After dinner...

It had been two very short weeks since the Friday night in the Hogshead, Ignan thought to himself as he descended from his office on the first floor, carrying some folded parchment between his long fingertips. There was another month until the school year finished, but for one Professor who he had shared the castle with since September, the school year was over. Miranda Elliot had handed in her resignation from Durmstrang, and with two week's notice, was departing.

Despite himself, he actually felt a little sorry to see her leave, even though her departure would have happened in a month's time without this early intervention. He was clearly becoming soft in his advancing years! Pushing aside the sentiment, he walked with purpose, nodding to Slytherin students who dared to take up his gaze and utter good evening in the hope of reaching his approval in lessons.

The Durmstrang contingent were housed in the dungeons, their extra rooms had expanded out of chambers down here, for both students and staff. Thankfully, he knew which door he had to knock on, and it wasn't too long before it was cracked open and he slipped inside, with the words,
"A few things for you to sign before you leave, Professor Elliot."

But once the door was shut behind him, he turned to tap his wand against the grain, muting their conversations from the outside world. He turned back to her rooms, and surveyed the scene of her packing. It wasn't the first time he had visited, but it would be the last with her here, for sure.

His features betrayed him for a split second, conveying his dismay at her leaving, before he gave her a gentle smile. His usual tactic of saying good bye would be to make someone who had become fond of him, hate him a little so it was easier on them both, but even the harsher jibes or jokes with Miranda washed off, as the blacker humour was just as delightful to them both.

"Tonight crept up on us rather quickly," he admitted, "but for the best, after all, St Mungo's will be glad to have you." Reaching for her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze, knowing she was busy, so unsure whether she would appreciate any grander gesture at that moment.

"I don't actually have anything for you to sign, but I do have this," he extended the folded piece of parchment, "my address in Godric's Hollow for you."

For the past few months the room had been spotless and tidy. Things were always orderly in their place and the bed perfectly made. Excluding Miranda’s handwriting which followed the illegible characteristics of a Healer, everything was neat and perfect. This evening it was all different. Her clothes were in disarray scattered over the bed and floor. Piles of books had been pulled from the bookshelves and were stacked up to waist level. Two large trunks were overflowing and Miranda’s spell book was open at the shrinking charms page.

The healer herself wasn’t as neatly put together as usual either. Her hair was scraped messily into a bun and her white trousers were peppered in dust. When knocking came from the door she stood up from her kneeling potion amongst the disarray and moved to the large wooden door. It was pulled open and inside stepped Ignan Storm.

"A few things for you to sign before you leave, Professor Elliot." He offered an excuse and her eyebrows rose.

“More waste of parchment Professor Storm?” She pushed the door closed behind him. The last couple of weeks seemed to have passed in a blur. The couple had made their thoughts clear and now they were to say goodbye. Or…goodbye to living in such close proximity and having to meet n secret. Pity really, considering Elliot had found it quite fun to have such a secret from those around them.

Storm reached for her hand and her cold fingers curled around his as their eyes made contact. Next he offered her the piece of parchment and Miranda took it with a smirk.
“I’ll move my stuff in tomorrow and be waiting for you my darling.” Her expression was plain before she winked.

There was a short silence before Elliot stepped closer, still holding Storm’s hand. Dark eyes scanned up to his blue. “Another month to survive surrounded by children and mentally unqualified professors; all without me to keep you sane.”

"I know, I'm not quite sure how I'll cope." He replied, adopting a particularly concerned expression, equalling her earlier comment about moving into his house.

"A month will feel quite a long time indeed, but it is always the busiest just before they leave." He looked down to her and his gaze glanced over her hair, which was pinned back in a messy bun. He quite liked the way some of the strands made it down the side of her face, and found his gaze lingering on her neck a moment as he admired it all.

"You're getting out of the hard work really, aren't you?" He smirked, giving her hand a squeeze with his left, and dropping a small kiss on her forehead, ignoring the dust that had settled on her skin from packing, and lingering with eye contact after - things could too easily escalate the way they were between them at the moment.

Time to be rational adults. Shame.
"Can I give you a hand with things, my dear?"  Ignan asked, breaking eye contact and looking about the room. "Amazing what one can pack into a room in a year."

Their hands were still entwined for the moment, Ignan was delaying the inevitable. Miranda would be fiendishly busy with running St Mungo's, he would be tied up with the school and their meetings would have to be carefully synchronised between the timetables of both, and geographically between two ends of the country, rather than two floors, hundreds of students and nosy colleagues. He'd not even mentioned it to Tapendra, who was perhaps the most likely to have noticed something was afoot.

"I came prepared." He added, and drew his wand with his right hand.

