“I do declare Mr Morgenthau cannot resist temptation,” Ignan turned to Miranda a moment after his gaze met Yavin’s. He placed his hand on his wife’s briefly, “bolt the doors and close the windows.” He spoke a little louder than his conversational volume, declaring warnings without real intent behind them. Though perhaps, just the littlest suggestion to Miranda that Yavin Morgenthau was a bit of hypocrite. Just a smidgen. He wondered if Miranda were perturbed or pleased.

Well, if that was where they were going, Ignan thought as he stretched back in his chair and recrossed his legs so that he faced Yavin a little more directly.

“You legilimens must learn such odd and unwanted things. It must be the greater effort not to eavesdrop… or rifle through the cabinets.” The flex of his eyebrows came disconcertingly late after the statement. That dangerous edge he used when students couldn’t tell if it was one of those moment of sarcasm, or a trap ready to spring. “Should we be worried you’ll be summoning dementors for Christmas?”

"I used to, that is, used to read my late wife," Yavin informed them, and Miranda tried not to react. She wasn’t sure he’d mentioned wife before. She’d rather more presumed he’d never married. After all, who could love someone that dressed so unfortunately? Hopefully not a recent loss, she considered. She wasn’t given a chance to even consider asking, because Ignan informed her that Yavin Morgenthau was a big fat stinking hypocrite.

It wasn’t her usual cold glare that Miranda fixed her colleague with, but one of mildly amused surprise. Perhaps tonight’s wine had helped with that. What an absolute cheek. Ignan left a rather pointed comment in the air, one she barely batted an eyelash at.

The pointed comment was followed up, however, by a mention of dementors being brought to their house. For the witch that had experienced exactly that weeks before witnessing a second attack where her husband nearly died, Miranda Storm was anything but amused.
“Ignan.” she warned.

“Perhaps you don’t dine away from home too often, Yavin, but etiquette says one shouldn’t intrude upon the host.”

            "...bolt the doors and close the windows," cautioned the unnervingly quiet Ignan Storm.

Yavin smiled, and there was a touch of something young and mischievous in him just then. A different kind of man a very long time ago - full of curiosity instead of consideration. Now, years on from that point of his life, he treaded with relative caution. But not too much caution. Where's the fun in that? He set down his fork, elbows on the table as he leaned forward slightly.

Ah, Miranda didn't approve of his snooping ways. Indira, his late wife, had not minded. Thirty years his senior, she had encouraged Yavin's ambitions. The Head Healer cut into what might have been a sparring of words, and his gaze flicked to her's for a second.

"My, ah, my apologies..." his growing smile conveyed just a little regret. "I can get, that is, get a little playful around those of us adept at the mind magics. But I do prefer to knock on the door before rifling through cabinets."

This he directed conversationally at Ignan, feeling something tug at the back of his mind. A memory. He ignored it for the time being. "Of course the, um, the greatest feature of a skilled Legilimens is not learning the, ah, the unwanted. Precision, don't you think?" Yavin gestured with wiggling fingers.

Any sane person might go mad if they lived for as long as he did without blocking out certain evils. A mind such as Musgrave's had many evils to carefully handle.

He was toying with their guest, and Miranda drew the line for her husband. At his name, he blinked, and he held his tongue. If Miranda was cautioning him, then he was definitely not on his best behaviour. Wine. Wine and unexpected company. Imbibing did bring out a different version from beneath his stoic sober persona. He was glad of his occulmency at this dinner table, and pushed the base of his wine glass a little further from easy reach.

“I do prefer to knock on the door before rifling through cabinets.” Morgenthau conceded. Ignan’s chin raised just enough to indicate he acknowledged this clarification.

There was not room in the tiny study for the combined book collections of Ignan and Miranda. Her books took pride of place, but their combined collection of books on mind magic were on the shelf just below. There were two copies of their guest’s book, A Handbook for Legilimency and Occlumency on the shelf, one belonging to each. Different editions. Beside them, a 1970’s copy of Angkatell’s The Barrier Within. Ignan had first read that in his auror days.

“What do you express it as though,” Ignan began, shifting his shoulders gently against the chair back, “not doors, that’s the like of Angkatell. It’s what I teach beginners of occlumency to imagine because it’s more familiar. You’ve gone past familiar to what was it… layers, or is that someone else?” He broke his gaze, looking to Miranda who used Yavin’s guide to train her own staff, hoping she knew better.

Yavin called his attempted invasion of her husband’s mind ‘playful’. Had Miranda have not been somewhat mellowed by the wine and her recent sessions with the Head of Mysteries on building her own walls, Miranda may have made a biting comment about the glaringly obvious hypocrisy being displayed in her kitchen. She’d just quietly cautioned Ignan, it would be wrong of her to bite now.

“I suppose it would be determined by one’s motives for becoming a legilimens.” Miranda had trained in order to find a way to help people. What was this wizard’s reasoning? Come to think of it, she’d never asked Ignan why she’d become a Occlumens.

