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It didn’t tend to matter if one had magic on their side or not; the process of moving house could be stressful and time consuming. It hadn’t taken long to get everything from the home in Godric’s hollow to their new cottage in Hogsmeade but the time consuming element was in finding homes for their furniture. The old school hadn’t been a large house, but it had certainly been more spacious than where they had moved to. For a couple that had amassed a lot of books and possessions over the years, it hadn’t been easy to begin to settle with far less space.

So when they finally had unpacked a large amount of their stuff, they retired to the living room, wine glasses in hand and exhaustion evident. Mr Storm claimed his usual armchair by the fireplace and Mrs Storm settled against the plumped up cushions of the old sofa, lifting her feet up as she relaxed back and closed her eyes.

It was a few minutes before either person spoke. They both enjoyed being able to simply stop and take it in. Or at least Miranda did.

When she did finally open her eyes and level her husband with a calm gaze, her lips twisted into a small smile.
“If someone had have told me 15 months ago that I would be married to you and moving into Hogsmeade I would have had them permanently referred to the fourth floor for mind damage.” That was after she’d have laughed herself sick. “Or I’d have referred myself…” She trailed off, considering their first meeting. There weren’t exactly sufficient words to describe the instant dislike between the pair…

Eyes half closed, her husband chuckled quietly at the comment.
“I’d have seconded your suggestion.” He agreed, blinking once before opening his eyes properly, observing Miranda’s reclined position. “Just on the basis of ‘marriage’ to me.”

It had seemed a very unlikely event. The pair had never encountered each other, despite both serving contracts at Durmstrang and Hogwarts. Their paths had taken them to both schools at different times until the Tetra-wizard Tournament had arrived. It had set them on opposing sides, despite their own alma mater being reversed.

Auberon Eisenberg, the Durmstrang headmaster had been only too pleased to poke fun at them both for their predicament. Ignan had ended up giving interview to the Daily Prophet to establish he was on the Hogwarts side, and Miranda had been cornered into asserting her own alliance with Durmstrang as an employee. Their first encounter had been tense at best.

“Do you recall that first meeting off all the school delegates? Possibly the first time I had knowingly clapped eyes on you. Everyone was on their guard. You would have considered it a diplomatic disagreement, not a school competition given everyone’s mood.” Ignan narrowed his gaze, “You had this face on. I’ve never quite seen the sort on you since - it was as if someone had held something incredibly odious beneath your nose.” Crossing one leg over the other at the knee, he shrugged, “only when such a situation did arise between us, you didn’t even flinch at that putrid arm[1]."

1.	26th December, 2009 To Hex is to Induce Learning

“I had a face on?” Miranda scoffed, setting her wine down on the coffee table and sitting up a little straighter to stare at her husband. “You were the murderous looking deputy headmaster. I didn’t want to be there anyway but the reception from you and Reid was horrifying. The tournament was supposed to be a great celebration between our schools and from your expression I felt more like we’d invaded your territory.”

As Miranda thought back on that day, she remembered just how much she really hadn’t wanted to be there. When the tournament had been announced at Durmstrang, Miranda had felt quite confident that she wouldn’t be going. Her own presence would be confused due to her links with Hogwarts. But that had been exactly the reason Eisenberg had forced her to go.

“Was it your idea to house the Durmstrang contingency in the dungeons?” A suspicious glance was thrown at her husband, eyebrows raised.

“... your expression I felt more like we’d invaded your territory.”
“You had.” Ignan replied simply.

“No, it wasn’t - and you know that.” He reminded her, they had mentioned it[1] often enough in those short weeks between them getting together. “I’d have kept you all on that ship.” He smirked - it was a joke. However, the territorial element had caused a fair few disagreements amongst the staff of four schools sharing the same space.

“Besides, you did a good enough job spreading your belongings out in the staff room if I recall. I should have remembered that when you moved in with me last summer, shouldn’t I?” Miranda’s understanding of being tidy was different to his, but in honesty they both could leave clutter. He wasn’t the neatest, but he wasn’t habitually chaotic. Having Gerda, their house elf, did make it a lot easier for them both. Their busy professional lives did not leave much time for considering domestic organisation.

