Plot continuation from: Art Thou Departing Too, My Trembling Friend?, December 30th 2009

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"Godric's Hollow?" Johann extended the parchment towards Ignan across the table beside a Sunday breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron.

Ignan's nose wrinkled a moment and then he received the creased parchment and examined it more closely.  Meanwhile the other half of Johann's cooked breakfast went cold, a rasher of bacon unloved beside half a tomato and a generously fried piece of bread.  The weighty cutlery at twenty-to-four on the greasy plate, Daily Prophet beside it with the property listings within it, several ringed in red quill ink, and then others crossed out in black.

In honesty Ignan couldn't see himself living in any of these places.  He'd travelled around for so long without putting roots down, apart from when he had returned to his late father's house in Germany.  Now that was gone too.  Wolfgang had sealed the conveyancing papers during the week, confirming the sale of the old Storm family home of Ignan's branch to a wizard learned in law.  There were worse people who could inhabit it, the man was recently married, the garden would be filled with the laughter of their children.  It would not go to wrack and ruin.

The move to Britain would be odd, but felt like the right time to do it.  Going back and forth to the European mainland took time and money with the International Floo.  Now that he had inherited the recent replacement house-efl, Gerda, from his father's estate too, there would be someone to tend to a house in his long absences during term time.  As much as he had considered spending out of hours time at any new property he purchased, his role as Deputy Headmaster called on him at all hours and he preferred to be on site ready to collar any misbehaving student or address staff as required.

Johann hadn't been concerned about helping his cousin with the hunt at first when they had spoken about it in January, but just as the house sale had been finalised in February, allowing Ignan to be sure of his budget, Johann seemed to have other things to do on a weekend and had been reluctant to help him out again.  He didn't blame the younger man, spending hours on a weekend trailing properties did sound tedious, and on the day of the full moon he had a routine with his werewolf living companion.  However, he had promised, so the younger man had insisted on setting out at an ungodly hour and persisted Ignan was being far too picky, at least he hadn't insisted on bringing Downer's dog.  The weather was enough to contend with.

But picky wasn't the half of it.  Ignan was tentative because of the possibility of running into students outside of term, which was something he didn't encounter when abroad.  In Britain the likelihood was high, unless he lived along Muggles, which was somewhat out of the question.  Anyone who had witnessed Ignan visiting Tapendra would understand how living next door to Muggles would be a farce.  Even Johann laughed at his understanding.  Hmph!

The only thing that would be worse, would be to run into the parents of students.  Those that sent him howlers and ignorant letters about his teaching style, well, perhaps they wouldn't be so bold in person, but still...

The day's timetable of visiting properties was unrelenting, so by the time the two relatives popped into view in Godric's Hollow in the howling wind and rain Ignan felt as if he had seen enough houses to last a lifetime.  It was horrific what some wizard-kind considered to be appealing architecture, or decoration.  Thank goodness for wands and books of domestic decoration charms.

Johann was already striding ahead, black hair streaming in the wind as Ignan got his bearings, fingers instinctively reaching to his splinching scar, still a slight apprehension when he apparated.  There'd not long been some incident with the graveyard here, and the Potter's house still stood as a reminder of all that had been lost.  Still, Godric's Hollow seemed welcoming for all of February's weather.

"The accent might only be your undoing." Johann remarked as Ignan caught up with long strides, referring to the local accent.  Thankfully the mix of accents at the school had proved useful in tuning an ear into British dialects.  If he didn't understand he'd just dismiss the thick incoherent spouting as dribble.

"As long as I don't end up imitating it."  Ignan muttered, repeating himself again as the wind took his words. He was all too aware his improvements in moderating his accent when speaking English were based upon what he heard around him.  The German still hung to his voice, despite having been brought up bilingual, it hung on for dear life.  It just made him sound sinister, which was to his advantage.

They trailed off the main street and rambled past a row of cottages, coat and cloak drawn around themselves, heads bent to stop the wind tearing at their eyes.  Then there it was, just as it had been on the parchment Johann had handed to him in the Leaky Cauldron that morning.

"Used to be the village school once,"  Johann explained, the parchment in hand from the office in London, threatening to escape his grasp, "the Muggle children went there, anyhow. Now they go … well.. elsewhere."

