3 Broomsticks. Come at 8 if convenient.
If inconvenient come anyway.
IS

Simple enough note, and a Friday night. He'd left it on Gale's classroom desk, folded over, just before classes had resumed after lunch.

The Three Broomsticks was humming gently with evening trade, and a fire crackled in the large fireplaces. Ignan hadn't stopped by the bar tonight, but retired further from it, bottle of elven wine and two glasses in his hands. He picked the table he'd once sat at with Johann, where they'd watched a card game from a distance, convinced one of the players was a seer, and using it to his advantage.

The table gave enough of a view of the rest of the pub to know you were not easily overheard, though the place was a bit busier. Enough of a view to see his colleague coming through the door, and for Nightingale to see him. Though, as Ignan appreciated, he didn't even know if Gale would turn up. He was hedging his bets that the curiosity of being requested to the pub by Ignan would pique the man's interest sufficiently.

If not, then he'd have to drink enough of this wine to see if he liked it.

Nightingale, wasn’t in the mood to be here, and the week had proven more difficult than he would have liked to admit. He had expected some of the exhaustion that settled with the first week of school, but hadn’t realized how hard he would take the entire ordeal. His heart hurt for half of his students, the ones that he didn’t want to ever return home, but what killed him more was that beyond being there for them inside the castle walls he couldn’t do anything else. Lucas Trumble, came back he felt the most changed, Amara as well, and both of them were very dear to his heart. However, now that the week was over, the weekend didn’t look very promising.

Chester was busy, very much so, and Gale looked forward to enjoying what was left of his rented flat that he had until the end of January. He hoped that by the end of it he would have at least the outline of something to move into, but with all of those students needing a new home Gale worried that maybe he should add another floor. But after what happened with his mugging, now he doubted if he should even bring in a child, or if he should even continue to see Chaz. For now his Father seemed to be either ignorant of Chester’s place in his heart, or somewhere in his backward way protecting him from the rest. Either way, Gale didn’t go anywhere anymore without being armed, or without his wand.

Ignan would pick now of all times to summon him to a bar, and for what he could only fear. If he was to get fired tonight, Gale was worried that his nerves would snap, and it wasn’t over losing his job. He wouldn’t be willing to let go of those children just yet, and it was this that had him pacing outside The Three Broomsticks. What would he say? How would he say it? Should he march in there and demand he cut right to the chase, or go in and do his best to rectify the situation.

The winter break had set his treatment for his PTSD back nearly a year, but he couldn’t help that. He was still cleared to work, but had an appointment nearly every week with his therapist. He knew his outburst on the staff probably could have been handled better, but he wasn’t about to apologize for that. That Declan had nothing on him that made him any better than he was, and if anything Gale would have happily thrown in his face that he taught students how to properly clean a Unicorn’s droppings—while he Charms. But Gale wouldn’t even speak to that monster. He had little respect for those that looked down their nose at him, for his ‘inferior’ birth, but Gale knew this wasn’t why he had said those things to Ignan.

Professor Ignan Storm, was the topic of many afternoon journaling, and seemed had been since he was a child. Gale can remember writing down in the books about their encounter with the young werewolf hunter, and though he didn’t realize it at first—fancied him a roll model. The respect he had for Ignan kept his mouth closed when it should have been open, and the fight not there to stand up for himself. Had this been those many years ago, Ignan perhaps would have known that this wouldn’t have been Gale’s normal behavior, but a shadow of who he once was, Gale wasn’t likely to ever be that outspoken again.

He wanted to. And with one more deep breath he pushed a shaking hand on the door to make his way into the bar.

It was easy to spot the man, he stood out just as much as he did when they were younger, like a dark cloud on a horizon. Gale hadn’t known it then, but it was the magic that made him appear so different, that made him stand out. Nor, had he realized it then that the butterflies that he felt every time he saw the much older Professor was from a deep affection from those years gone by, and in this he searched for remnants of that man—even now.

Nightingale, put a little bit more effort in his appearance tonight. His hair, despite the wind fell heavily around his shoulders. Not held back by anything it seemed to breathe with a life of it’s own, much like his father’s once had, but where the old Romani king had hair as black as night, his was the exact opposite. Even his skin in comparison to his Father’s was far too pale, and the dark leather patch that covered his face appeared so out of place that it seemed a spell itself.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” He spoke coldy, and seated himself across from the other man with his shoulders tense and his spine perfectly straight.

