“I told you I’d be back for 7:30.” Miranda brushed the soot off her skirt as she stepped steadily from the fireplace into the kitchen where Ignan was stood uncorking a bottle of red wine. “I am able to just about honour a time frame.” It was 7:28 and had been 7:27 when she’d stepped into her office fireplace at St Mungo’s to arrive at Godric’s Hollow in time for their dinner guests. Still in her work clothes, Mira had the choice of changing or spending her final two minutes alone in his company. She deposited her wand and bag on the table and stepped up to her husband, wrapping arms around his neck and placing a kiss on his lips. She lingered, enjoying the closeness as a knock at the door sounded the arrival of their guests.

Sighing, Mira drew back to a couple of inches from Ignan’s lips.
"They’re early. Why do we have to do this?" she asked, hands unwilling to remove themselves from his neck for a few moments longer.
"Because it's what happily married couples do - invite family and friends. Apparently." Ignan informed his wife and she offered him a smirk.
“Then can we be unhappily married?” Another kiss found his lips before she drew back and took it upon herself to enter the hallway and greet the guests.

The couple on the doorstep were not quite as expected. Johann, in all his lankiness, looked far healthier than the last time she’d seen him. He looked happy hand in hand with a marginally taller and rather more aesthetically pleasing wizard in his mid-thirties. Mira was impressed. Dark eyes surveyed the pair as she resigned herself to spending the evening in heels so she wouldn’t crane her neck to meet the eyes of the three wizards over six foot.

Johann’s boyfriend (name having evaded her) seemed oddly familiar but Miranda put it down to his pleasant appearance and offered a smile.
“Lovely to meet you,” She offered a hand to Balfour, “Miranda Elliot.” Or should it have been ‘Storm’ now? “Don’t just linger on the doorstep, take him through Johann.” She waved them in, hurriedly. Upon the scent of hospital disinfectant reaching her nostrils, Mira pursed her lips and pushed the door closed.
“Ignan is in the kitchen. Let him be useful and pour you some wine.” With that she vanished up the stairs to change. At home in time to greet their guests. She’d promised him that much.

The timing of everything the past couple of days had been bloody impeccable, Ignan reflected as he saw Mira finally step out of the living room fireplace. He'd got back an hour and a half before her. Gerda had everything under control. She was once again proving she was an impeccable house elf, a roast beef dinner not far off ready to be served. It might be Saturday night, but it had met the approval of their guests on suggestion. Ignan wasn't one for fancy cuisine, though he'd caught Gerda thoughtfully considering some of the recipes before Christmas.

There was not enough time to even say a proper hello alone, though they had seen each other the night before when Mira had made the journey to Hogwarts over the ridiculous Witch Weekly article. The rapping at the door interrupted, and he let Mira take charge of greeting their guests. Gerda glanced over her shoulder, great ears twitching as she heard the additional voices. She was perched on a stool at the stove.

"… the kitchen. Let him be useful and pour you some wine." Mira's footsteps retreated upstairs to get changed. Gerda's ears twitched and she lowered the heat beneath everything, anticipating her mistress would need a bit of time.

"Here, let me hang your coat."
It only took a moment for figures to fill the kitchen doorway once Johann had hung their coats amongst the rest beside the front door. Ignan had already poured two glasses as both wizards instinctively stooped on entering for the low ceiling. The beams were only a few inches higher than Ignan's head. Johann had an inch on him, and Balfour at least two, so were in danger os smacking their heads. It would be a good job that they were all sat for dinner, otherwise Miranda might protest at her height.

"Good evening, good evening," he greeted both of them formally, putting down the bottle of wine to shake Balfour's hand for properly meeting him. Excellent, a firm handshake, and quite a striking looking chap, even if Ignan was not that way inclined he could see.
"Dinner's not far off, though we'll wait for Mira to be back with us. She only just beat you both home, such is life as Head Healer." He managed a polite smile.

