"Hmph," Ignan replied at Miranda's order that he wouldn't be breaking any necks. "Forgive me for my doubts that justice would be served."

He folded his arms, September's events were four months ago now, but Musgrave's appearance close to home riled memories. His name had been all through that trial, and yet they'd not found him. It was that incident that had led him to go to ground originally. For all the years Ignan had not been an auror, the thought of tracking down the piece of work was rather inviting.

Miranda wore the same look as when she'd caught him trying to drug Johann's tea in summer. He moved quickly to back up his reasons, though he suspected it was futile.

"From what the papers speculate, Musgrave's mixed up in the same thing that my late cousin was and far worse, who's to say that he'd make it to the dock." He let out an irritable sigh, relenting. His shoulders shrugged, "of course I wouldn't - I … I'm just frustrated I wasn't able to prevent him, that he did that to you."

This was saying it politely. Ignan's folded arms dropped gradually, and he added in a quieter voice, staring across the dark room, "That he touched you." He glanced up to Miranda, "I know you don't need protecting. I'm sorry, just… will you come back to bed?"

Some people may have really appreciated the way Ignan showed that he cared. He made threats about what he’d do to the wizard that broke in (not empty ones either!) and he wanted to protect his more vulnerable wife. Unfortunately for him, Miranda wasn’t the sort to appreciate being protected and she wasn’t the sort to be content needing someone else to make her feel safe. She’d lost control of this situation and Ignan’s reassurance that the new wards on the house would keep Musgrave out didn’t do much to steady her nerves. Miranda still wanted out.

"I know you don't need protecting. I'm sorry, just… will you come back to bed?" Ignan was tired, trying to conceal his impatience at having been woken so early in the morning. Miranda was aware of this and still she couldn’t agree and slip back into the warm bed to sleep until a more sensible time to surface. She wouldn’t be able to switch her brain off and relax enough to sleep. The following night Ignan wouldn’t be there and she’d have an equally sleepless night waiting to be disturbed herself.

“It’s pointless, I can’t sleep.” The witch shook her head and started for the small bathroom. She stopped at the door and turned to face the wizard. “I’d like to move house. I still feel like a tenant in a house I no longer feel safe in.” A small shrug was offered before she walked into the bathroom and closed the door with a click.

Ignan's gaze remained on the closed bathroom door after Miranda's departure. His bare feet were cooling on the bedroom floor in the dark and a strange pit of dread dropped into his stomach.

This was Miranda's home, even if it did financially belong to him before their marriage. For her to feel this was no longer safe, no longer a home in any sense was more alarming than he anticipated.

On the one hand, she was sleep deprived, scared, paranoid which was inducing this mood and this opinion, but on the other, Miranda was often sleep deprived and always honest, if a little blunt.

She would feel differently in the morning. Only she wasn't going back to sleep. They had no ruddy sleeping potion since their visitor, and she wouldn't take any, he was sure. When he found Musgrave, he'd have to resist the painful curses his subconscious was considering for this.

Perhaps it was best that Miranda went back home to Maya for a while until she at least got some decent rest. He didn't relish the thought of leaving her alone, even with new wards. It would just increase the likelihood of her sleeping in her office at the hospital or working extreme hours.

With a laboured sigh, Ignan climbed beneath the blankets again and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He had a busy morning of teaching ahead at least, but if Miranda wasn't going to try and sleep he doubted he would either. She didn't seem to want consoling, and he wasn't the sort who would.

Perhaps it was for the best. Find somewhere new. She'd never particularly liked it here. Made the best of it. He'd bought it with the expectation of being alone for decades. Things had changed very quickly in twelve months. Musgrave might find her wherever she was, but hopefully the aurors, or Ignan might find him first.

Not hopefully.

Would.

End