Miranda hadn’t yet considered how busy she was set to become in her new position. Being a professor at Durmstrang was a demanding and somewhat stressful job but the stress working in a hospital was different. Most situation were life and death; that excited Elliot. Teaching didn’t excite her. It didn’t make her want to wake up and throw herself into her work. It made her even more glad her own daughter was grown up and no longer a teenager.

Yet the wizard stood before her obviously enjoyed this particular brand of stress. He’d worked his way up the ranks of teaching staff after another career. Miranda respected him for having the patience to stick at it while she couldn’t wait to be back in healing robes in the hospital.

Ignan’s lips brushed her forehead and Miranda looked up at him, lips pursed.
“Well as much as I’d love to stay here and work hard driving Strangely berserk in her greenhouses…”

He offered to help and Miranda turned away from the wizard, glancing at the mess her attempt at packing had caused. If all else failed it would all just be shrunk and thrown inelegantly into the two trunks.

“I don’t do help.”
With this decision made, Professor Bone-mend turned back to her visitor and stepped in closer, their bodies inches from touching.
“Will you…” the fingers of her left hand trailed up his arm,
“be giving every foreign professor a…” dark eyes slowly moved from his waistcoat, rising to gaze into his blue
“personal goodbye?”

It was true the two had only been meeting quite as unprofessionally for a couple of weeks. It was undeniable that something was happening that neither was particularly used to at present. Miranda hadn’t been so close to a wizard for almost two years and she had a distinct feeling Ignan hadn’t been expecting such a development with his female colleague. Yet they hadn’t ventured into one another’s histories as of yet. Miranda wanted to enjoy whatever was happening without questioning it.

At Miranda's declaration that she didn't need help, he gave a gentle shrug of his shoulders, he could understand that packing one's own belongings was a personal matter.

But when she turned back closely, he looked down at her and watched her fingers trace up his arm.
"Of course," he told her in a low voice, "Cousin Torolf would like nothing less," he smirked, referring to Miranda's Durmstrang colleague who was related by marriage to Ignan.

"Why, would you be jealous?"
His fingers found her wrists gently, and he smiled very slowly, enjoying her attention, that moment that he would have preferred to last a while longer. But there was only so long he could interrupt her packing.

"No, I reserve such personal goodbyes for only the most special of foreign professors, one in fact, and in reality they could be considered less foreign than me, depending on the viewpoint." He tilted his head ever so slightly, "but I'm being a distraction to your packing, forgive me…" he was more distracted by the way her hair was away from her rather lovely neck.

"Why, would you be jealous?" Elliot’s eyes remained locked on Ignan’s as he spoke. The edges of her lips twisted the minutest amount into a small smile. His fingers made their way around her wrists and her hand stopped trailing up his arm. There was definitely something exciting about being in his presence.

After having taken a moment to respond, Ignan continued and broke her out of her thoughts by mentioning the packing again. She suddenly didn’t look so impressed and broke away, turning away from the older professor to come face to face with the mess that was her attempt at packing ready for tomorrow. Her lips pursed in displeasure.

“Packing is being a distraction to my packing.” She stated as she slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew her wand. It had taken Miranda so long because she didn’t trust her use of the charms needed to neatly get everything into the trunks with minimum effort. Her skills in healing magic were almost impossible to be beaten but in most other areas of magic the witch came up short. Her entire focus had been thrown into her speciality and while an expert in one area, she knew little else outside of it.

Yet now she wanted to spend her last couple of hours being distracted. Her left hand gripped the wand loosely between her fingers and she started to twist it back and forth. Clothes from the bed rose into the air and started to neatly fold themselves. They piled upon each other in the air and started to move in a conveyor towards the trunk. But then they started shaking. The many items dancing in the air started to dance far more violently and a glass bottle of ink was suddenly hurtling towards Ignan’s head.

He could see it in Miranda's eyes too, that she would prefer to be distracted from her packing, to perhaps ignore the fact that clothes were strewn across her bed, and lay upon them. But it would't do for the Head of St Mungo's to be delayed to her post by packing.

Soon enough, items were dancing towards the trunk with all the charm of Spring birds, until it appeared that Miranda's concentration wandered, and they became rather erratic in motion. In the nick of time of a bottle of ink heading towards his own head, Ignan raised his own wand and froze the scene, and the ink.

"Much as you hate a hand," he spoke gently, plucking the bottle out of the air, and placing it down nearby, "this will be done in next to no time with two wands, and I can keep you appropriately distracted, with no guilt." He gave her no option, as he twitched his wand again, and the clothes began again in earnest to the trunk, but this time he moved round the room, overseeing the odd item as they made their journey towards the trunk.

"Now my dear, how would you like to spend your last evening?" Ignan asked, as he made his way back to Miranda after circling the trunk, satisfied it would continue to pack… well, as long as he didn't get too distracted either.

