Friday afternoon had slid by without any more howlers, which was on the one hand rather good, and on the other a little disappointing for the Deputy Headmaster. However, he had managed to twist the arm of the witch who had offered her assessment of the red spouting envelope at lunchtime, (it didn't take so much effort this time), and they had left the castle and the hordes of irritating children behind. There were always other members of staff who could be persuaded to cover any duties once in a while in return for covering theirs, or just covering their necks once in a while when they made a mistake and Ignan came to knock on their door.

The Hogshead allowed them to avoid the inquisitive patrons drinking in The Three Broomsticks. Ignan had begun to go off the welcoming, warm and rather popular pub for the fact his face was now rather recognisable in there. He either got earache about dementors, questions about how to avoid them, or he had to be thoroughly rude to whoever was asking, whatever the topic, and that wasn't what he escaped Hogwarts to do. The crowd in the Hogshead were entirely different, and if they recognised him it was no matter.

Their glasses might be of questionable cleanliness, but nothing the two of them couldn't cope with, having frequented the place before at irregular intervals. Elliot was made of stern stuff, and he admired that in a woman. They'd collaborated on lessons in the past term and it had worked very well. Whereas Auberon had enjoyed breaking fingers and slashing hands of the first years, Miranda had delivered cautionary tales of horrible injuries in a delightfully deadpan expression. She was frightfully no nonsense and he enjoyed her black humour.

"To howlers," Ignan proposed in a toast, "long may they continue from dim-witted parents."

He had wondered once if the Ogden's fire whiskey was watered down here, but it seemed as if they'd done the opposite to this as the earthy tones burned his throat with a renewed vigour.

"I forgot to say, we did receive one collectively once." He told Miranda, raising his eyes as he thought back to try and recall any exact phrasing or the details. "It detailed that their beloved offspring was experiencing nightmares, vomiting, and a deep fear to re-enter the classroom if that…" he closed his eyes a moment to get the phrase, "… 'heartless hag' was teaching." He swirled the whiskey in his glass with the hint of a smile brightening his features.

"I rather enjoyed teaching with a heartless hag, shame."

"To howlers long may they continue from dim-witted parents." The wizard lifted his tumbler to toast and Miranda lifted her own glass of questionable quality wine, tapping his softly as tinted lips twisted into a smirk. She took a small sip and a twitch of a grimace temporarily took her features. The quiet grottiness of the Hog’s Head provided a welcome freedom from the hustle, noise and familiar faces of the Three Broomsticks but the selection of wine definitely didn’t seem up to the same quality. This liquid would be great to fuel a fire or disinfect a wound but she wasn’t so sure on how well it sat inside of her.

These evenings seemed to have become more regular. Either as an escape from the whining teenagers and the constant reminder of the competition they were all living or as an enjoyment of one another’s company. Miranda wasn’t exactly sure but she didn’t mind either way. Storm’s sense of humour fit well with her own dark wit and the hours of drinking seemed to pass far too quickly.

In the grotty quiet Hog’s Head pub the couple stood out. Ignan smartly dressed in his waistcoat and tie and Miranda with high heels fit to spear a small animal with. Her clothing was equally as stern, slim dark trousers and a floating burgundy blouse offset her long dark hair neatly falling over her shoulders.

The healing professor listening silently to her companion, wine glass back on the table. She was leaning forward, elbows resting on the wood (only after she’d cleaned it with her wand upon entry) and lips pressed together. Their collaborative lessons had been…memorable. It had been interesting working with a colleague who had such a similar insight into the workings of each school. He too understood the challenges of adjusting to each and the great differences of culture and tradition.

“Oh.” The witch started, considering for a moment. The edges of her lips and her eyes betrayed the humour she found in the howler yet she took a moment to consider. “Heartless hag. It’s much politer if they bother to find out your real name isn’t it? Even Bone-Mend would show an invested interest in their child’s education. Heartless hag…” She once more lifted her glass to her lips and took an unsatisfying sip.

“What were you, Ignan? That frosted fossil?” Professor Bone-Mend grinned brightly.

His companion had opted for wine, which kept her far more occupied with drinking than he did on spirits. He didn't fancy the wine at the Hogshead much. The beer wasn't much good either, though people knocked it back enough.

