“Well, I’d rather you kept this visit between us,” Mira Elliot requested of the witch sat opposite her at the small table in the room. “I don’t want people thinking I’ve gone soft.” A small smile was offered to Camille and Mira shrugged her shoulders. Things she was planning on sharing with this witch would make people think Miranda was worse than soft. It would make them presume she had a heart and feelings. Weaknesses. Possibly worse than that, Ignan may think she still hankered over the husband who’d been six foot under for thirteen years. They never discussed the past and he certainly didn’t need to hear it from someone else.

The cosy room was smaller than Ignan’s but already felt more homely with personal touches covering the walls and surfaces. Ignan lived a sparse life when it came to decoration, his house had been bare and unwelcoming; his rooms at Hogwarts even less personal. When it came to home and comforts, Mira and Ignan were stark contrasts to one another. Apparently Camille was similar to the brunette currently joining her for a tea.

The time had come for the small talk that had carried them through the grounds and up the stairs to Camille’s room to be dispensed with. Miranda was hardly an expert at small talk in the first place. She much preferred to dive into the real reason for a visit, the real importance of a situation. She’d arrived at Hogwarts this evening with an agenda and this was without a doubt the priority.

There was little point in beating around the bush and therefore after a bite of the dunked custard cream and a sip from the teacup, Miranda decided to dive in.
“You look better. Not amazing; but better.” The biscuit was finished and her keen eyes studied Camille. “Better than I was. You’re strong.” Mira wasn’t sure if Ignan had shared their recent similarity with Camille. He’d had no reason to but still she was unsure.

Mira knew that at present she couldn’t judge Camille on the brightness of her appearance. This was a rare evening in the past few weeks that Head Healer Elliot hadn’t been at the hospital until 1am. She herself looked tired and the wrinkles slowly forming through age seemed more defined in the candlelight of the evening. Her long dark hair had been scraped back into a messy bun, stray greys lingering within the otherwise nearly black strands.

“You don’t seem to have fallen apart, at least.”

At the notion Mira might be soft, Camille gave a little scoff and smiled as she stirred her tea. She was very glad to receive Mira even late on a Thursday evening. For despite Mira's frosty outlook to most who knew of her, Camille rather liked her. The Head Healer would be a good addition to the Storm family - she could more than match Ignan for his indifference over family arguments.

"You look better. Not amazing; but better." Mira commented. Camille raised her dark eyebrows and reached for one of the custard cream biscuits Mira had helped herself to. It was a compliment of sorts that outwardly she looked alright. "Better than I was. You’re strong."

At this addition, Camille's blue eyes fixed on Mira with curiosity as to what she meant.
"Thank you, Miranda. That means a lot to me, that you think so." She replied, setting the biscuit own on the saucer, her tea a little warm for her still.
"You don’t seem to have fallen apart, at least."

"Life goes on." She replied, albeit grimly, dropping her gaze briefly to the table between them. "And time is a great healer." She swallowed and looked up again at Mira.

"I doubt I would have got through those first few days without your kindness." She reached across gingerly and placed her fingertips to Mira's arm for a moment before withdrawing, respecting the other witch's personal space, but wishing to convey how sincerely she appreciated it all. Bringing her back, and for taking care of Wolfgang to find out what had taken him.

"When you say 'better than I was', Mira, forgive me, have you been here before?"

"I doubt I would have got through those first few days without your kindness." Camille was sweet; far sweeter than her late husband and her cousin, far sweeter than Miranda.

“You’d have managed.” Mira didn’t wish to take credit for something she hadn’t done. She’d worked the situation like any other, or at least she considered that she had. The code of never leaving a patient’s family to fend for themselves and deal with the grief without help was something that Miranda lived by. It was probably one of her nicer codes and it had surfaced at the time she’d needed the most support. Perhaps she’d gone further with Camille’s family. But this was because of her ties to Ignan. Ignan had, after all, rid Mira of a rather nasty bug infestation. She rather owed him.

Camille clocked onto Mira’s previous words about how she’d dealt with her own situation. Miranda cradled her teacup and nodded.
“Thirteen years ago.” There was no sadness in Miranda’s voice. She stated it was if it were a matter of fact. Now it was. “We were married for ten years. His trainee fell out of favour with a dragon and he tried to defuse the situation.”

The custard cream was once more dunked and Mira set Camille in her dark eyed gaze.
“It’s a different set of circumstances but you’re not alone in losing a husband. So I’m here to talk and share.” A small smile creased her otherwise plain expression. “Or sit here in silence drinking tea.”

Camille's expression softened further at Mira's explanation that she had lost a husband. Even thought it was thirteen years ago, it didn't matter.
"Oh Mira, I'm so sorry." Camille replied, not worried at how strange it was to say such a thing, given she was only recently acquainted with the other witch. "What an unfortunate way to go, trying to protect another."