The ink bottle shot towards Ignan and Miranda span around to see his sharp reflexes, stopping it in its tracks and freezing everything in the air where it was. Despite her irritation at losing that concentration, she was impressed with his speed and skill and her brow rose slightly conveying this. His fingers rose and the ink was plucked out of the air, placed to the side. Elliot didn’t move for a moment, she just watched. The more time she spent with Ignan Storm the more she found herself liking him.

As items resumed their dancing around, Miranda’s lips pursed. She really didn’t like requiring any sort of help but if it meant she would be done sooner… she lifted her own wand and joined him once more, this time sending the books one by one into the second trunk a little quickly than the clothes had moved.

"Now my dear, how would you like to spend your last evening?" Storm was back close and the healer lowered her wand.

“I’m surprised you could move so fast at your age, Storm.” She decided to ignore his question at present. “Are you quite certain you didn’t pull anything?” She smirked.

"Hmm," Ignan replied, as if giving that serious thought, "actually, yes, now you mention it, about two weeks ago, in a pub in Hogsmeade I did indeed pull something…" he continued his statement despite he protests when the twigged what he meant.

"Nothing wrong with my reactions, did you forget that I spend my days reteaching these things and deflecting rogue magic from students who haven't quite mastered control?" He slid an arm around her waist and drew her closer, "but if we were tending to the wounded, trust me, I would be the one flinging blood and guts around in the least elegant matter and consulting spell books." He gestured to the trunk full of books with his free hand before he wrapped it too around her.

"Now, you must promise me you'll let me know when I can visit you when you're down in London, otherwise I might have to cut the legs off a couple of third years to cause an excuse to accompany them to St Mungo's and find you. But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He asked, smirking as he drew them close, enjoying the feeling of her pressed against him, and her scent.

"When you get a moment, yes?" He asked, inclining his head down, seeking out her dark eyes at close quarters. He would hate to have to share her with her job, but sacrifices had to be made at their age.

Miranda allowed herself to be pulled in closer to Ignan as his arms wrapped around her waist. Her attention was no longer on the books she’d been sending to the trunk and these instead dropped messily on top of those already packed. It was all very well packing here now, but it had to be unpacked back at home. She quite looked forward to her return to the country house her and Jon had bought all those years ago. Unfortunately, it was possible Miranda wouldn’t be returning alone. She had a distinct feeling her delightfully resentful daughter was holed up there playing lady of the manor with her scallywag of a boyfriend.

That was definitely a reality she didn’t feel like sharing with Ignan at present. Would he turn and run away when he found out the witch in his arms was a grandmother and not even a good mother? She could handle that at a later date. If there ever was a later date.

"But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Ignan finished detailing the lengths he would go to if she didn’t get in touch about them meeting. Finding herself somewhat surprised by the suggested gesture, Miranda watched the older wizard with mild amusement. Before the previous two weeks they had spent a fair amount of time together yet he hadn’t struck her as a wizard to care for such things or to be interested in whatever this was they were developing. Emboldened by the new job offer and the alcohol, she had flirted with him that night but his attitude and personality had attracted her. Miranda had always appreciated strong wizards who didn’t accept crap from anyone. Her husband had been such a wizard; always capable of knocking her down a peg or two when she needed it.

Not to seem too keen, Elliot raised a hand to brush hair from her face before she rested her hands on his arms, looking up with a calm expression.

“You mean to say you expect whatever this is to continue when I leave?” She looked away for a moment, lips pursed. “Presumptuous.”

Miranda pulled away from his grip and made her way to the sideboard. The elf-made wine, of course, had not been packed. She popped the cork and began to slowly pour two glasses.
“You must think very highly of yourself, Professor Storm.”

And there was one of the reasons he didn't miss being with a woman. Just when you thought you were doing well enough, they pulled the carpet out from under your feet because of a misphrased sentence, a lack of acknowledgement to one point in six long paragraphs of verbal explanation, or because the wind blew in a particular direction. Or a combination of the above.

Then again, he supposed on reflection it was one of those short 'honeymoon' type of moments which was easily popped by the smallest of changes. Though he couldn't help but feel more than a little frustrated by Miranda's inference that he was presumptuous to believe their time together would end when she left. He didn't invest time in romantic partnerships lightly, or at all, in many years now. He hadn't intended, or anticipated it would have been time to invest lately, either, but it had just happened quite naturally over whiskey.

Tricky bit was, with Miranda she could so easily be pulling his leg.

"Me? No, not at all." He replied, remaining where Miranda had left him to go and pour the wine and plant that seed of doubt.

"I've seen the look you give me." He smirked and set his shoulders back. His arms relaxed to his sides, slipping his thumbs into his trouser pockets, his suit jacket creasing up behind his hands as he did.

