“Is Mistress sure I can’t help?” Gerda looked up at the witch who was currently bending to open the oven. A waft of hot air billowed out and Gerda’s eyes widened dramatically as the witch pushed the oven closed again.

“What do you mean? It’s cooked.” The billowing smoke had told Miranda that. This evening she’d refused the house elf’s help, but that didn’t stop Gerda lingering in the kitchen, eager to help. She was evidently torn between speaking up and needing to iron her ears later or watching her master’s other half turn the beef in the oven into a rival for dragon hide boots.  The ear ironing was steadily starting to look more inviting than watching master lose his teeth when he bit into mistress’ attempt at cooking.

Miranda was too focused on making everything perfect to notice the more recent expression to have crossed the little elf’s face. Ignan had given up cooking since the salty incident, handing it over to the elf but tonight Miranda wanted to make the effort herself. He’d rid her of a lingering problem and she was intending to thank him in the best way she knew how. Or at least, the way she thought most couples thanks one another.

“Is the table set, Gerda?”
“Yes mistress. It is a bit cold outside.” She was definitely going to need to shut her head in a cupboard door tonight!
“I know.” Mira grabbed a bottle from the rack and took her wand from behind her ear to uncork it with a quick spell. She handed it to the elf with two glasses and instructed her to take it outside.

The oven was switched off and Miranda lifted the lid off a saucepan, giving her gravy a stir. Well it looked edible and she’d gone easy on the salt. The pots and oven were left abandoned when the chef left the kitchen to step out onto the patio to inspect Gerda’s work.
“Good job, elf.” Her lips twisted into an approving smile as her gaze took in the lights in the trees surrounding them. The table was well set, formally with the mismatched cutlery from Ignan’s kitchen. Two candles flickered in the twilight.

There was a movement in the kitchen and Miranda picked up both wine glasses to greet Ignan with a smile as he finally came through the back door. She offered him a glass and lifted her own up to his to toast.
“Mange takk, min kjærlighet.[1]”

1.	Norwegian for 'Thanks a lot, my love'

The smell of cooking met him as he stepped from the fire and dusted his cloak off onto the living room rug before the hearth. Floo had advantages of making hundreds of miles feel like stepping from page to another of a book. A few seconds ago he'd been stepping into the fire in the Hogwarts Staff Room, which was fine for getting out, but less easy for getting back in, hence the cloak to apparate as necessary on the return trip.

The house appeared somewhat deserted, but Ignan could see to his right through the windows to the back garden from the living room, once a classroom, that there was light in the back garden. Strange.

He stepped into the kitchen, confirming where the smell was definitely coming from, pans everywhere. It didn't look quite like Gerda had cooked, but dinner was neither on the dining table in the living room behind them, nor on the kitchen table. Had it already been consumed?

No, the back door was open and the evening air swept into the kitchen. Stepping out, he was greeted by the sight of Miranda with two glasses of wine and a smile. His suspicious, grumpy demeanour fell away on seeing his witch, though it was replaced with curiosity as he received his glass to toast her with.

"Thanks a lot, my love." The Durmstrang language surprised him, although occasionally the pair slipped into it for variety and to catch the proper attention of the other at times, they rarely engaged in it for anything vaguely romantic.

"Whatever for?" He answered, matching her statement. He leaned forward, free hand gently resting on her arm as he kissed her.

It had been a bit of a week of conclusions. On Wednesday he'd been back in Germany for Wolfgang's funeral. He'd taken a day off in term time, entirely unheard of in the two years he'd been there, leaving other staff to cover his lessons - and as a result, setting fiendish essays for students with Thursday as a due date. He'd spent the best part of the day up until now, marking them all.

Then the previous weekend he'd had a pleasant 'chat' with a certain young wizard. Good view from railway viaducts, certainly a long way down. Bug had agreed, well, he'd had the better view, hanging over the edge…

His eyes glanced around the garden as he sipped the wine. There were lights hung in the trees and the garden table was set for dinner with candles. This was different.

"It's not my birthday is it?" He asked, somewhat rhetorically, disregarding the connecting thought that she'd not even acknowledged his birthday the previous month. He wasn't sure he'd even mentioned when it was.

“You should know.” Miranda’s response was out before she’d had a moment to consider it. It came quickly, the slightest condescension in her tone. Yet it was almost immediate that her features creased and she lowered the wine glass. She was suddenly quite aware that she was completely unaware when his birthday actually was. It wasn't like it had an impact on their lives.