A much more noble way to perish than Wolfgang, she thought. There was no honour, no redemption in the way he had gone - however premature and at the hand of an unknown party. He had died a suspected criminal and the Ministry would not be rushing to clear his name.

“It’s a different set of circumstances but you’re not alone in losing a husband. So I’m here to talk and share. Or sit here in silence drinking tea.” Camille glanced down to her tea and adopted a sad little smile.

"I'm touched Miranda, really I am." She replied, fingers running along the teacup's handle but not lifting it. "I had no idea, though neither of us know a thing about each other, do we, silly of me."

There was a pause, as she considered the many questions that had been swimming around her mind for a while now.
"Is it normal to feel angry with them?" She asked, "For everything, even the smallest of most ridiculous things? I mean," Camille turned a little to gesture to the mantle above the fireplace which was cluttered with photographs, "I was so angry the other day that at Christmas he refused a photograph together with me. I'd wanted one with Johann when he came by a few days later and he had to quarrel and we never managed it. It's so very silly, but the other day I was more angry at him for that than any of that werewolf business. A photograph!" She slid her fingertips up her forehead and shook her head, sighing. She reached for the custard cream she had put aside on her saucer, lifting it to contemplate dipping it in as Mira had,
"Did you ever have moments like that?"

"I had no idea, though neither of us know a thing about each other, do we, silly of me." Camille was surprised by Mira’s confession. They really did know little about one another but the fact she’d been widowed at 34 wasn’t something the healer tended to share. It had taken a couple of months to mention it offhandedly to Ignan and even then she’d brushed it off. Jonathon Elliot was often a forbidden topic but Mira could make an exception with this witch. She understood there was comfort in sharing one’s grief. In just over a week it would be the anniversary of Miranda’s.

“It’s not something I tell people.” Mira shrugged her shoulders as she’d been staring into the teacup but her eyes flashed back up to Camille’s when she realised it sounded like a secret. “Ignan knows.”

"Is it normal to feel angry with them?" As Camille spoke, Miranda found herself frowning, considering the words.

Finally the witch nodded.
“Hundreds. Two years after he died Maya was starting at Hogwarts. He’d always told her she would be able to have his old Firebolt when she went. It had always been a promise because she’d adored flying with him. When I came to unpack it from the box a week before she was due to leave, it had been completely burnt, the handle of the broom was black and the base had been destroyed.” Mira sat back in the chair, gazing down as she remembered. “He was always the favourite parent. I’d always been the one to let her down. And here this broom was; a promise from her dead father, destroyed.”

Mira glanced back to Camille, frowning. “I was so angry. I knew I couldn’t tell her it was him; he’d kept her a broken broom. It meant so much to her. Such a simple thing. So I lied. It was my fault. Like everything else was. Her bloody father got off scot free again and I was Satan.”

The custard cream made it into the tea as Mira explained she too had experienced anger at her dead husband. It wasn't a photograph, but a firebolt broomstick. Somehow keeping something burned and broken for a daughter seemed all the more serious reason to be angry.

"Why did you lie?" She asked Mira, "Did you think your daughter would not believe you?" Mira's daughter would have been young though, she could imagine that her daughter would be angry - disappointed at the broom, and lash out.

"I only wish we had the chance to put things right before it happened. I lost my husband twice, Mira, once at full moon, and again in that courtroom. I hated to quarrel with him, I know he grated with other people but he and I were always fine." She reached for another custard cream, "Almost always fine." She sighed. "I keep wondering if it would be better if he'd gone to Azkaban. If I'd have found it easier. That's why it's best I'm here and working, focusing on the students. Less time to dwell on things."

She glanced up, lips apart, regretting her choice of words,
"Not that I mean to say your visit is unappreciated, Miranda. Quite the opposite. I feel honoured you should take the time."

"Did you think your daughter would not believe you?"
“I didn’t want her opinion of her dad to change.”

Camille opened up about having lost Wolfgang twice and in reality she probably had. If Mira had have been in a similar position she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with said husband. He’d have been dead to her. But then, from what Miranda already had gathered of Camille, the older witch had a warmer heart. She’d also been married a considerable amount longer than Mira had been. She’d even liked her husband.

The prospect of Storm ending up in Azkaban having been better than death made Miranda frown into her tea, biting her tongue. She had her opinions of Wolfgang; ones that Camille would probably not appreciate. No one liked hearing the love of their life was a monster; that was what Wolfgang Storm had been. The whole country knew it. Camille doubtlessly had heard it enough times in the months following the crime, but Mira wasn’t going to join in. Instead she picked up a custard cream and bit into it, keeping her mouth busy to resist the urge to say something upsetting.

