“You’re glowing today, Healer.”


“Let me carry that for you, Madame Elliot.”


“Whoah Miranda! You shouldn’t be smoking in your condition!”


Staff and patients alike had spent the morning smiling, scowling and staring at her stomach. They’d spared thoughtful comments for her ‘condition’ and Mira had first put it down to extra consideration considering her coma in December and the stress of overcoming the hospital’s poisoning emergency. But now they’d prevented any further deaths and were sourcing new methods of potions brewing and supplying. The fact that she was nearly a month on from her long sleep made Miranda more and more suspicious.

The truth came out when her assistant, a plump matronly witch who never seemed to much appreciate her boss, walked into the office and wrinkled her nose at the smell of the smoke Miranda was currently wafting through the window, cigarette held between her lips.
“Whoah Miranda! You shouldn’t be smoking in your condition!” she’d blurted, rushed over to her boss, snatched the cigarette and thrown it through the window.

Elliot had been so stunned she’d only been able to blink while she considered an appropriate reaction to such insolence.
“You better have an excellent reason for storming in here and wasting a perfectly decent cigarette.” Her tone had been a strained calm, an attempt not to snap harshly until she knew the facts.

“You’re a healer, Miranda. You should know better than anyone what cigarettes can do to a baby.”
Miranda nearly fell off the windowsill she’d been perched upon.
“Excuse me?”
“You surely don’t want to harm the baby, do you?”

It had been another five minutes before Miranda had found out where such a ridiculous suggestion had stemmed from and a further 2 minutes to read the article that questioned her age, love and reproductive capabilities.

Now at 9PM, after a long and cold walk from the entrance gates, the new Mrs Storm (not pregnant), was making her quick way up the grand staircase until she reached the first floor and Ignan Storm’s classroom. A quick flick of her wand allowed entry and she wandered between the desks to mount the next stairs into his office.

There was no knock to announce her presence. Instead, upon seeing candlelight beneath the door, she pushed it open and stepped inside. Dark eyes locked on her husband’s and she pursed her lips. He must have been aware. He worked in a school surrounded by teenagers.

“I have Lil Snigger’s address for you. I’m not condoning whatever you do with it.”

He was not entirely surprised to see Mira let herself into his office. Even if she had not forewarned him of her arrival, it wasn't altogether unpredictable that she too would have heard.

“I have Lil Snigger’s address for you. I’m not condoning whatever you do with it.”

Sat his desk, Ignan let out a mildly humoured sigh at her opening statement. He looked and felt weary for the first week back at Hogwarts, and for the ridiculous evening.

"Hello my fellow 'anguished soul'." He greeted softly, dropping his quill beside Ambrose Pepper's excuse for an essay. Even Casey O'Doherty and Alvis Norling had received harsh, critical comments on their essays that evening. He was only living up to 'his own brand of cruelty' towards students as the article suggested.

He got to his feet a moment to greet her properly, and unusually for him, took Mira in his arms a moment for an embrace. It was brief, but unusual in their habits enough to indicate he had been stewing over things.

"I may not have to do anything with it," He explained, referring to the address, "I've already had offers from others to do it for me." He shrugged, gestured for her to take a seat. "I can only hope you found out in a private manner."

Lil Snigger’s address was on a folded piece of parchment in Mira’s closed hand. The writing was scribbled; her usual barely legible scrawl inefficiently creating the letters that she expected her husband to read. His claim that he may not need it was simply met with slim fingers slipping it into his trouser pocket as they were in such close proximity.

Nearly a week had passed since Mira and Ignan had last seen each other and owls rarely passed between the two of them because he rather unnecessarily complained about the legibility of those he received. This was a reason she’d not sent word ahead of her arrival. It was fortunate that having worked at Hogwarts, been a visiting professor and being the well-known Head Healer of Britain’s wizarding hospital, Miranda was free to come and go from the wizarding school without question. That, however, didn’t mean she showed up often and neither did it mean Ignan travelled down to Godrics hollow all that often. They’d just gotten married, and as Mira studied her worn out looking husband, she wondered if anything but their marital statuses had changed.
   
"I can only hope you found out in a private manner." The evidently weary wizard suggested as he indicated a seat. Mira’s lips pursed as she thought about the manner she found out.
“My assistant reprimanded me for smoking in my condition. She nearly lost her job when she threw my cigarette out of the window.” Still not sitting down, Mira moved away from Ignan, trying to get her frustration out in just moving. “Since when did a healer and a Hogwarts professor getting married equate to celebrity gossip interesting enough to people to put in Witch Weekly? Do you know how many people I’ve had stare at my stomach today or warn me to take it easy in my condition?” She didn’t stop speaking, instead getting faster, and the Devonshire accent becoming stronger as she waved her arms. “One old witch even congratulated me for managing to do it at my age! Did she mean sex, get married or have a baby?

