The preceding evening had been a great success. The hospital had been full of people eager to donate or find out what was going on. Large amounts of funds had been raised and with any luck now the staff and the warlocks would step back enough to give Miranda the space to get on with her job. People had now seen the public face of the hospital and Miranda had been on her best behaviour throughout the evening. She’d been the picture of professionalism, politeness and friendliness. She’d not enjoyed a moment of the evening until the last visitor and staff member had left and she and Ignan had taken a couple of bottles of wine up to her office for a celebratory nightcap.

Doubtless to say, they’d not returned home until well into the morning and by that point Miranda had eagerly silenced a couple bottles of Whine and had told Ignan, rather drunkenly and at least seven times, how much she had appreciated his presence at the event and how soon they needed to get on with this DADA practice before she got bitten by another patient.

Unfortunately after the night before, the morning must always rear its ugly head. This head had been especially ugly. Nowadays Miranda indulged often in an alcoholic beverage. Years alone and a stressful job had built both her need for and tolerance of alcohol. Sadly her hangovers hadn’t improved with an increased tolerance and she’d woken up feeling rather as if she was about to die. Therefore, after waking, it had taken at least an hour of hiding under Ignan’s duvet before she’d finally dragged herself out of the bed and padded her way to the kitchen on bare feet.

Now, after a rather wonderfully effective yet revolting homemade hangover potion, Miranda was once more feeling human, sat at the kitchen table in a pair of oversized pyjamas she’d found in a drawer, her hair scraped back and a pair of glasses propped on her nose. She cradled her mug of coffee and looked across the table at her host.

“Are we going to do this then?”

There had been much to celebrate, more than Mira perhaps perceived, Ignan had thought as he had woken on Saturday morning to find himself with company in his bed. The smell of her perfume hung on the sheets and he enjoyed a few moments of watching her sleep - free of that critical look on her face - before she had stirred.

Ignan lay beside her for a good few minutes enjoying the silence of the house. He couldn't even hear Gerda going about her duties downstairs, so perhaps she was tending to the garden outside which Mira had begun work on. Last night she had reminded him several times about keeping his side of the bargain. It had been a bit difficult, what with the unexpected company.

Leaving his lover to sleep a little longer beneath the sheets, Ignan had begun the process of turning from aching, hangover ridden wizard to something more like his usual grumpy self, enjoying the sight of an empty study where Wolfgang and Camille had slept, and the tidy and almost reclaimed spare room which Johann had occupied during the past term. His younger relative hadn't entirely removed his belongings, but more importantly, he had moved his being from the house.

A while later, Gerda finished fussing over them both in the kitchen, and left them to it. Ignan was somewhat dressed, in a navy blue shirt without a tie and dark trousers, but Mira had found a pair of pyjamas he'd quite forgotten he owned. They were too big for her, and as such the sleeves were turned up at the bottom.

"Are we going to do this then?" Ignan looked up from his lazy study of her appearance, the relaxed, content expression upon his face dissolving, replaced by something more recognisable.
"What, now?" He asked, a little surprised at the immediacy of the demand. "Did you not want to choose a time where you're in something more comfortable than a pair of my striped pyjamas?" Perhaps that was a silly question - pyjamas by definition tended to be comfortable.

"You sure you're in a state to put me back together?"

Normally being so underdressed in someone else’s kitchen with someone appearing to feel and look far more human than she would have set Miranda at unease. This morning, however, Mira was content to cradle her coffee in the surprisingly calming presence of Ignan Storm while his pyjamas drowned her slender form. The only clothes she had at his home was those she’d been wearing the night before which smelt of both Whine and her cigarette smoke and were certainly no more comfortable than the stripy garments she had procured.

A smirk normally would have played on Miranda’s lips at such a comment about putting him together but her brain still hurt. The Whine’s effects had been strong and she was getting older. So instead of smiling, Mira took a long sip of her coffee and placed the mug back on the table.

