M for language

“Merlin’s balls…” It wasn’t an eloquent response. It wasn’t the reaction of a well-educated witch who ran an entire hospital. It was the reaction of a slightly drunk witch as she coughed on her wine and tried to get her head around the sudden shock of a 17 year old with Ignan as its father. He hadn’t even mentioned the gender of such 17 year old. He hadn’t mentioned anything.

With the consideration that this very probably wouldn’t have come out unless she’d been plaguing him with questions this evening, Mira felt herself starting to feel quite irritated. She placed the wine glass on the table and took a long drag of the nearly finished cigarette. She needed to calm herself down before saying anything more to him.

So they sat in silence for a few minutes as Miranda continued to finish her cigarette, staring across at Ignan. She was suddenly rather relieved she’d chosen not to sit beside him when returning with the wine glasses. Yet now the distance didn’t seem enough. With the cigarette now stubbed out in the ashtray on the coffee table, she rose from her chair and took a few paces towards the kitchen. The wine glass was now empty. No more liquid courage or relaxant in the immediate future.

“Fucking hell, Ignan.” She finally spoke, trying to keep her voice level but the wine didn’t do much to help. “Where the fucking hell have you been hiding this seventeen year old?” Her arms were crossed over her stomach as she stared down at him sat on the sofa. Thousands of questions swarmed her mind but she couldn’t process them. She couldn’t get past the anger he hadn’t told her months ago.

"In Ravenclaw." He replied grimly, trying to stay very calm to her swearing. It was perfectly understandable to be alarmed. They had been together months and he'd never mentioned anything about children. It had never been the time, or he had never felt able to say something he kept from everyone. Even Minerva did not know, despite all she knew of Sasha's rather unusual situation. It was a miracle something hadn't been found out by the collective eyes and ears of Hogwarts, nothing was usually secret there for long.

"And I haven't been hiding him, I didn't even know he was until a year ago." Ignan's fingers knotted in his lap, and he lowered his head after speaking, increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. First Azorma and now this. Perhaps she would leave him alone soon.

"He's not a Storm." He clarified, lifting his chin, glancing fitfully at Miranda stoo up between him and kitchen. Gerda had presumably gone to ground. "You'd struggle to find something alike in us. He's grown up with his own family. I don't play any part in his life over being his Professor." He dismissed the notion with his hand.

The explanation still did nothing to still Mira’s anger at him failing to admit to having a son. It was a ‘him’. Her eyes danced over Ignan’s face, wondering if they bore any resemblance. Did son look like grumpy, lying, secretive father? Did the son want his father around when Ignan couldn’t even admit his existence to the witch he had once said he loved? The more the thoughts swam through her head the more she found the anger burning. Why was her wine glass empty??

Was she supposed to be relieved they neither were involved with the other? Should she have been happy and forgiving since Ignan didn’t play the role of doting father but instead remained the stern professor or a boy who shared his essence?

“I don’t give a shit if you put him to bed with a kiss every night, when the hell were you going to tell me?” Now she was something she’d tried not to be. She didn’t want to get angry and demand he tell her everything. But a son was too huge a thing to not mention. It made her feel physically sick.

Seven, eight, nine, ten…

Ignan counted, as Mira raged, wondering if he had made a mistake. A mistake to tell her, rather than a mistake to leave it so long to tell her. It had been such a lovely evening until she had started poking and prodding. He was starting to consider a night back at Hogwarts was far easier.

No, that wasn't true, he genuinely had missed spending time with Mira, who wouldn't when you kept company with teenagers. He just hadn't ever imagined telling Mira like this, or even telling her at all. But he couldn't admit that to her, she would probably hit the roof.

"When I was ready." He replied, a hint of anger in his voice despite waiting to reply. "It is not common knowledge, and I don't talk about it easily. You're the first person I've told since I found out." He turned his gaze to her, and although his face did not convey a huge emotion, he did look a little hurt for the implication he had held it from her easily.

Just as Mira had waited to respond to Ignan and still failed to hide her anger, Ignan made her wait as he considered his next words. She barely noticed the twinge of anger in his voice because she was too busy trying to calm her own anger. Was she supposed to feel better about being the first person he’d told since he’d found out. Was it to make her feel special she was a chosen one to share with this information? She was only the witch who’d moved into his house and cared perhaps too deeply for him.