1.	14th May, 2010 It is Easier to Leave People You Hate

“I did no such thing!” Miranda jumped back, eyes suddenly wide. He’d said as much that morning when she’d come into the staffroom after breakfast to find her things removed from the corner table, disordered and stacked in a box. The Hogwart’s caretaker had ‘thoughtfully’ moved things about for her which had caused Miranda to let rip at him. They’d been the only people in the room until Ignan had walked in to find her taking a piece out of the bumbling idiot. When he’d tried to step in, the witch had practically lost it.

“But to have you take the side of a caretaker over myself, you’re lucky you weren’t poisoned with your breakfast, Ignan.” Miranda hadn’t paid Professor Storm much mind until that moment when he’d gotten involved in her business. She’d simply had him pegged as the moody looking old crusty wizard before then. He’d not been on her radar. She’d no doubt not been on his either.

“If I remember correctly, my dear,” Ignan countered his wife, "I took nobody’s side and told you both to exercise some discretion. It was hard enough everyone sharing the staff room before we had teaching staff join us from three other schools.” He sipped his wine, “you were in the wrong for leaving everything out and he was wrong for moving it so inexpertly. Though, he wasn’t a very good caretaker. Woodward, despite his predicament, is far more capable.” He studied Mira with interest.

“Always believed you were not to be crossed, though Auberon always had you in a shadow. Shame. Had I realised sooner, we might have collaborated before the new year.”

To be told that she was in the wrong irked Miranda. She was a witch who was nearly always right and even when she wasn’t right, her position at work meant that she was right. Unfortunately back during her time at Durmstrang it had been a different situation and Ignan had been more senior. That, however, shouldn’t have made any difference.

Taking up her wine glass in hand, Miranda shook her head.
“You don’t remember correctly. And I was certainly never in any shadow.” After taking a sip, Miranda manoeuvred herself off the sofa and moved over to a pile of boxes near the bookshelves. She ripped it open and pulled her wand from her trouser pocket.
“I was right in this situation and you sided with the blithering idiot. You will see.” Unforunately for Ignan, Miranda was now dead set on proving him wrong. She pointed inside the box and the pensieve from within began to levitate until it was lowered onto the coffee table.
“Get up, come on.” Her wand was pointed at her head and she began to extract a memory, watching it float into the mist.

A few moments later, after planting their faces into the pensieve, Miranda and Ignan suddenly found themselves stood in the middle of the Hogwarts staff room. It was empty apart from the caretaker fiddling about at a table in the corner. Instantly Miranda’s eyes narrowed and she waved her spare hand (her left still held her wine glass) in his direction.
“Blithering idiot. You see? That is not a mess.”

“No, but that is.” Ignan retorted comically, nodding at an approaching figure. He double took at Miranda’s left hand with the wine glass. Trust her to bring wine to a memory.
He looked back to memory-Miranda, and gave her a look up and down. She looked properly peeved.
“Is that how you remember yourself?” He asked, genuinely curious.
Professor Miranda Elliot was dressed in a slim black dress covered in a black robe with practically black hair scraped back tightly into a long ponytail. She looked severe as she came into the staffroom, ridiculously high stilettoes clicking on the stone floor.
“How else would I remember myself?” Mira asked Ignan just as her former self rounded on the caretaker.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she practically hissed at the wizard. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing with my things?”

“Your manners as ever, impeccable, my love.” Ignan remarked quietly, though his present-day face bore a look of amused approval while the caretaker at the time retaliated with his own opinion on the matter. Ignan wasn’t at all concerned with his exact wording, as this part of the memory he was no witness to. “Do you -“ he was squinting back and forth between the two Mirandas. “You do, you remembering yourself taller than reality.” He looked rather pleased at realising.
The door to the staff room swung open and Ignan turned, curious to see how Miranda remembered him.

“She’s got heels on!” The barefooted Miranda shot back in defence before her glance followed Ignan’s to the door to the Ignan of 15 months ago.

