The owl had been sent ahead of time, a serious effort made for the old wizard’s eyes to be able to understand the scripture. Capital letters had been sure to aid his comprehension. If not, there was no hope. Arriving at the gates confirmed that Storm could make out capital letters and Miranda gave Camille’s arm a squeeze.
“You learned to read then.” She greeted the darkly robed wizard.

There were a few retorts he could have used to that opening line, but given Camille's appearance on Mira's arm, none of them made it past his lips. It did not appear the time for humour.
 "My office?" Ignan asked softly to Mira, falling into step the other side of Camille as they came through the gates.
 She shook her head. "Somewhere more private. We don't need to be disturbed."

Ignan gave a nod, eyes fixed on the path ahead, a hand gently to the back of Camille's waist. His cousin by marriage had her head bowed and didn't speak. She appeared to be in shock, and clung quite firmly with her right arm to Mira's left. Something drastic had happened in London - Minerva had owled earlier to say she was detained, but nothing more.

The odd threesome took several minutes to arrive at the great doors to the entrance hall and the healer looked to her left, past the grieving widow to Ignan. She wanted to speak to him, to explain why they were here but he'd surely guessed. She couldn't even give him a brief hug at the entrance to the castle.

The doors swung open ahead of them, revealing the entrance hall beyond. As they heaved, he glanced to Mira and their eyes met a moment. She didn't need to speak. The three of them made their way through the castle, Ignan leading, keeping them close behind. Students stayed out of their way, sobering at the sight of the Deputy Headmaster's expression, though whispering once they thought they were out of earshot, at the sight of the former Professor Elliot of Durmstrang, and their arithmancy professor.

Finally they reached the doors to Ignan's chambers in the castle, opposed to his office, and he brought them both inside, closing and warding the door behind them. Camille sank down in one of the armchairs before the fireplace with some relief, still very nauseated from the trip, and numb from everything that had happened.

For once in her life, Miranda didn’t know how to begin to explain someone’s death. Unlike at work, she was close to these people. Mira remembered being in a similar position to Camille. She’d not believed the words. She’d refused to.
So she stepped up closely to Ignan,
“He’s dead.” Her voice was a whisper.

Ever since Mira's letter, combined with Minerva's message, Ignan had been considering what had happened in London, though had been unable to step aside and find a copy of the evening edition of the Prophet, or turn on the wireless. As soon as he knew he was needed, it seemed that every student in the castle was hellbent on taking up his time one way or the other.
"Dead?" He didn't speak the words aloud, but his lips echoed them enough to Mira before he closed his eyes and turned his head away a moment, moderating his reaction as Camille was in the room.
"How? When?" He asked softly, reaching for her wrist gently, taking her hand between his, eyes returning to examine her face with concern.

“In the courtroom.” Miranda found herself struggling between personal and professional but his hand enclosing hers was helping push her in the right direction. Her expression softened and she glanced over to Camille who wasn’t looking at either of them.
With dark eyes back on Ignan, she found herself squeezing his hand. Even such a small amount of closeness was welcome. “Dark magic.”

Camille curled herself into the armchair, shoes left on the rug beneath. She just wanted the world to end, to not to think. Her mind felt numb, preoccupied with the image of her husband's body beneath her hands as she had clung to him. She had not been allowed to touch him since they had hauled her away, and she was still in some disbelief he was dead.

 Ignan's expression was alarmed at this news, not that he doubted Mira's statement, but that such a thing could happen. He hadn't anticipated Wolfgang would have even become worthy of such an effort to keep him silent.
“Did he..." Ignan began, and then glanced to Camille, again changing his words so as not to distress her further, "Was it swift? Do they know who was the cause?"
 In the armchair, Camille flinched, and drew her wand, aiming it for the fire. Flames burst out and suddenly the plain, not at all homely rooms felt ever so slightly more comforting. Mira found herself jumping from surprise at the sudden flames, not at all like her. But when she looked back to Ignan she shook her head, a response to both questions.

“I’ve checked the bo- ” She stopped, reminding herself the widow was in the room. Personal, Miranda. Not professional. “I’ve checked him.” She sighed and shook her head. “Or at least as much as the aurors let me. Everyone in that room was a suspect.”