“Well I’m so honoured.” The sarcasm mingled with anger and she waved her hands, frustrated before the tall heels carried her into the kitchen to snatch up the wine bottle. It wasn’t immediately after that she returned. Instead Mira took a moment to take a deep breath, an attempt to calm herself. Why was she even getting so angry? Why did she care so much?

Moments later her heels could be heard clicking on the kitchen floor and she stepped into the warm living room. Her eyes didn’t search for Ignan, however. Instead she busied herself filling up the wine glasses before cautiously taking a seat back in the armchair.

“A son is a huge thing not to tell me about.” Her voice was calmer now, but still held an edge of anger. “You know about my husband and daughter and heck, even my granddaughter. I’ve been honest this whole time and you couldn’t do me that decency.”

Mira's sarcasm was met with a little dismay, though Ignan's expression didn't register it. It had instead fallen into his usual frown, the sort he wore in the presence of colleagues where he did not necessarily agree, but had to hold his tongue.

She left the room and Ignan rubbed his forehead, letting out his breath as he did. This wasn't going well. Miranda had said not to expect to share all his secrets, but yet raged when he did share one because he hadn't before. As a result, he wasn't entirely sure if he was coming or going, other than he was fast resolving that disclosing as little as possible was less risky.

When she returned she didn't glance at him but poured more wine. Ignan didn't touch his glass and left it on the table between them. He was contemplating coffee and leaving if it came to it.

"With greatest respect, Miranda," Ignan replied in a low voice, trying to keep himself calm, "Your daughter, granddaughter, and your late husband are all common knowledge. I didn't need you to tell me to discover." He sighed, and glanced up to her, even though she wouldn't meet his gaze.

"I will not apologise for not telling you before now. The fact that I spent one night with his late mother, which resulted in his conception is not something I feel obligated to explain - what did you say only a moment go 'I've got my secrets and you're not asking for those?'" There was anger returning to his voice, more because he felt strangely humiliated, "Good, because that was one I considered to fall into such a category."

The more Ignan spoke, the more Miranda began to feel pretty damned small. Suddenly she was ‘Miranda’, a name he rarely used to address her, neither was she someone he felt ‘obligated’ to explain things to. Each word served to put her further down, further in her place with him. Having been given a fairly willing invitation to ask him questions about his past, Miranda was suddenly feeling very stupid for taking him up on it. She was also feeling ridiculous for thinking he might actually be willing to share.

"Good, because that was one I considered to fall into such a category."

It continued and Mira’s eyes threatened to glisten with tears of hurt. But she fought them back. She wasn’t sure she could even remember the last time she’d cried and it certainly wasn’t going to be over this wizard who wouldn’t provide her with a bit of honesty.

Ignan had put her well and truly in her place.

Mira’s lips twitched and she nodded slowly.
“Right.” Her voice was shallow, quiet. “I’m glad I know where I stand.” Lips were pursed tightly together and she stood back up. Dark eyes didn’t once fall on Ignan as she left the room, leaving the wine and her lover abandoned.

A wonderful evening had been completely ruined.

It was too late to take it back, and the trouble was, he really meant it. Mira left the room swiftly, her voice strange. Her eyes had looked glassy and she had left her newly poured wine behind.

Ignan slowly closed his eyes and leaned forwards, propping his elbows on his knees, his face disappearing behind his hands. That hadn't felt good at all, and much as he felt he should call after her, he realised he had no idea what he would say.

He had told her the truth, and that hadn't been what she wanted to hear. If she wanted him to keep his secrets, then he was more than willing. Another of them would break them apart the way it felt, if this one hadn't already. Perhaps that was melodramatic, but not so long ago he had made the mistake of saying he loved her. He had been as startled as she had to hear him say it.

Perhaps they weren't good for each other. It was unlikely Mira would ever accept him as he was. She had become comfortable with that narrow band of knowledge and living in the present, and her curiosity had upset that position for them both. He had been looking forward to their evening together.

There was no point in sitting there, he decided. It took only a minute to retrieve his cloak, the back door shutting behind him with a bang before he disapparated back to Hogsmeade with a heavy heart.


End