Don’t break eye contact, Nightingale, not once. Keep his like you would a snake, and wait for him to strike first—just be faster.

"Shame." Ignan replied, meaning it, and poured Gale a glass of wine, his own already poured.

Kesali had made an entrance with his attire, but Ignan wasn't too phased by it all. Whereas he had a more reserved interest in his attire, his younger colleague had the opposite, whether it be rabbit slippers or else.

"Thank you for coming." He placed the bottle back down and raised his glass in a gentle toast to the other man.

"I don't mean to detain you long. I just felt like we haven't managed to speak properly in some time." He kept it simple, continuing to meet Nightingale's gaze, but not aggressively, and raised the wine glass to his lips, placing it down before continuing.

"The other morning, in the staff room, I'm sure it wasn't meant. I er.." He paused and moved the wine glass on the table ever so slightly before him, "wanted to clear the air, and ask you a few things. But, if you have little time…"

He let go of the wine glass and folded one arm ontop of the other on the edge of the table his side.

"What do you remember of the summer of 1990?" 

Gale stared at the wine, followed the glass all the way as it was placed before him. Was that an offering? He felt a moment like he was staring back at Judas, and shouldn't accept that silver just yet. But that seemed strangely like a peace offering.

"There isn't anything to clear up Ignan." He used his first name like he would a sigh, to pin-point his frustration. "I have nothing more to say on the matter unless you have any desire to see me fired, and I will rain so much hell down if that is the case. But it won't be here, and it won't be without a figure of the law. I love my job, and despite what some may think of me feel that I do a damn good job at it." Gale watched the wine go to Ignan's lips, and fall again but he wouldn't touch his just yet. Instead he fell silent a moment.

"I remember everything about that Summer," he spoke again very coldly, though his defenses fell a moment. So he did remember,  Gale wasn't ready to talk about that, but he forced it forward.

"And I think that is why I take everything you say to heart." On the edge of his seat he felt his heart start beating again, "Because you of all people should know better to ever criticize someone for being any less than what they are--or what they are born to. It took me a really long time to find myself, and damn it I like who I am. I suffered humiliation for years going to that damn school, even now, because I don't think that just because you were born with a silver spoon to your mouth you have any right to make me feel any less than what I am." He took a deep breath, and tried to keep his voice down.

"You could take a hand out from my people, but when I walk on your ground you return the favor by humiliating me for not meeting your old bogus standards? I sat on the lap of a king, Ignan, long before I could ever walk, and you fell from a tree." He took a deep breath narrowed his eyes, "You fell from that tree because you carry far too much weight on your shoulders, and I refuse to bend. So if you plan to see me fired, let it be known I will fight you every single step of the way."

With that Gale downed his entire glass of wine, while looking away in an attempt to calm his anger.

It was like turning on a gushing tap, watching Nightingale react to his question.

He let the man run, the trickle becoming a gush of words, and paid close attention, battered by the sea that flowed across the table from the other pale-haired man.

The end came with the emptying of his glass of wine.

Ignan lifted the wine bottle in silence and refilled the glass. The bottle made a glassy thunk upon the wood as it landed again.

"I try not to criticise you," Ignan admitted, his eyes on Gale's newly filled glass. The reaction enough to confirm that the summer of 1990 had equal importance.
"But I treat you no better nor worse than any of the others in the castle." His eyes raised, "I try to, at the very least, but you bring your own flamboyancy to it all."

He frowned a moment, fingertips resting on the rim of his own glass, his eyes following them. He was trying to consider his words carefully. Gale was so volatile, he had to keep his own voice as calm and steady, as if talking someone down from a high ledge.

"I don't belittle the help you and your community gave to me that day. But back then, I wasn't quite the same person, and you were but a boy. I wasn't quite sure when I clapped eyes on you if you'd remember, if you would still recognise me. Twenty years ago, almost, times I speak little about."

"I had wondered if that meeting was colouring our rather heated exchanges of late, or whether it was just my friendship with Tapendra that compelled you to extend your difference to me."

"I try not to criticise you," Ignan admitted, his eyes on Gale's newly filled glass. The reaction enough to confirm that the summer of 1990 had equal importance. "But I treat you no better nor worse than any of the others in the castle." His eyes raised, "I try to, at the very least, but you bring your own flamboyancy to it all."

