For the large majority of people returning to the family home was a comforting thing. For Miranda Storm, it was something to greatly avoid. Throughout her youth, the house had been full of life. Five children and teenagers had eagerly taken over until their father returned from work nightly, the jovial and comfortable atmosphere being replaced for strict, overbearing and unpleasant. Now there were no Carter children running around. Instead Jacob and Claire inhabited the large six bedroomed remote house to themselves, occasionally having family members visit. Very few tended to visit out of choice.

As much as Miranda had preferred her mother growing up, she didn’t have a strong relationship with the woman. They’d never clicked and therefore Miranda didn’t even make the journey to the home in Devon to see her. Her father, Miranda saw more than enough of at Board meetings. She had no wish to make the meetings any more regular.

Unfortunately, the prophet’s release about the candidates for minister had elicited many owls from a panicked and angry Board of Warlocks. Miranda had ignored the correspondence even after the formal letters had turned into Howlers.
It wasn’t until Jacob Carter had sent his daughter a personal message; or rather demand, for her to come to the family home on Sunday morning to discuss the ‘situation’.

Deciding it would be prudent to face her father, Miranda left her own home in Hogsmeade after breakfast, apparating to the end of the pathway of her childhood home.

It was Claire Carter that answered the door. At 82 the matriarch of the Carter family looked not a day over 60. Her long grey hair was neatly pulled into a bun, skin barely betraying the wrinkles of age. She held herself tall, calm, serene. For a mother of 5, a grandmother and great-grandmother; she looked bloody good. Antiaging potions and a life as a housewife had suited her very well.

“Andy.” Claire smiled warmly, opening her arms and pulling her only daughter into a hug. It only lasted a few moments before she held Miranda by the shoulders and dark eyes took her in. “Are you sleeping? You look tired.”

“I get enough.” Miranda responded, offering her mother a tight smile. “He’s in the lounge?”

“With a tray of tea and biscuits.” Came Claire’s response, the true wife and mother. But then her features turned into a slight frown as she shut the door behind her daughter. “I have reminded him to put you before the hospital. He needs to support you.”

She couldn’t help herself, Miranda’s eyebrows shot up and she stared at her mum in mild surprise. Claire rarely spoke back to Jacob. She usually let him get on with what he wanted and simply stayed in the background to mop up the mess left in his wake.

“Minister Miranda Carter. I’m proud of you even if he isn’t, Andy.” Practically beaming, Claire began to walk down the hall to the lounge. Miranda didn’t have the heart to tell her she wasn’t planning on becoming the minister; and even if she did, it would be Minister Miranda Storm.

Jacob Carter was already occupying an oversized armchair beside the fireplace in the warm living room. His long legs were spread out comfortably, a cigarette in one hand which he took a drag from as his daughter and wife came into the room. Unlike Claire, he didn’t go to hug his only daughter; he didn’t even smile. A nod was the only form of acknowledgement before he tapped his cigarette over the ashtray on the coffee table and blew out the smoke.

“You’re lucky the board haven’t just sacked you already, Miranda.” The harsh tone of Jacob’s voice was in contrast to his soft Devonshire accent.

“For a few unanswered letters? I’ve been busy running a hospital.” As much as she didn’t want to, Miranda sat down on the sofa and began to pour each family member a cup of tea.

“You’ve been busy playing at politician and getting yourself into the gossip magazines with that criminal boyfriend of yours.”

Miranda’s dark eyes flashed up from the teapot to her father.
“Lawrence Musgrave threatens to kill your daughter and all you have to say is that he’s my criminal boyfriend?”

“Well he didn’t kill you, did he? Your husband made sure of that.”

Despite herself, Miranda bit her tongue and pushed a cup across the coffee table to the wizard. He only knew a tiny portion of it and thought he had all of the knowledge in the world. Not that she planned on sharing anything else with the man.

To her right, Miranda acknowledged her mother seated, remaining silent.

“So.” Jacob now sat up straight, taking the cup and saucer in his hand. “We need to discuss how and when you shall step down from the running for Minister.”

“Wha-?” Miranda stumbled over her words for a moment, looking bewildered between her mother and father. Claire’s expression was impassive. Jacob looked determined. “It’s not your decision, Dad.”
“Everything you’ve done has been my decision, Miranda. You are my daughter.”
“Not your puppet!”
“Stop whinging.” Jacob was irritated, his voice sharper, eyes boring into her. “You and I both know you wouldn’t win anyway. Not that you want it. You’re a healer. Like me.”

Frustrated, Miranda stayed quiet, her teacup in hand. He was right.

“Obviously you want to get what you can out of the board. So keep the contact open, girl. Don’t piss them off by ignoring the letters. Keep them on side.” Miranda still said nothing in response, pressing her lips together in supressed irritation. “Don’t disappoint me, Miranda. You’ve considered some demands, haven’t you?”

There was a somewhat lengthy pause.
“Well I need a deputy.” Mira ventured, carefully watching her father for his support.
“That’s all you’ve got, girl?” The wizard practically barked. His gaze shot to the quiet wife. “We’ll need some parchment and a quill, Claire. You can scribe, girl never learnt to write.”