It was rather warm in the kitchen, so Ignan gestured for them to retreat out into the more open plan living and dining room from which they had come. He carried out two empty wine glasses, and the bottle in the other hand, placing them on the edge of the dining table as the two younger wizards made their way towards the sofa and armchairs towards the fire, a wine glass in hand each.

"Glad to see you're letting Gerda cook," Johann remarked with a grin, and glanced to his other half, "Their fying pan wielding house elf." Johann had once explained the incident where Gerda had permission from Ignan to wield kitchen utensils against him. "Ignan and Mira once ended up down the fish and chip shop when Ignan tried to cook them dinner."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you know about that…" Ignan approached them both with his own glass of wine, Mira's behind on the table at her place. "You're going to assure me you're both fantastic cooks these days, aren't you?" He asked dryly.

This had been a dizzying festive season. Even now, well into the new year and well past the start of a new term, Balfour was still finding himself attending meetings or dinners or soirees with people he'd not seen much of all last year. Or in this case, not seen at all. Meeting Johann's relations was high on his list of personal obligations - not that he could justifiably call it that. He had been looking forward to meeting Ignan for some time now - and Miranda as well, ever since Vincent had thrown down a copy of the Witch Weekly[1] on his desk to jokingly ask if there was any association with a certain younger Storm.

It was a good thing, too. At least he would know not to breathe the name of that unsound publication.

"And you." Balfour had taken the offered hand from Miranda Elliot as he introduced himself, and the pair of them ushered in like schoolboys out of the cold. But then like all graceful witches, she seemed only to offer them a glimpse of her company before disappearing elsewhere.

His nerves smoothened out once they found Ignan in the kitchen - he was very aware of the ceiling, and reminded himself to appreciate the higher ones in Atreus when they were home later, irregardless of floating jellyfish. "Good evening." Balfour managed one of his well-meaning smiles, and shook the older wizard's hand with sensible amiability. "A pleasure."

They moved out into the dining and living area, Balfour joining Johann on the couch and resting a hand on his partner's knee. He was determined to handle the wine one sip at a time. While it was a far cry from tequila or Firewhiskey, his tolerance for alcohol this past few weeks had been limited by a developing distaste for hangover potions.

"Ignan and Mira once ended up down the fish and chip shop when Ignan tried to cook them dinner."

Balfour laughed lightly, clearing his throat at the same time and lifting his gaze from Johann's smiling face to the older Storm joining them. "You're going to assure me you're both fantastic cooks these days, aren't you?" he asked and Balfour resisted chocking on the wine in jest.

Admittedly this wasn't as incredulous a statement as it sounded, if he was being fair.

"Johann is an excellent cook -" Balfour asserted before his lover could say anything. "- when he wants to be. Afraid all I can do is use the grill, and man sadly cannot survive on steak alone." His eyes glimmered with a little bit of affection and a good deal of humour. "But London is rich with take-out. Fortunately."

Not the healthiest option in spite of being a frequent one, particularly before he had fallen into the arms of his caring wizard. He was looking forward to home-cooked roast at any rate.

1.	Jan 7th - In Sickness and in Health?

It only took a few minutes to freshen up, change and join the wizards back down the stairs. Habitually, on returning home Miranda would take her time in changing from the smart work clothes that her position demanded. She’d take a long bath or a shower to unwind before stepping into baggy and comfortable pyjamas. Unfortunately wearing one’s pyjamas at a dinner party wasn’t the done thing. Neither was leaving your new husband to host alone while you relaxed in a bath.

Upon reappearing in the living room, Mira’s gaze danced from her husband to the two younger wizards sat on the sofa to the leftover glass of wine on the dining table. With her usual first priority on getting home now in her left hand, the Healer took a sip before stepping up closer to Ignan.

A friendly smile was offered Balfour before the witch fixed Johann in her sights.
“I’m impressed, Johann. He’s not weedy or warty like your cousin suggested.” She moved across the room to rest on the arm of Ignan’s chair and glanced down at him with a smirk. “That’s five galleons you owe me, old man. Or wait,” Balfour was once more eyed, somewhat like prey. “Do you have any rashes in unusual places? He’s got a galleon on your armpits. I’ve got one on you having a tattoo on your left butt cheek.”

