It had been a few days since Miranda had returned to her home just outside of London. Since then she’d been in several arguments with her live-in daughter, had a couple of sleepless nights when said daughter couldn’t properly look after her own baby daughter, and been bitten by a poisoned patient.

All in all, the return to London had shown the healer that she was still very much alive and still very much in need of her own space. Sunday had been a shock. The house she expected to have been vacant since her departure over a year ago to live in Europe was inhabited by three humans. Maya, the darling daughter Miranda had put so much time into raising, was shacked up with her boyfriend and illegitimate child in Miranda’s beautiful and previously spacious farm house!

Needless the say, the arguments that erupted upon the angry mother’s return were ferocious. Maya had blamed her mother for abandoning her and leaving her to think she’d died. Miranda ripped into her daughter for needing to grow up and take control of her life, mainly by moving out and finding somewhat to live that was not Miranda’s property.

This stress at home added onto the challenge of starting the new job as Head Healer for an entire hospital meant that Miranda had barely had a moment to take to herself or to contact Ignan back at Hogwarts where she found herself longing to be after so few days. But facing up to the reality of the new situation was necessary and facing up to the reality that she’d not seen much of her family recently was also on her to-do-list.

The first visit needed to be to her niece. Emily had lost something great in the last couple of years; much like Maya had when she was young. Miranda had failed at being supportive up until now and she needed to see how her niece was coping. So her first stop had been Leon’s home.  Cecilia had been there, sharing her worries about her daughter who had just moved out. She’d passed on the new address and now here Miranda stood, at the door carrying a large bag.

She raised a fist and banged on the door, waiting for a moment before it opened.

“I hope you’ve got some decent wine now you’re old enough, sweetie. I may die of thirst if not.”

The first knock made her think it was the wrong flat… but it was really more of a bang, and by the second one, Emmylou was alert, like a dog stirred from sleep. But she hadn’t been sleeping. She poked her head around the side of the fridge and shouted “Coming! Hold on, coming, just a—”

Her head turned quickly and she zeroed in on a pair of jeans on the back of a chair. What? It wasn’t like anyone was around to see her jeans-less in the middle of her own flat. She took a few long strides over to the article of clothing and jumped around as she pulled on one leg and then the other, relying on good old Carter luck for balance.

“Coming, for real this time,” she called as she approached the door. Which she swung open without even looking through the little peep hole. As she began to open it, she was already running her mouth in a friendly spiel. “I can’t buy anything right now but if you have free— Aunt Miranda.” The words free food died on her tongue, as did anything else on her mind at the sober pronouncement.

Instead she finally looked down at the free… giant bag of whatever that was. She looked back up quickly, her mouth opening a little.

Suddenly Emmylou wished she had cleaned. But since she didn’t live with a ball buster like George’s… she waited until these visits from aunts and mothers.

“Er, yeah, sure, of course. I mean I have beer… and butterbeer. I think I have some wine left.” But it was cheap. Her tone seemed to include that unspoken stipulation. “Are you moving in?” She asked, adopting a smile. It wasn’t too nervous. She wasn’t nervous. She was never nervous! She just had to tell herself that. Even if there was something about her dad’s sister that made her think of hexes to where it hurt.

She opened the door wider and gestured inside. As she ushered her aunt in, she bent down to grab several things and shove them into a chair before shuffling to the cabinets. “How’s Hogwarts?” She asked, donning the same enthusiasm that had been a saving grace when she was five. Around some adults, anyway. Aunt Miranda wasn’t easily fooled.

Emily certainly looked surprised to see her aunt stood on the doorstep. Miranda looked past her niece for a moment to see the mess and disorder within the pokey flat. It was a tiny amount that her eyes narrowed but her lips pressed together. Were all of the children in this family turning into slobs when their parents turned their backs?

The wine didn’t sound appetising from the tone in Emily’s voice and as Miranda stepped into the small flat, she considered her options, wishing she’d have thought better and brought her own.
“A beer will be sufficient, thank you.” She smiled at the question about her moving in and glanced down to the bag. “There’s barely enough room here for you, Emily.” The bag was placed on a table which was too close to a sofa which was too close to a fridge. Her niece was living in a room no bigger than Miranda’s pantry.