“Merlin.” He uttered, genuinely surprised. “Please tell me I don’t look like that in your head these days. I look older than I am now for goodness sake.” Ignan looked back to present day Miranda, his eyebrows raised. “No compliments spared for me in those days?!”

Her expression dead pan, Miranda shook her head and took a sip of her wine before putting her hand on his arm.
“Shh…It’s about to get interesting.”

“I’d rather hoped, Elliot, that you would have manners for your old colleagues. Apparently Durmstrang’s sucked out what little humanity and manners you had.” The caretaker stood up straight, scowling nervously as the past Miranda stepped forward, slipping her hand into her pocket. She’d not heard Ignan come in.

“You are exactly right. But considering you are a cleaner with no real working brain and I know where you sleep, I suggest you keep your filthy little hands well away from my property.”

Present day Miranda rose her eyebrows. “I must be remembering this wrong. I’m not that mean.”

“’Not that mean’?!” Ignan quoted, and then lowered his voice to ask rhetorically, “you’re all kittens and hugs are you?” Of course she wasn’t, she was Miranda. He wouldn’t have fallen in love or married her if she was. It wasn’t the type he fell for. Maybe she wasn’t as murderous as the only other woman he had even contemplated marriage with, but she didn’t need a wand to send others cowering.

His past self was watching the pair of them, much like his present day self was, only with less patience and goodwill towards Miranda. His past self was weighing up how to interrupt, since his mere presence hadn’t interrupted the argument alone. He let it continue just enough for the caretaker’s shoulders to square up to Miranda and her hand to reach for her wand.

“Is there a problem?” his past self interrupted, eyeing up one colleague and then another. ”Elliot, confine your mess. This is not a student common room.”

“Come on, that wasn’t even harsh.” Present-day Ignan muttered as his past self addressed the former caretaker, suggesting his skills were better demonstrated clearing up after a student vomiting slugs in the ground floor corridor. “I didn’t even put that much effort into it.” Then again, these days he knew far more about Miranda to know how to irritate the crap out of her with a few words.

If looks could kill, the two wizards stood in the staff room would have no longer been breathing. Miranda had spun around to scowl at Ignan, dark eyes venomous as she stared. The present day Miranda’s eyebrows rose. She’d always been accused of having a vicious glare and now she could certainly see why.

“Where else am I supposed to work, Storm?” He hadn’t exactly addressed her properly so the past Miranda didn’t extend the courtesy back. “Perhaps you need to focus more on managing your staff and less on pissing off your visitors.”

“Ouch.” The observing Miranda pulled a face, embarrassed at her own attitude. “In my defence I don’t like people telling me what to do.”
“Neither do I, very much.” Ignan agreed with a hint of a shrug.

“You have a perfectly serviceable boat,” Ignan gestured out of the windows to the view of the lake beyond, “rooms in the dungeon-”

“Not my suggestion to put you there.” Ignan muttered to his wife.

”-the library, or confine yourself to a sensible area.” His younger self's tone was reasonable, but firm, and he barely acknowledged the caretaker other than to ask, ”Are you still here?”

“Do you confine yourself to a sensible area, Storm?” Miranda’s tone had changed, sarcastic, irritated. “Shall we take a look at your office and see how small and sensible that is?” Without waiting, past Miranda started to step past the taller wizard.

“You commented on my taking up a small corner. I have a whole hospital now…”
“Doesn’t stop you cluttering up the house though, does it?” Ignan muttered back, hands in his pockets, teasing.

His past self didn’t move despite his future wife passing him by. He didn’t appear to visibly react.
“Don't you hate it when you don’t get a rise out of someone?” He asked his wife, nudging her gently to move a little so they could observe a little more easily now everyone was grouped together. “Ah, I don’t believe it, I have been looking for that book-“ Ignan’s attention had been drawn from the past disagreement to a navy blue book on the table nearby - Symbad Ink’s Deep Water Defence[1].

1.	Perfect for planning how to drown students, January 2009. The posts with dialogue from both were written on IM with Mel.