Leaving Gerda to the cooking (wisely), Johann did not hesitate to take a seat on the familiar sofa. It had done him well as a bed a few nights alone in the place in the Spring after moving in. Despite the owners, Johann couldn't help but still feel a bit at home in the house from living there. Balfour's hand on his knee was met with Johann's hand briefly passing over it with a squeeze as he explained the perils of Ignan's cooking.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you know about that… You're going to assure me you're both fantastic cooks these days, aren't you?" Ignan asked, settling in his favourite armchair. Johann's gaze picked out the addition of his cousin's wedding ring.
"Johann is an excellent cook -" Balfour replied, and Johann's cheeks flushed almost instantly, looking to his lover in surprise before dipping his face.
"Thank you, i'm not that…"
"- when he wants to be. Afraid all I can do is use the grill, and man sadly cannot survive on steak alone. But London is rich with take-out. Fortunately."

"And Hogwarts a kitchen with an army full of house elves." Ignan replied and toasted his wine towards Balfour in agreement. He took no pleasure in cooking. It wasn't enjoyable. "Very fortunate to have inherited Gerda."
"We would have starved without her." Johann agreed with a nod. "Well," he turned to Balfour, "It's boring, cooking for one, and you do grill a fantastic steak, darling." 

Beyond the other wizard, Miranda's feet came into view descending the steps into the living room, having changed from her day at work. Her gaze looked Balfour up and down without any hiding, and then pinned on Johann.
“I’m impressed, Johann. He’s not weedy or warty like your cousin suggested.”
"Warty?" Johann exclaimed, pulling a face, "Weedy?! Never." Anything but. He glanced across to Ignan. The older wizard had lifted his hand from the arm of his chair in anticipation of Miranda perching, and was looking up with a faint smile to her. Johann had forgotten Miranda's sense of humour, well one had to be compatible with Ignan's. The first night he'd met her they'd shared a joke quite by accident on the doorstep.

“That’s five galleons you owe me, old man. Or wait,”
"Five?" Ignan protested mildly,  but his wife was keenly examining Balfour again.
"Do you have any rashes in unusual places? He’s got a galleon on your armpits. I’ve got one on you having a tattoo on your left butt cheek." Johann spluttered with laughter into his wine.
"Not on his arse, no." He laughed, and lifted his hand to Balfour's shoulder, "Sorry my love, this has only got worse for them marrying it seems. I do bet you a galleon that our hostess has one though, given she's brought it up."

He raised an eyebrow to Balfour to see if he agreed before looking to Ignan purposefully to see if his face gave anything away. The Professor met his look with no clues whatsoever, his hand resting in the small of his wife's back gently as he drank his wine.
"Is this setting the tone for the evening?" Ignan asked, looking up to Miranda and then across to the younger two.
"I would never argue with a healer," Johann claimed, "Especially not my wife. Congratulations by the way on buggering off and letting us find out later. At least we knew before it hit the press."

Balfour's polite smile thawed into a grin as Miranda Elliot made a second impression that very much replaced any notion of the first. She was, he decided, as formidable as the title of Head Healer might indicate. Either through chance of choice the Storms seemed to surround themselves with strong personalities. Ignan's faint smile reminded him of the way seanair would look at photographs of their grandmother. Admiration of great spirit.

“Do you have any rashes in unusual places? He’s got a galleon on your armpits. I’ve got one on you having a tattoo on your left butt cheek.”

He laughed at Johann's reaction more than at the queries, fondly squeezing his partner's knee and maintaining perfectly gentlemanly silence at the insinuation that the witch might herself have a bit of ink. Balfour felt oddly conscious of the Horntail that whipped around his right shoulder blade, baring its teeth beneath layers of rich cotton and wool.

Mention of matrimony was much easier to tackle than bodily marks.