“I got called into the board of warlocks then this evening to have my own father demanding why they’d had to find out through a gossip magazine that I’d failed in my duties as Head Healer and become pregnant. I’m not even sure if I’m angrier about my fertility being discussed by a board of crusty old healers who don’t think I should be allowed to have a baby or the fact that it was my father asking why I’ve been having unprotected sex!”

Ignan could decide if that was a private manner or not…

Ignan could not imagine that Mira's assistant preventing his wife from smoking would ever go well. Even he wouldn't dare impose such a restriction.  He valued living.

As he listened to her recount her day, Ignan slid his hands into his pockets. His fingers found the address she had slipped there a moment before, but decided to leave it be for the moment. He turned his back to the small fireplace, warm enough in his office that he had cast aside his academic over-robe and jacket and stood beside her in his usual teaching uniform of trousers, waistcoat and shirt. His tie was slack around his neck.

"One old witch even congratulated me for managing to do it at my age!" Ignan tried not to show too much amusement at the comment, though the way Mira phrased it made him feel a little better for how ridiculous the article was. He let her run uninterrupted, she was ranting, still on her feet at the end of what must have been a long day.

At the mention of Carter, Ignan winced ever so slightly. He and Miranda's father had not got on at all at their first meeting beside the comatose form of his (not at the time) wife.
"Even if you were, getting pregnant is no failure for any woman in her profession." Ignan lifted his right hand and batted away the comment. "No then," he spoke a little more firmly, moving away from the fire to see out something hat might take the edge off the situation.

"I cannot think how they came to the conclusion, or who on earth considered themselves a source. Well, perhaps other than a school full of children, but we have barely told family since we've got back." He lifted the bottle from its hiding place and gestured towards Mira, "Unless you can't 'in your condition'." He asked sarcastically before pouring two. "Give me your father's address. Snigger is hardly worth my time."

It was a struggle to not allow herself to get too wound up by the day’s events. She’d been happily married for a little over a week and already people found it their business to comment on the marriage and their reasoning. Why hadn’t it been possible for them to be left in peace? The private lives of a Hogwarts Professor and a Healer should never have reached a gossip magazine. She and Ignan weren’t celebrities. They were a regular working couple who simply had fairly high profile jobs.

"Unless you can't 'in your condition'."
“Hm, funny.”

Ignan poured two glasses and Miranda finally stopped pacing. She stood in front of the fire, her entire body stiff from frustration. Ignan was calm and collected; a veritable gentleman in the face of the gossip that had greatly wound his wife up.
Until he asked for her father’s address.
“You think I’d let you see him unsupervised?” She asked, taking her own glass but still not sitting down. She had too much pent up energy, too much frustration. People had often said that Miranda lost her temper too easily. She got wound up quickly and took a long time to calm down.
“How are you calm right now? People think I married you because you got me pregnant. I’m furious and you just look like it’s a regular Friday evening after a week at work. Nothing out of the ordinary. No one sticking their noses in our private lives.”

"You didn't see me the past few hours." Ignan sighed. "No, I spend my waking hours in a school full of teenagers who cannot resist gossip, rumour, lies and winding each other up. It's just another case." He looked down into the fire, stood nearby, hands in his pockets.

"No of course I'm not calm, but it was meant to provoke. We can't rise to it." His shoulders raised and fell with a laboured sigh, "Even if I have mapped out half a dozen ways I'd like to have a 'chat' with Snigger. Camille came running into the staff room after lessons with a copy she'd confiscated. Discretion was not forefront in her mind." He gestured with a clawed handshape before his eyes and forehead, the suddenness of the motion a further indication of the suppressed anger.

"My colleagues send their congratulations. They're as bad as the students mind you, but I'd like to see what Maiko would do with the address, she looked as livid as I felt which surprised me." He reached for his own glass and took a sip before shaking his head and looking back down into the flames.

"I don't so much mind the fact people know very easily we've married," his thumb was rubbing against his wedding ring as his hand hung by his side as he thought about it, "I do mind very much what they have written about you."

Standing back by the fire after pouring the drinks, Ignan stared into the fire and informed his wife that he wasn’t calm and willing to let it slide, despite his demeanour. The witch stood beside him was less inclined to believe his words when he also felt the need to say that “we can't rise to it." She missed his frustrated gesture, instead taking a sip of whiskey while staring into the fire.

Ignan described the manner he’d found out; something Miranda had failed to ask him about, and she rested back against his desk, perched on the edge. She needed to simmer her temper. In the grand scheme of things with St Mungo’s current worries and the beady eyes of the ministry now staring down on her and her staff, a horrible article written by a pathetic gossip magazine shouldn’t have ranked so high. Yet the Head Healer had retained her temper when dealing with the aftermath of the poisonings; she’d been the very beacon of professionalism. She needed to lose it over something small and private.