"Frosted fossil!" Ignan repeated imagining a parent using such a phrase in a howler. "It has a pleasing alliteration, I'll give you that. No, I think my nicknames are far ruder, though I seem to have stopped collecting nicknames this year from students."

Their lessons had been rather informative for the students. Even if they had not necessarily been the most enjoyable of practical sessions, they had learned valuable lessons, and gained harrowing memories that would help them retain those lessons. He only hoped it reflected in their examinations in a matter of weeks, the Tetrawizard tournament had been a bit of a distraction this year, and he would hate it to disrupt the results.

Ignan leant back in his chair and crossed his ankles over beneath the table, careful to avoid Elliot's vicious heels in the process. Charms, he'd decided, must be behind women being able to walk in those sorts of things.

"Bone-Mend is a good one, though I do like Heartless Hag you know. It's what everyone thinks you are." His eyes met hers, "Rightly so, Miranda?" He leaned forward a moment, and added, "We both know that caring is not an advantage in our fields."

Piercing blue eyes met hers and the witch looked back, eyebrows raising slightly as her lips parted in thought. Her students had no doubt called her worse than a heartless hag considering the practices she used in the classroom. Durmstrang permitted the temporary maiming of students to use as subjects yet Hogwarts did not. Hogwarts also didn’t believe in students finding out for themselves which plants were man eating, poisonous and temporarily paralysing. Elliot had always been a believer in independent research. Perhaps that was why she seemed so heartless.

“Perhaps for you, Professor Storm.” The witch had a habit of addressing him as such. “But my profession emphasises caring is an advantage. I’m fluffy and matronly. I kiss every Durmstrang student on the head at night to keep the monsters away.” The witch’s expression was deadpan and serious. Her eyes betrayed the amusement. “I’m practically their mother away from home, Ignan. It’s a pity you quite clearly don’t go that extra mile to show your students what sensible, loved human beings they are.”

“I’d have thought you’d taken the idea from your Hogwarts colleagues by now. Babying them seems to make a real quality difference.” Most people had trouble deciding when and when not Miranda was joking. Her humour was dark, serious. She could be fairly sarcastic but it was also often not evident when. The same, it seemed over the past few months, could be said for Ignan Storm the scary German professor from Durmstrang that tried to drown his students.

“Why did you drown a class? Or….try?” Her fingers surrounded the stem of her slightly grubby wineglass. “But more importantly, where was my invite?”

In another life, he might have taken no second thought towards Miranda. She struck him as the sort of witch who would probably be able to tolerate a closer relationship.

Her humour appealed to his, and her interests and independence were appealing to his. She was altogether a safer option than his bloodthirsty fiance in Azkaban. He had found himself contemplating if he'd see Miranda differently had he not discovered Azorma was alive.

"I'm practically their mother away from home, Ignan…"

He chuckled at her, and shook his head in humour at her explanations of kissing the heads of the Durmstrang students.

"Why did you drown a class? Or… try? But more importantly, where was my invite?"

He let another sip of the whiskey burn his throat before he replied, turning his blue eyes to her gaze.

"Sadly they didn't drown in the end. I set them homework over the holidays to learn the theory, and it was the application of the practical. It wasn't a fantastic spectator sport, don't feel slighted that I didn't invite you. Their furious expressions were enjoyable to say the least."

His eyes automatically lifted as he thought back to how it was at the side of the lake.

"Worth all the howlers, certainly." He added, and sighed, pushing aside the terse words he'd received in the post lately.

"I can always drown the first years, they won't be prepared, and I think they may be a little more delightful for the giant squid to eat. What do you think?"

He sat back, and narrowed his eyes.
"I'm sure we can do better than drowning though. What lessons do you have in your arsenal that we can inflict on these young, optimistic minds?"

"I've never given the diet of the giant squid much of my concern, Ignan." She frowned, lips pursed as she was quite obviously considering the prospect. "Perhaps too much skin and bone. They're hardly a meaty bunch." It was quite possible that the first years wouldn't make for a particularly satisfying meal for the giant squid. They were doubtlessly too whiny and pathetic as well. Miranda wasn't particularly a fan of children.

But what lessons did she have? The healer took a slow sip of her wine, her dark eyes watching Ignan carefully. She enjoyed his company. It was refreshing away from a castle that felt so claustrophobic and uncomfortable. It was pleasant to share the evening with someone who shared a similar temperament.