When Ignan started to discuss theory and approaches, Miranda found herself in far more comfortable territory. She took a sip of wine and leaned forward against the table. Around them, Gerda was pottering, preparing some sort of dessert.
“Doors is too restrictive a metaphor.” Miranda stated, remembering the comment from Yavin’s book. “There’s a lot more wiggleroom in layers. Psychologically, there’s more protection there. Someone is always going to find one door pretty easy to break through, aren’t they?” She recalled her first session with Yavin. While it had been frustrating having to think more creatively about how to defend the fortress that she’d created for herself, she had understood why.

“He’s read your book.” Miranda gave her husband a quick smile. “I recall a mention of good theory and research, but rather a superfluous use of words. What was it you said, Storm? Yes…What could be said in 100 pages droned on redundantly for 500.” Just for good measure, the witch imitated her husband’s voice and accent.

            "I suppose it would be determined by one’s motives for becoming a legilimens."

He smiled, bowing his head to concede the point. There were those who attempted mind magics with malicious intentions - Yavin himself had learned when he was a Healer, training under his mother at a hospital in New York. But he passed up sharing that particular bit of information, distracted  instead by their talk of his subject of passion. "He’s read your book..." Miranda offered. And did she just call her own husband Storm?

The older wizard snorted, shooting Ignan a good-humoured smile. A scathing review!

"Hopefully I'll, aha, I'll manage with just a hundred while I'm writing the next book," he gestured, a mock apology. "I believe you, hm, you teach pupils younger than my handbook[1] now. My ideas have, shall we say, have been altered since. I'm attempting something for a more, hm, more advanced audience."

While the handbook had eventually earned him an Order of Merlin, Yavin was interested in more obscure aspects of the mind nowadays. He finished the last of his wine and leaned back in the chair, mirroring Ignan's pose by crossing his long legs under the cramped table. "I've been constructing traps, you see," he continued pleasantly.

As head of Mysteries, finding Legilimens to test them on[2] was an easy feat. The Brain Chamber was full of Unspeakables willing to exercise their skill.

"You might, hm, might be interested once you're further on with your Occlumency, Miranda." Yavin slid his gaze over to the Healer, comfortable in this element of the conversation. "It's possible to trap an invading, ah, invading mind in one of your layers."

To be able to keep most of someone's consciousness in your own, leaving their physical body vulnerable, had long been one of his aims. He had been trying to do so with different measures of success over the years.

1.	Published in 1995
2.	3rd Oct - Swimming in These Empty Towns - Virgil tries to solve one of Yavin's puzzles.

“I recall a mention of good theory and research, but rather a superfluous use of words. What was it you said, Storm? Yes… what could be said in 100 pages droned on redundantly for 500.”

How quickly Miranda ridiculed her husband in an effort to bring him back under the thumb. Her efforts to impersonate his tinged English accent were received with a flat stare somewhere past Yavin’s left shoulder.

“Hopefully I’ll… manage with just a hundred when I’m writing the next book.”

Their guest continued to engage the Head Healer in conversation about his book. It wasn’t Morgenthau’s book he’d said that about, Miranda had misquoted him. The Professor’s gaze snapped to the doorway of their little study and his mind’s eye raked over the collection of mind-magic books.

“It’s possible to trap an invading… mind in one of your layers.”

“Bad enough being trapped in a room with Miranda without being trapped in her mind.” Ignan retorted, chalking that one up as a balancing mark to Miranda’s terrible impression. “And it wasn’t his book I said that about, it was Angkatell[1]. Our guest elaborates but not the same extreme.” He lightly gestured towards Morgenthau and looked to Miranda as he corrected her.

“I read Angkatell long before I ever attempted legilimency. The copy I have in the study next door is my original from my auror days. Had a very interesting chat with a wizard in the Leaky Cauldron about burgling heads.”

1.	Autumn 1976, Everything is Recorded

"It's possible to trap an invading, ah, invading mind in one of your layers."
“Bad enough being trapped in a room with Miranda without being trapped in her mind.”

Yavin’s suggestion sounded deliciously intriguing. Ignan’s bite was deliciously snarky. Most women, if faced with such a comment from their spouse may have been decidedly insulted. Miranda wasn’t most women; she grinned. Back at Hogwarts, she had been drawn to Ignan Storm because he didn’t hold back any punches (or hexes). He said what he thought, and he just had this aura about him. Their relationship and marriage had mellowed the wizard, but it always gave her a little flutter in her belly when Ignan the Arsehole appeared.

“Best keep out then, old man.” Miranda warned, her grin only fading when she lifted more wine to her lips.

Ignan went on to correct her and mention some wizard he’d chatted with, and now that they’d all finished their dinner, Miranda pushed up from her seat and collected in the plates.
Legilimency was a craft that Miranda had spent a large portion of her life trying to perfect and improve upon. She’d read every book available on the topic, and still found that creating your own theory and application was best. It needed to be bespoke for the witch or wizard actually engaging in the magic and for their purpose. Personally, she thought of jigsaw puzzles, piecing them back together. It fit her purpose.
“That’s exactly the reason why legilimency is something that people misuse.” The healer commented as she dropped the plates in the sink for Gerda to sort.