"I can't help how I am, and I'm sick of trying to hide it. I like feeling nice, I like fabrics that are free and airy. I am in love with another man, a good man, and so much so I'm not afraid any more of how you or anyone else receive me. I'm not at that school to please you, or any of those other pureblood idiots." Wouldn't Jean-Luc be so proud.


"I don't belittle the help you and your community gave to me that day. But back then, I wasn't quite the same person, and you were but a boy. I wasn't quite sure when I clapped eyes on you if you'd remember, if you would still recognise me. Twenty years ago, almost, times I speak little about."

Gale understood why he would want to keep that all a secret, but in truth he didn't know how far Ignan's darker times went. He had an idea as even now there was an air about the man that betrayed his inner demons, and no matter how much time passed or how angry he was at the much older Professor it still broke his heart.

"I had wondered if that meeting was colouring our rather heated exchanges of late, or whether it was just my friendship with Tapendra that compelled you to extend your difference to me."

"Your friendship with Tapendra has nothing to do with how much I'm displeased with you. What happened with Trishna was a misunderstanding, and one I have apologized for. He came at me, with a wand drawn ready to fight, and it frightened me. I hadn't any idea he had found a student's dead body, and am far too easy to forget that for someone who didn't grow up like I did, that can be very jarring. I said rude things without taking his feelings into consideration, but I think we are working on it," He waved his hand, "But his fondness of Aileen Reid, who is just one more of those purebloods who think my wanting her to smile and let go is me trying to get in her pants. She is...Oooo, she is something." Gale took up the wine, and let this one fall slowly in one sip. He always drank when he thought of Aileen.


But back then, I wasn't quite the same person, and you were but a boy. I wasn't quite sure when I clapped eyes on you if you'd remember, if you would still recognise me. The words echoed in his mind, and he studied Ignan a moment. His thoughts went back as the fire light from the bar's hearth reflected much the same as the campfires, and the shadows played across his face in his favor. The transformation wasn't something even his blind eye could miss, Ignan was older, but Gale had to wonder how much of that man wasn't just caged somewhere begging to be released.

"Don't tell my father you have changed. He would be heartbroken."

"Don't tell my father you have changed. He would be heartbroken."

"Merlin, you don't half talk." Ignan remarked, having kept his tongue by sipping his wine the other side of the table. It was interesting though, to hear him in full flow. He'd heard about it second hand from quite a few now - witnessed it other times. Last when he'd been in Tapendra's presence, he hadn't felt so patient about listening, but like his nickname, Ignan had a feeling that if he let Gale blow out, he'd run out of puff eventually.

"I had to change." The Deputy Headmaster admitted, sitting back and placing his wine back down. "There's only so long a man can hunt werewolves and fall out of trees and talk his way into camps with desperation. Even if I still wish I was out there doing it." He gave a shrug and shook his head.

"Is your father still about? I guess the Nightingale I met twenty years ago, who was so fascinated with magic, and who I was, grew up, went to Hogwarts… ended up teaching alongside me. Small world." He tilted his head. "Did you know before you took up the post?"

Gale who wasn't interested anymore in the wine, pushed his glass from the edge of the table in fear of breaking it. A rush came, the draft from the open door made his skin grow cold, and captured his attention a moment. But it wasn't that feeling that made him shiver, and Gale returned his attention to the question asked of him.

"I did actually, know before my post." Out of turn he gave his answers, but he wanted Ignan to know. "I had heard rumors at first, I suppose I expected you to never change, so I was surprised. Can't say I enjoy this version as much." Gods, was he drunk already? He felt it.

"My father? Oh he is about every now and then, mostly when he needs something. We have not spoken for many years, and in the past 15 or so, only a handful of times." On the defense Gale crossed his arms over his chest, "Can't say there isn't a day that goes by I don't miss him, but when the Hogwarts express drops you off after your second year and no one is there to pick you up. You don't just forget that.' Gale was such a brat, that he wouldn't speak to anyone for weeks after that, and it took him months to stop breaking things.

'I suppose he is in town now, or was. I was visited by a few of his goons. He probably needs money. I'd lock your windows at night." Nope. Sober.

"So then what is next for you, Tree Walker? Are you just going to get old and wither away at Hogwarts?"

"I suppose I expected you to never change, so I was surprised. Can't say I enjoy this version as much."

That was a little surprising, amongst it all. Ignan hadn't many people about today who had met him in a situation like that. Gale was one of the few, if not, the only one in the past few years. There were the Durmstrang staff who he had worked with, but they'd known a man who had been somewhat cajoled into teaching by family, hollowed. Family knew him as the cousin or great uncle that had fought off dark wizards and then travelled the world, not the man who'd become one.