"It depends on the aim of such lessons. Besides, I'm not interested in another collaboration with you in the immediate future." The wine glass was placed on the table and she leant back, crossing her legs. Lips twisted into a somewhat sinister smile. She'd enjoyed working with Ignan. She enjoyed spending time with him. But today she had made a decision about the next Hogwarts professor she wanted to work with.

 "I plan on collaborating with your divination colleague. He seems fun." This afternoon in the staff room had been an opportunity too amusing to pass. The new Hogwarts professor had truly seemed perturbed by the dark humoured talk. As Miranda waited for a response, her leg stretched out, foot brushing up against Storm's leg.

"Lundy?" Ignan replied almost instantly after Miranda's comment of fun. She had been taking pieces out of the man in the staff room only that lunchtime, trying to unseat him from the fence he was sat on. It was a logical position for a new professor, but they all came tumbling from it sooner or later once they got a handle of the hierarchy, or were pushed.

The second he drew breath to ask her further, he felt something brush his leg, rather purposefully, not accidentally, given the way Miranda was looking. For a moment he looked a little startled - it had been years since a woman had attempted anything, and as such he was not expecting the movement at all and he stumbled mentally.

Clearing his throat, resisting the temptation to rearrange his legs out of her way, just glad it wasn't her heels that had sliced his leg off, Ignan continued, leaning forward a little over the table and making eye contact.

"You've not got bored of me, have you, Miranda?" He asked, "Or is Waldo merely prey?"

Ignan didn’t seem too surprised by the contact and remained where he was, not making a move away. Miranda took this a sign she had been correct. Their friendly drinking wasn’t necessarily wholly platonic. When he leaned into her and made direct eye contact, this was confirmed.

The healer broke the eye contact and looked down at her glass in thought.
“He seems lost, unsure of himself.” She glanced up at her companion. “I think it’s my responsibility as healer of mind and body to give him some direction. Merlin knows what nonsense goes on inside a diviner’s mind.” It was no secret what a lot of witches and wizards thought of the art of divination. Miranda was definitely one of these witches who thought the entire practice ludicrous. Very few seers had ever proven their gift and many more had had hoards of pathetic believers hanging off their every untrue word. Miranda Elliot believed in fact. It intrigued her greatly when she met someone so willing to put his beliefs in something which lacked proof.

“So not prey.” The witch said softly as her fingers enclosed the stem of her wine glass. “A case study.” She lifted the glass to her lips and drained the last of the tart liquid. Elliot would be joining Storm in a fire whiskey next.

Her leg lifted slightly higher along the wizard’s calf as she looked over at him, expression calm but her eyes revealed a hidden mischief. “Would it bother you if I was bored, Storm?”

His eyes lingered on her neck as she swallowed down the rest of her drink at speed, her foot still resting against his leg beneath the table. For some reason it felt as if his collar was constricting, he was warmer, the whiskey or the foot. His eye contact was direct, but he had left his steely gaze behind at the school. In her company, he caught himself laughing. She certainly had his attention far more than she had not long before, that was for certain, though his hands for the moment remained on the table.

"If I could help it," he replied to Miranda in a low voice, inclining forward over the table between them, "I wouldn't see you bored." The hand above the calf her foot was winding itself round dropped smoothly, fingertips negotiating those lethal heels on the boots to find her ankle.
"A bright mind as your shouldn't ever be bored." He explained, "you cause enough mischief when you're occupied." He applied gentle pressure around the joint, just to see if she would draw her foot away in surprise, or continue with the ruse.
"Another?" He asked, gesturing to her empty glass with his free hand.

Taking the glasses back to the bar, he willed himself not to look back at Miranda. Instead, he drew himself tall at the bar, as he did when he was a younger man, scrutinising the amount poured and the cleanliness of the glass provided. Returning moments later, he settled back in his seat, easing his own legs a little further beneath the table towards her, before raising his glass, about to toast Miranda with the whiskey.
"Would you like to propose a toast?" He asked, surprisingly attentive to her again.