“I feel honoured you should take the time.” From the teacup, Miranda looked up, still chewing on the biscuit with perhaps a little too much fervour. Her brows rose, surprised at the statement, suddenly feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

“I didn’t come selflessly, Camille.” The witch brushed her off, lowering the crockery to sit on the table between them. “Even now it helps me to talk about it.” Mira never normally talked about feelings. It made a person look weak. She’d fallen in love with a wizard who also didn’t discuss feelings. They were quite a pair! Yet sometimes it helped to talk. Sometimes she needed to just share thoughts plaguing her. Ignan wouldn’t want to hear these thoughts and Miranda didn’t have any real friends. Camille was that nearest step and she could at least slightly understand Mira’s thoughts.

“I can’t lie to you and say that you’ll reach the stage where a little thing won’t remind you of him. Heck, in just over a week it will be 13 years. I know that that week I will be intolerable. I always am. No matter where I am now, no matter the fact it’s been so long; I will be horrible.” Miranda sat back in the chair, trying to get comfortable. “I can’t tell Ignan that.”

Mira's admittance that she hadn't come selflessly brought a little smile from Camille in return. She had wondered, much as Mira had taken such care of her, she knew the witch to be pragmatic, straight-talking and not one to ever waste her time. She was glad to reciprocate even a little.

"Thirteen years?" She echoed as Mira explained the significance of the time of year. "Oh Miranda. I'm sure you're not as bad as you feel you are. I won't mention it to him, but I will keep you in my thoughts. If there's anything I can do, you don't even have to ask my dear." She tapper her wand against the teapot. Unaided, it lifted the lid and added more hot water, the teaspoon lifting to stir.

"I'm not sure I'd want to get to a stage where I'd forget him entirely, however much it hurts." She blinked quickly, "He was by my side for a significant amount of my life, and I see him every time I look at Johann."

The Arithmancy Professor sat back and gave a sigh, letting her shoulders sink down.
"Bloody wizards," she uttered, the phrase sounding a little odd with her accent and the care she took over the two words. "I have been trying to pick up a little more of the British slang to familiarise myself," she explained to Miranda, expression apologetic, "not sure if I like that one yet." She sipped her tea.

"But things are going well with cousin Ignan, aren't they?" Camille asked, suddenly picking up on the fact Mira said she couldn't explain the anniversary to her new partner.

“If there's anything I can do, you don't even have to ask my dear.” As well intentioned as Camille’s statement had been, Miranda couldn’t help picking fault with it. If she did need something, if Camille could do something for her, how would she know if Mira didn’t ask? Fortunately, she decided not to verbally pick fault and instead remained quiet for Camille to talk about British slang.

It was quite easy to steadily relax into the company until Camille asked about how things were going with Ignan and Mira’s gaze jumped up from the teacup to Camille, her lips twitching for only a moment before she calmed her expression and decided to lie. Unfortunately Miranda wasn’t an accomplished liar. People had a habit of seeing straight through.

“Yes, we’re fine.” She stated calmly with a hint of a smile, a force smile. In truth, despite a few letters, Mira and Ignan hadn’t spoken since their argument a week ago. Neither were people of many words when it came to feelings and neither were people to apologise.

Realising her response had been too curt; Mira took a sip of her tea to consider elaborating.
“He wouldn’t understand about Jon. It’s not fair to expect him to.” Neither did she want to mention it for fear of another argument. “Ignan is my present. Jon is my past.”

Cousin Ignan had been in a most extraordinarily grumpy mood of late according to her colleagues. Being family, Camille suspected she might be avoiding the worst, along with the fact she was dutifully completing marking, attending corridor patrols and had even covered a detention without question. She felt indebted to Hogwarts for both her job and for her accommodation, so no ask was really to great for her duty.

Mira described them both as fine without great hesitation, though it was probably one of the few times Camille had ever asked a direct question about the pair. They seemed very happy together - not that either of them seemed to express 'happy' on a regular basis.

The brevity of the answer suggested to Camille that she might not ask again any time soon, and that the topic of conversation was not to be broached.

"Yes, yes, I can see that." Camille agreed to the extension to the answer. "One never likes to speak of former partners with the current man." She nodded. "In my early days with Wolfgang, I would, and I could see how it pained him. Lines here, and here." She touched her face at the top of her nose and the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. "Even without him saying it. They feel we are measuring them against the past." She lifted her teacup again, "Men don't talk about their former partners, I don't think. Perhaps they don't remember them."

She gave a shrug and sipped her tea, finishing the cup.
"Been some months now, the two of you, but not years, like it was with Jon. I don't see myself ever looking again now. Would feel like a betrayal. Though far too early to even think. Good grief." Camille sat back, bemused at that queer thought. 