"But, if you're sure, well, who am I to deny…" He gave a shrug, but his gaze was still as intent as ever, that he wasn't able to hide.

"We better enjoy our last night," he suggested, stepping forward, "either way."

The exact look Miranda gave him, she was intrigued to discover. Yet she let him continue in his frustration for a moment, pleased her words had had such an effect on the grumpy old wizard. Did he not like the prospect of rejection and being unsure of his feelings? Elliot finished pouring the wine before she placed the bottle carefully back on the sideboard.

“Well you never know which way the wind will blow.” Her words came out before she could stop them. She suddenly glanced at Ignan, hoping he hadn’t caught on and realised where her mind had previously travelling when his guard had been down. It happened sometimes since her skills had become so fine tuned. But people never took to it well. It wasn’t necessarily that she was using her legilimency; that took concentration and an open mind. Yet sometimes thoughts popped into her mind regardless of her not trying.

“Because things can turn out anyway. Circumstances change.” With any luck he’d not picked up on the Healer’s faux pas and she picked the wine glasses up, returning to him and offering one to be taken.

She took a sip of her wine and lowered herself to sit on the large bed. Being in the room suddenly so bare was strange. Ignan and Miranda being there together was even more unusual. Yes, he had been inside but their more secretive meetings had been in his rooms. The deputy headmaster was afforded far more space on a much nicer level than a visiting professor allocated to the dungeons. It was dark and uninviting, nothing like the home she was to return to tomorrow.

“I shall have to check my schedule for you.”

There was a flash of recognition in his eyes at her mention of wind, but it passed almost instantly, put down to coincidence. She was going to be tiring, but at least she had wine, and two glasses.

He reached a hand out to take one from her, and gave it a sniff before he drank a sip. Miranda has retired to sit on her bed, most of her belongings had made it into trunks apart from the books which Ignan had interrupted.

"I shall have to check my schedule for you."

"Yes," Ignan replied, over the wine as he took it from his lips, "you will."

Without a further word, he took a seat on the bed beside her and studied the room.

"Bit dark in the dungeon, isn't it? No decent natural light." He raised a hand to the room around them and gave a look of dissatisfaction.
"Supposed to make you feel more at home to Durmstrang -  I did say that nearly 24 hour sunlight in summer did not a dungeon make." Another sip of his wine.

"I know what you're doing, you know," he told Miranda, fixing her with his bright blue gaze to see if she would flinch beneath it. "You're trying to make me hate you a little so that leaving will be easier."

Ignan followed Miranda’s thoughts on the dark and damp accommodations for the Durmstrang staff and students. He was quite right about the lack of resemblance to the castle back at the school. Elliot smirked and leaned in closer.

“It’s still better than having been pushed back onto the ship for exam period.” And thank Merlin no one had taken serious notice of Strangely and her runaway mouth. Mira was beyond appreciative that she wouldn’t be stepping back on that ship considering the horrible queasy sensation she’d experienced on their journey to Scotland. Potions could relieve nausea but they never eradicated it completely.

With the bright eyed gaze once more trained on her, Elliot refocused. Her brow rose slightly at Storm’s proclamation that he knew what her plan was. Now she was intrigued.
But then his beliefs were shared and Miranda’s features lit up, and she grinned brightly.
She bit her lip while considering for a moment, tilting her head slightly to the side.

“And do you hate me a little?” Did this tend to be his modus operandi? If that had been hers he really would have known about it. Miranda Elliot was not a subtle witch. She took a sip of her wine, savouring the taste for a moment. Then she leaned forward across the wizard, her spare hand on his leg to balance as she placed her glass on the bedside table close to him. Her movements were slow and she carefully straightened up, failing to remove her hand from his thigh.

"And do you hate me a little?"

"Even if I hated you, I'd still miss you a little." Ignan replied, with narrowed eyes, and sipped at his wine, his shoulders sinking as he relaxed away from rogue ink pots flying towards his head.

He held his breath a fraction as Miranda leant across him, using his leg to prop herself up as she did. They had been in very close quarters in the past couple of weeks, but it was still relatively new to them both.

Her glass made it to the bedside table, but he didn't look, just heard the bottom of the stem make contact. As she straightened up, still leaning on him slightly, he took another, purposely steady sip of his own wine.

"Could you ever hate me?" He asked, clearly sarcastic, and took another long sip, not breaking eye contact.

His arm found its way behind Miranda, though didn't encircle her directly. He had a clear picture in his mind, and it involved beginning with Miranda's lips, and also involving what they were sat on. The gap in the middle was to be filled in, but his mind certainly had a few options already readily available in his mind's eye.

He took another long sip and raised his eyebrow, wondering if she would insist he put his wine down.