"Thank you for that excellent information."  Ignan replied with the tired, irritable tone of a man who'd seen far too many properties in a day of awful weather.  He had heard about his relative's estate agent forays from more than one source - owing to the fact he had unwittingly taken Ignan's son with him on one such trip.  He would be glad to go home to Hogwarts in a few hours, draw a warm bath and put his feet up.

"Can we get in?"

Johann was consulting the time as Ignan surveyed the state of the front garden which had the original wrought iron fence wound round with brambles.   The thorns spat out a startled blackbird as he stepped through the gate which was pushed open and almost off its hinges.  The grass was up to mid-thigh height, and there were several swaying trees that needed tending to, including a crab-apple.   All in all, the place needed a lot of tending to, before being restored to something half smart.  With luck, that would mean it would be cheaper, if he found it suitable.

"Who lived here?"

Johann's eyebrows rose, wandering through the gateway behind him, eyes taking in the state of the place too with an expression filled with doubt.   
"Er," he rifled through the papers, "our kind, and yes it's unoccupied."

The front door opened ahead of them, a dark blue and peeling paint.  A rather enthusiastic young saleswizard stood on the uneven doorstep and Ignan felt himself already prickling at the thought of being sold to.  However, instead of greeting them warmly, a young couple stepped out, shaking their heads and holding onto their hats,

"Just not for us.  Doesn't feel right."  They rushed along the path between the two relatives who stepped aside into the long damp grass, and watched them depart through the gate with interest. 

"Is it me, or did they sound like they were being polite about their reasons?"  Ignan asked the wizard on the other side of the path, wondering if what he was about to see would be an abomination, or rather something far more his taste.  Johann agreed, shrugged and led the way to the door, where the enthusiastic young saleswizard's smile renewed itself like a mask as they were welcomed in. At the very least, inside it was dry.

There appeared to be nothing that couldn't be rectified until they reached what was the study overlooking the back of the house. Outside below them was a garden of rambling trees and bramble bushes secluding it from neighbours.  'A perfect apparition point or for the grandchildren to ride toy broomsticks', their guide explained, while Johann suddenly turned to inspect the paintwork closely, his shoulders shaking.  The hints that it had been a school were diminished from modifications and what looked like the remnants of flower beds and a vegetable patch through the rain covered window.

"Here we go again!"  A disembodied voice moaned at their arrival inside the room.  Johann jumped out of his skin, but Ignan addressed the semi-transparent form of a wizard sat on the top of the bookshelves behind the door with an interested smirk.  This hadn't been itemised on the information Johann was clutching still.

The young wizard with them began to try and explain but the Defence Professor held up a hand to stop him and instead gestured for the lingering spirit to have his moment to persuade the wizard that the house was not for sale, and not his to live in. The rapid departure of the previous couple was clear, this spirit wasn't keen on someone joining him, not even for company, especially young children. But he did give a rather more informative explanation of the property's faults despite the splutters of the young wizard assigned to attempt to sell it.

On returning to Hogwarts later that day, Ignan slung his feet up on the table before the fireplace in his chambers and poured a generous glass of Ogdens as a reward for not hexing anyone they met, swearing at his relative or giving up by lunchtime. 

A house-elf and a ghost would be rather apt housemates, and there would be little risk of anyone visiting for too long.  Pretty terrific way to go, mauled by a hippogriff you didn't bow low enough to in front of a class of wizarding children not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts a hundred or so years ago.  Teaching them how to read and write must have made it tempting to spice it up once in a while.  At least they had common ground.

With luck he could even wear the price down further, go back and make a pact with the spook to ramp up the irritation with other viewers in return for a house owner who was only there in school holidays.  Room enough for Sasha to stop by, even for the likes of the Trishnas to visit if necessary. 

Georg would laugh at it, but, as long as he kept the cupboard well stocked, or the local was half decent, he'd visit.  The family would not, but that was perfection.

Pleased with a day's hunting, the potential property owner and Godric's Hollow resident disappeared behind a thick copy of Hargreaves Household Repairs, the start of his summer somewhat dictated by necessity.