The Durmstrang common room was so beautifully quiet while the students were all at home, enjoying Christmas celebrations with family members, stuffing themselves with food and no doubt washing their knowledge away with butterbeer, and for those old enough, Norwegian fire whiskey. Their professors were however still in England, still watching over the ones left behind, still working, planning and awaiting their return.

Professor Elliot was seated at a small table near the roaring fire with an enormous magical journal laid before her. She was doing something she hadn’t really done in a long time. Miranda was studying. The book lay before her was opened on a page pull of diagrams of an eye, the eyeball itself, the socket, the specific parts. At the bottom of the last page was where the witch’s own eyes were focused.  This was a brief description of former auror Alastor Moody’s own version of an eye.

Coffee in hand, Miranda took a large gulp as she turned over the page, frowning deeply at a new image. The coffee was placed down on the table with a quick thud, spilling liquid onto the parchment that sat beside the book, covered in the illegible scribbles of a typical healer and upon the book itself.

“Drat!” The witch began to quickly fumble in the pocket of her long robes to find her wand. This idea wouldn’t work, she wasn’t even sure why she was bothered to look. Maras had barely hinted to the idea. And that witch wouldn’t accept Elliot’s help with it. She appeared to be far too proud.  But who liked having only one eye?

Ylva came out from her quarters to sit by the fire.  She had a newspaper from back home tucked under her elbow and within it an untouched Furthark crossword puzzle to solve.  She had a relaxing evening planned of warm toes and alguz's in perfect order.  She noticed Elliot at first, but chose to ignore her.  There was no need to make small -

Her thoughts were interrupted by Professor Elliot's swearing before Ylva even sat down, and she hurried over to see what was the matter.  When she did, she saw a spill.  And then she saw what Elliot has spilled upon.

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed and slammed the book shut.  "Someone will see you!"

Her face had gone from placid to livid, her aging face lined with affront.  Her wrinkles framed the silver eyepiece from behind it her brain was itching with self-consciousness.  She glared at Elliot accusingly.

"No one asked you! Leave it be!"

It was halfway true. But she was too angry at the moment to admit it.  This wasn't at all what she expected to find.

Maras’s exclamation very nearly made Miranda jump in surprise. She’d barely pulled her hand back from the book when the huge volume was slammed shut, scarcely missing her fingers.  Elliot glanced up through a mass of messy hair, her eyes regarding her colleague over the glasses perched at the end of a delicate nose. She looked not affronted by the sudden anger and shock directed at her, more slightly irritated with the disturbance and the near loss of her fingertips.

“My interest was sparked.” The healing professor calmly responded, her fingers now grasping the wand in her pocket. She withdrew it and pointed the tip at the soiled parchment lying on the desk.

“Hush now,” she added as the coffee vanished from the parchment and her messy scribble was revealed. Now visible but still remaining unreadable, “with all that caterwauling of course people will want to see what you’re griping about.” Her accent was stronger this evening. The Devonshire twang that a short time with family had brought back.

Elliot had definitely picked up on something of an interest from Maras in the topic. Where was the harm in doing some reading into a subject she hadn’t had much experience of delving into before? When a magical malady problem was brought before a healer and they couldn’t answer it, it was second nature to investigate. Elliot had been doing it for her own fascination as much as to offer an obviously embarrassed colleague some advice. She wasn’t impressed at being accosted in such a manner because of it.

Ylva sank down in a chair opposite Miranda and shut her eye and knit her brow with her fingertips.  She was right.  There was no reason to fuss.  They were quite alone and there was no harm being done.

"Right.  Yes, well, there's nothing to be done about it," she said more quietly.  It being a topic she only ever discussed in veiled pronouns and innuendo.  It was a desperately private matter.  But there was loneliness in secrecy and as the years wore on, problems were cropping up.

She sighed. 

"I've heard from the artificer in Venice," she said.  "She won't do it.  Says it's too risky." 

Ylva hoped Miranda knew what she was talking about and wouldn't have to explain it.  Since Miranda had come to Durmstrang, they'd had many short, tense exchanges where they didn't actually talk about what they were talking about.  Indirect lines of dialog, vague inquiries, updates without context.  Ask point blank, both witches might say it's none of their business, but the subtle reality running beneath it all like an underground stream was that Ylva needed Hannah's help and appreciated that her secret could be shared.  Even in this small way.

Losing the artificer in Venice was a set back.  It might mean they'd exhausted their last option.  Last legal option.

“Of course she won’t do it,” Elliot bluntly responded, “she’s Italian.” The healing professor, after giving Maras a careful glance, once more tugged the book between them open. Her hands roughly pulled pages back, searching for her previous position.

 “She probably has no idea where to so much as start.” Elliot had rather unpleasant opinions of foreign practitioners, especially those from Mediterranean European countries. All that heat must get to them both physically and mentally. If Maras wished to put her trust in an Italian Artificer that lived in a city that flooded as regularly as Miranda hexed a student, then she was a fool. But Elliot wasn’t going to tell her colleague that in such brass terms. Ylva Maras was a formidable woman and Miranda didn’t much fancy crossing her. She much preferred to be on semi amicable terms with colleagues.