“How’s Hogwarts?” The cheery young witch asked her much more distracted aunt. Miranda was still taking in the size of the room and the mess within it. She tried to keep her expression plain and calm, but the pursing of her lips spoke volumes.

“Hogwarts is as... magical as ever.” The sofa was fairly clear. Miranda decided that would be as good a place to sit as any. She stepped over to it and lowered herself onto the soft cushions, sinking down and looking most out of place. “Do you pay to live in this cupboard?”

Emmylou took the few steps necessary to get to her spacious kitchen— also known as the whole flat. It was open concept. “I have plenty of room,” she argued back cheerfully as she opened the fridge and grabbed two beers with one hand. “I don’t need much, but this is probably three times the size of my room at home, and it’s not as if I acquired three times the stuff.” Simple arithmancy! (Though she had put together some extra furniture, a hand-me-down table from her sister and a cute couch she’d bought while thrifting). 

She used her wand to magic the tops off of the beers.

“Hogwarts is magical,” she echoed, as she brought the drinks over to the sofa. She handed one over to her aunt. “That gives me a great idea of what your year has been like, really. I can almost envision it…” She grinned as she sat down and took a swig. “Not, but really, what’s it like working for Durmstrang? Are they like prisoners let loose after two decades or is it of a more of a military situation?”

But thoughts of Eastern Europeans in blood-colored robes would have to wait.

“What?” Emmylou pouted, knitting her brows together. Why couldn’t her aunt see how brilliant she was for managing her own household?

"I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said after a moment, in a loud whisper, leaning a bit toward Miranda. “But this is London.” Her brows lifted. Obviously it was a secret. Her voice returned to normal before she added, “You should be proud of how hard I work to be able to afford this place.” And proud that she wasn’t making the money in nefarious ways just to stay in what Lou was sure was the world’s most expensive city.

Emily’s imagination seemed to still be as vivid as ever. As did her attitude. Miranda sat back on the sinking sofa, her lips pursed in amusement as her delightful niece mused over the situation at Durmstrang. Of course she hadn’t heard about Miranda’s change in career. She’d not mentioned it to any of the family. Comments had been made by her older brothers about jumping between jobs too regularly in the recent years.

“Worse. They’ve escaped before their time. I’ve treated nicer, saner patients in the permanent spell damage ward at St Mungo’s.” The aunt commented with a plain, serious expression. “A student last week chewed his finger off after I told him he was holding his wand too tight.”

Sensibly the young Carter witch stood her ground against her aunt regarding the shoe box she lived in and Miranda’s brow rose, a sign of mild approval. She lifted the beer to her lips and took a sip. “You should share that enthusiasm with Maya.” Merlin knew Miranda’s daughter needed to move out and find her own place to live with her new family.

“I’ve finished at Durmstrang.” Elliot decided to share.

“They can’t add gloves to their uniforms?” She asked simply, grinning. It was a disturbing though, and yet… she couldn’t see how it wasn’t a benefit to her alma mater, in terms of tournament prospects. “Really, though, you would think there would be some law to stop them from educating them to go off the rails. I’m sure you did a lot of good, Aunt Miranda.” Soft and squishy, that was her. Lou couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Durmstrang as some sort psychopathic child army.

Finally. People recognizing her accomplishments! “How is she? How’s the baby?” She asked, poking around for news of her cousin. Emmylou was probably less bothered by Maya not being straightened out than her mother was. She understood. Despite obviously having her stuff together, as evidenced by her amazing flat.

Her mouth opened as she raised the bottle to her lips. “Did you just quit? Because of the finger boy, or…?” She doubted that was the reason. It wasn’t like Miranda hadn’t seen worse in the hospital.

Far too many questions at once. Miranda stalled as she took a long gulp of her beer. Emily had always been an enthusiastic one, wanting to know more, wanting to get involved and chat with the adults. Miranda should have expected questions when she called around but her main aim was to check if the girl was quite alright. If she was still coping and not going off the rails like a certain someone that was currently shacked up in Mira’s home.

“I served my notice. Your grandfather happened to mention the Head Healer position at St Mungo’s becoming free.” The witch winked at her niece before sitting back and considering the rest of the questions. Mostly about Maya the daughter whose daughter was presently a constant reminder that Miranda was not a child person.

