“Read me.”

The term read was not the most accurate. They both knew this, of course, and they knew that entering her mind was more serious than simply gleaning thoughts in a casual way. Not tuning into a radio station but opening a door to the most private of interiors. A practice some cultures considered sacred.

"No. I don't think you have malicious intent." Yavin grimaced, lowering his hands and slipping them back into his pockets. "That is, hah, that is what makes you so dangerous Miranda."

She didn't understand, she seemed to believe he shared an opinion with the gossip rags. Head Healer out for blood against scorned lover. "What you did yesterday, you did without realising how, um, how damaging it was. You vented your ah, emotions. You forgot your oath. Lawrence, he tried to warn you."

And she had ignored his warnings, twice.  Yavin turned away from Miranda so that he could sink into one of the chairs across from her table. He was thinking.

On one hand, another Healer would be the easiest way out of this ethical debacle. On the other hand, she was the most suitable person for it because of her thorough research. Lawrence had agreed to this even though he was aware of the sexual history.

"You can't treat him unless there is, hm, there is another Legilimens in the room." Yav began, staring into space and feeling his age more than he usually did. "And I have to, I'm afraid, have to inform Carstairs and Glass."

The wizard she’d idolised for decades sank into one of the chairs opposite her desk and Miranda once more leant against the wood.
She’d known deep down that visiting Lawrence in such circumstances was wrong, a colossal mistake. Regretfully, Yavin was right; it had been an emotional exercise, a selfish move that could damage everything. So why, she had to ask, was he sitting down rather than leaving with a final dismissal?

He’d moved from an observer being in the room to another legilimens; but he’d not said no entirely. Ground rules, boundaries, exactly what she needed and she knew it.

"And I have to, I'm afraid, have to inform Carstairs and Glass."

The previously somewhat calm witch suddenly scowled down at him, lips pressed together. Glass would be a smug bastard, his chubby cheeks aching to be hexed, while Carstairs would be like a pig in shit, claiming he’d known all along.
“Please don’t.” Her voice was quiet, nervous. “I made a mistake and I recognise that. But I am a member of the Wizengamot, Yavin. If anyone finds out…” She stopped, shaking her head and moving away from the desk. Every possible implication from her actions yesterday flooded her mind painfully and she closed her eyes, facing the bookshelf.

He glanced up in time to catch the displeased expression on Miranda's face. No, he didn't imagine she would like that. His gaze followed her as she moved away from him; trapped in her own fear of what might happen if these events came to light in a more open arena.

It was a kind of hell, living in the public eye.

"I doubt either of them will, aha, will be rushing to let this out." Yavin turned in his seat to address her, unerring in his intent. "They're going to be, hm, complicit. Besides," he added in a softer voice - though it carried an edge in its undercurrent: "You said it your, ah, yourself. Trust in Unspeakables is at a minimum now."

If he started keeping secrets now, especially secrets that weren't his own and had little value in being kept, there was a chance Mira's downfall in reputation would bring level nine down with it. They had to be spotless insofar as they could, thanks to Mortimer Gamp.

"I can't, um, I can't afford not to tell them."

If Miranda were in Yavin’s position, she’d have been less willing to discuss and far quicker to judge. She’d have ended his part in the research and been done with it. He’d given her a chance and she knew it. But to tell Castairs and Glass took away that chance. Carstairs couldn’t stand her and Glass? He was a snake. If he knew about her past with Lawrence, Ignan would soon find out.

“They won’t let it out but they’ll put an end to this research.” A sweeping possibility of them telling the hospital’s board of warlocks span through Miranda’s mind as she stared away, hands grasping tightly against one another. She could see her career slipping through her fingers. The research, her position on the Wizengamot, her role as Head Healer, all because of an emotional mistake made in a need to find out why he’d chosen her to terrorise, why her husband to nearly murder.

“Of course, you can’t.” Mira turned back to Yavin and shrugged. “I’d do the same in your position.”

Yavin extracted himself from the chair, shaking his head at her.

"They might it. They might, aha, they might not," he remarked with a shrug. "Either way it would only end for you." Even though he had no ulterior motives, the possibility of conducting the research on level nine was an attractive one. The Department of Mysteries had its own handy Dementor if they wanted to really get down to it.

That wouldn't be healthy for Lawrence however, too many changes in environment over a short span of time.

"I'll tell Lawrence that we must, hm, must postpone." Yavin glanced at the doorway, preferring not to keep their patient waiting in suspense of what came next. "Until the go-ahead or, aha, or otherwise from the Ministry. You will see about engaging a therapist?" he couldn't help but enquire.

Regardless of whether she continued to study Lawrence, Miranda needed help. "I can, ah, I can say from personal experience that another Legilimens would be, hm. Would be beneficial."

"Either way it would only end for you." The wizard was right and it only served to prove to Miranda that he had a plan. No one truthfully wanted to share research with another, and her mistake had been the perfect opportunity for him to jump upon and exploit. She’d have done the same if he’d messed up, only she’d have dug her claws in far more viciously. It was decidedly unpleasant to have a taste of one’s own medicine.

The therapist was brought up yet another time and Miranda simply nodded. Currently, she had no intentions to. But if it was the only way of working with Lawrence on her research, that would have to change.

“I’m sure it would.” she muttered what she needed to say, arms remaining folded defensively over her chest. “Keep me up to date on the response.” Her tone had returned to business-like, Mira’s only way of handling things.

With Yavin finally gone, Miranda sank down into her leather desk chair and stared directly ahead at the door. A build up of anger and frustration filled her and she grabbed the nearest thing in reach, a mug, and hurled it at the door with a furious yell.

Delilah Snardsworthy sat in her office outside and continued to file parchment.