Despite himself, Ignan felt glad he hadn't been there. Not because he wanted to avoid witnessing such a scene, but because it would have complicated things considerably. He clasped Mira's hand a little more tightly, frowning, and for a moment put his arms around her. It wasn't quite the same as when they were alone, but it was a little towards conveying his thanks for Miranda. She had yet again taken it upon herself to take care of his extended family in his absence. This was probably the most affection they’d shown in the presence of another person but Camille was withdrawing further into herself. Mira frowned over at her and sighed.

Releasing Mira, Ignan gestured to the other armchair, intending her to take it. He took the low stool which matched it, pulling it out to face the two of them, his back to the fire.
"Cousin," he addressed, sinking down to the same head height as Camille, able to see her dazed expression properly for the first time since they had arrived, "My condolences, I'm not sure what words of comfort I can speak at such a time." He reached his hand out for hers, feeling far more awkward to touch her than Mira. "I am so sorry to hear."
He paused glanced to Mira, a small part of his expression reading 'Is this an adequate reaction?' to his lover.

Ignan's touch seemed distant. Everything felt like it was through a veil, disconnected. Miranda had led her through things, and Gabrielle for some time. Mira had been the one to decide to bring her here, and not to the empty bedsit in godforsaken Knockturn Alley. It was one place that knew her and she would be with others.
"I shall prepare some tea." Ignan finished as Mira lowered herself into the chair but sat at the edge awkward, out of her comfort zone. Apparently Ignan was as well as he retreated to prepare some drinks.

“You’ll feel numb for a while,” Miranda calmly told the witch in the other armchair. “Empty. You’ll want to retreat into yourself. Don’t.” It wasn’t as if Miranda could give serious advice on grief, it had torn her apart. The guilt had driven a knife through her. She imagined Camille was experiencing similar emotions.
Camille turned mutely to look at Mira, and nodded. She could feel that wish to retreat, to exist but not acknowledge.
"I feel so very numb," she admitted, voice terribly croaky from all the crying.

“I know,” The younger witch replied quietly. She still struggled with what to say. One couldn’t say how sorely Wolfgang would be missed. In reality, the world was a better place without Camille’s husband still sucking in air. She didn’t want to blather on trying to make Camille feel better, neither did she want to point out she’d been there. “It’s natural.”

With a frown, Miranda leaned forward and grasped Camille’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze and meeting the other witch’s red eyes.
“You can feel numb, you can sob, scream, throw something at Ignan.” Against her will, Miranda felt her own eyes glistening with the threat of tears and she blinked them away. “As long as you feel something.”

Busying himself with the teapot and hot water, Ignan glanced round at the mention of throwing something at him. He wasn't sure how that was meant to make one feel better unless he insulted them first. Mira was so very much better at this than him, and he appreciated her all the more for being there.
"I wanted to scream." Camille admitted, "I feel I did," her other hand went to her throat as she clasped Mira's hand. It was awfully sore from the sobbing, and her voice, usually a pleasure to hear, sounded tired. "I wanted to scream at him ever since the night it happened. I just wanted to hear him explain. Just - to hear the truth." The emotions caught in her throat and her face creased, blotchy cheeks reddening. "I didn't even get," she swallowed audibly, "to hear him say my name once more... I..."

Mira pursed her lips together tightly. The raw emotion from the witch in front of her was bringing her own buried feelings back to the surface. She squeezed Camille’s hand all the more tighter; a gesture that could be seen as support for the newly widowed. Rather than continuing to speak, she turned to glance at Ignan, imploring him to return with the tea. She felt too close to this situation. It was suddenly too personal and she was starting to feel like she couldn’t breathe.

Accidentally, Ignan clattered teacups. They were all mismatched - he did not entertain often, and normally if he did he arranged for the elves. As much as he could have summoned Gerda or a Hogwarts elf, it didn't seem appropriate. The tea found its way to the low coffee table between Ignan and Miranda, and he poured three cups, glancing between both women.
This called for more than tea perhaps.

Best firewhiskey, bright in its bottle, could ease away all aches of mind and body, and burn a throat. Three glasses of it were soon beside the tea, and Camille's glass disappeared without much hesitation. He watched his cousin press her glass against her forehead, wincing at the pain as she swallowed.
"Much better, Ignan." Camille agreed, and extended her glass for him to refill.