"That's right!" he exclaimed cheerfully, glancing from Johann to the other couple with an interested glimmer in his eye. "Good wishes and felicitations! You've taken society by surprise. I hope they aren't giving you too much hell at Hogwarts." Balfour gave Ignan a look, as if though apologetic for the behaviour of students long past his own term. "We were rarely merciful to our professors." Certainly less so in Slytherin house.

Before he could make a fool of himself by bringing up any unsound publication of the marriage, their formidable house elf appeared without ceremony to insist that it was dinnertime - perhaps sooner than they were expecting, his wine only minutely sipped, but Balfour was prepared to take any cue from a creature who could wield a frying pan as formidably as his lover described.

It was rather fortunate that the conversation almost immediately strayed from a suggestion of Miranda’s secret tattoos to her and Ignan’s elopement. Neither topic was exactly one she was eager to discuss, but at least her new marriage was public; unlike the Norwegian Ridgeback snaking around her waist and over her hip. Very few people knew about that and even fewer had ever and would ever see it. Fortuitously, both Mira and her new husband had rather accomplished the art of the poker face.

“He can handle himself.” Mira calmly pointed out as she stood up from the arm of the chair and made her way to the dining table, glass in hand. It had taken several months to become used to a house elf taking over the cooking and housework. She’d never claimed to be any good in the kitchen and Merlin knew Ignan was a disaster, but she’d always fed herself and her daughter. Not having to worry about such a thing had been strange yet refreshing. Perhaps unfortunately, the loss a responsibility had caused her to spend longer hours at work, knowing something would be prepared to eat on her return home.

Tonight’s roast beef looked a smelled delicious. The scent reaching her nostrils reminded her she’d not eaten all day and she was ravenous. Without waiting for the other guests, Miranda lowered herself into a seat and took a long sip of her wine.

A few moments later, with Johann sat opposite her, she caught his gaze, her intense dark eyes zeroing on his much brighter ones.
“So you’ve heard about the soon to be mini Storm that we’ll apparently be having in less than nine months?” It had been decided that she may as well tackle the gossip and ridiculous rumours head on.

"… congratulations by the way on buggering off and letting us find out later…" Ignan smirked at his younger cousin's sarcasm, hand gently apply affectionate pressure to his wife's lower back. Camille had undoubtedly written to tell him the news when she noticed.

"That's right! Good wishes and felicitations! You've taken society by surprise." Balfour chimed in, received with a polite nod of thanks before Ignan raised his wineglass to his lips. "I hope they aren't giving you too much hell at Hogwarts."
"No more than I give them." The Professor uttered in response, insinuating he was not at all worried about the students and their comments since Witch Weekly. On a scale of one to Deus Deres proclaiming his love before a full hall of students at mealtime, this would be weathered.
"We were rarely merciful to our professors."
"The best never are." Ignan agreed.

Gerda's appearance to inform them that dinner was ready interrupted the conversation.
"He can handle himself." Miranda added once they had acknowledged the elf's request, heading to the dining table. It received a brief but genuine smile from her husband as he got up from his armchair.

Dinner appeared out of nowhere on the dining table. A little trick Gerda had learned from her few months at Hogwarts last year. The gravy boat followed from the kitchen table in the same manner, having been left behind. The elf gave a little irritated hrrmph from the kitchen for the fact, reminiscent of how she had once approached Miranda's smoking.

Ignan lifted the bottle and topped up Miranda's glass to his left, checking the other two but finding their guests had hardly drunk anything. Not overly surprising. Balfour had taken the seat opposite him, with Miranda on his right, and Johann sat opposite Miranda to Ignan's right.

"So you've heard about the soon to be mini Storm that we'll apparently be having in less than nine months?" Miranda asked. Ignan raised one eyebrow, glancing between the three of them.

Gerda took the moment to pop up between Johann and Balfour to serve them both as if nothing had happened both in terms of her mistress' question and the gravy. His cousin's gaze had run over Miranda on the route to the table, and was now glancing between the refilled wine glass and his host.