Was this Gale's way of telling him to lighten up, lose the serious edge? He wasn't hunting werewolves and flirting with women in foreign pubs anymore, he had a few hundred young faces to teach every day and a school to help run. Responsibility had caught him up again.

"Can't say there isn't a day that goes by I don't miss him, but when the Hogwarts express drops you off after your second year and no one is there to pick you up. You don't just forget that."

"I expect not. From what I remember, the two of you were very close." The boy in his father's arms, the whispers and the way their limbs were wrapped together in the struggle between them, young boy trying to wrestle free.

"So then what is next for you, Tree Walker? Are you just going to get old and whither away at Hogwarts?"

"That would be telling." Ignan replied with a wistful smile. "Though for the time-being, yes, at Hogwarts, but I'll not wither. You young things, there's life in me yet." The corners of his mouth curled.

"We'll see, the right time, an opportune chance, I might make a bid for freedom, but for now, I am quite happy where I am." Ignan raised his eyebrows, inclining his glass of wine towards his companion,

"And you, 'man of the moon'?" 

It hurt to talk about his Father, and Gale wasn’t sure he would ever get over it. He missed him dearly, but it seemed every time their paths crossed someone got hurt. It was a defense of his to put those thoughts in the back of his mind, just like it was to make every one think him insane. No one was welcome that close, and if they could oversee his insecurities than they were worth his friendship. Gale lost himself in his thoughts a moment, realizing that Chester did just that—broke through.

But then it happened.

’You young things, there’s life in me yet.’

Ignan smiled, in the sort of way that reminded Gale of the younger man on his father’s table, and Gale simply lived in the moment. He pulled one foot under him, and wanted to curl his arms over his chest as if to keep his heart inside it. There it was, and it was beautiful—just like he always had been. With a blush creeping up over his pale cheeks, Gale quickly took another mouthful of the wine, and turned to face the crowd, and tugged on the collar of his shirt. When had it gotten so hot in here?

“A home, as children follow after. Somewhere I can offer them stability, and not only be there to pick them up off the train, but ride home with them each holiday. No more battles, no more wars, no more hospitals, or any underground drug rings. I’ll be happy to be on the surface for a while. Though, I have to say I do rather enjoy getting a rise out of the other staff. It’s one of my favorite sports, and I wonder how I ever survived my childhood.” He laughed lightly thinking about how much he loved to get a rise out of his father’s men, just to see them scolded. He really was a rotten Prince, but just as that thought entered his mind the wine truly took hold of his blood stream and Gale sat the glass down. The room was blurry around the edges and he blinked a few times before rubbing his eye.

“Especially the purists,” He grinned. “Father would be so proud wouldn't he? He'd be pleased we were even sitting together though. I think in many ways it's why he let me go. He knew he couldn't turn me into you, or ones like you. So he shoved me off on a pureblood family, and I grew to hate them. So when men like Torlof Gunderson come along, I can't help it." Gale laughed lightly, and put a hand over his chest, "You should have seen his face when he thought he was talking to a rent boy. It was priceless."

It seemed Gale had renewed his thirst, continuing with the wine. He seemed to relax somewhat as Ignan did, as he mildly declared he wasn't there to argue, by maintaining an even keel. It was to the younger man's benefit, Ignan had heard some rather strange tales of Gale from the Durmstrang ship that week, and he still wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"… or any underground drug rings…" It seemed neither of them had escaped a dodgy backstory, yet turned up at Hogwarts to teach. The Governors had impeccable taste.

"… Though, I have to say I do rather enjoy getting a rise out of the other staff. It’s one of my favorite sports, and I wonder how I ever survived my childhood…"

"Ha, quite. I remember your tricks." Ignan interjected, his gaze unfocused, remembering the scene at the caravan, his side torn by the branches of the tree after landing on the werewolf's tail, covered in its blood from slitting its throat. Gale had been just young of Hogwarts then, and already winding up the men who had come to jeer at Ignan before helping reset his arm.

“Especially the purists, Father would be so proud wouldn't he? He'd be pleased we were even sitting together though. I think in many ways it's why he let me go. He knew he couldn't turn me into you, or ones like you. So he shoved me off on a pureblood family, and I grew to hate them. So when men like Torlof Gunderson come along, I can't help it. You should have seen his face when he thought he was talking to a rent boy. It was priceless."