“Maya is…lucky to be alive. Or with somewhere to live. I moved home to find she’s moved her boyfriend and baby in.” Emily was the first person Miranda had actually shared this with. “She and ‘Bug’, the boyfriend, spend most of their time yelling at each other. He has tattoos.” So did Miranda. “On his neck. I can only imagine where else.”

Her distaste for the boy was obvious, especially when she continued.
“He works for a butcher in diagon alley. The father of my daughter’s baby butchers sheep and cows for a living. He comes home smelling of dead animals and has congealed blood trapped under his finger nails. He brings home pheasant giblets to apparently make my granddaughter healthy and strong.”

“Did he? That was generous of him,” Emmylou said cheerfully. Her smile became wider at her aunt’s wink. “One big merry family.” George and Maya’s obvious fertility aside. Didn’t that just make it bigger and merrier?

“I mean, a part of you must be thrilled she’s there… secretly… deep down.” Maybe. Then again, her aunt was a tricky one, not easily endeared as some of them. Her father had been a bit easier, maybe because Emmylou was the youngest of three girls, and his own daughter. Her smile became a little bit of a lips-swishing purse as she mentioned Maya’s boyfriend; Emmylou wasn’t sure she wanted to sign up for something like that, either. But then it did give Miranda something on to concentrate her less squishy feelings. “Tattoos aren’t a crime, you know. Some of them are pretty awesome…” Emmylou decided to trail off there, keep to herself any future plans for tattoos. She could be a loud mouth, but she wasn’t dumb enough to side with Bug over her aunt.

“Do you get deals on Christmas roast, at least?” There has to be an upside to having a butcher in the family. “Definitely deal with the giblet situation, though. That’s…” Her mouth seemed to widen, teeth bare in a pained expression.  “We just need to find you a hangout, outside of work.” It shouldn’t be that hard: given how often her aunt seemed to disappear, she was an expert at finding such places. “There’s this trendy place in Diagon that just opened. A hotel bar. All of the doormen wear flannel and beanies and most of them don’t shave. If they do, it’s in very elaborate, old-fashioned patterns. I can take you. They seem like they would like coug— professional witches. Head Healers, even.” She raised her bottle again, in congratulations.

Miranda wasn’t exactly close to her family, especially the young ones. The main reason she was seeing Emily was through a sense of responsibility because she had once been close to her father. Out of all four brothers, Leon had been the one that Miranda had actually felt some connection with and saw more often. Now he was gone she felt expected to check on the progress of her niece. But as she sat here listening to how much the young Carter spoke about almost anything and how little they had in common.

When Emily told Miranda about going to a trendy hangout where the male gender didn’t shave, the much older healer took a gulp of her beer, eyeing the girl carefully.

“ They seem like they would like coug— professional witches.” Miss Carter stumbled over herself as Healer Elliot almost choked on her beer. She coughed, lowering the beer and covering her mouth. To have her niece think of her as a cougar… she certainly didn’t know the present reality.

It took a moment for Elliot to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to offend Emily, neither did she want to show any interest in being a cougar hunting young wizards with an antipathy to razors.
“I’ll leave the unshaven wizards to you, my dear.” Her voice was calm yet stern, unyielding. “How is your mother?” Yes, Miranda had just had a brief meeting with the witch, but she needed a change of subject away from visiting a trendy club with her young niece.

Emmylou felt a little impressed that she’d made her aunt choke on her drink. A lot impressed, really. Smooth. How many people managed that on a regular day? Or ever? Yep, she definitely deserved a beer right now.

“Not your type?” She asked, raising her brows and smiling knowingly. Emmylou liked a good beard. Or any facial hair. Stubble was nice, scratchy against her face… She needed something to balance out all of that smoothness she possessed. “Hey, if you’re offering your share…” She smiled before taking a sip.

Still, there was something there that made her want to poke around in Miranda’s business.

“She’s alright,” she said. “I think…” She looked a little guilty, suddenly, and then covered it with a smile. “I think she’s been busy. I certainly have, but she was good the last time I saw her. I don’t think she’ll admit how glad she is I moved out.” As frequently as her mother made remarks about her youngest driving her crazy, she also worried. Emmylou was her baby.

“So if you’re not into plaid and beards,” she trailed off. There had to be a personal life in there somewhere.