Ignan received a small glare at the mention of not getting a rise out of him. His words were completely true and for someone with such a short fuse, it did drive Miranda crazy when she didn’t get the rise. It was visibly evident in her past self who started to head towards the staff room door.

But Ignan’s distraction by a book on the side caused his wife to frown at him.
“We’re having our first argument of many and you are interested in a book?”
“Yes, I am.” Her husband replied, though not as a snap, but in calmer explanation. “You might keep a tally on our disagreements…”

His past self had walked away towards the kettle.
“If we’re talking more important firsts,” his present self was near smiling, reflecting on the fact this was Miranda’s memory, so she was unaware of how this exchange had caught his attention, "I’m about to ask you how you take your tea for the first time, and it’s the only time I ever ask you.” He looked to Miranda. “I don’t make tea for many people, and I never make the effort to remember. It’s like you never bother to learn anyone’s name.”

“I learn names.” Miranda smirked and took a sip of her wine. “So past me should have been honoured? I still look pretty furious.”

“I didn’t suggest it pacified your territorial rage,” Ignan replied with a slow blink, inclining towards her, shoulder pressed against hers a moment, “If a cup of tea did that, we’d all make you them more often.” He stood up straight again but tilted his head, ignoring himself busy with the tea and far more interested in Miranda behind him. The caretaker had left them amongst this, noisily dragging a mop and bucket with him.

“You’re a lot more beautiful than you think you are in your head, you know?” It was perhaps the wine loosening his tongue, but Miranda’s self-image in her memories was not a decent reflection on her true self. He hoped she didn’t want to compare to one of his memories.
"You have to say that," Miranda commented quietly, "you're my husband."

Not exactly sure what to do, Professor Elliot lingered by the door and stared at Ignan making tea. She evidently didn't know what to see.
"It's not often someone makes me speechless.”
“Entirely agreed.”

The tea was a peace offering, an excuse to hold conversation that wasn’t an argument about office size or paperwork, or even the ruddy tournament. It was placed on the other end of the table Miranda’s clutter was chiefly occupying. Ignan, in turn, retired to an armchair and lifted the newspaper. What moment of possible conversation that might have occurred quickly rendered impossible by the entry of other members of staff - brash American accents of their Salem competition.

“Now they I can do without recalling.” Ignan remarked, a hand to his wife’s elbow, indicating a wish to leave this memory if it continued. His younger self in the memory disappeared behind the newspaper at the very same moment.

The pair of them resurfaced from the memory and into their new living room. Ignan was a little relieved, scooping up his glass of wine from beside the armchair before sitting down again. He was poised on the front edge of the seat, rather than relaxing back, as if anticipating he might get up again soon.

“You really did think I was a grumpy old fart.” He commented, mildly amused. “I suppose I only deserve it. We did not get off to the best of starts with the Tournament, but,” he looked up to his wife, raising his eyebrow, “without it, we might never have crossed paths.” Ignan raised his glass ever so slightly as if to toast it for bringing them together.

The pensieve settled down again on the box it had come out of. Ignan considered it thoughtfully. He’d never taken pleasure in revisiting memories since Italy. He’d relived his modified memory to remind himself of what his choices in life had caused - the death of a woman he had loved. All that pain and anguish for nothing in the end. Then again, she was locked away in Azkaban, and once he had sobered up to reality, and reflected some more on their past deeds, he was rather glad of it. Miranda, with her bunged attempts to defend herself with magic, was a far more suitable, and less lethal wife.

He glanced up to Miranda, weighing up whether she was now curious, expectant for him to share a memory in return from his own head.
“You’re giving me a look,” he spoke eventually, narrowing his eyes. “Out with it.”

Most of the time Ignan was not at all romantic. He was to the point and blunt and that was what Miranda very much liked and respected in him. Those rare moments of romanticism or sweet thoughts about their relationship took her by surprise and he continued to keep her on her toes. So to have him mull over the tetrawizard tournament causing their paths to cross, Miranda stood in silence for a moment. As much as she’d disliked her time at the castle, it had brought her to meet him. Without the tournament she would still probably be at Durmstrang resenting Eisenberg and her life choices.
Things really did play out for the best sometimes.