There were, however, far more important things to discuss than birthdays. If he knew Miranda well enough he’d surely know she wouldn’t go to this effort for a birthday. He’d done well, he deserved her thanks. A birthday was nothing more than a reminder of aging. It didn’t deserve a romantic setting and dinner cooked by hands other than a house elf’s.

“Well,” Mira moved in closer to Ignan and took his hand in hers, pulling him further into the garden. Above them the rain was hammering against the spell Gerda had cast earlier in the evening. The drops could be heard dimly and the candlelight shimmered, casting a glow over her wizard’s face.

Gerda lingered by the door and Mira glanced past Ignan towards her. “You can take up.” But her eyes didn’t watch the house elf retreat back into the house. Her attention was back on Ignan, lips curled into a soft smile.

“It turns out Artemis Bug has had rather a change of heart.” The chill in the air caused goose bumps to form on Mira’s skin but she was watching Ignan too intently to appear concerned. “My daughter is beside herself.”

Her fingers gave his hand a squeeze.
“For the wizard who coaxed him along, I’d do just about anything he asked.”

He let Mira take his hand and guide him into the garden where the rain fell about the boundary but not where the table was set. He was glad of wearing a cloak, October in the West Country was a little better than Scotland.

"It turns out Artemis Bug has had rather a change of heart." Mira explained, watching him intently. Ignan tried to look mildly confused at this statement. Why would that troublesome almost-son-in-law have a change of heart? "My daughter is beside herself."

At this addition, his expression slipped to more genuine concern. Much as he had wanted to get rid of Bug for Miranda, he hadn't really given a second thought to Maya, or that the girl might actually be attached to the snivelling idiot.

Mira's hand squeezed his, as if following where his thoughts might be going without reading them specifically.
"For the wizard who coaxed him along, I'd do just about anything he asked."

"Then he would be a lucky wizard indeed." Ignan replied almost a little too swiftly, and smirked. "So unfortunate to hear of Maya's upset, I'm sure you consoled her wisely." He sipped his wine, still watching Mira who maintained his grasp.

"Such a shame." He added, quietly. "I thought he enjoyed our chat."

Gerda brought out dinner, the warm plates streaming steam in their wake. He tried not to think about the disastrous time he'd cooked for Mira in the earlier days of their relationship. Fish and chips from down the road had never tasted so good.

"Now you're going to tell me you cooked, aren't you?" He asked, drawing towards the table, admiring things as best he could. "I should come home during term more often." He added, glancing up from the table to the invisible barrier above them where the rain bounced off into the darkening sky.

He leaned over, drawing them together and kissed her fondly, trying not to spill his wine.

“She’s a pretty girl, she’ll find someone else.” Perhaps a little harshly, Miranda brushed off Ignan’s apparent concern over the emotional state of her daughter. Neither party had given consideration to how Maya would actually react if something were to happen to Bug. Mira had, in no uncertain terms, informed Ignan that she’d wanted Bug out of her daughter’s life, and Ignan had seemingly acted on her behalf.

Is that what love was? Doing away with your partner’s daughter’s wayward boyfriend just to please her? Miranda had rather thought it was shouting and quietly resenting one another.

Uncertain whether informing Maya that she’d only miss her boyfriend for about a week was ‘consoling wisely’, Miranda decided to remain quiet while Ignan surveyed her (or rather, the elf’s) work on the candlelit garden. It was very nearly what one would call romantic. It was quite possibly wasted on the usually grumpy Ignan Storm and his believed to be heartless lover. He had, however, deserved something for his efforts and Miranda had pulled on every bit of romantic nature she possibly had to decide on this. She would have to go and threaten a few mediwitches tomorrow to equal the balance.

"I should come home during term more often." There wasn’t time to respond immediately to her lover’s suggestion before he came in close and pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed and she pulled her hand from his, raising it to gently touch his cheek as she pulled back.

“I went to this effort because you’ve impressed me.” Her face was still close to his as her brows raised, lips twisting into a smirk. “I can’t see you having the opportunity to get used to it.”

Her hand was pulled away from his cheek and she took her wand from the apron pocket. “Accio robes.” The chill in the air was not going to make eating a pleasant experience if she wasn’t warm enough.
"Bon Appetit." The witch stated in Norwegian.

