Ignan indulged in a genuine smile at his wife. This was one of the many reasons he loved her. Taking his hands out of his pockets he made his way around the table to where she was sat and gently leaned down to kiss her. Perhaps they could start the evening again. Mhm, despite her long day slaving at the hospital (sorry, not slaving at commanding the hospital) she was still beautiful in her own right, and the faint notes of her perfume lingered beneath the more acidic smells of cleaning potions. He probably smelled of his classroom too, well, not the undesirable lingering teenage body-odour, but often a faint burning smell of magic and traces of old books and elf-cooked food.

“Hello my love. How are you?” His right hand lingered on her right shoulder as he asked, standing up properly again and observing her from above. “Still taking some getting used to,” he admitted, corner of his mouth curling to suggest he didn’t quite mean as literally as it might be taken at face value, “coming home to find you here. It’s not even nine o’clock at night. Whatever has you home on time?”

Sated by Miranda’s admittance that he had one this one, Ignan came closer to kiss his wife in greeting. Mira’s scowl faded and her eyebrow rose at the suggestion it was taking time for him to get used to it. Miranda had returned home early aware of the ambush being planned by her brothers. She’d quite forgotten how she needed to take her husband’s presence into account. Until they’d moved into the Hogsmeade cottage together the marriage hadn’t seemed completely official. They’d continued to live separate lives rarely seeing one another. The only difference had been her name. Now Ignan was home every night and both were having to move away from a life of independence. It was only fortunate that out of anyone Miranda could have married over the years, Ignan was surprisingly the least imposing in that respect.

Whatever had her home on time? He probably wouldn’t appreciate the truth about the brothers he had already decided he couldn’t stand. He’d also see straight through a truth that she’d eagerly awaited his return to spend a relaxing evening in his arms. Ignan knew his wife well enough now.
She opted for a semi-truth.
“I decided today that I need to leave my staff to do their jobs. I can’t micromanage or I’ll end up back in a hospital bed through exhaustion.” This was the first time she had admitted she overworked herself. The late nights coming home to Ignan already there and leaving before he did in the morning were a regular reminder that she perhaps worked too much.

Her husband looked genuinely surprised, but not in a bad manner at all. Very briefly he lifted the back of his left hand to his wife’s forehead as if to check for fever, then dropped it away.
“No, definitely well. I shall not protest this sensible and intelligent reasoning for being home.” Ignan shook his head ever so slightly. “You have trained them all effectively to feel you can step away once in a while.”

If Miranda were home, and if she felt fit to have her brothers visit (one way or another they had to find their very new address through her, they’d barely let anyone know) then their new abode had eased the anxiety raised from Musgrave’s intrusion at Godric’s Hollow. He didn’t want to state it aloud, but if that were the case he was relieved. He hadn’t quite known how to reassure her. His usual tactics was to arm someone with knowledge and skills and tell them to straighten their back. It had almost felt insulting to attempt to do that to Miranda, who he considered his intellectual equal, if not superior.

His right hand pressed slightly on Miranda's right shoulder before he lifted it. Ignan was momentarily preoccupied with glancing around their little kitchen to check that all was as he remembered it before Miranda’s brothers had arrived. He might take a walk outside before dinner and check the wards. Miranda had been sure someone was out in the back garden the other night.

“Speaking of dinner invitations,” Ignan began, taking the seat to her left, extending his fingers for his wine glass, “Had you thought more on that invitation[1] from Almasy?”

1.	2nd March 2011 BonAppetit

Ignan believed his wife had adequately trained her staff effectively enough to leave them to their own devices occasionally yet Miranda felt responsible for everything that had happened before Christmas. Ever since taking on the role of Head Healer, she’d had stress to deal with. Of course she’d been aware of the expectations of the job and the pressures of her position but she hadn’t anticipated just how much she would work. Previous Head Healers hadn’t been as visible as Miranda. They’d remained in their office, directing from behind the closed door. They’d kept reasonable hours. Perhaps that was where Head Healer Storm was going wrong…

But she wasn’t prepared to share these thoughts with her husband. Instead she gave a weak shrug as he sat down along with a mutter of “Perhaps.”