The younger witch glanced up from the book once she’d found her page. Her gaze was analytical, probably somewhat uncomfortable as her lips pursed in thought.

“It is true, though, Maras.” The words came candidly, as if it were a completely different subject being discussed by the Durmstrang professors. “It’s risky. Death is…possible. Complete blindness…” Miranda’s features screwed up slightly, finding a way to explain the possible side effects of such an attempt, “probable?”

A small smile, twisted the corners of Elliot’s lips.
“There is a small chance of success. Not everyone that’s tried it is dead. Or died.”

Maras shook her head. 

"But none of them accounted for a lunar sigil in the preparations," she insisted.  "I've seen the work.  It would stabilize the enchantment."  Ylva was one of the only Runesmasters doing work with lunar sigils right now, and so the research on them was quite scarce.  But she had found a very promising text in Buenos Aires that had given her some hope of their effectiveness.

She turned the large book between them so they could both see it an angle.  "Here.  Look here."  Her long finger with dark purple nails poked at an annotation. 

"This reagent is lunar-based.  The iris must be enchanted properly or yes.  Sight could be lost."  She sighed. It felt like they were constantly going in circles.  There was no way around it, it seemed.  The risk was present.  It could only be mitigated.

Miranda had no knowledge of whatever a sigil was and neither did she care. Maras’s domain could remain her own and Miranda would stick with potions, facts and magical medicine. And even if she had a lack of knowledge in the area, she wasn’t about to ask her colleague for clarification. That was akin to the admittance of ignorance. Something that would not hold up with those from Durmstrang.

“But that there is a poppycock technique. Look at the diagram. It’s incomplete and un thought out. One mispronunciation of your enchantment would do irreparable damage to the sight in both eyes, leaving you, as a runesmaster, useless.” It appeared Miranda had lost the ability to speak to someone as if they were a patient, to break news gently. Instead the facts were laid up plain and simple with no icing sugar coating.

After a moment’s thought, Elliot removed her glasses and looked across the table once more at Ylva. “What would be your aim with this, Ylva?” she questioned calmly. Miranda didn’t know what was hiding behind the patch covering Maras’ right eye. She could hazard guesses but would never be able to help properly or suggest real concrete ideas unless she knew. But that was prying. That was something the witch was not prepared to do unless necessary and her colleague really wanted something done.

Elliot was right and that bothered her, always.  It shouldn't - she knew that - but it did.  But if she was ever going to find a way, she'd need someone like Miranda to do it.  Someone with her training and brutal honesty.

Her gaze moved from book to Elliot without moving her head and Ylva pursed her lips to close off a rebuttal.  Instead she sighed and sat back.  After a moment, she sat up straight again and nodded.

"It won't work." 

She had to admit that.

"I wish it were simple.  If it were simply missing I could replace it.  If it were simply damaged, it could healed.  But it's always got to be complicated with me, hasn't it.  Always in some mess or another."

That last bit probably wouldn't make sense to anyone who knew Ylva because Ylva was not a person to get into overcomplicated scrapes or any kind of mess.  But it wasn't always that way.  The way Ylva was now was very much a reaction the way Ylva once was.  And what her new life had cost her.  What she'd been willing to pay. 

"I should feel lucky."

Apparently this was about more than the eye. Miranda’s lips pursed in discomfort. She didn’t want to know what was always complicated for her colleague. All Elliot cared about was the eye. All she was interested in was whatever lurked behind the black cover, hiding out of sight. She’d never asked before, never wanting to delve into something probably so personal. If Miranda didn’t ask people personal questions, the likelihood was that the favour would be returned. But that didn’t mean the former healer hadn’t wondered. She’d always been intrigued. That was the effect of a magically curious mind.

“Lucky would be having two eyes working simultaneously and efficiently. I’d be far less able in my specialism with one working eye.” Far less accurate. “So…” The professor leaned forward, elbows resting on the oversized book between them. She had to approach this carefully. But as a healer and a professor she really did want to know what was hiding beneath the mask. The rumours in constant circulation around the school were ludicrous. Miranda was eager to see the reality and accept a new challenge.

“The eye itself remains present? That’s something to work with.” Miranda’s own gaze flashed over the black cover. “Healing is never simple, Maras but you’d be surprised what can occur with research and skill.”

"Intact.  Not present."

The correction, even while laden with information, carried with it more questions.  Ylva knew this.  And it made her weary.  At least Elliot was behaving.  That was some comfort. 

But how to proceed? She'd never actually told the tale aloud or committed it to paper.  The events had never been ordered for telling, or organized for efficiency.  It had been a thing that happened to her.  The events felt more like a dream than a memory.

"My eye," she said in a half-whisper, "is in a canopic jar.  Or it was, last I saw it thirty years ago. And, as far as I can tell, it still sees.  But all there is is darkness, so perhaps it's gone.  But if it were destroyed, I would feel it.  I think."

The older witch seemed strained even after speaking so little about it. 

"It was given up freely, but not fairly.  There is a curse on the jar.  Any attempts to open it could destroy the contents.  Could destroy me.  A fool's bargain," she said sadly.