             "Bad enough being trapped in a room with Miranda without being trapped in her mind."

Yavin laughed, perhaps a little too genuinely. He was certain now that he really liked Miranda's husband. It was also something of a relief to know that Angkatell was the bore - his own writing was nothing like his speech pattern after all. The wizard nodded thanks to the Healer as she was clearing up, though his attention was largely on their conversation. Chat in the Leaky Cauldron, was it?

Now that couldn't be a coincidence, could it? No. He didn't believe in coincidences.

For a moment he stared at Ignan, blinking several times, and then with a start he leaned forward. "Ignan!" Yavin exclaimed, clasping his hand over the other man's. "My God!" his spectacles were slipping down his nose and he suddenly laughed, teeth flashing. It was him in the pub that night! And the two of them so different from what they used to be!

"You bought me a, aha, a tankard of mead!" Yavin looked around at Miranda, amazed. "Miranda, your husband bought me a drink! It was, hm, it must have been the '70s. I was all about the, hah, turtlenecks back in those days."

“That’s exactly the reason why legilimency is something that people misuse.” Mira spoke from the sink.

The two wizards at the table didn’t seem to hear her, as they had made sudden eye contact. The same thought dormant in their memories had woken, only for Yavin Morgenthau it was far more electric and outward in reunion.

“Ignan! My God!” The American’s large hand clasped over his and the space between them narrowed considerably. The more stoic of the two withdrew ever so slightly at the shoulders, silver eyebrows lifting to convey surprise.

“You bought me … a tankard of mead! Miranda, your husband bought me a drink!”

If Ignan weren’t so sure of his effective occlumency, he might have suspected Morgenthau had sieved it from the ‘layers’ of his thoughts.
“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed, unaware he’d even spoken. “Of all the paths fate could choose.”

Somewhat warmly, he clapped his hand over Yavin’s a moment, heartily patting it in an odd congratulations while also indicating it would be best to let go of him.

“Seventies, yes,” Ignan agreed, blue eyes glancing upwards as he thought back. “I was only in London a couple of years… seventy-five to… seven. What are the odds that the perfect stranger with the accent who struck up conversation about the book would end up my wife’s research partner?”

He leant back in his chair, looking Yavin up and down as if seeing him anew.
“I only remember it better because I wrote about it in my journal back then. Reinforces the memories.” He tapped his temple. “Not sure I remember the turtlenecks, but maybe they’re not as memorable as the present-day sweaters…?”

This was fantastic! What a treat! Yavin supposed it was a point in favour for the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, who enjoyed putting more stock in Fate than your average witch or wizard. The odds were unusual indeed: he had not been in England very long at the time, only stopping by London for Indira to visit her spectacularly bigoted family. Nor was the other wizard a lasting guest on these shores back in those days. To have met Ignan Storm then, and to meet him now...

Yavin released the man's hand, still grinning as he adjusted his spectacles.

             “...I wrote about it in my journal...remember the turtlenecks... not as memorable as the present-day sweaters…?”

"These? Oh, aha, these came after Indira," he pinched at the collar of his brightly coloured sweater, with just the slightest bit of pride in his voice. "A shame! You might have recognised me, hm, recognised me sooner."

To think of the '70s took him back to such a different time. His hair had been jet black, his frame sinewy, his outlook crazily ambitious. Yavin had wanted to swallow the world whole. Luckily for him (and possibly the world) he learned his limits long before old age. "I'm not sure if you two, um, believe in signs but -" he looked over at Miranda, eyes gleaming playfully, "- I believe we were maybe made to be, that is, to be friends."

In another life he would have proposed more than that. Ah, to be young again.

"You'll allow me to, hah, to return the favour?" Yavin glanced between man and wife. "Dinner at mine after the, um, the new year, if it suits."

As Yavin suddenly burst into animation and proclaimed that he did in fact already know Ignan, Miranda could only stare from her position by the work surface. Out of all of the people in the world and all of the locations and possibilities, her research partner and husband happened to have met in a past life.

Suddenly, there was hand holding and excited nostalgia, leaving the witch rather perturbed as she stood back. Another oddity? Ignan mentioned journals. What journals were these and why had he never before mentioned that he’d been in the habit of keeping journals?

To make things even more bizarre, Yavin suddenly blurred out how it was practically written in the stars (or the hall of prophecies) that they were to be friends. Miranda didn’t exactly have friends. She had acquaintances. Even poor Sandy Misslethorpe, who clearly was her friend, rarely got such a label. But weird Yavin with his crazy jumpers and eccentricities? It was, she supposed, fortunate that he was also incredibly intelligent and good at what he did. Miranda would never verbalise such, but she may possibly have liked and respected Yavin Morgenthau. Possibly.

Unfortunately, ‘friends’ came with reciprocating dinner invitations. Great.
Miranda smiled over at the wizard, not looking to see Ignan’s reaction.
“Sounds wonderful.”