He looked to Mira, her expression had changed from the pragmatic head healer, to something he didn't quite recognise.
"Thank you for bringing her home," He spoke to his lover, feeling he couldn't ignore her, and worried about what she was thinking - or perhaps feeling, whether from legilimency over Camille or even from himself given the shock.

Trying to offer the wizard a small smile, Miranda found her own mind wondering. Why had she gotten involved, now? Playing the supportive other half was putting her too close to a widow’s grief. Why had she even wanted to show her support? Miranda didn’t do things like this for people. She took the firewhiskey and downed hers almost as quickly as Camille had.
“She couldn't stay in Knockturn." She found her voice harsher, more forced. These feelings couldn't come up now. Not next to Camille. Not near the wizard she very probably loved.

 "No." He agreed without hesitation. He'd seen the place, and had funded the rent to help Camille before Hogwarts began to pay her for teaching. "You're quite right." He knocked back his own firewhiskey and poured the three of them another, but not before pressing a cup of tea into the hands of both witches. Alcohol was all well and good, but too much made things far worse.
 "Am I right in thinking he did not give any evidence, this morning?" Ignan asked, perhaps not as delicately as he could. "That someone wanted to keep him quiet?" Wolfgang had been in a terrible state, but he was not one to take his own life, especially not with dark magic.

“He didn’t get the chance.” Mira frowned down at the cup he’d just pointedly handed her before she glanced back to Ignan. “He’s quiet now. She’s not eaten.”

"Ah." Ignan replied, sitting straighter on the stool. "Gerda?"
There was a crack a few seconds later, the familiar house elf appeared, one of Ignan's ties in her little hands, eyes like saucers. Once he'd got over the initial surprise that it had worked, and also that she was fiddling with his wardrobe back at Godric's Hollow, he managed to address her.
"Something to eat, Gerda. Comforting on the stomach," he nodded towards Camille and then gestured to the glasses by way of explanation. The house elf, intuitive and well accustomed to the news that alcohol was involved gave a little bow, agreeing with her master before vanishing again, tie and all.

"Have the aurors spoken with you?" He asked them both. Camille nodded.
"They won't let me see him." She explained, exasperated, running her hands over her black curls, teacup perched on the arm of the chair. "My own husband. Inhuman."
She took a breath, trying to compose herself, "As Mira says, he's quiet now - what else are they going to get from him?"

Camille’s words made Mira’s hand start to shake, her own memories refusing to be put away to the back of her mind. The tea nearly spilt over her robes and she placed it down, standing up. She couldn’t stay in the room listening to this.
“Excuse me.” Within seconds Mira was in the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Mira's sudden departure took Ignan by surprise, but he tried not to let it show too far to Camille who stared blankly at the vacant armchair.
 
"She has been most kind to me today," Camille explained, before sipping her tea. "She wanted to examine him, to take charge, but they wouldn't let her. It was so ghastly Ignan. I didn't know what to do, he just fell and there was..." she took a deeper sip of tea, frowning, "... he bled, and oh... Merlin there were these," she slipped into German for the sake of being more familiar with how to describe it.
At the description of rats rushing across the courtroom floor, Ignan could see why the conclusion of dark magic had been reached. The death was a statement, and undoubtedly the newspaper would be full of it. No wonder Minerva hadn't elaborated in her note.
"Not a way any person should go." He assured her, in English.

"You will stay here tonight, we have the room. You can stay as long as you need, or want. Hogwarts will support you, Mira, I... we'll help you with whatever you need." He glanced to the door to the bathroom over his shoulder, wondering if the rush had just been for the more conventional use of such a room. It sounded as if Miranda had been through a horrific day as well, for different reasons, she did not seem herself at all.
He looked back to Camille, thoughtful. "Johann...?"

"He was there. He's still in London. The aurors wanted to speak to him again I think." Camille avoided his eyes. Ignan knew very well that mother and son had hardly spoken. Camille had blamed Johann for what had happened to Wolfgang. He had a mind to owl the St Mungo's apothecary to be sure.
 
Gerda reappeared, laden with a tray from the kitchens and accompanied by two other elves that set about in silence with the food.
"Others are preparing rooms," Gerda explained to her master, wringing her hands. "Will mistress be staying tonight?" She asked very quietly.

