If Miranda were to describe her day it would have been slimy. For weeks she’d been putting off and avoiding allowing Edwin Glass to cash in on his Benefit bid of a day with a healer. Any date he’d suggested she’d made herself ridiculously busy but unfortunately he’d caught her out on this Tuesday morning. His plans had been toe curling and unpleasant. Ignan, Miranda had decided, would very much love to know.

So upon her escape in the early hours of the evening, Mira had left London, apparating to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The wizards protecting the boundaries of the school waved the Head Healer past and within ten minutes she was in Ignan’s office reteiving a bottle of firewhiskey from his hidden place along with a couple of tumblers.
With both glasses filled and sat on the desk, Miranda found herself sinking into the large leather chair behind his desk. Upon his desk she had also placed a bottle of massage oil.

Crossing her legs in the chair, Mira felt her skirt slip up, revealing bare skin. She pulled her pocket watch out and checked the time. If she remembered correctly Storm would be finished with dinner in the great hall about now and hopefully heading up to his office to spend his evening marking work and avoiding the company of the idiots surrounding him. Miranda had other ideas.

The door finally opened while Mira was sipping at her tumbler. She looked up over the glass to see the wizard enter.

“Professor, I forgot my homework. Please don’t be too harsh…”

Tuesday afternoons were fortunately empty after a full morning. The seventh years had been put through their paces with curses, the second years were learning new jinxes (always riotous), the fourth years were covering theory (tedious for him as much as them), and the sixth years were studying simple cursebreaking problems.

The afternoon had been spent up to his eyes in marking, and some adjustments. This evening, he was looking forward to not having to supervise detention, and perhaps reading the paper, since he hadn't had a chance to yet.

The door to his classroom was not locked, which didn't concern him too badly after dinner. He often left it unlocked if the sixth and seventh years were using it to practice, though he asked them to lock it simply behind them to dissuade younger years wandering in to gawp at the cabinets and tanks.

The candles in the classroom were not yet lit, the last of the summer evening light was fading as it fell through the tall windows.

As he climbed the steps to his office, his eyes picked out lamplight coming from under the crack of the door and he paused, his wand coming to his fingers immediately. He never left his office unlocked. It would be a chancing student to have unlocked it, more likely a colleague, which was odd - they wouldn't be as rude as to enter without asking. Suspicious, he entered with wand drawn, ready to curse whoever was within into next week.

“Professor, I forgot my homework. Please don’t be too harsh…”

He stood in the doorway, wand drawn, other hand holding the door. At once his shoulders dropped and he let out lungfuls of air on recognising Mira in his desk chair. The corners of his mouth curled, enough to be considered a delighted grin from him.

"Detention." He told her gruffly, "My office, seven fifteen." He thumbed at the clock above the office fireplace, which read the very same time. His eyes took in her appearance, lingering perhaps a little longer on the length of her skirt than he might have intended before noticing two glasses set out.
"And ten points to Ravenclaw for breaking out the firewhiskey. Initiative."

He turned back in his office doorway, sending the classroom door shut, and locking it, before pulling the office door shut too. No students this evening, open door policy was decidedly selective when Miranda called.

"It's good to see you," he admitted, slipping his academic robes from his shoulders and hanging it on the back of his office door. He loosened his collar and stepped round his desk to hold her a moment, and kiss her, it feeling very good to do that after over a week since he saw her last. Absence made the heart grow fonder, they said, but for Ignan Storm he boxed people off in his head to try not to let absence get in the way.

He let her keep his chair and instead sank into his visitor chair - which was less comfortable, to persuade visitors not to stay long. He reached forward for the other tumbler and his eyes noticed the unusual item on his desk.
"Have you brought one of your potions with you?" He asked, fingertips around the glass as he leaned his elbow on the back of the desk, frowning at the label on the bottle.

"Detention." Ignan responded once he’d gotten over the surprise of her being in his office chair. Miranda leaned forwards, elbows on the desk and she pushed her glasses up onto her head. Dark eyes watched the wizard carefully as he stepped around the desk to greet and kiss her. His touch was appreciated but Mira didn’t consider it missed. His closeness was welcome but not yearned for. She would probably never feel like that for another wizard.