“I went to this effort because you’ve impressed me. I can’t see you having the opportunity to get used to it.”

Ignan chuckled, somewhat agreeing, and enjoying her touch. It had been been almost six months and this was a first, to be summoned home for dinner cooked by Mira's hand. He didn't care if it tasted horrible, it was still going to be better than whatever they called the disaster he'd cooked once.

Heavier robes flew through the air from the house to keep her warm and they took their seats, Ignan putting down his wine to examine dinner. Well, it looked alright…

A well schooled, neutral expression crossed his features on sampling dinner, but he found it was fine. Perhaps Gerda cooked a little better, but she was employed as a house elf to do this, she didn't put people back together and run the country's leading magical hospital like Mira did. Each to their own strengths.

"My compliments to the chef." He spoke at last and toasted her with his glass of wine. The rain hammered the wards above them and the grass beyond it before the garden wall was slick with water, reflecting in the lantern light.

"Certainly preferable to an evening at Hogwarts," he agreed, drawing his eyes back from staring out into the night away from the house. "Have you any other potential son-in-laws I might need to vet for suitability?" He asked Mira, slicing dinner, "or have you reclaimed your home?"

The beef wasn’t sliced into quite as easily as intended. Still, it hadn’t been bathed in salt with more added for good measure. Ignan was not a cook. As far as Miranda was concerned, he should never cook again. She had told him that in similar words. She, however, had had to learn. She’d had to provide a young Maya Elliot with food that was edible to help her little girl grow into the selfish brat she was now. Perhaps if Miranda had spent more time cooking and less time working Maya would have been far nicer and not a now single mother at the age of 22!

“Anything is preferable to an evening at Hogwarts.” Miranda found herself muttering quietly. It was no secret she had no plans to return. Spending her days surrounded by teenagers was not a way the witch wanted to live. Ignan was suited to it. He must have felt the draw of teaching children. Miranda did not. The only saving grace of her year there as a visiting professor had possibly been acquainting herself with the wizard sat opposite her trying to carve the beef.

"…or have you reclaimed your home?"

“Is that why you did it?” Miranda hadn’t taken a bite of her food yet, instead her gaze was intent on Ignan.
“Have I outstayed my welcome?” She was rather growing accustomed to his more spacious home. There was no being woken in the night to a screaming baby, feeling responsible for checking she was okay and soothing back to sleep. Maya was still somewhat poor at that. Miranda could keep odd hours with only the judgement of an already judgmental house elf. But she couldn’t keep any animals here. Something told her Ignan was not the creature loving kind.

Smirking down at her plateful, Mira started to pile some vegetables onto her fork.
“There are easier ways to rid yourself of a houseguest, Mr Storm.”

"There are," he agreed, "and I've used them before you arrived," he explained, thinking to the three extended family members who had imposed on him in June. One had been house-sitting, effectively what Mira did now while he was away for term, and the other two had invited themselves.

"You've not outstayed your welcome at all, my love, besides, I'm not here to mind am I?" He gave a smirk at the witch across the table from him. He did miss her, and even if they were sat out in the cold and the relative damp, despite the charms, he didn't mind because it allowed him to see her again. Since the end of August they'd spent less nights together than the fingers on one hand. He'd not had anyone to berate him or keep his ego trimmed.

"But of two houses, yours is more the home." He explained with a little shrug to his shoulders, chasing gravy with a potato on his plate. "Despite all your touches to my decorating." He added, amused as he thought back to how Mira had referred to his ideas of how to decorate a home as sparse, masculine and lacking. He'd called it functional, practical and suitable for a man who had invested inheritance in property but lived two thirds of the year boarding with students in a Scottish castle.

"Do you prefer it here then?" He asked, curious.

"You've not outstayed your welcome at all, my love, besides, I'm not here to mind am I?"  Unbeknownst to Miranda, her mind flashed to thoughts similar to those of Ignan. She would never vocalise the fast that she very nearly missed him being there. The summer had been a shock for her. In a month’s time she would have spent 13 years alone, not having a wizard to come home to, to sleep beside and to have a chance of actually missing. That has changed when she’d spent more and more time at his house with him.

Now she came home to this wizard’s house, devoid of the owner and man she still wouldn’t verbally admit she loved. Was she disappointed he wasn’t there to mind her presence? She’d known it would be like that when they’d gotten together. Yet it was never meant to last this long, they’d both agreed to that.