"Apparently so." Johann replied, though his gaze did not break from Miranda's expression despite Gerda glancing up to ask him if he had enough beef. "Didn't know Ignan had it in him." Ignan rolled his eyes at his relative's smirk.

"You were both setting the tone for the evening." He grumbled, not entirely comfortable with the line of discussion, more because he and Balfour were not entirely acquainted. Had it just been Johann and Miranda he might have tolerated the wind up. He looked to Balfour across the table and gestured for the guest to serve himself vegetables, and thumbed in Johann's direction. "Do you find you have to take him back a second time to apologise?"

"Do you?" Johann echoed to Miranda, eyebrows raised. Gerda gave them all a curious look from between the married Storms, contemplating whether she needed to retrieve the frying pan.

"Balfour," Ignan addressed, purposefully trying to change the subject to include the less acquainted guest, "I hear your family keep hippogriffs? Miranda is attempting to convince me we have room to keep one here." He glanced to his wife with scepticism, "Do they take well to house elves?"

Between them Gerda's enormous eyes widened and she squeaked as she disappeared from between them and returned to the kitchen, duty done for the moment. At the sight, Johann tried to smother his laugh with a cough and failed.

While the idea of mini Storms was an intriguing one (did the world need more Storms?), the light in Miranda's eye as she looked at his partner sent a shiver up Balfour's spine - he repressed it and smiled softly at Johann's response. The three of them, supposedly three squalls now, were substantial company. Not the sort you could juggle with breezy laughs and a quick change of topic to mutual politics, even if he did suspect that the entire party was inclined to hexing the infamous author of that article.

How one publication could attract the most odious persons in society was beyond his understanding. "Do you find you have to take him back a second time to apologise?" Ignan brought him away from this internal commentary, and Balfour swallowed a sip of wine behind his smile.

"I find that he's usually quite willing to apologise all on his own," he replied dryly without looking at Johann. If anything, Balfour thought that it was his behaviour that more often necessitated apology, given enough hard liquor. Or encouragement. Johann was normally happy to supply both.

Just as he was beginning to fear that the night might be overtaken by discussion of traits in their respective partners, a much more manageable subject was introduced by what Balfour was beginning to acknowledge as the more sensible Storm. Hippogriffs! Thank the gods, miles away from Lil Snigger and the pitter patter of imaginary children. "Do they take well to house elves?"

He glanced at Johann, a wicked glimmer in his eye upon hearing that beloved laugh, and then politely turned his gaze to Miranda. It was a friendly, appraising look. Yes. She did look like she could level a creature with those eyes.

"Ours has yet to be scared off but she rarely visits the farms. Are you very keen on acquiring a Hippogriff, then?" Balfour allowed for his attention to drop away from the meal momentarily as he considered this. "Head Healer and her Hippogriff. A much better headline," and it would certainly give any nosey reporters a moment's hesitation before they decided to come snooping about in Godric's Hollow. "We could arrange a private tour if you'd like?" he offered lightly. "Johann has seen some of our livestock at Samhain. They can be quite tame if handled well, even around the wee ones."

The observation slipped out without him meaning it to. Somehow it always came back to children. "Or house elves," Balfour amended, clearing his throat.

It was good to have conspirators in poking fun at Ignan, Johann thought. Whatever people said about Miranda, the encounters he'd had with her had been kind, funny or ultimately intriguing. Tonight was no exception. It was a pity those who also knew her outside of the family disagreed.

In retaliation for them being a bit ridiculous, Ignan purposely changed the conversation to hippogriffs, one of Balfour's many specialist subjects. Johann felt a little glad that Ignan was making a conscious effort to engage. In time the family jokes would include Balfour, as they already were Miranda.