The familiar scent of sandalwood and fresh spices lingered in her nostrils as he left her proximity and lowered himself into the chair across from her.

“It’s good to escape your house elf.” Elliot ignored Storm’s question about the bottle for the moment. Throughout the summer the healer had spent more time at Ignan’s home than her own and since his return to Hogwarts, she’d taken him up on the offer of continuing to stay there, thus avoiding her daughter, crying granddaughter and the man named Bug.

After a short pause, Mira leaned further forwards over his desk, her blouse hanging loosely and hair falling down over her arms.
“So this detention, professor,” Her dark eyes met his, lips twisting into a mere hint of a smile. “what must I do to make it up to you?”

"It's good to escape your house elf." Mira replied, ignoring his queries about the strange bottle. He glanced up and away from it.
"I didn't think you were home all that much." He lifted his elbow from the back of his desk and leaned back into the other chair, taking a sip.

Mira leaned forward over his desk, a most distracting vision that made his glass stop inches from his lips rather than take another sip. Occasionally he had to pinch himself that such a woman was interested in him, let alone had shared his bed and effectively moved into his house over summer.
"So this detention, professor, what must I do to make it up to you."

He narrowed his eyes in thought, enjoying the fall of her hair, the way her shirt hung off her torso, and her hands.
"To start," He began carefully, voice a little gravelly as if it had been caught in his throat, "Relinquish my chair."

The other side of the desk, he got to his feet and walked slowly round, taking Mira's hand in his, pulling gently.
"Far too uncomfortable over there." He explained, a hand gently reaching for her hips, and a suggestion in his voice which made it altogether clear he intended her to take a seat in his lap. Although neither of them were teenagers, Mira was anything but overweight and it gave him ample excuse to be close to her, and very much appreciate that blouse.

"Now, Elliot," He began again, once comfortable, glass in his right hand and his left arm around her waist, "Remind me what you've done to warrant a detention. Is it something to do with this odd bottle you've brought?" He gestured at his desk with a finger extended away from the glass tumblr in his right hand, and looked up at her.

Over a decade had passed since the last time Miranda had been perched on someone’s lap. She’d known the first wizard for years. Her husband had been large and bulky, he’d smelt of the outdoors and his beard had rubbed against her skin as he’d pulled her close. Ignan Storm’s lap was different and Miranda didn’t feel wholly comfortable in such a position. As a fairly well respected witch in her late forties, she didn’t feel happy adorning the lap of her older lover.

“The bottle?” Miranda used this as an excuse to vacate the wizard’s lap and stand. She reached for the bottle and rested herself to sit on the edge of his desk, legs dangling down between them. She much preferred facing her companion than being sat on him.

“It’s a keepsake.” She twisted the small vial between her index finger and thumb, watching Ignan carefully. This was the reason she’d come to the castle tonight. Making this wizard jealous was wonderfully simple and she so wanted to see the sparks fly from his wand when he found out what Glass had wanted today.

Lifting her feet to rest on the edge of Ignan’s chair, Mira leant forward, smirking. “Massage is an ancient art. It comes from the Greek ‘massō’; to handle, touch, to work with the hands, to knead dough.” She spoke quietly, Devonshire accent giving her words a slight lilt. “If you’ve any knots a true masseuse can create miracles with his hands.”

In retrospect, Mira going to sit on his desk was probably a sensible move, it hadn't turned out so comfortable!

"It's a keepsake." Mira explained, well, it wasn't really an explanation to Ignan who crossed one leg over the other, allowing her to perch her feet on the edge. He and gave a frown at the bottle before looking back to Miranda for further elaboration, which she obliged merely on what massage was.

".. with his hands."
"Or her hands, I suppose?" Ignan echoed, though not entirely keen on the thought of kneading dough if he was honest. Mira was about as tactile as he got, and even they had restraint.

"Is this some new treatment St Mungo's is employing, or are you trying to imply I should employ it on you or vice versa?" He asked, sipping at his whiskey, somewhat at a loss for what Mira was going on about. He'd been overjoyed to see her, but now she was talking in riddles, and his eye line was not miles above the line of her skirt when she sat on the edge of his desk…

"I feel I may be missing the crux of this discussion, my dear." He reached past her to put the empty tumbler down and leant back in his chair, studying her curiously.

