It was freezing, quite literally, in Hogsmeade. Johann had bundled himself into a long navy winter city coat and pale blue scarf in preparation for the cold village air. Instead of apparating from the London office to home in Edinburgh, he’d taken a detour. Fawley Lane was a quieter patch in the most popular wizarding village. Miranda and Ignan’s modest little cottage was at the outer end, just close enough to be in touch, but far enough out that no tourist might peer into their garden. The name had come from their engagement, Johann knew, because he’d been nosy enough to notice it and ask after they’d moved in.

There was light in the windows of the cottage, and the lamp was lit beside the front door. Someone was home. Johann paused in the dark by the gate to prepare himself. He wanted this to go well, much better than when he’d hurriedly explained to Balfour on Saturday afternoon. At least Miranda would not be green with envy.

The front door of the cottage opened not long after he knocked. Johann had thought to look down to greet the person behind, expecting Gerda, Ignan’s tenacious house elf, but instead it was the master himself.
“Johann.” He noted Ignan’s cloak was hung over an arm, indicating he was either only just home for the evening, or on his way out.
“Ignan!” Johann greeted brightly, always pleased to see his older relative. There was something very reassuring about his stoic presence, whatever the situation. “I was hoping to catch Miranda, is she in?”
“Not at present,” the Deputy Headmaster replied, “But do come in, if you can inform me of the guests at my birthday gathering.”

Of course, Ignan was tentative of unannounced guests. Once ‘Johann’ had stepped over the threshold only to turn back into Lawrence Musgrave. The incident had ended in Hannah brought back to life and Ignan on the brink of death. Pausing, the younger wizard looked upwards at the doorframe and recited the unusual collection of family, including Sasha, Maya and her daughter Katrine. Satisfied, Ignan stepped aside, and gestured with his arm draped in cloak.

A fire was burning in the living room fireplace, and the fluffy black cat was sprawled in front of it. It didn’t stir at Johann’s arrival, but flexed its paws in the direction of the flames. Neither Miranda nor house elf appeared to be in, just Ignan and their nameless cat. Once Ignan closed the door behind them the difference in temperature began to reach Johann’s legs beneath his suit.

“She’s due back this evening, but she’s not always able to leave on time.” Ignan went by way of explanation. The older wizard knew that Miranda would sacrifice a midweek evening if it meant preserving the Friday evenings they converted together. That routine was distinctly private, and to all outside of the cottage’s residents, they informed would-be visitors that they were busy or not in.

“Is everything alright?” Johann kept his coat on for the moment, weighing up the possibility that he’d have to excuse himself and try another evening. Ignan meanwhile, hung his cloak at the foot of the spiral stairs and loosened his top button and tie. Confirmation to Johann that the Professor had indeed just come straight from the castle, and had chosen to walk home rather than take the floo.

“Yes, yes.” Johann assured him, hastily. “I just wanted to ask her advice on a professional matter… off the record, you know?” Ignan raised his eyebrows, not sceptically, but accepting that such a thing was ordinary between Ministry and hospital. But he was also scrutinising his relative’s appearance to check he was well.

“You must only be a couple of days away from the end of term?” Johann asked, not wanting to stand awkwardly in silence.
“Two more days.”
“I bet they’re looking forward to it as much as the teachers.”
“Ohhh yes.”

Johann watched Ignan pick up a pile of post from the coffee table in the middle of the living room, while he still stood by the door in his coat. The warmth of the living room was beginning to make him feel suffocated in the scarf.
“You can take your coat off,” his cousin remarked, vaguely, focused on the envelopes, “if you want to wait a while for her?”

He recognised Ignan’s way of suggesting the older wizard might enjoy the company for a little while. He supposed it had been a while since they’d last seen each other in person. Perhaps even as long as Ignan’s little birthday gathering, organised by Miranda. The awkward family gatherings the marriage brought…
“Thanks.” Johann replied softly, and unravelled his scarf. He slid his satchel bag over his head and hung his coat beside Ignan’s cloak. There was the lingering scent of Miranda’s perfume as he disturbed a robe already hanging on the pegs.

“We’re looking forward to having Feliks home, certainly. He’s been at Hogwarts longer than he’s been in Edinburgh.” Balfour was certainly looking forward to it. They’d done some decorating in Felik’s chosen bedroom, to make it his. Still funny to gain an eleven year old son at the end of the summer, but they were doing well to acclimatise in the situation.