A long fingered hand snaked down from the table to her ankle and Miranda’s muscle tensed. Just as for Storm, it had been a long while since she had been in such close proximity with a male, to have been flirting discretely under a table. Yet there was something about Storm that intrigued the healer. He was stern, had an air of majesty about him and took no prisoners. She valued that sort of attitude. The majority of the time she was like it herself. Life circumstances and teaching at Durmstrang had meant that was far more often.

He asked if she wished for another and before she knew it his hand was gone.
“Fire whiskey.” She stated, not wanting another glass of paint stripper placed before her. So Storm got up and headed to the bar while Miranda lifted a hand to her long dark hair, brushing her fingers through it out of her face. It wasn’t often it was loose anymore. She felt much of working for Durmstrang was keeping up appearances. People were more likely to feel unnerved by you if you gave nothing away; if they saw the same of you every day with nothing more. The less someone knew about you the less they were comfortable in your company. Therefore she’d started spending her life with a schooled plain expression, her dark hair scraped back into a bun and the vicious heels. The uniform she’d given herself as Professor of Healing. But that would change in a couple of weeks.

Storm returned to the table and Miranda took her own glass. She’d not told him the news. She’d not even informed Eisenberg yet. It was a conversation Elliot wasn’t looking forward to having.
“To evading boredom.” She raised her glass and tapped it against Storm’s, maintaining eye contact. It failed to surprise her how children flailed under his stare. His eyes were a piercing blue, commanding attention and power. It was what drew Miranda to seek his company.

After a fiery sip, the glass was placed back on the wood with a clink and the witch’s lips twisted into a smirk as she leant forward across the table, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hear St. Mungo’s Head Healer rarely has the opportunity to be bored.”

"Evading boredom." Ignan echoed, eyes unflinching as they let their glasses meet.

He enjoyed that in Miranda, she not only spoke her mind, and was easy on the eye, but she could meet him blow for blow. He would sorely miss her when she departed back on the ship to Durmstrang. He would attempt to keep in touch, but it wouldn't be the same. Her company had been of particular pleasure in the absence of Tapendra who had been distant from him of late, and otherwise his companion on evenings away from the school.

The second round, the whiskey was just as strong as the first, and he watched her drink, curious. His glass had not met the table before she leaned forward and added to the toast in a low voice.

"Why, are they overworked?" He replied in a similar tone, eyebrows lowering before they suddenly raised in surprise.

"No! You haven't..?" He asked her, genuinely surprised at the move out of education and back into healing, right at the top of the tree.

"You kept that under your hat." He uttered, the surprise giving way to admiration for the slight. He kept his tone hushed, not wanting to receive a boot under the table for speaking up too loudly. He preferred it when she was trailing her toes up his calf.

"To evading boredom indeed, congratulations…! What's made you go back? Does that mean you're staying in Britain?"

The speed at which the second question arrived did reveal his anxiety that he was not looking forward to Miranda's departure, and this sudden news was a very swift turnaround for that possibility.

So many questions at once. Miranda let Ignan spill them out as he overcame his surprise at the turn of events. And did she sense a hint of excitement in the question about her remaining in the UK? Surely not, he wasn't the sort to become excited.

"It's not public knowledge," she responded calmly. "The governors want a different leader. Creedish is somewhat...airy." Miranda Elliot was certainly not such a thing. She was wholeheartedly planning on taking charge with no area untouched. The entire hospital needed a shake up and she relished the challenge.

"I had few plans to remain at Durmstrang in the long term." As she spoke, Miranda removed her robes, standing and slipping them off her shoulders to reveal a dark green dress which hung off her shoulders loosely. She placed the robes on the chair beside her and lowered herself back into her seat. The weather was definitely improving, yet another reason to not return to the cold mountains and dark castle. "I'm not a natural teacher. Or a natural subordinate. Eisenberg tells me how to do my job and I don't appreciate it."

Next the witch offered her companion a small smile. "And let's be honest, Ignan. Now you've become acquainted with my caring warm hearted self you wouldn't handle my return to Europe particularly well." A cool hand reached forward and her fingers enveloped his hand, her dark eyes staring into his. "It's quite natural. Living in that castle surrounded by the Waldo Lundys of this world."

She quickly explained the reasons behind her move to St Mungo's across the table as he listened with rapt attention, his whiskey forgotten about in his right hand, his left resting on the tabletop, further over towards her as he was leant over.