He minded what they’d written about her?
“Hmm.” Her lips were pursed as she reconsidered the printed words damning their elopement. “Which bit? Do you mean the suggesting I was pregnant, blaming the poisoning mess on my baby brain or establishing that I’m too old to start another family? I’m used to being called an Ice Queen at least.”

“This isn’t how I wanted people to find out.” She wasn’t ready. Her wedding rings are on a chain around her neck, hidden beneath her blouse.

"Which bit?" Mira asked and listed out most of the article. Ignan gestured in agreement to the former parts of the list. "This isn't how I wanted people to find out."

"Me neither." Ignan agreed, and shook his head, "But they were going to find out one way or the other. At least they've saved us the hassle of informing people over and over." He gave a shrug, followed by a laboured sigh, gazing into the fire as he thought about how people thought of them. His reputation was usually not up at the top of his priorities for consideration, but now his reputation impacted on Miranda's, and with the events of December, hers was a little bruised.

"… just with the added hassle of informing people we're not gaining offspring." He added, frowning. "I'm not sure whether to think the world mad or take it as a compliment that they believed it was possible." With the briefest of glances to Miranda he knocked back the last of his glass and set it down heavily on the end of his desk, feeling all the better for the sharp burn.

"Revenge on Witch Weekly and Snigger may not be instant, but it will be more than worthy. Only small mercies that our dinner guests aren't easily alarmed. Young Mr Spectre's a common feature in it, so I am told. I hope we don't follow suit. What did you want to do about it, other than me to hang Snigger from a window high up?"   

A weak laugh escaped when Ignan suggested they be complimented by people thinking they were to have children. Like his, the rest of her whiskey was downed and she also placed her tumbler on his desk behind her. With the thought of his words, she couldn’t help but smile as she pushed herself up to sit on the edge of his desk, facing him.
“Do you think it a compliment people believe I’d marry you?” Her smirk was playful, a strong attempt to calm herself down and stop being so wound up by words on paper written to besmirch their reputations.

Ignan spoke of dinner guests and Miranda didn’t manage to mask the expression on her features revealing a mix of surprise and confusion. She hadn’t been aware of any dinner guests; or at least if she had, she didn’t remember. The past week back at St Mungo’s had been extremely busy with far too many distractions as she worked to ameliorate the hospital’s reputation and standing in society.
She didn’t say anything about the dinner guests for a moment, letting Ignan continue to speak.
“Drop her?” She asked with a shrug. They both knew Miranda didn’t mean it; Lil Snigger may have dragged their names into this drivel but the healer would never truly condone such a thing. So she reached her hands forward, taking Ignan’s and drawing him closer.
“These dinner guests. Mr Spectre and… Mrs…Spectre” she had zero recollection, “when are they arriving?” what day, what time, when had he ever mentioned them?

Of course it was a compliment! Ignan's expression reflected such in return, a look of you had to ask?

Her reach to him brought his hands forward instinctively, away from his pockets to take hers gently. They drew closer, and his gaze dropped to her face as she was perched on the end of his desk. Days would be infinitely better if she were a regular addition to that end of his desk, he thought in passing, not that he would ever insinuate Miranda were only ever decoration. She was his intellectual equal, and probably more so, though they didn't really measure. She did at least answer the parts of the Daily Prophet general knowledge crosswords that he took longer to figure out, relating to her chosen fields than his. Anyone else he'd be competitive over completing it alone.

"Mrs Spectre," Ignan repeated, amused, he'd have to call Johann that tomorrow. "I'm sure my cousin will enjoy that title." He squeezed Miranda's hands. "For our sins, we invited Johann and his other half, Balfour, over to have dinner with us at home." He lowered the pitch of his voice, "We must have been feeling oddly charitable. Tomorrow, we told them half past seven. You can still join us, can't you? Might be a little strange just three wizards and a house elf…"

"I'm sure my cousin will enjoy that title." Ignan gave her hands a squeeze and Miranda’s lips parted as she realised what he was about to say. Johann had been invited with his beau for dinner. She’d not been the most excited at the prospect but she’d agreed to it; confident that at some time or other she’d be asking far more of Ignan with her family who were a lot less welcoming.
 
“Ah. Pretty big sins.” Neither her nor Ignan were the dinner party type. The main evenings that they had managed to share at home had been ones where they’d been sat in separate chairs reading and enjoying one another’s silent company. They were the sort to avoid parties unless their attendance was necessary. They were not the sort to invite younger relatives over to have to drag out conversations over dinner.

He hoped she could still come. Miranda didn’t plan on being a disappointment of a wife. She’d be there.
“Did I agree to it in my coma?” Her expression was neutral, the only hint of mild amusement hiding in her eyes as she drew Ignan a little closer. “You really shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation, Storm.” At least discussing the excitement of the following evening was a distraction from the horror of the article.