It took several minutes for Miranda to feel calm enough to step back into the room. She’d run the tap, washed her face in the cold water and stared at herself in the mirror for a while. Nearly 13 years on, happy with another wizard and she still felt this pain, the guilt bubbling up when confronted with it.
When she did pull open the door, three elves were stood in the room, Gerda included.
“No.” Mira answered the question flatly. “I’ll be home.” She moved further into the room and picked up a sandwich from the tray before looking at Camille.
“You need to eat. Healer’s orders.”

The bathroom door came open and Mira answered Gerda's query for him. He would have liked to have held her tonight, but being on duty at Hogwarts, and in such circumstances, it wouldn't have been suitable. He missed her quite considerably since returning at the start of the month. He'd rather become accustomed to sharing his bed with her, when she wasn't on duty overnight.
He gave a nod to Gerda who along with her two companions, gave a bow and popped into thin air around them.
Mira did not hesitate to grasp a sandwich from the pile and order Camille to do the same.

Gerda had attention to detail, Camille realised on setting eyes on the food. The house elf had recalled her like of smoked salmon in brown bread, and there were warm, sweet biscuits and fresh fruit amongst the feast. Finishing her cup of tea she dropped her feet back to the rug on the floor and tentatively seized a plate to fill.
Ignan's eyes were more preoccupied with Mira. Camille was the one who had lost her husband, but Mira did not seem at all herself, Ignan could tell, even if she did put on a very convincing act. Was this a little close to home now they had become so fond?

It was about half an hour later that Ignan and Miranda were sat alone in the room, Camille having eaten and gone to bed. Mira sat back in the arm chair, eyes closed. The only way to describe her feeling was relief. The overwhelming grief wasn’t in such close proximity anymore.
“It made the most sense to bring her here.” Her eyes opened and she looked across to her other half. “I hope I didn’t overstep the mark.”

"Not at all, Healer." He assured her. "I'd have done the same, only far less sensitively." While her eyes were closed, and he had taken Camille's vacated armchair, his gaze remained intently on his lover.
"Are you alright?" He asked, keeping his tone light, gently inquisitorial.

Of course he’d asked. They read each other well enough by now.
And they were alone.
Mira watched him for a few moments. Should she be honest? How would he feel about that? It wasn’t a situation she’d ever thought she’d meet.
Eventually there was a tiny shake of her head. She pushed herself out of the chair and moved over to him. Regardless of her refusal to sit on his lap weeks before, Mira lowered herself into his arms and buried her head into his shoulder, closing her eyes, seeking the comfort of a wizard she’d never expected to love.

Her actions very much answered his question, though he didn't say another word, but wrapped his arms around her and held her just tightly enough to feel secure without feeling suffocated. He gently raised a hand and stoked her hair.
"My dear Mira." He spoke quietly, and kissed her head gently. He didn't need to say much more. "Are you sure you won't stay?" He asked eventually.

His welcoming embrace felt protected and Miranda felt herself sinking into it, not wanting to pull away. It didn’t matter to her in this instant if it was right to put it on him, to release her emotion in front of him. It wasn’t Miranda. She didn’t do this. She didn’t show weakness. But she felt safe to do so here curled up in his arms.
“I’ve told Gerda now.” Her voice was weak but it didn’t falter.

"Since when did you worry what a house elf thinks?" Ignan asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice, thinking of all the times Mira had smoked in the house and Gerda had tried not to scowl. "No, I understand." He added in a more serious tone. "But if it helped not to be alone?"
 It was difficult to find words to even describe what he meant. Mira had lost a husband, the father of her daughter long before Ignan had even entered her life, and he didn't ever want to consider himself a replacement.
But Camille's grief must have dredged up all manner of thoughts.
   
If it helped not to be alone… Thinking about his words, Miranda lifted her head and looked at him carefully. She wasn’t alone now. She knew that. She even knew the guilt she felt was ridiculous but it didn’t matter. It was there. And here she was retreating into the arms of this wizard who so graciously took her.
“Sod the house elf.” She offered him a fragile smile.
Staring into his eyes, Mira caught herself lifting her hand to his cheek, thin fingers touching his skin. "Ever the wizard in a crisis. She is lucky you are family."

"High praise indeed, Head Healer Elliot." Ignan replied softly, a faint smile on his lips. "Though we make a better team, you and I. Let's not make a habit out of crisis." He kissed her gently, and then again a little more, realising how much he missed her.
Despite the sadness and the shock of the day's events, the thought of spending the night close to the woman he had fallen in love with, made the rest of the week seem possible.