Absentmindedly, Mira silently joined in with Ignan’s mini toast and took a final sip of her glass of wine before placing it on the coffee table between them. She’d not sat down yet. Instead she started to look down at Ignan thoughtfully. For all that she had found him to be a grumpy old fart with territorial issues, he had seemed quite convinced that she wasn’t complimentary enough about both him and herself. She found herself wondering why that was.

“Out with it.” Ignan had noticed and was staring up at her.

“I always give you a look.” Miranda brushed his comment aside with a wave of her hand. “But, how do you remember me old man?”

"I remember you, as you are, my dear." Ignan replied directly, as if that was a strange question to ask him. Of course that wouldn't sate Miranda's curiosity. Well, since they were considering firsts...

"You want to see, I gather." He gave a laboured sigh which wasn't entirely truthful - he had found some pleasure in revisiting that old memory and being curious about how Miranda remembered them both. It was good to revisit a memory for positive, yet sentimental reasons, even if it was a little strange to go over old ground. He closed his eyes a moment and focused, curling his wand beside his temple, a wispy memory began to spin like a silk strand in the air before he stood and dropped it gently into the swirling pensieve.



It was Saturday morning, though given the lack of light in the room, and the heavy rain pattering against the window it might be considered very early. Present-day Ignan and Miranda dropped in beside two familiar armchairs in Ignan's first-floor Hogwarts chambers. It was dressed very much like it had been a week ago, only now some of the personal effects were in boxes in their Hogsmeade living room. The few family photographs on the mantle were relatively still, and the fireplace burned just as embers. In the modest, not overly sized bed, the red blanket was gathered at the foot, and the white sheets beneath were drawn up over at least one of the figures within.

Ignan glanced to his wife to see if she might recognise what moment of their history this was before averting his eyes along the floor, where their past outfits had ended up, including Miranda's shoes.[1] Not seeing his future-self, a younger Ignan reached an arm out of bed to check the time on his pocketwatch, taking care not to disturb the other form in bed. The hand returned, quietly scratching morning stubble while his hand gently lifted the white sheet over them, smiling smugly.

Present-day Ignan cleared his throat and gave a shrug of his shoulders.
"Can't blame me for enjoying the view." He glanced to his wife. "The last time I woke up with someone in that bed with me, it was Tapendra Trishna[2] but we were very much clothed."

1.	Apr 30, 2010 Caring is Not an Advantage
2.	Jan 18, 2009 A Very Rude Awakening

M for language and content

Stood beside Ignan in his chambers, Miranda’s gaze followed his to the floor. There was no doubt who the sleeping figures where and she had wondered why he’d chosen now until she recognised the clothes lying on the floor. A pair of stilletos had been thrown to the floor amongst other articles of her clothing. This was their first morning together. As she realised this, Mira’s lips parted in surprise and her brows rose.


“You’re missing a few wrinkles, old man.” A smirk as she watched the younger Ignan gazing down at her sleeping figure. Two things had been learnt today; Miranda saw herself taller and Ignan saw himself younger. Everyone had their wishes.


From glancing at the sleeping witch, Ignan lifted the sheet up and looked under! The Miranda that was currently stood watching widened her eyes and slapped her husband’s arm.
“Did you just do what I think you did, Ignan?” She knew he had. “You just admired me under the sheet you dirty bastard. Look at that smug face.” Miranda turned to look up at her husband, a mixture of shock and amusement on her features.

In the bed, a very hungover Miranda stirred, rolling over onto her back and opening her eyes. An unintelligible grumble was heard before she pulled the sheet over her head. It took a moment for the witch to realise she wasn’t in her own bed before the sheet came from over her face and she opened her eyes with a squint.
“I had such a bad hangover that day.” Miranda muttered to her husband.

“Really?” Present day Ignan replied, “It’s not like we finished off the rest of the bottle the Hogs Head had, was it?” He closed his eyes a moment with a shake of his head. Fools, the both of them, but it had been a very enjoyable night.