"Do you prefer it here then?" Ignan asked, watching her. Miranda frowned down at her food, unsure of her response. She took a bite and took her time to chew, considering what she did prefer.

“I prefer…” She stopped again and considered. “I raised a daughter in Collinshayne Copse. It is a real home, it has stories and memories. It’s full of mismatched furniture, family pictures and my healing books. We’ve had pets there. Our dog de-gnomed the garden for us with his bark as Maya would try to make him trample the plants.” She spoke fondly of her home as she looked down into her food. However, her eyes once more met his gaze and she reached for her wine.

“It’s also full of baby toys, dirty nappies and screaming. Your house isn’t.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “You’re making your stories now. We are. That’s what home is.” She hadn’t answered his question clearly, instead partaking in a unusual ramble. But so rarely did they discuss their lives before one another. The closer they became, the more Mira felt she could share, the more she wanted to know.

Ignan listened politely to her talk of Devon, expression showing faint pleasure in hearing her accent become a little stronger for talking of home. It certainly was a wonderful home, although a little smaller than what he had here. He'd felt very comfortable the time he'd visited her there. Godric's Hollow seemed more of a blank canvas in comparison. No real history or family ties - it had been bought as a place he could invest the money, and spend time at over the summer. He had not anticipated anyone ever joining him.

"… your house isn't."
"Thank Merlin." He uttered in mild amusement.
"You're making your stories now. We are. That's what home is."
"Hmm." Ignan looked thoughtful and glanced back to the house as if considering it. "It's the first I've ever bought." He explained, "Everywhere before has belonged to someone else, or I've not stayed long enough for it to be classified as a home."

His eyes met Mira's briefly as he glanced back.
"I bought here thinking I'd never share it, just glad of finding somewhere, even if it was a project. It's nothing anywhere near as special as Collinshayne." He shook his head. "But if you can call it home, then I'm honoured." He examined the chunk of potato on the end of his fork, "and you put me to shame firmly with the cooking, Mira. You're giving Gerda a run for her money."

The potato didn't last much longer before it was consumed, the rain still battering down on the wards above them.
"Are you one for keeping pets, then?" He asked, "You've not got any at the moment?"

Miranda decided to dodge the question about pets. She briefly mentioned having had a few before, brushing it off before changing the conversation. The temperature started to get to her and she found herself wondering why the idea of a candlelit dinner outside in October would be a romantic idea. Normally a very intelligent person, Mira had been quite daft here. By the time they did make their way back into the house, leaving the table for Gerda to clear away, Miranda was frozen to the core, feeling damp and uncomfortable.

As if Gerda had read Mira’s mind, the fire in the living room was roaring, warming the otherwise bare and impersonal room as they entered. It was welcome as she placed the wine glass down beside the sofa and lowered herself in the middle seat, cuddling up close to Ignan who had wisely chosen not to escape to his usual armchair. Tonight Miranda wanted to be close. She didn’t want to feel like an old married couple who rarely saw one another and sat apart, reading after dinner.

“You asked about pets,” Mira started, leaning back against his chest as she relaxed in his arms, something she was now very comfortable with. Her fingers absent mindedly stroked the back of his hand. “There are a couple cats in Collinshayne.” That was nothing special. Although perhaps for a wizard who didn’t have any pets, it was quite like another world. She twisted her body to look up at him, a small frown creasing her brow.

“I do have a confession to make.” Mira searched his eyes as she asked her question, rather than immediately offering the confession of sorts. “Hippogriffs. What are your feelings?”

It as a little strange to cuddle up to Mira sometimes, but every now and then the two of them were content to do so. Dinner had been lovely, though the temperature and the damp of October had eventually got to them both. Ignan had followed his lover inside, doing his best not to let the limp of his leg show - cold always brought it on.

He let his arm loosely circle her as she leaned against him. Having been away for a month and a half, it felt a little odd to be back even for the evening. It was very clear that Mira now inhabited his space alone, the way things were arranged, and the order of the space no longer matched his habits.

“You asked about pets,” Mira spoke, and he glanced down at her as her fingers brushed his hand. He had found it a little strange at first to be close like this, they both had. Ignan had become particularly accustomed to refraining from touch with others outside of his duties. Hugging his dear cousin Gabrielle had been odd enough.