Speaking of dinner invitations…

Mira’s lips pressed together tightly as she considered the invitation sat on their mantle signed by Ira Almasy.
“I can’t think of anything worse than having to get trussed up to socialise over food too fancy to pronounce with people I might never see again.” Her expression said it all. But as Miranda took a sip of her wine, she internally debated how she was going to ask her husband to accompany her to such a ridiculous event.

“Ira Almasy is a very wealthy benefactor to St Mungo’s. It would be unprofessional to decline.” Not to mention the board of Warlocks would oust her!
So the healer leaned forward to refill her husband’s glass, offering him a hopeful smile. “How much would you hate me if I asked you to come?” Dark eyes met his icy blue. “I will owe you.”

It wasn’t Miranda’s cup of tea, Ignan knew. That was why the invitation was still there, unanswered. Head Healer plus one, Ignan noted. The Professor still found it a little strange to be considered Miranda’s plus one despite them marrying. They weren’t the sort to attend a busy calendar of social events. Ignan only attended ones obliged to through his role, and the occasional one to support Miranda in her role.

“Ira Almasy is a very wealthy benefactor to St Mungo’s.”
“She is."
"It would be unprofessional to decline.”
“Undoubtedly.”

He agreed with her every conclusion, wondering when she might get round to persuading him to come with her if she was obliged. Really, it was an unspoken inevitability. He’d realised the moment he’d seen it, but he’d not let on to Miranda quite so easily. Miranda generously refilled his wine glass.
“How much would you hate me if I asked you to come? I will owe you.”
“No more than usual.” He told Miranda, not alluding as to whether that was to the former, latter or both of her comments. “Have you been able to establish who else is invited to this … whatever it is? Was it dinner?” The upbeat tone he’d returned with was evening out towards his usual manner.

His wand brought the invitation to the table for examination. Expensive stationery, Ignan noted. The Almasy family had money. “Next Saturday evening. Hm. One could always retire a little early citing a Sunday shift - or medical emergency. Daresay there have been enough of those of late.” Ignan looked back to his wife thoughtfully, extending the invitation back to her with a shrug. “For the benefit of your hospital, Head Healer.”

Being willing to join her at this dinner party when it was far off Ignan’s list of things he enjoyed was simply a sign of how much he did actually love her; not that she had been in any doubt. He loved her but he certainly didn’t love her family.

“For the benefit of your hospital, Head Healer.” Miranda took the invitation from her husband and scoured over it once more.
“And you’ll be there for the benefit of my sanity.” The thought of having to sit over dinner with very probably a group of strangers and have to make small talk was horrifying.

There were expected to stay longer than three hours. She’d not looked at the invitation in detail and now she most certainly knew she didn’t want to go.

“I’ll have Maya owl me with an emergency about about 9:30. That will be just after the main course. I want to at least get a decent meal out of it.” A shrug, “Your thought of a medical emergency at St Mungo’s would cover me but you’d be expected to stay. At least if something happens with Maya we would both need to rush off.” The witch gave her husband a wink before taking her wand and summoning a quill and ink pot to them at the table.

“Good idea, she can make herself useful.” Ignan retorted, sitting back to let the quill and ink reach Miranda unhindered. There was the slightest hint that he was joking about Maya, “whether she agrees that I would be necessary to accompany you for such an emergency…” he added giving a shrug of his shoulders. He and Maya had conversed in January, but neither had explicitly mentioned it to Miranda. The marriage in Norway had thrown the family together without much prior knowledge of each other, and Miranda wasn’t exactly forthcoming with family occasions. Today had just further proved this - being the first time Ignan had met her brothers.

“Smaller table and smaller home doesn’t prevent dinner invitations, sadly.” He remarked as Miranda attended to the RSVP. “Still, we can’t avoid them forever.” Ignan sipped his wine. “Nor family.”

End