He couldn't hide his amusement at Gerda's squeak, drawing Balfour's attention a moment before he replied.
".. Are you very keen on acquiring a hippogriff, then?" Balfour asked their hosts. Johann's gaze ran over them both, quickly establishing that the interest was purely Miranda's. Ignan was not the pet-keeping sort, even if they were enormous and lethal. "Head Healer and her Hippogriff. A much better headline."
"I'll drink to that," Johann added, raising his glass, "Invite Snigger along and hope she doesn't know to bow." He winked to Ignan who mildly shared his amusement at the thought of a Witch Weekly writer being torn limb from limb.

"Mhm," Johann nodded as Balfour continued, only he'd just helped himself to a mouthful of vegetables. He had watched the Spectres parade hippogriffs through bonfires with his mother, a tradition of cleansing, he recalled, or similar.

"Thank you, perhaps if I can convince Miranda to take a day off, we might?" Ignan looked to his wife and raised an eyebrow. Johann was impressed that his cousin was willing to entertain Miranda's wants for a beast. Who was this wizard with a bit of a heart and where was his crotchety old cousin?!

As Balfour reiterated that hippogriffs would be good around children and house elves, Gerda gave a pointed sniff from the kitchen doorway, her big ears flattening back. She'd apparently been keen to hear the opinion but was none too keen that it might mean her master and mistress might be safe to acquire one.

"Well, if you get one, and Gerda does get eaten while feeding it, at least it'll be fed." Johann remarked, gesturing slight with his knife. He shrugged. "Though I'll miss her."

Stopping for a moment, Johann narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Won't it be a bit mean on your resident ghost?" Ignan paused to his left and his gaze lifted to the ceiling and shrugged.
"He's had a couple of centuries to get over it." Johann looked to his right to his lover, lowering his cutlery to attack vegetables into smaller pieces as he explained,
"The resident ghost was gored by a hippogriff - right in front of the children of local families. Attempting to give the little ones an education in magical beasts. He tends to keep to the study upstairs… overlooking the back garden." He grinned. "Worst housemate I've ever had. After Ignan."

The recently married Mr and Mrs Storm were private people. Their lives having been shared in Witch Weekly had angered both the previous evening and while Miranda had decided to make a joke of the whole farce, Ignan’s evident changing of the subject highlighted that he was not ready for that quite so soon, if not at all. So while Ignan moved onto the topic of Hippogriffs with their guest, Miranda took a long sip from her wine glass.

Evidently unimpressed at the suggestion of a hippogriff in the garden, Gerda gave a squeak and Mira’s lips twitched into a small smirk. As much as the house elf had grown on her over the past months, she still remained amused at Gerda’s disapproval of her smoking.


"Thank you, perhaps if I can convince Miranda to take a day off, we might?"  Ignan’s raised eyebrow was met with a similar expression from his wife. They were as bad as each other when it came to days off but Miranda wasn’t going to ignore Ignan’s sudden acceptance of a suggestion she’d made weeks ago. A hippogriff had always been something she’d wanted to keep. They were regal and powerful beauties.

“I’d not wish even the reporter to cross a hippogriff,” Miranda came late to the conversation, not really aware of the fact they’d moved onto the resident ghost. Instead she’d been lost in her thoughts. “My time as a charge of creature injuries saw some horrific harm caused by the animals. One wizard’s entire stomach and intestines were crushed when he’d attempted to capture one. The hippogriff had been so appalled she had stood on him for half an hour until he’d stopped breathing. It was a miracle he was still alive.” She skewered a piece of beef on her fork and dipped it in gravy. “He was one of my messier patients.”

"No, you were definitely worse." Ignan echoed Johann's explanation of worst housemates.

"I'd not wish even the reporter to cross a hippogriff," Miranda chipped in. Ignan shrugged, a little disappointed at this. Couldn't help if trespassers crossed land with beasts. One less thing to worry about himself.

Miranda proceeded to give an account of when a wizard was stood on one. She would often do this when the two of them ate together, though this was one of the less detailed explanations, he realised thankfully. Had it not been, he'd have interrupted.

"… He was one of my messier patients." Miranda concluded, and Ignan glanced at the faces of the younger two for their reaction while his wife speared beef, added gravy and consumed it without missing a beat.

