’d have grown up in England, probably gone to Hogwarts…” he glanced back down to Sasha, “then our lives might have been very different indeed.” Would he have been any more honourable? Would he ever have known his paternal family? He was almost sure he would have still trained to become an auror or near, but maybe the troubles in Britain would have kept him occupied. Maybe he might have still been foolish enough to stray the wrong side. He probably would not have chanced upon Sasha’s mother, nor Azorma.
Such contemplation of life decisions could lead a man to consider the validity of seers. Ignan’s general unease of them had been tested more than once that year.
“What I am saying, though invariably not saying -,” Ignan explained, that awful trait that was only amplified in Sasha, “is that you have a right to my name, though it too comes with associations. Besides, given time - the right witch- er, woman, might come into your life and you might consider the more modern approach of taking her name.”
He glanced twice at Sasha as he set his teacup down, not entirely sure of this topic at all with the younger man, and learning his lesson with Johann. “Or, given other family… his name.” He rubbed at his healing shoulder, the tension encouraging a dull muscular ache.
-
“In preparation for looking as white as your father?”
"Well, Sasha Schnee would just sound weird." Given the obscurity of the reference, at least among the older, pureblood wizarding demographics, it was more of a response than Sasha had been anticipating. He chuckled slightly and shook his head. "I'll settle for white over completely bald, any day. But, no - it's a muggle book. And, TV show. A good one, if you like that sort of thing. I'll get you a copy."
Sasha followed his father's gaze up to the ceiling. The Storms had originated in England and moved down to Germany, only to move back in the latest generation. The Waldgrafs had been in Germany for centuries only to move to England when his mother had moved north. And, they'd always intended on Sasha moving back to Germany. If one went back far enough in time, did family histories every become simple?
“Then our lives might have been very different indeed.”
"You might have still been my professor." Having a theoretical past association with Hogwarts was really the only factor that supported that assertion; Sasha was purposefully ignoring the wealth of other contingencies that it would have required. "Well, probably not. I probably wouldn't have existed or, at best, I'd probably be a muggle."
Slowly, Sasha nodded and almost started to respond to the notion of taking the name Storm when the conversation shifted to relationships. It was, most likely, the most normal source of worry and confusion for the eighteen-year-old but not one he fancied lingering on. Quite quickly, he realized he'd probably intruded on the Storm family a bit too long.
"Thank you, sir, for the tea. And everything. I'll give it all some thought. But, I should probably let you rest. I really am glad you are - or, at least, will be alright." He pushed himself to his feet and, after a moment's hesitation, picked up Miranda Storm's gift and put it back into his pocket.
-
“They’ll have to try harder, certainly,” the Professor agreed to the sentiment that he would recover. “Thank you for not fussing over it with your visit.” He gestured that such emotional interest from other members of the family or those who considered themselves friends were irritating to a wizard who did his best to be emotionally disconnected.
“One last stretch,” Ignan remarked, also getting to his feet, “and then all the hard work will be over, and the future lies ahead.” There wasn’t much room between where they were sat and the front door, and Sasha’s words and stance indicated he was definitely keen to leave. “It was good of you to come by, on my behalf, anyhow.” He nodded to his son and reached for the door, before extending his hand in a somewhat awkward handshake.
“Will see you back at the castle.”
-
Sasha took the extended hand with a smile and glanced around the small cottage living room. The future. It was such a strange thought and one Sasha hadn't tried to linger on too often. It felt so open, so full of opportunity and yet intimidating in that very vastness. He couldn't remember ever being without a concrete plan or direction.
Luckily, there were plenty of classes and final assignments to keep himself preoccupied. Maybe, even, attempts to enjoy what remaining time he had at the castle.
Sasha bid his father farewell and started down the path towards the main street of Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks. One more night of freedom before the final push to the end of his days at Hogwarts.
End