The screams failed to cease in their volume and intensity but Miranda heard Ignan’s instruction. It was a command; he wanted her safe and to raise the alarm. But Miranda stood rooted to the spot, paralysed by the intense fear brought on by the dementors.

Her own vulnerability to the dementors was brought about through legilimency training. To be a true legilimens, a master of it, one’s mind needed to be open to hearing those around you. It’s how she grasped the stray thoughts of those in her care on the fourth floor at St Mungo’s.

Now her mind was open to everything and it was all too much. Ignan seemed unaffected. But he’d saved them last time. He wanted her to lock the door. She’d not married him so he could save her ass every time she got in trouble.

She stood and watched, hand holding the doorframe to keep her balance as the cold took over every inch of her skin. With her left hand now gripping her wand, Miranda wasn’t sure who to keep it trained on. That question in her mind soon vanished, however, when Ignan set their garden up in flames and encircled Lawrence and himself.


“Accio badge!” Miranda yelled only to realise the doors were shut. “Shit!” A quick glance at Ignan before she did obey, or at least partly obey. She bolted for the kitchen door and the stairs in the hallway, sprinting up to the bedroom for the healer’s badge on the bedside table. Outside the sparks were flying, but Miranda couldn’t see them through the icy windows. She could only hear the crashes and bangs of the spells. Her badge was squeezed tight, her intention made clear before, badge in hand, she sprinted back down the stairs.

The barrier, Mira knew, wouldn’t hold the dementors back for long. At the kitchen door she saw the couple on the ground, Ignan’s hands around Lawrence’s neck and panic began to settle in. She’d told him to kill him. He was doing it. Her gaze didn’t move off her husband until the dementors closed in.

It was hard to see but the flames vanished to reveal Ignan on the floor with the dementors closing in. Lawrence was lost behind the billowing cloaks. The screaming persisted but Miranda desperately tried to focus her mind. She struggled to visualise the northern lights, the hillside where he’d been on one knee, they pure shock mixed with joy. She grasped onto that feeling as he wand was raised.

“Expecto patronum!” The spell was practically screamed.
Yet nothing happened.
The screams grew louder.

“Fuck.” The panic only grew. She needed to block it out. Eyes closed for a moment and she tried desperately to think of the happiest moment she could. It wasn’t his proposal. She searched her mind to him lying on the setee in the lounge, passed out from the fall in Norway. His eyes opened and a relief flooded her. It was a sheet happiness.

She held onto it and cast again.

To her utter surprise, from the tip of her wand a figure sprang forward. It wasn’t a wispy excuse for a patronus that she’d produced at school, either. The full body of a horse galloped towards the dementor lingering over her husband. As the horse drove the dementor back, Miranda steped out of the house, bare feet once more on the icy ground as she walked slowly towards Ignan and Lawrence.

“Send them away, Lawrence.” She spoke, the screams in her head retreating thanks to the protection of the patronus. “Or I will watch them suck your soul before I help you.”

Lawrence’s narrowing vision flashed white as the pressure on his throat released. He gaped, blinking hard, unable to force air through until as last he gave a noisy gasp of air, whites of his eyes raised to the dark sky. His remaining hand felt his throat as he gasped a second lungful in and suppressed the dire need to cough so hard he threw up. It was incredibly hard to think what with everything going on, but as he flailed away from Ignan and the dementors busy sucking away the old man’s soul, he realised the fire was out.

The momentary joy was short-lived by the arrival of a patronus, scattering both dementors away from the Professor lying still on the muddy ground. Miranda had returned, and had brought her courage, but not anything warmer than that thin dressing gown which left nothing to the imagination now by the way it hung off her.

“Send them away, Lawrence. Or I will watch them suck your soul before I help you.”

On all fours, Lawrence sneered at her, and spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground. His voice was inaudible a he tried to retort, so he closed his eyes a moment. Effort was clear on his face as if he were trying to recall something from a dim and distant time when they had been at school together. The two dementors in the garden clawed blindly towards the horse patronus which circled and protected the couple proudly, nostrils flaring.

He shook his head, releasing a strangled sound of frustration. With what appeared to be a great effort he heaved himself to his feet, lumbered the last few strides clear of the boundary wall, leaving a heavy trail of blood to the point in the mud outside he managed to disapparate before he collapsed entirely. In his wake, the two dementors took flight from the garden, joining the growing throng hanging over Hogsmeade.