“I think he is looking forward to coming home, too.” Ignan agreed, having seen the young Spectre for his lesson that morning. “He is tired like they all are. He’ll probably try to yawn his way through his lesson first thing tomorrow.” Teenagers had awful sleeping habits, in Ignan’s opinion. He’d have understood it if Feliks was actually Johann’s son, though. (Merlin help if Johann did have children of his own.)
“I’m sure he’ll sleep like a log when he gets home then.” Johann agreed, a wide smile upon his face at news of Balfour’s son. He’d have to mention it to Balfour when he got back that evening. Unconsciously, one hand had gone to the other to touch his engagement ring.

There was a snap of magic in the kitchen beyond. Not distinct enough for a human, more of a pop of elf magic.
“Gerda?” Johann asked Ignan softly, both wizards glancing in the same direction. On cue, the kitchen door came open, and the house elf’s ears pricked.
“Master!” She greeted Ignan, bowing, “And Master Johann!” After bowing a second time, she paused a fraction in the doorway, then darted back a moment, returning with a frying pan in both hands. Brandishing this, she declared: “Gerda wishes to be prepared, sirs!”

Aware Gerda was having a joke at his expense, Johann chuckled and raised both hands in a placating gesture. Back when Johann had lived in Ignan’s house in Godric’s Hollow, Gerda had brought a frying pan down beside his sleeping head and threatened him on orders from Ignan. Such was their almost father-son relationship at times. He only had himself to blame for Gerda’s part though, he’d recommended the wizard Ignan had acquired her from.

“You don’t need that, Gerda. I’m very much awake, but it’s good to see you.” The elf gave another little bow, lowering the frying pan.
“Gerda shall make some tea?”
“Thank you Gerda.” Ignan agreed, and looked Johann up and down as the elf left them be. “Awake?” He asked.
“Two months clean!” Johann announced in a hushed voice, leaning forward, hands in pockets.
“Good man.” Ignan looked genuinely surprised, even cracking a smile, “You’re looking well on it.”
“Thank you!” Johann smiled brightly in return at this acknowledgement. Even Ignan had managed more congratulations than Hollingbury had!

Feeling it impolite to linger on his own health when he had come to seek advice on a good friend, Johann seized upon an alternative, much safer topic of conversation. As he traversed the small living room, his eyes had spotted a modest collection of Christmas cards on the mantle. He nodded to them by way of explanation for the deviation. “Are you both here for Christmas?”
“We are, though, don’t announce it.” Ignan wagged a finger at Johann and gestured with a remaining envelope to take a seat on the sofa. There was faint clattering in the kitchen as Gerda assembled a tea tray. Johann obliged, sinking down on the sofa opposite the fireplace. His eyes darted round the room, taking in the small details of change since he’d last visited. “Are you both entertaining for the season?”
“I don’t think we’ve a day without a relative or guest the moment Feliks arrives home.” Johann agreed, lifting both eyebrows. Even as an extrovert he considered the plans involved. “Your idea of hell?” Ignan gave a hum of agreement, tossing empty envelopes into the flames.

By the time the tea had been poured and they had run out of smalltalk of Balfour’s adventures and the questionable behaviour of students, Johann could see there was no getting round matters. Much as he enjoyed talking to Ignan, he’d come to ask Miranda’s advice, and it was very clear she wouldn’t arrive home presently. The longer he waited the more awkward it became, as he’d made it quite clear on arrival he was really only here to speak to Ignan’s wife, rather than Ignan. The hands of the clock above the fireplace were steadily but persistently creeping towards an hour at which he would have to head home to Edinburgh.

As Johann’s eyes slid from the flames to the clock and lingered, the conversation lulled. In the armchair, Ignan put down his empty teacup and waited. He didn’t need to have Johann’s level of observation to know his relative was either going to leave or try and explain the real purpose of his visit. Johann exhaled, lips pressed into a straight line, and looked down at the tea tray, assembling his thoughts.

“Ignan, you practice legilimency don’t you?” He asked. The silver-haired professor gave a nod.
“One does.” He did not detail that he was nowhere near as adept as Miranda, and that his specialism was rather more the opposite, occlumency.
“When you’re ‘reading’ - you know you hear someone’s thoughts…?” Johann’s question was falling over itself, “Do people tend to have one voice?”