“I could remove the pyjamas but it might scare the house elf.” The healer’s expression was deadpan, yet another of those times when it wasn’t clear if she’d been joking. “And be somewhat cold.” So she pushed the chair back from the kitchen table and stood. Her wand was removed from behind her ear and her eyebrow rose. “Unless you’re too intimidated about the fact I look better in these than you?”

Miranda turned and walked towards his living room where she presumed the practice would take place. "I could put you back together after more than a couple bottles of whine...it wouldn't be perfect. But you wouldn't tell the difference..."

At Mira's query of looking better in his pyjamas than he did, Ignan was about to reply but gently caught his tongue between his teeth for a moment and then relaxed, putting his lips together again.

She led the way without his response, so he pushed himself out of the kitchen chair he was sat in, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and followed her, stooping to glance out of the kitchen window as he did to be sure Gerda was outside.

"… but you wouldn't tell the difference…"
"Ever so complimentary my dear." He shook his head, and closed the door to the kitchen behind them, drawing his wand to check the front door was locked, just in case any of the extended family attempted to come back and retrieve a bit of lost property.

"One advantage to not having too much furniture." He shrugged and extended his wand arm at pieces of furniture which scuttled and scraped across the floor to make some space, the dining table where the disastrous pie shuffled against the wall towards the front door and folded its leaves beneath it. A trunk packed itself and retreated into the corner, taking with it copies of the summer examination papers and a stack of correspondence.

"So what are we working with then? Patients who fancy themselves vampires? Limb binds, leg binds, perhaps hex their mouths away entirely, only that might prevent you asking questions of their symptoms." He pulled at his nose as he considered what was best to start with.

"You're sure this isn't an elaborate ruse - petrificus totalus is a staple first year spell once they have some control over their aim." He put his left hand on his hip while his right hung loose by his side, wand in hand, looking to Mira for confirmation.

"Go on then, give it a go."

"You're sure this isn't an elaborate ruse - petrificus totalus is a staple first year spell once they have some control over their aim." Ignan seemed to hope his newest student would at least know such a simple spell.  Few witches and wizards made it to adulthood with such few skills in defensive magic. Most had decent teachers like the grumpy hungover wizard in front of her yet Mira didn’t rate her former professor. It could be the only reason now for her need to refresh.

“I did my newt in DADA, Ignan. I only want these spells refreshing.” The healer took another sip of her coffee from the mug before placing it on the mantelpiece above the dusty fireplace. “ Petrificus totalus?” Her lips pursed in thought for a moment and she held her wand delicately, thin fingers barely gripping the wood.

The wand was lifted and pointed in the direction of the wizard who was about to find out how disastrous his sleeping partner actually was at his best skill. Miranda stood up straighter and pulled the sleeve of the baggy pyjamas up before she gave her wand a definite flick and shouted the words of the hex.

A loud bang erupted and Mira’s wand turned scorching hot, the wood turning red. She threw it from her hand with a vulgar expletive. Her right hand shot to her left wand hand as it ached with heat.
“Bloody wand…” It was always the wand’s fault.

From the other side of the room, Ignan's stance had changed from the once relaxed position of wand in hand, left hand on his hip to half-crouched, wand up in a defensive position, and the sofa behind him had fallen onto its back. He looked from Mira to behind him and then back to her, surprised, and twitched his wand to set the sofa back up, before he straightened up and composed his features.

"Petrificus totalus my dear, you just threw a hex at me. Not sure of the exact one, but it wasn't too distantly related from concusso." He eyed her dropped wand with trepidation. Perhaps she was more hungover than she insisted, and this wasn't helping?

"Again? Verbal casting is absolutely fine." He gestured as neutrally as he could to Mira, hoping that her use of words might also make sure she was casting the right spell.

Mira stopped herself from bluntly informing Ignan that it had in fact been petrificus totalus she had cast at him and nothing else. Perhaps he was too hung over to be refreshing her memory right now. He must have drunk enough to quite so openly bid so much on her in public. She hadn’t even decided to bring that point up this morning in their sober states. Relearning how to protect herself from angry patients or an angry public was far more pressing on Miranda’s mind.