"Yes," He replied gently, recalling he had over dinner.
“There are a couple cats in Collinshayne.”
"Oh, I didn't realise." It was all inconsequential. He didn't much care for animals. He had a few in the classroom in tanks, but the house elves were rather adept at their regular feeding, and the students could easily be tasked with the rest for detention. Ambrose Pepper was surprisingly a dab hand at it to the point Ignan was reconsidering ordering him to for detentions.

“I do have a confession to make.” He met her eyes and he paid her proper attention.
“Hippogriffs. What are your feelings?”
"Riding or eating them?" He asked, his gaze leaving Mira's. "The former, once, can't say I would again, and the latter, I wouldn't recommend. Tough as old boots, but we were pretty desperate."

He glanced down at Mira again.
"Why?" He asked, "And that's hardly a confession."

Ignan’s response left Miranda sitting up uncomfortably to look at him with a creased brow and pursed lips. There weren’t many witches or wizards who would confess to, or even consider eating hippogriff. What had driven him to that would surely have made an interesting story but he decided to inform her that her words had hardly been a confession.

Miranda twisted herself to sit comfortably next to the hippogriff eating wizard and picked up her wine again.
“I’ve always wanted one.” She stated plainly and took a sip of her wine. “They’re exquisite creatures.” Mira had been surrounded by magical creatures and the injuries they caused nearly all of her adult life. It felt weird to be currently living in a house with nothing. Ignan didn’t surround himself with animals. It fact, he didn’t surround himself with anything living. Mira rather presumed she was the closest he’d ever let a person be, or at least in a long time.

The fact that Miranda wanted a hippogriff seemed far less interesting than the fact Ignan had eaten the meat of the proud and exceptional creature.

Mira pulled her feet up onto the chair and glanced sideways at her companion with eyebrows raised.
“Now you’ve got my attention. You genuinely ate hippogriff? What made you so desperate?” This was very possibly one of the first questions Miranda had asked about her lover’s past.

Ignan watched her twist and move to sit closely beside him instead, his arm still around her loosely.

She wanted a hippogriff? What would a healer do with a hippogriff for goodness sake?

“Now you’ve got my attention. You genuinely ate hippogriff? What made you so desperate?” She was taking him terribly serious all of a sudden for such a throwaway comment from years ago. Then again, the pair of them weren't very good at sharing old stories. Ignan generally had to be in the right mood to tell stories[1].

"Have you never been so hungry you could eat a hippogriff?" He asked her with a frown, but even with his less than expressive features, at the close quarters Mira was sat it was easy to see he was teasing.

"I've had to eat all manner of strange things in my years," he explained, "alligator[2], included, but hippogriff. I won it, but at the least convenient time. I couldn't sell the bloody thing for enough money, so I had to bring it along." He gestured with his hand as if to imply the details were irrelevant, "Too bloody cold for it though, not enough to eat. We had to kill it before it starved." He did not look too pleased at having to slaughter such a beast, but it had fed them in the middle of nowhere and kept well in freezing charms and snow.

"Why would you want a hippogriff? Can't see you riding it to work every day." He asked.

1.	March 27, Losing Some Illusions for instance
2.	Feb 20, The Tale of Travelling Dragon

Ignan’s explanation was nondescript, waving off details and giving her not even the barest bones of the tale. Mira’s lips pursed as she watched him carefully. They were close enough for her to see the merest twitches in his facial expression but it didn’t help to put her at ease all of a sudden. She wasn’t bothered by the fact he’d slaughtered a hippogriff. Or, rather, it was the least of her concerns when Ignan had just brushed off a story of his past with no detail.

He never gave details of anything from before his days at Durmstrang. Miranda, not very good at sharing her own past, had told him more before.

“That tale was terrifically detailed.” The witch’s voice dripped in sarcasm as she ignored his question and decided to focus on his past. Or lack of. “I felt like I was there. Wherever ‘there’ was. I could really feel the cold in this mystery location.” Her dark eyebrows rose and lips pursed.

The closer Miranda got to Ignan, the more she realised how little she knew of him. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her and to begin with Miranda hadn’t minded her lack of knowledge about the wizard who’d given her another chance of happiness. Now, as her feelings deepened and the dangerous ‘L’ word had been mentioned, it was harder to maintain that distance, to accept those secrets.