For Gale to come out with it just like that, Ignan very nearly spilled his wine.
"Ah. I think you have just pieced a part of a jigsaw from this week back together for me." He told his colleague softly, his fingertips lightly touching his lips in amusement and eyes alight.

"You see, I heard a very odd tale of you touting for business in Knockturn from the Durmstrang ship. I'm glad I took it with a pinch of salt at the time, though I confess I was going to ask you whether you had met Gundersen over Christmas when I saw you this evening." He sighed and propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, while the other hand wrapped around the stem of the wine glass.

"Can't have those sorts of rumours encouraged, Nightingale… Torlorf is my cousin, you realise, by marriage? His brother in law, another cousin of mine is a Durmstrang governor, they're not beyond turning this wind up into the Daily Prophet for gossip." His tone was firm, but altogether understanding.

"What did you do to get him to think that, anyhow? You didn't flirt with the man did you?" Ignan chuckled, "Didn't think he was your type."

"You see, I heard a very odd tale of you touting for business in Knockturn from the Durmstrang ship. I'm glad I took it with a pinch of salt at the time, though I confess I was going to ask you whether you had met Gundersen over Christmas when I saw you this evening."

Laughter came, and the sort that made his chest hurt from how it expelled from him. Gale placed a hand over his abdomen to try and quell the ache from how tight his stomach felt. He fell back in his chair, and tried to catch his breath.

“But you should have seen his face,” He spoke again, and this time ran a hand under his eyes to clean away the moisture there from the tears that pooled from laughing so hard. “And I said no such thing. I simply…implied it.” When he his fingers beneath the eye that was covered they came back with a small bit of blood that he cleaned quickly on the napkin.

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize there was a relation at all.” He tried his hardest to collect himself, but still shook slightly from his muffled laughter. It felt good, and when he regained himself he blinked a few times to clear his sight.

“I didn’t flirt with him. Not at all. I just simply wasn’t dressed the best, cold and wet. I’d been jumped the night before, and figured a good laugh would do me well. And besides of all the men on the street, how could I not worry who asked things of me after what happened on the eve? I wasn’t about to give out my name to a total stranger.” Maker it got hot in here rather quickly, “And he’s totally my type, Ignan.” Gale said as he pulled away his over coat, and undid a few buttons around his neck.

“Finely dressed, a stern jaw…eyes that can look right through you, a Silverfox, M’dear. Just like you. One of those men that know the way around your body, and all the right places. Despite how much they deny ever wanting it. They always know what parts to play to make one sing, Little Nightingale.” The wine painted his cheeks, far too pink for the few glasses that he had consumed. Dietrich would be so disappointed in him if he passed out in the floor now, and in front of Ignan too…but he felt like it. It would be so cool in the floor.

“And besides, how would you know my type? Are you even capable of compassion? Devotion? Or shall I even dare to ask…love?”

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize there was a relation at all.”

"You weren't to know, we don't make it obvious." He assured Nightingale quietly, his chin still resting on his palm. Ignan continued to listen to Gale's explanation.

“And he’s totally my type, Ignan. Finely dressed, a stern jaw…eyes that can look right through you, a Silverfox, M’dear. Just like you. One of those men that know the way around your body, and all the right places. Despite how much they deny ever wanting it. They always know what parts to play to make one sing, Little Nightingale.”

The blue eyes across the table were staring, and blinked purposefully, trying to comprehend what had just been implied.

“And besides, how would you know my type? Are you even capable of compassion? Devotion? Or shall I even dare to ask…love?"

"Of course I'm not." Ignan replied quickly, "Can't have the students think I care at all about them, they'd only come to me with their emotions. Messy." ”He lifted his chin from his hand and returned the arm to rest horizontally on the table.

"I didn't know your type, no, but now you've just rather accurately informed me, I don't know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable!" He took it in good humour, the wine was definitely helping this conversation. Completely sober he doubted Gale would have the gall to say that to him (or rather he hoped) and he wouldn't be dealing with this in quite such a laid back way.

Instead he managed a wistful smile and a sigh.
"Yes, I am capable of love, Nightingale, but I'm over a decade out of practise." He tapped his fingertips on the table, the others still wrapped around his wine glass, and dropped his gaze. "And now my love is imprisoned in Azkaban."