“I’m warming up.” The witch stated coolly as she held her wand hand open and her weapon leapt back into her grip. It was this sort of activity that frustrated Miranda and had done since she’d been young. The Healer was now a powerful witch. Her healing spells were impeccable and her legilimency could break through the most broken of minds. Her knowledge of her own specialism was mostly unrivalled and yet she couldn’t cast a basic hex for toffee. Miranda usually healed people with her wand and hurt them with her words.

With the wand back in her loose grip, the witch once more pointed it at her target. She drew a breath and changed her footing, bare feet light on the floor.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

This time there was a crack and Miranda’s wand pulled its tip north, a light shooting from it and into the ceiling where it bounced off and into a cushion back on the sofa. This exploded and Miranda’s lips pursed in irritation as feathers floated in the air beside Ignan.

After a moment her eyes found Ignan’s once more and she found herself wondering why she’d ever thought of asking him for this. It was just plain humiliating.
“I don’t need to use that spell anyway. Paralysing patients creates far too much paperwork.”

Hungover, yes, that was it. Perhaps this wasn't the time, but he didn't want to chance it straight away with insisting on that. One might hazard a comment that Ignan was a feminist, but with Mira is was more down to the fact she wore trousers just as much as he did - and at that moment was wearing his pyjama ones.

Either way, she heeded his verbal casting and at least the words were right, even if the aim for some reason was off. And he'd decorated the ceiling … bother. He sidestepped, more keen to see what exactly she was casting than saving the soft furnishings. Mira didn't much like them as far as he could tell, so perhaps this was a way of getting rid of them.

He looked up, around at the feathers and back to Mira with a slight frown of confusion.
"If that's how you paralyse them, I agree. You're meant to be throwing it at me, and not the ceiling." He gestured above them with one hand.
"Did you dip your wand in the whine last night?"

Mira's wand was longer than his by two inches, holly with dragon heartstring. His wands had always been ebony, but with the same dragon heartstring. He hoped Mira's wand hadn't got damaged, as holly was pretty good for defensive work - protective. It should be well suited.

"Come now, try again, but aim, and keep your wand movement lower. Focus on the outcome." He stood ready again, though it was clear he was summoning the enthusiasm for her, trying to cajole her enthusiasm.

“My wand is accustomed to healing, not harming.” The Head Healer responded to Storm’s comment about dipping her wand. Her voice was evidently shielding some of the irritation she now harboured. Did he think this was a joke now? Or was this how he spoke to his students that couldn’t grasp a basic spell? Either way, the comments and his misguided effort to inspire her enthusiasm didn’t sit entirely well with the witch.

Being incapable of doing something so simple was infuriating. She’d taken Defence against the Dark Arts at school because her brothers had made her. She’d practiced with them and ended up getting so livid that she couldn’t do it that she’d physically thrown things at her duelling partner. Of course she’d been labelled a bad dueller, a terrible loser and an atrocious student. But she’d grown older and more mature since then. She could surely handle a wand better now.

Rather than jumping to try again, Miranda decided to take her time in taking another sip of her coffee. Then she stood back in her position, pushed her glasses up onto her head and eyed Ignan slightly too much like he was suddenly prey.

Her wand was kept low but was pointed at his chest.
“Outcome…outcome….PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!”

This time the wand remained pointed at her target and the spell hit him squarely in the chest. Her considered outcome, however? She hadn’t been thinking of temporary paralysis that was for sure.

"… healing not harming…" Miranda explained defensively. Ignan raised both eyebrows sceptically - the attempts so far were entirely in conflict - had he been hit, he'd probably have needed healing or been rather uncomfortable besides the hangover.

As she brandished her wand again, he didn't have much time to defend himself against it, and resigned himself to the fact he was going to take whatever she threw at him this time. The force of it knocked him off his feet, his wand fell from his hand, rolled away under the coffee table, and the sofa went backwards again with a heavy thud.

The bottom of one leg was still visible over the bottom of the sofa, toes, but the rest of Ignan had vanished with the sofa tipping onto its back. Sprawled half on the back of the sofa and onto the living room floor behind, the wizard had landed - out cold.