"I think you might even have proposed it. Though, we did have some rather good wine from them for Christmas, it might have been in an inebriated moment of thanks." Ignan's face had screwed up slightly to consider it. There were moments after their return from Norway that were rather hazy.

"But I admit, I will take advantage of any situation that involves you spending time with me." He let go of her left hand with his right and placed it gently to the back of his wife's neck to kiss her.

Outside the door were two sets of frantic footsteps running through his classroom and up the steps to his office. Fists knocking on the office door interrupted the moment and Ignan's expression immediately darkened. Whoever that was, was really going to get it.

He stepped away, drew his wand and pulled open the door with a bang, furious.
"What."

The babbling from the two first years outside began immediately. Half out of fear, half out of alarm for whatever had happened and the need to find him. They were both meant to be in their common rooms and whatever they were trying to explain should most certainly not be happening either.

Without a word to Miranda he stepped out of his office and pulled the door closed, more to stop the first years thinking they were to come in. The door was little soundproofing for the ire unleashed on two eleven year olds, who were rapidly reduced to tears with his bark to get out.

The office door came open again and Ignan reappeared, shutting the door behind himself, to lean against it, wand in hand. He exhaled noisily and swallowed, blood pressure a little high.
"How am I calm?" He asked in a low voice, and looked to Mira with a rather odd expression, almost regretful and put a hand to his head. "I think one of them wet themselves."

Working in a school of teenagers meant that one could never relax. Miranda had truly hated it when at Durmstrang. Downtime had never been her own because she lived where she worked. It had meant there was never downtime. There was never off duty. As a healer she’d always been expected to be ready and waiting. As a Deputy Headmaster her husband had the same horrible responsibility that she cursed when their lips parted to a loud and urgent banging on the office door.

Miranda was immediately scowling at the door as Ignan whirled around and practically roared as the door early sprang off its hinges. She barely got a glance of two terrified looking children before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

Any possible miniscule thought or idea that Ignan was calm and hadn’t reacted to the article was blasted from Miranda’s mind when she heard the tirade of anger slamming down upon the young victims. She did however find herself wondering if it was in part due to the fact he’d just been disturbed while kissing his new wife.

Well the wizard reappeared moments later with his wand in his hand. Mira’s eyebrows rose as she scanned him up and down (perhaps for signs of blood).
"I think one of them wet themselves."
Miranda continued to stare at him for a moment. All because ridiculous lies had been spread about them in a gossip magazine.
A weak laugh came out as she looked at him in his state, recovering from the anger. Another laugh followed and before she knew it, Miranda was in hysterics, strong belly laughter getting louder as realised the ridiculousness of the situation.

"I'm glad you find it funny." Ignan remarked, unable to stop himself from joining her with a rare smile. He stood up from leaning on the door and slid away his wand, shaking his head as they both laughed. It was good that neither of the first year victims were in earshot otherwise it might have secured the image that he was entirely deranged.

It felt good to laugh at the ridiculous situation, and it was like pouring water on a fire inside him. The tense feeling at the back of his neck eased and his shoulders dropped a moment, relaxing his usual rather formal stance which he had from upbringing.

He returned to the end of his desk and returned his arms loosely around her, laughter subsiding but a crooked smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Stay here tonight." Ignan said it less as a question, more as a fact. He found it hard to say to her, but he missed her greatly. It was very strange to sleep alone at night, though she had worked a fair few nights to make him sleep alone, he wasn't much enjoying being apart. They exchanged a look and he nodded, "It's alright, I know you can't." His arm squeezed her gently. "I'll be home tomorrow though until Sunday."

As quickly as the fire of his anger had been fuelled, it simmered to allow Ignan, too, to laugh at the preposterousness of their current situation. Laughing was better than screaming in anger or plotting revenge. Laughing was accepting the nonsensicality and laughing in the face of it. Laughing was showing the world they didn’t care what people had to think about their union. The only two people whose opinions on their marriage mattered were the new Mr and Mrs Storm. Everyone else could go to hell.

With Ignan once more closing in, Miranda sobered up, wiping her eyes and calming her breath. She was shaking her head, wondering why the both of them had let this affect them. The very notion of her being pregnant and it being a shot gun wedding was ludicrous and anyone with even a dementor infested brain could work that out.

"Stay here tonight." Having stopped laughing now, Miranda’s lips parted to respond but Ignan spoke for her. She hated staying at Hogwarts. She’d stopped being the Hogwarts Healer years ago for a reason and she’d hated being a visiting professor. There had only been the one time she’d stayed with Ignan there since leaving in May. It wasn’t the done thing.

“We both know I’m not really supposed to.” An eyebrow rose before she laughed again, this time a little more weakly. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. “I’m your wife and I still feel like we skulk in the shadows like star crossed teenaged lovers.”