His younger self was studying squinting Miranda with a level gaze from the adjacent pillow, also nursing a bad head. He had missed patrol time for first thing, and was rather thirsty, but did not want to move just yet.
”Good morning,” he greeted, quietly, voice deep for both a long night of talking in the pub and for it being first thing.

Less awake than her counterpart, a hungover and tired Miranda’s eyes opened further for a blurry Ignan to swim in and out of focus. Brows narrowed and she frowned.

“How much did I drink?” The devonshire witch croaked.

From the doorway, Mrs Storm nearly snorted and turned away from Ignan, trying to stifle a laugh. Ignan’s lips curled into a smile beside her at the self deprecation. For two intelligent and well respected people, they could be rather human and dimwitted when hungover.

”You’re expecting me to have kept track of us both?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, propping his head up on his elbow. ”Enough to have woken thinking you being in my bed was a fortunate dream I would have to forget if I were to look you in the eye next I saw you.”

“You best not look me in the eye then,” The barely covered witch muttered before starting to sit up, pulling the covers with her. “This isn’t something I make a habit of.”

A slightly older Miranda was scrutinising herself in the bed, lips pursed.
“I look younger. A lot younger. Talk about trophy wife.”
“Oof,” Ignan replied, “First time I’ve ever heard you complain about looking young.”

There was a pause from the pair of them in bed, and Ignan uttered,
”Would you prefer I looked elsewhere…?” trailing his eyes down a moment before thinking better of it.

Present day Ignan coughed gently and averted his eyes from both instances of his wife.  He never claimed to be a complete gentleman. His past self grasped his wand and behind them the bathroom door unlatched, glassware gliding gracefully between their current selves to the bed.
”Here, Aguamenti. Me neither. I just invited your company at the pub.”

It was always amusing how one’s inhibitions clearly returned the morning after the night before, Miranda thought as she watched her past self shoot Ignan a glare and clutch the bedding a little tighter.

It was clear that the durmstrang professor had no idea what to say so she took the glass of water and began to drain it quickly, grateful for the relief of her thirst.

“I think you’ve joined the ranks of people to baffle me.” Wife nudged husband before she stepped up to a chair and lowered herself into it in order to watch comfortably.
“I was sure that happened earlier.” He remarked, watching her take a seat, settling to lean his elbows against the back of the adjacent chair instead. “What were you thinking at that moment?  Regret?” He asked, curious, but not sharing his own reactions. His memory-self was keeping to the request of not looking at Miranda, though was quite clearly doing so out of the corner of his eye from beside her.
“Not regret.” The healer countered. Ignan smiled slightly to himself.

“You can stop chasing now, Storm.” The younger Miranda said suddenly, a smirk pulling at the covers of her lips.
“Chasing?” Ignan replied, looking round properly, “”I’ve no idea what you mean.” He mirrored the smirk, and then dropped his gaze, taking another drink of water thirstily. “I’m just glad it didn’t take more than that whiskey. Not sure we’d have made it back.” He looked back again, and present day Ignan couldn’t help but smile a little more openly than his past self did, trying to keep up the straight persona.

“See? No regret.” As if realising what was about to happen, rather suddenly the present day Miranda stood and took her husband’s arm. “Come on old man, I need more wine.” Behind her, her counterpart started to move in the bed as if to get up.
“Hm?” Ignan replied distracted, still looking ahead of himself with a smile that suggested he was far too pleased with himself to be polite. “Right.” He glanced once more with a knowing smile. He could always relive this memory again later…

As they left the memory Ignan left a gentle kiss on his wife’s forehead by her temple.
“You still have a fantastic…” he coughed, scooping up her glass with the other hand before fully finishing the sentence, anticipating a narrow-eyed stare from his wife.

Eyebrows rose as she took the wine, dark eyes set on the wizard from behind her glasses. Ignan dropped her refilled glass back into her hand.
“Mind? I am rather gifted.” The look was pointed as she took a sip of her wine.
“In many areas.” Her husband replied as graciously as he could, fishing his wand out to retrieve the memory back to his head. “Curiosity sated.”[1]

End

1.	Written collaboratively with Mel