“I feel I may be missing the crux of this discussion, my dear.” Ignan wasn’t catching up, he appeared to have no idea why Miranda was twirling the bottle in her fingers and simply looked at her, an apparent mix of confusion and curiosity. Miranda sat back on the desk and placed the vial down beside her.

“I fear you are mentally challenged.” She brushed him off and clasped her own whiskey tumbler between slim fingers, lifting it to her lips. She gulped the burning liquid down and as ever, features tightened as she tried not to cough. While Miranda Elliot couldn’t be called a light drinker, she’d never become accustomed to firewhiskey, normally opting for wine instead. “We’re not going to treat medical ailments with massage.” Her voice held a hint of incredulity.

For a few moments, Miranda didn’t speak. Instead she stood back up, moved to the cloak stand beside the door and removed her hat and cloak. She didn’t glance at him as she did so, taking her time as he wondered what she was leading to.
“Edwin Glass, however, seems to believe a good massage can cause a witch to fall straight into bed.” The words were said as Mira flattened her hair with a hand and tossed it over her shoulder. She now looked directly at Ignan, her dark eyes meeting his piercing blue.

"I fear you are mentally challenged." Although the truth, from Mira these were amusing words to Ignan who watched her drink down her whiskey, face grimacing a bit. Dutch courage? She didn't normally neck her drink like that unless they were hurrying somewhere.

She was up, and swung her cloak and hat off to join Ignan's on the cloak stand. Ignan reached for his bottle of whiskey, and poured more, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Edwin Glass, however," the top of the bottle fell back into place and Ignan's full attention was on Mira instantly, "seems to believe a good massage can cause a witch to fall straight into bed."

One of the whiskey tumblers hit the desktop with more force than normal as their eyes met.
"Was that today?" Ignan asked, somewhat rhetorically. He'd been hoping the two of them might forget the bloody auction. He'd been trying to forget the other wizard's smug, self-satisfied face since the start of summer.

He was gritting his teeth, and it was more than clear from his expression that this bit of news had taken him from pleasantly surprised and relaxed to see Mira to instantly on his guard. His eyes slid to the bottle on the table.
"You didn't let him though?" He asked slowly, gaze returning to him. "He kept his hands off you."

The glass hit the desk loudly and Mira saw an unfamiliar irritation flash behind those pools of blue. She was aware that any mention of Edwin Glass pushed Storm’s buttons and yet she found herself wanting to see how much she could push them. Miranda enjoyed reading people and seeing how reacted in certain situations. She’d always been fascinated by the human mind, emotions and memories and she couldn’t help herself from trying to control or read those close to her. She knew very little of Ignan, she’d only seen him as a teacher and a lover but there was a darker side there, she could feel it.

Edwin Glass brought that out.

“Was that today?” His voice was clipped and Mira’s brows rose as she gave a small nod, trying to appear surprised by his reaction. Next came what was supposedly a question although to Miranda is sounded more like a statement, an order. The healer frowned and remained stood near the cloak stand.

“Is that a question, Ignan? It sounded more like an order to me.” She folded her arms, looking visibly uncomfortable although inside she was cool, analysing.

"It's what I expect." Ignan replied without any hesitation, eyes unblinking and suddenly colder. If someone had overheard, they would easily assume he was talking to a disobedient student. He was on his professional turf, and the mindset came with it, very easy to lapse back, to set down his boundaries.

"That man," Ignan's tone had turned into something more venomous, predatory than he'd ever used to Mira, even the night where she'd retreated to her office after the auction, "Doesn't deserve to spend time with you, let alone touch you." He shot the bottle - the souvenir - a filthy look and seized his tumbler, averting his furious glare towards his bookcase the other side of the room to Mira. He took a larger than usual sip, and set his jaw.

The German’s cold glare being shot at her caused the Healer to freeze. The hairs on the back of her neck started to stand on their ends at the wizard’s tone. He was suddenly angry, yes, but he seemed to have forgotten who he was speaking to. Not one of his students who would cower at such a look, who would apologise and grovel for winding him up. Instead he was talking to a witch he shared a certain intimacy with. Who was harder than a quivering child under his stare.