In the garden outside, Gerda's ears pricked and she looked towards the back of the house, wondering what the noise had been. As it didn't come again, and there wasn't any screaming from Ms Elliot, she returned to what she was doing so as not to displease her master.

The blast from the holly wand sent caused its owner to take a step back in surprise but that was nothing compared to its former target. The Hogwarts Professor was blasted back into the  sofa which in turn fell back, legs in the air. For a short moment Miranda could only stare at what she’d just done with her wand and a very slight temper.

“Ignan?” Why wasn’t the wizard stood before her paralysed and stiff? The small part of him that she could see wasn’t moving and very quickly the witch went from irritated with his former comments about dipping her wand in the wine to a mild concern for his wellbeing. Only mild, mind. Storm was supposed to be the sort of wizard who could handle himself. A bit of a hex from a healer who’d basically failed his best subject shouldn’t have been even the tiniest threat.

With a sigh Miranda lowered her wand steadily and began to pace bare footed towards the sofa that he’d taken down alongside himself. The wizard was sprawled out, limp bodied and unconscious.
“Really…” Mira breathed before pursing her lips and stepping in closer to her unconscious companion. She knelt down beside him and placed two cold fingers up to his neck. He still had a pulse so it wasn’t serious. Neither was he bleeding.

“You shouldn’t have insulted my casting, bloody wiseacre.” Her dark eyes darted between his closed ones as she leant over him, right hand resting on his shoulder.

Now there were several ways Miranda knew to bring a patient back around to consciousness. Some were kind and soothing, ones one did on the delicate patients. Some were just a true shock to the system. And her favourite?
“Aguamenti.” Her hushed tone was followed by a jet of water shooting from her wand and into Storm’s face.

“Has the whine impaired your ability to remain conscious old man?”

The world came flying back to life as the water hit his face. He'd been knocked out, but only for a few moments - the water expediting that journey back to a woken state. He blinked in surprise and his mouth came open to inhale a breath to fill his lungs. The smack into the sofa and then the floor had been brunt by his shoulders and had winded him. Completely inelegant, and he was only glad it hadn't been a student. This was why he made them practice on each other.

"Has the whine impaired your ability to remain conscious old man?"

His blue eyes focused on the face before him, and one his hands reached up to wipe down his face, to pull a drip from the end of his nose.
"Never," he replied, hand reaching for the wrist of her right hand which was resting on his shoulder, "but it doesn't seem to be helping your attempts to bind, rather than blast me, my dear." He smirked and moved to get up, realising where he'd ended up, and that his legs were dangled up on the upturned sofa. Disgrace.

"If you're going to see the results of your work, I regrettably, have to decline to defend myself. I'd prefer to keep my bones unbroken, and not decorate again. Or we're going to have to find a third party to witness your 'refresher'." He hauled himself to his feet and bent to right the sofa by hand, eyes scouring the floor for where his wand had gone. He spotted it a moment later beneath the coffee table, and gave a cautious glance in Mira's direction before stooping again and reaching his hand and frowning in concentration. The wand rolled from beneath to his hand sluggishly.

"Petrificus Totalus, Mira, again!" His shoulders complained as he ordered such, anticipating they'd be making friends with the floor again shortly.

A few short comments about lacking a wish to be injured later, and Ignan was once more on his feet, straightening the sofa and instructing her to have another go.  Her dark eyes met his, expression revealing how she was really rather unimpressed at the prospect. Her most recent spell had hit perfectly, if a little strong. It was the best he was ever going to actually get out of her.

“I’ve just done it fine.” The Head Healer sounded a little irritated now.  Practicing one of her worst skills did this to a witch who excelled in healing magic, herbology and potions but could cast the right hex at the right time. Her father had always yelled at her for failing in DADA, pushing her to go onto the NEWTs and perfect the skills but her brother had been convinced all of her decent magic had been put into a couple of finely perfected skills and she was therefore to be completely useless at anything else.

