"I cannot harm but to enquire. Landis is a good colleague and friend - to me at least, we have similar agreements on many subjects of conversation, which you might consider traditionalist." Ignan told Tapendra a little haughtily, remembering how Tapendra could so easily become defensive and imply Ignan closeminded for not sharing his progressive, Muggle-familiar viewpoints.

"If he does not, then I will think of a suitable item that may be up there to collect or search for. The more natural and every day it sounds, the more likely it is Snark will not worry about us being up there. If we're in luck, we might even chance upon a day she is not in residence and ask Declan to gain access." Ignan paused, "Rather I will ask, dear me, how is it I get to almost murder students, and you just like Muggles, yet you've created more enemies in your colleagues?" Ignan leaned back in his chair and gave Tapendra a confused and discontent look.

Tapendra couldn't help the slightly odd smile that tugged at the sides of his mouth. "Mister Morgan and I have found that we work well together, provided we make absolutely nothing in the way of conversation outside a discussion of the task at hand. He performed admirably when you were splintched," he said. "Though he is traditionalist, yes. He wouldn't have lasted as the Slytherin head if he wasn't," he said matter of factly.

"I do know Dumbledore kept a lot of, well..." He waved a hand to the classroom around them. "Things that you could argue are of interest to your classes. Defensive items, dark arts paraphernalia, historical items of interest. Unless those belonged to the school," he added, remembering his own brief trip to the Headmaster's office. "But, assuming they were his, they would make an adequate excuse, I think, and if you use them in class, all the better for the ruse."

His amused expression faded at Ignan's next point, and he sighed. "Because you're Respectable, I think," he said with an emphasis that detonated a capital R. "And I am not, both for philosophical reasons and matters of professionalism." Which was funny, in a way; he'd never had that issue at Cambridge, but the students were rarely tramping through his house, and he didn't have to wander through the school in the mornings for a cuppa to wake up with.

"And yet my predecessor apparently taught while blind drunk, and insulted students during class, from what I've heard. You'd think even a centaur would be an improvement after that."

Ignan chuckled at Tapendra's description of him and then the previous Astronomy professor.
"True, I heard much the same - but I barely had my own feet under the desk before you arrived to replace him. Must be something to do with that tower, being tucked out of the way." Ignan gave a smirk.
"Isolation perhaps." His smirk lingered, as he thought of how Tapendra tended to keep himself up there sleeping odd hours, or padding around in bare feet and t-shirts.

"I'm lucky in that I can ask practically anyone in a haughty tone why they think something is not worth informing and educating the students, when its for their better protection. Apart from cooking, sewing, or anything of the sort, that I'd have to become a little more creative for." He chuckled. "That's what charms is for."

With a sigh, from the brief interlude, he became a little more sober.
"We'll sort things Tapendra. But unless we try, we won't." He gave his younger friend a reassuring nod. "I'll approach Landis. I have other business with him to do with lessons, so it'll fit alongside."

Straightening up, he peered over the edge of the pensieve, and began to fish out his own memories one by one, the silver strands lifting and seeping into his temple with a slow grace. Ignan's expression defying him as each of the memories settled back into the corners. There were reasons for putting them there, away from Tapendra.

"Maybe," he conceded, with a shrug. He liked the isolation, to an extent. It let him relax.

"Hah! Yes. You are lucky. I have to struggle to convince half the students the subject's worth it at all, nevermind which angle it's from. It doesn't directly benefit anyone, really. Aside from Diviners." He smirked too, at the sewing comment. "Sewing up wounds, perhaps? Survival cooking?" He stroked his beard. "There's a thought. Dump the 5th years in the woods for a week and see how they do..."

Sobering as well, he smiled at Ignan warmly. "Thank you, Ignan. I'm not sure how I'd be getting through all this, if not for you," he said, rubbing an arm sheepishly. He waited quietly as Ignan began to extract his memories, drawing his own wand and waiting.

He eyed the swirling pool of silver. Some of the memories...were nice to have gone. He wasn't sure how to feel about that - was it betrayal, cowardice? Or just wanting to cope more effectively?

He began the process tentatively, keeping his face remarkably calm as his hidden memories returned to him. Most were... well, not like Ignan's. He hadn't wanted the old man to stumble across any of his memories that involved Judy with no underwear on, so most of his memories were rather pleasant. The others were...the night on the car. That he put back with special relish, that one he'd hold onto; it helped fuel his hate.

"Thank you, Ignan," he said, standing up when he'd finished. "I suspect we both need some sleep. This stuff gives me a nasty headache," he lied. His headache wasn't that bad, really. "Good night," he finished, with a bright toothy smile, and quickly left the classroom.

He left his memory of Judy's death swirling in the pensieve.