Now instead of feeling cool inside, Miranda wasn’t sure what emotion she could put her finger on. She was unnerved, yes. He’d never spoken to her with this venom. But it wasn’t directed at her. It was his jealousy. Did it scare her? Minimally. Did it anger her? Quite. Her expression revealed the fact that she was no longer acting.

It only took a moment before Elliot was stepping closer to the desk. She placed both hands on it and leaned forward, watching Ignan carefully.
“You do not decide who deserves to spend time with me. You like whoever I spend time with.”

"No, I do not." Ignan replied, though this was a far more moderated reply than he would have given thirty years ago. He'd raised his wand to a woman, wouldn't have thought twice, but he was a better person now. He had restraint, and Miranda deserved to be respected. Witches did not enter his life in the way Mira had now. If he blew this opportunity he would kick himself until his grave.

He turned back to look at her, the anger still there, but held.
"But it doesn't stop me holding an opinion of my own about them." He put aside the glass and turned to face Mira who was looming over his desk.

"And my opinion of Edwin Glass is anything but complimentary." The edge to his voice was easing, and he tried to keep the tone level, pressing his hands flat to his desk before him, locking eyes with Mira, until eventually, he showed the smallest sign of submission by blinking to break the stare.

"Did he really try to get you into bed?" He asked her, frowning.

Much to Elliot’s surprise, the wizard didn’t maintain his dominant tone. Whether it was a surprised at being spoken back to in such a manner or that he’d realised he’d overstepped the mark, Miranda didn’t care. What she did care about was the fact that he’d spoken to her like that in the first place. Anger was fine; she could deal with it when not directed at her, when she’d been playing him to cause it. But what she’d seen she definitely hadn’t liked.
Her previously schooled opinion did reveal mild astonishment at his new manner but she remained where she was, leaning forward and staring at him, dark eyes unrelenting.

“His opinion of you is of a similar ilk.” Her lips twisted into a mere hint of a smirk before she stared back at him.

"Did he really try to get you into bed?"

“What would it matter if he did, Ignan?” In her irritation, the Devonshire accent was strong. Her palms were flat on the desk and she still refused to move. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” He’d seen for himself how she wasn’t the most accomplished at handling herself with a wand but her words often worked just as well.

Despite himself, Ignan gave a strange grumbling short moan and lifted one hand to the bridge of his nose and his brow, exasperated. He leant back in his chair and gave a somewhat aggressive sigh. 

He had no doubt Mira could put Edwin Glass in his place with her sharp mind and tongue, but whether she could fend him off if those hands had touched her, he didn't want to consider.

"Of course you can, Mira," he replied, trying to reason with her. He put his hand back down on the desk between them both and refocused his eyes on her face above him, "but it's more a case that you shouldn't have to. However much he paid towards the hospital. And," he looked somewhat pained, "because you and I are," he seemed to lose the ability to verbalise exactly what it was, "… together." he managed eventually.

"You deserve his respect, not his lechery," he explained in a more reasonable tone, "what exactly did you get up to today with him?" 

As if backing down (or at least to Miranda it seemed), Ignan sat back in his chair with an audible grumble.
“And,” he looked uncomfortable, “because you and I are,” it was almost as if it pained him to let the words out. Miranda stared at him, waiting, “… together.”

“Together?” Now it was Miranda’s turn to take on a tone as if she was talking to an underling. Her eyebrows rose, vanishing beneath her fringe and now she stood up straight, arms once more crossed. “If you’re going to call it that. It doesn’t mean I need you to decide who I spend my time with. Or for you to have an aneurism when I spend the day with someone that you don’t quite like because you feel threatened by him. Because I tell you what, Storm, you should feel threatened if you speak to me like that again.” She took a breath, feeling herself getting angrier when she’d originally tried to make him angry. Something he’d said had just flipped her over the edge.

Before she could say anything more, Mira grasped her tumbler of firewhiskey, downed it and put it back on the desk. She then turned on her heel and grabbed her cloak back off the stand. She was visibly shaking with anger.