As if dismissing Ignan from his tutoring of her, Miranda tucked her wand behind her ear and walked back through to the kitchen.  “It’s as good as it’s ever going to get.” As good as she would ever have the patience to get it. Miranda was no longer good at learning new things, especially at learning old things she should have learnt when she was 11 years old.

From her small bag that sat on the kitchen table, Mira pulled a cigarette and lifted it to her lips, clicking her fingers at the end and the tip lit. Gerda, Ignan’s elf came back in through the back door and gave it’s master’s lover a disapproving look, purposefully leaving the back door open to let the smoke escape.

Instead of obliging and raising to the challenge, Mira sloped off. Ignan was left standing in the living room, taken aback. He didn't allow himself to get blown off his feet and knocked out for imperfect results. She, her wand and his pyjamas returned to his kitchen. He turned on his heel to watch her go, a disapproving frown crossing his brow.

Out of the window he could see Gerda heading to the back door. It was locked, and as he went to open it, the elf realised and dispensed of the fact with it's own magic, making Ignan wonder why he bothered on both counts.

"Complacency, my dear." Ignan addressed her, coming to the kitchen doorway. Gerda set down an empty bucket beneath the sink, going about her business beneath them. "Not quite as hard when you apply it to a patient. I wasn't bound, just unconscious." Gerda's long fingers extended up to him with some post, and he reached out to take the envelopes from her.

"Still, you did agree to put me back together." He added more quietly, eyes preoccupied with studying who the correspondence was addressed to. The first was yet another chancing letter from an electricity company like the other week, but the other two had come by owl and both bore the school crest.
"Tea?" He asked, tossing the electricity bill onto the mantle with the last one to figure out later.

He dragged a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down, tearing open one of the letter. He rubbed his bottom lip gently with his fingers as he read. Gerda pottered around them both, obliging with hot water without being asked.
"If it had been a week later…" he mused aloud, the envelope contained details of his wages from Hogwarts, replenishing a low bank vault in Gringotts much to his relief. "I'd have easily outbid Edwin Glass." He tapped the other, thicker, envelope on the kitchen table, annoyed. It was probably from the governors about new staff for September. He didn't fancy reading it with his hangover.
"You're not going to spend a day with him, are you?" He asked, looking up Mira suddenly, as if he couldn't think of anything worse.

Having happily dispensed with pretending she knew defensive magic and binding, Mira was grateful Ignan followed her into the kitchen with only a few further comments about her incompetence. He busied himself with post and Miranda didn’t fail to notice the disapproving looks his elf gave her and the cigarette smoke. Yet she just took in a deep breath and let it calm her while leaning against the work surface in Storm’s fetching pyjamas.

“I prefer my patients unconscious.” Pale lips twisted into a small smile, perhaps not the response he companion had expected but to Miranda an unconscious patient was an easier patient to deal with.  The small talk, niceties and reassurances weren’t required and therefore Miranda was able to get on with her work. But she would most certainly have the board of warlocks to answer to if she and her healers began hexing patients into sofas. She certainly realised that regardless of the fact that she had no patience in this mildly hung-over state to learn anything else.

"I'd have easily outbid Edwin Glass."

Quick as a flash Mira was dragged back to the previous evening, stood in the grand reception of her hospital, the spotlight blinding her as Ignan bid on his witch. He’d been beaten by a wizard he clearly hadn’t liked and Miranda had very quickly escaped the benefit for the comfort of her office and some whine.  She’d not berated him about it last night. She’d soon drunk enough to forget why she’d dragged him down the hallway and into her private space free of healers that needed sacking and spotlights.

"You're not going to spend a day with him, are you?" Their eyes suddenly met and Mira’s lips twitched again. He was jealous and she liked it. Therefore she didn’t answer him immediately. Instead she took another drag of her cigarette before moving to sit opposite him at the kitchen table.
“And the evening.” She sat back comfortably, legs stretching out towards Ignan’s. “He did win the auction.”
Had Elliot found a wizard who didn't like a little healthy competition?