Ignan set his crockery down on the tray again and refolded his legs as he considered the question. Johann watched, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
“Well,” the Defences Professor began, “I’ve not read people quite as extensively as Mira, but in my experience I would say the majority have one voice of their own, and any other voices I am party to are from memories. Perhaps their own voice recorded there, to make more than one instance of themselves when projected back to me.” What a curious question. One Miranda might well enjoy answering.

“What if someone had … maybe two conflicting voices?” Johann asked, hands lifting from his lap as if comparing the weight of two possibilities. “Their own and a sort of … snarky conscience?” The cat on the hearth rug rolled over, content to toast the other side before the flames, and began to clean its paws with a bright pink tongue. The movement drew Ignan’s eye as he considered an answer.
“In a way we all do.” He reasoned, “We are our worst critics, only it’s effectively the same voice.” He looked back to Johann, who appeared uneasy at the response. As if he had drawn the same conclusion once but found it lacking.

“Is everything really alright, Johann?” Ignan asked again, hoping that Johann was not seeking Miranda’s professional opinion for his own situation.
“I’m just worried about a friend.” Johann replied hastily, speaking the truth. His gaze didn’t meet Ignan’s but darted away anxiously.
“And has this ‘friend’ more than one voice?” Ignan asked patiently, hoping that Miranda might find her way home in the near future to help him prod this unusual topic of conversation and glean if Johann were really telling the truth about such a friend.
“Yes… he reckons it’s hereditary.”

Ignan mulled over this possibility, and the fact the ‘friend’ was also a wizard. Johann was giving him very little information to go on. What exactly did this voice sound like? Had Johann heard such thoughts? He didn’t believe for a moment that Johann had somehow taken up legilimency. While he might be capable, his talents lay in entirely different disciplines of magic, and he’d never shown any interest before. Quite the opposite, in fact. A severe aversion to any implication he might be subject to a legilimens probing! Ignan had been amazed to watch Miranda convince Johann to allow her to read him when Ignan had brought him to stay under observation in the wake of the werewolf fights.

Somewhat confused by this description, and the anxiety it was posing Johann, Ignan rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Hereditary to what? To have a particularly loud conscience?” He asked, “I think some of us could benefit from one don’t you think?” Their gaze met again at last.
“What if it were so loud it got in the way of your external conversation?” Johann followed up quickly. Ignan dropped his hand down, elbow resting on the armchair. He wore an expression of confusion and concern.

“I really think you are best posing these questions at Miranda.” He informed Johann in a tone that did not suggest Johann should continue to pursue the line should he worry Ignan further. He glanced to the fireplace, thoughts willing the Head Healer to step through and upset the cat.
“Yes, probably. I’m sure it’ll work its way out. He’s under a lot of stress, hopefully he’ll take a break at Christmas.” Johann continued, dismissive in tone, waving a hand to brush the concerns away between them. A break. What a rather good idea, Ignan thought.
“I think it’s best for all of us to do that, including my dear wife.” Duties were never done at the hospital, however much Miranda tried to step back and rebalance her life with a husband and young grandchild.

“Workaholic family.” Johann agreed, hopping to his feet. “I should get back to Balfour.” He was up and across the room before Ignan could unfold his legs. Instead he turned in the armchair, hands to the arms of it to push himself to his feet.
“Good to see you though,” he spoke honestly, “I’ll mention you came by.” Ignan got to his feet and turned on the spot to see Johann hastily wrapping his scarf around his neck and shouldering on his coat.
“Oh, yes, though maybe don’t mention the whole voice thing. Don’t want her thinking it’s me.” The younger relative shrugged his coat into place and waved a hand to dismiss such a notion.
“Which it’s not.” Ignan replied, though his tone was weighted with a deeper meaning.
“It’s not!” Johann chirruped in reply, pitch of his speaking voice climbing. “Thanks though.”

As younger drew older into a spontaneous, and somewhat unusual embrace, Ignan wondered whether Johann had got the answer he was looking for from Ignan, or whether Miranda’s response would have drawn a very different conclusion indeed. Either way, he hadn’t promised not to discuss it with Miranda


End