"How's the beef?" Ignan asked them all, corner of his mouth curling.

Johann's consumption of dinner had taken a pause, and he was staring at the Head Healer. Having been in a situation where Miranda had been dealing with a messy body during summer, he took a moment to distract himself by glancing around the room.
"How long were you in charge of creature injuries?" He asked tentatively and glanced across at Balfour,  "Chap wasn't part of the Division was he?"

Between their resident ghost having been mauled by a Hippogriff and Miranda's... interesting recollection, he was beginning to feel rather at home with Mr and Mrs Storm. Only at a watering hole of handlers was Balfour ever subjected to consecutive tales of beastly violence - detailed down the stench of spilled innards.

He avoided the gravy on his plate anyway, taking a bite of the roast beef as Ignan asked after their meal.

"Delicious," he replied with the most fleeting of looks at his partner.

Johann seemed rather distracted by the image conjured, of pulverised intestines maybe. "Chap wasn't part of the Division was he?" the other wizard asked.

Balfour smirked, taking a sip of wine. "I'd have stepped on him myself if anyone from Beasts were stupid enough to get into that mess," he glanced at Miranda with renewed interest and wondered if she had treated any of his department predecessors. Likely. "They're really quite lovely creatures if you mean well. And know not to fall off. I've broken a few bones that way."

His organs remained untouched by Hippogriff talons, fortunately. Benefit of growing up with the animals.

He cleared his throat, deciding to tackle a bit of the vegetables like a good Scottish lad at supper. "I'm certain Hippogriffs weren't the worst of it, with your patients." Balfour remarked and tried to meet her in the eye - as you would with a Hippogriff. "Though probably more common than dragon attacks."

"How long were you in charge of creature injuries?"
“5 years heading a ward, 12 years in charge of the floor.” Miranda was readily devouring her beef dinner while Johann was mildly put off due to the conversation and Ignan was relieved at her not having been as graphic as she usually happened to be.

 "I'm certain Hippogriffs weren't the worst of it, with your patients."
“Not at all,” a smirk graced her lips.

"Though probably more common than dragon attacks."
As if she’d frozen, Miranda’s eyes stared ahead at Balfour, her fork in mid-air having been on it’s way to her mouth. Her mind flashed to a dragon attack she would never be able to pull from her mind. It was a bloody barely conscious corpse spread out on the hospital bed, his flesh torn from the muscle and bone. She’d not been willing to see any patients from dragon attacks since seeing the light leave her husband’s eyes that night.

“Hm.” She needed a moment to compose her thoughts, to handle his words as they were meant; a friendly conversation. Her hand grasped her wine glass and she took her time in taking a sip, almost draining the glass.

“There was never a dull day.”

"Long time." Johann remarked, raising his eyebrows, he hadn't realised, but then again, of course Miranda had plenty of experience to be Head Healer. The passing memory of summer faded, replaced by a growing interest in their host. There were certainly an increasing number of common interests between Miranda and Balfour.

"Hm, fair enough." Johann shrugged to Balfour's explanation of the outcome, sat back, wine glass in hand, taking a break from eating for a moment owing to the discussion topic.
"Though probably more common than dragon attacks."

There was an odd shift across the table. MIranda's gaze moved fractionally, the sign of recalling something. Another story? No, the upbeat, slightly inattentive behaviour of the witch amongst them had become quieter and considered suddenly. Johann glanced to Ignan who yielded no further clues. He looked back to Balfour.

"Dull days are good, especially if it means nobody ends up in London in bits." He reached his right hand to Balfour's leg beneath the table, "Prefer my dragon tamers intact, and his team." He lifted his hand back to the table and smiled to Balfour, feeling dragons might be a dodgy subject, keen not to upset Miranda. She was good conversation.

"Not just dragons and hippogriffs though of course." He nodded to Balfour, "Some days I'm almost convinced you're pulling my leg about what the Division gets up to."