As she stood, he wondered for a split second if she was leaving, but his eyes soon told him otherwise as her cloak slipped from her shoulders, and he involuntarily swallowed at the sight, taking in her shoulders, the way the dress hung and revealed her figure. Despite himself, his jaw was a little slack and he didn't shade the fact he was staring.

"Does anyone appreciate Eisenberg telling them what to do?" He asked in a slight daze, snapping back to the present moment and ending his momentary daydream about Miranda slipping off another layer of robes in the pub.

"And let's be honest Ignan… you wouldn't handle my return to Europe particularly well." It was harder still to string a sentence together now, first the foot, then the job, then the clothes and now - she had reached for his hand.

This didn't happen to Ignan these days. Not for a very long time indeed. Merlin! He'd had his suspicions, but he'd always believed Bone-mend only saw him as a useful alliance amongst the staff, and one who didn't irritate her.

"… surrounded by the Waldo Lundys of this world."

Still staring at her across the table, the Deputy Headmaster eventually found his voice.

"I don't give a rat's arse about the Waldo Lundys of the world at this exact moment." He told Miranda, the fingers of his left hand curling to lace with hers on the table, while the fingers of his right hand gripped his whiskey glass as if it was going to run away.

"And you're correct, i was not looking forward to you leaving on that ship in a matter of weeks. We've become…" the words failed him and he broke eye contact, "… friendlier? Familiar?" He looked back to her for a better adjective.

"This is delightful news indeed." He confessed, now looking back into her eyes they were unable to roam again, even if he wanted to let them alight on her shoulders, drift down her figure. His fingers squeezed hers ever so slightly.

"When do you take up the role?" He asked, while his mind contemplated what a gentleman would do in the situation, given that his colleague would no longer be his colleague for much longer, and had now clasped his hand in a somewhat affectionate manner.

It was not expected by Miranda that Storm would agree with her and state he hadn't looked forward to her departure. He didn't appear to be the type to say or least of all think such things. Yet his fingers squeezed hers back and the witch's brows twitched slightly in surprise. She'd been somewhat bold indeed but she'd presumed he may tense, pull his hand away or tell her to back off with a cold stare. Therefore Elliot wasn't exactly sure how to react now.

It had been a while since her fingers had nearly interlocked another's. There'd been Marren just over a year ago. But that had been different. He'd been married and she'd not cared. Before that it had been her husband. 11 long years ago.  After his death she'd dedicated herself to work and bringing up a teenage daughter with a terrible attitude. But now Miranda didn't need to worry about the teenage daughter and this wizard was soon not going to be a professional colleague.

"The 16th." She slowly pulled her arm back, fingers gliding over his palm before they clasped the whiskey glass once more.

Dark eyes scanned from the wizard's hand back up to his face. Her eyes once more held a mischief to them as she lifted her glass.

"Define familiar." It was always intriguing to put people on the spot. She took a larger swig of the liquid, more confident than her first taste and pulled a face. It was like a fire roaring down her throat. She gasped and coughed slightly, eyes watering as the fumes hit the back of her throat with clout.

"Before the end of term?" He queried, at her declaration of the date, though it sounded rhetorical. He hadn't expected quite so soon in honesty, but when one was given such an opportunity, it didn't do to hesitate.

"Define familiar." She asked before taking another sip of the whiskey, which from her grimace didn't agree with her. Waiting for her expression to even out again, he considered his response.

"Does it need defining?" He asked, and realised that Miranda was pushing for him to do so. "More familiar than your throat with that whiskey, for sure."

He chuckled and raised his own glass to his lips to match her sip, only Ogdens was his staple. If this had been smoking, then it would have turned the tables - despite travelling with Georg and his pipe all those years he'd never taken up the habit.

"I'm pleased for you," he smiled, no sign of grimace on his face, "and that I'm glad you're not escaping back to Europe. This calls for another drink." Finishing his glass, he raised an eyebrow in challenge to his counterpart.




"I didn't realise," Ignan explained to Miranda, now sat beside her rather than across from her, the distance between them inches, resisting the stronger, somewhat inebriated feeling to put his arm around her. "I didn't realise that you thought about me in such a way? But perhaps it was because I didn't expect to even consider you a friend." He shrugged, and stretched his legs out beside hers.

"I am curious though, did you, or was it the change of career that helped today? Here, let me pour you another…"