He looked up at Gale and reached acros the table, resting his fingertips just lightly on the man's forearm to convey his sincerity,
"I'm flattered, but shall we say, I tend to find my attraction in women rather than men, but I do not find that trait in other men upsetting."

Ignan retracted his hand and drank a healthy sip of wine, seeing they were near the end of the bottle.
"I'll get some more."

"Can't have the students think I care at all about them, they'd only come to me with their emotions. Messy."


Gale smirked at that, and finished his glass. Every day he had a different student on his couch, often in tears and in dire need of  reassuring words. How many of them because of this man and his stern way of putting terror in the hearts of students. It worked though, Ignan had a very good record when it came to his classes, and perhaps they balanced each other out. Gale this term was trying to be a bit more demanding of his students, earning their respect by a show of their own. He wasn't going to allow one more student to walk on him, but still he couldn't help it when they cried. It struck a cord in him that perhaps was to be blamed on his childhood. All he had to do was shed a tear and the whole world was bent to please him. Jean-Luc in his absence was very missed.

"I didn't know your type, no, but now you've just rather accurately informed me, I don't know whether to be flattered or uncomfortable!"

"Flattered. Stay flattered. Be uncomfortable when I have another bottle of wine and try to seduce you under the table," With that he released a little hiccup, a dainty little sound that had his cheeks flush with color. Oh this was nice. Truly.

"Yes, I am capable of love, Nightingale, but I'm over a decade out of practise."

A retort was waiting, begging on the tip of his tongue. He could feel sly little words that itched to slip along the man's jawline while his foot to go up the other's leg, but all was stolen when Ignan's gaze fell and the conversation turned of a love imprisoned. It appealed to his emotions, and rather broke his heart actually. He didn't like seeing Ignan like this, it was rather upsetting. He seemed a bit vulnerable and eager to continue their conversation. Perhaps he was reading too much into it or perhaps it was the wine, but Gale wanted very badly to slip to the other's side just to see that temper flair again and the old Ignan return. However, he jumped at the touch to his arm, realizing his thoughts got the better of him, and smiled at the man before shaking his head.

"No, I'll get the next round," Gale flagged the staff down with a smile, his words slipping into his native tongue and the French sounding as smooth as the wine he ordered. When the man gave a nod he slipped off to get their wine, and the plate of cheese, bread, and olive oil the little Picardy Professor needed rather badly.

"You can not be that out of practice. I saw you dancing at the Yule Ball, but I didn't know about Azkaban. Do you mind my asking who she is?"

"You can not be that out of practice. I saw you dancing at the Yule Ball, but I didn't know about Azkaban. Do you mind my asking who she is?"

Gale's return with more wine, and something to eat was welcome. It was good to finally speak with him on matters of the past, and to establish where they now stood. It was also good to hear that the strange rumours from the Durmstrang ship were just strange and not true. Dare say he was enjoying himself in a slightly unconventional way.

Ignan gave a snort of mild amusement.
"Maiko?" He asked, eyes raising from the arrival of the plate to look at Gale again. "Rather more on her part than mine. I know how to dance, a tradition lost on some young men. She took me by surprise with her... fondness in truth." Ignan pressed his palms together and then folded his fingers over and propped his chin upon them, observing his companion.

"I've always been ever so slightly tentative of her, because of what she does at the school, you know, its a little unconventional in my eyes. I'm of the pull yourself together, you're not dead school." He gave a shrug and a little sigh.

"In Azkaban? Well..." He paused in consideration. "A dear witch who has the sharpest mind I've ever met. I believed I'd discovered what love was before I found her, and then I realised how wrong I was. We were terrible and wonderful at the same time, and ... well, I thought she'd been killed quite some years ago. Unfortunate that the last time we crossed paths was shortly before her incarceration." A wistful smile crossed the older man's features, "I'd marry her at the drop of a hat, if it meant I could go back to those times. Merlin, pour that wine before someone appears with a violin to play my lament."

The Deputy Headmaster applied a hand to his own face in shame and let his arms drop, leaning back and shaking his head at himself.
"I heard that you were rather luckier in that area though. I may not take part in Hogwarts gossip, but it doesn't escape my ears. A young man? Does it not make you consider opting to live outside of the castle, with no obligations to remain as a residential professor?" He asked Gale, curious. Outside of Hogwarts, Ignan had no home of his own to speak of, but this would change as the funds from selling his father's house could be invested in Britain. Somewhere to put things, a space of his own at long last, and he'd have to stop. For a bit... for a moment. Queer.