The openness and general ease of a conversation with a witch she barely knew struck the mostly closed off and cold witch as odd. Miranda valued distance and secrets regarding her private life but there was something about Camille that made her want to open up and get to know her (perhaps over something stronger than a cup of tea). There was no doubt that she’d married into the Storm family rather than being born into it. Although what she’d seen in her husband, Miranda could only wonder at in perplexity. Wolfgang Storm wouldn’t be missed by many people.

"Men don't talk about their former partners, I don't think. Perhaps they don't remember them." Unbeknownst to the foreign witch, her words had struck a tune of discord in the Healer and thin lips pursed as she considered her disagreement with Ignan about his ‘former partner’. Or rather, his refusal to mention a son from that partner!

“Years too early.” Miranda confirmed with a slight nod. Was she still smarting from the disagreement or agreeing with her companion? “But don’t write your life off now. Staying faithful to a dead man is lonely.”

There was a small frown creasing Mira’s features before she leaned forward and reached a hand out for Camille’s. She laid hers on top and gave a squeeze as dark eyes greeted blue.
“I can give you all the advice on dealing with it that I like but I stopped loving my husband months before he died. I felt more guilt than grief.” A pause and Miranda sat back, pulling her hand away. “I’ve never told anyone that.” She shook her head. “The point is everyone deals with it differently.”

"… but I stopped loving my husband months before he died. I felt more guilt than grief." Mira explained, and Camille's heart sank a little for the other witch.

What a thought. She had barely seen her husband as the days had grown closer to his death, and when he had been in St Mungo's he had barely spoken, pushing her away. Had he stopped loving her? She would never know for sure. Camille decided bitterly it had been his attempt to make it easier, that he knew he was going to his death of some sort. He had done it sharply to Johann late August before his first term began, so that his son would almost look forward to getting away from his parents.

"I've never told anyone that. The point is everyone deals with it differently."

Camille mutely returned the nod, her fingertips went to turn her wedding and engagement ring without realising as she looked across to Mira.
"You cannot choose who you fall in love with," she replied softly, "or out of. Nor can we change what has passed. I cannot think that i would have been able to continue loving him had I heard the rest of what was to be said in that courtroom." She shook her head ever so slightly, "but that wasn't the man I fell in love with. And the man who died does not sound like the man you fell in love with, Mira. So neither of us should feel guilty in that extent."  She exhaled. "I really don't know, I am sorry, everything still is a little up in the air. Damn these wizards!" Her fingers splayed as she exclaimed, trying out yet another new expression in her English.

"Miranda, I think we may need something stronger than tea. Would you mind?" She raised her eyebrows and slid from her chair to pull open a nearby bottom drawer hiding whiskey. The glasses didn't match, but it wouldn't change the taste, or the blissful numbness. She poured them both a little before taking her seat again, raking fingers through her loose black curls as if trying to dislodge the metaphorical grey fog that was settled there.

"What shall we toast to?" Camille asked, reaching for her glass, nudging the other towards Mira.

A bottle of whiskey was pulled from the drawer that had concealed it, and Miranda found herself liking this witch just a touch more than before. There was perhaps a great deal more under the surface of the grieving widow that had always seemed so kindly and innocent. Mira was never drawn to kind and innocent people. She was drawn to those with another side, those that held some interest.
Camille must have had some side other than the gentle lady if she’d coped married to Wolfgang Storm for so long.
Jonathon Elliot wouldn’t even have compered to Storm.

"What shall we toast to?"

Dark eyes fell down to her glass of whiskey and Mira’s pale lips pursed in consideration. She was somewhat surprised Camille felt the need to toast anything so soon after her husband’s death. Perhaps she truly did feel a detachment from him now. Perhaps she had realised the type of wizard he was. Perhaps she had decided it was good riddance.

“The future.” There was a twitch of her lips as a lopsided smile formed. “You have one. It isn’t as you imagined but…” It was a rare occurrence as Mira considered her words; she did however speak bluntly anyway. “I’d rather be a widow than an Azkaban prisoner’s wife.” She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of whiskey.

"The future then," Camille confirmed, thrusting her glass upwards, but then realised Mira was adding to this.
"I'd rather be a widow than an Azkaban prisoner's wife."
"Er,"

Mira drank to it. Camille was left paused, glass in the air, considering the opinion. It had been something she had considered quite a bit for the past month, but she didn't want to necessarily raise a glass to it. It was as if to celebrate death over life, albeit a lonely, solitary one.

Her blue eyes caught Mira's dark ones, and she took a quick breath, shoulders rising and falling.
"To the future." She echoed, emphasising the future, rather than considering the past. Rather than sip her whiskey, she knocked the whole thing back, wincing ever so slightly before pouring another without hesitation and offering the bottle to Mira.

"You're probably right, Miranda, I just," she looked up and let her shoulders drop, "it's still a bit raw, my darling. Either way, moving on without. To new friends also." She raised her glass again.


End