Since Sunday[1], conversation in the newly acquired Hogsmeade cottage had been suppressed to the bare minimum. Gerda, their obedient but somewhat tenacious house elf, had assumed the role of a temporary go-between for any essential conversation.

Miranda habitually worked long hours at St Mungo’s, and during term time, Ignan had lived away from home at Hogwarts full time, with the occasional evening home. Their move to Hogsmeade had been to enable him to live outside of the castle, and for Miranda to escape the negative associations of Lawrence Musgrave at Ignan’s house in Godric’s Hollow. Less than a fortnight after moving in, the Storms had failed on both. Although Ignan was not spending the night at the castle, he was coming home late, well after dinner and marking, only really to sleep, and departing before breakfast. And Miranda had invited Lawrence Musgrave into their home willingly.

On Sunday morning, to try and save Miranda from her own foolhardy aspirations of drugging her stalker and wanted criminal, Ignan had wrecked the garden. With Gerda’s help, he had stolen back home while Miranda was at work on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday to try and rectify it and the fire damage to the roof. By the Thursday evening it looked markedly better, but still not right. Miranda was the green-fingered one. She had transformed the gardens at Godric’s Hollow after Ignan had restored the house.

The dementors and the fight had taken it out of Ignan. He’d slept most of Sunday off in recovery. He’d lost grip on his occlumency, and more worryingly, lost grip on his moral restraint. Miranda had asked him to kill Lawrence, and for all they knew, he had. Not immediately, not right in the garden, but given the lack of sightings, the spells he’d chosen and the blood left behind, it was a distinct possibility.

In his life, Ignan had ended more lives than he cared to count. He had not lived an honourable life at all, and there were whole decades of his life he did not want to come to light to Miranda, Hogwarts nor the British Ministry. They knew enough already with the recognition from Azorma when she had been captured and trialled. Together, they collected wands. Trophies. And there was one of a hundred reasons why he could not marry Azorma. She represented everything horrific in the choices he’d made. Miranda was not in love with that wizard. She had married the grumpy Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts with the silent head she couldn’t read.

That was why he hadn’t been able to speak to her for four days.

It was bloody ridiculous.

The living room fire flared, indicating an expected arrival. From the kitchen doorway, Gerda snapped her little fingers, and then drew back without a word. He had been unaware of her lamp-like eyes watching him and the fireplace carefully while the paper parcels kept warm in the oven under her care. Those hot paper parcels were now resting on a shallow pile of unread newspapers on the coffee table beside the wine.

He got to his feet to greet Miranda, but couldn’t quite find the words at first, only gesturing to take her cloak instead. As he tucked it over his arm, he lightly caught the crook of her left elbow with his left hand and left a gentle kiss against her left cheek. As he withdrew, he was quiet, reproachful, and hung her cloak without a word.

“I cooked,” he managed, though he had to clear his throat. It was an attempt at humour to diffuse the tension, gesturing to the paper packages on the table - fish and chips[2]. “And there’s wine, though I don’t know how well it’ll go with battered fish.” He made a point to meet her gaze, watching for her reaction.

1.	6th March 2011 Overplay Your Hand & Keep Your Hand
2.	22nd May, 2010 Weeds, Leaky Roofs and a Piercing Stare, Ignan’s atrocious attempt to cook Miranda dinner resulted in them going for fish and chips

As far as weeks at St Mungo’s went, this had been one of the worst for Miranda Storm’s staff. The usually cold and icy boss had become short tempered and very critical. She’d threatened to sack one of her oldest friends and colleagues and made a few mediwitches and assisting staff cry. Without a doubt, it was better for St Mungo’s employees when their boss was content because being on the receiving end of the Head Healer’s anger was not a position anyone enjoyed.

Miranda had been home late each evening, leaving early each morning. The silence between herself and Ignan had been uncomfortable and if it wasn’t for the thought of backing down and ‘losing’, Miranda would have slept at the hospital. She’d been told once before that sleeping apart during an argument was perhaps one of the worst things you could do to drive a wedge in a relationship. But she was decades out of practice…

Despite being sick of the childish ignoring of each other, Miranda had decided that she wasn’t going to be the first to broach the rift. She knew she’d done wrong on Sunday, inviting Musgrave into their home to try and drug him had been one of her stupidest ideas to date. But Ignan had been the one of pull back and ignore her. He’d been the child.

When she stepped out of the fireplace on Thursday evening, she had been rightly surprised to see Ignan rise to his feet from his armchair and offer to take her cloak. Wordlessly, she slipped it from her shoulders and did nothing other than press her lips into a thin line as he kissed her cheek and hung her cloak up by the front door.

“I cooked,” Her dark eyed gaze dropped to the coffee table to the bottle of wine and wrapped up fish meals. She pushed her glasses up onto her head and studied the wizard for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“I won’t care after a glass.” The witch finally spoke, crossing her arms over her stomach nervously. Had he finally decided that tonight they would talk? Was he going to address the situation calmly? Would he bring up how she’d asked him to kill Lawrence? He hadn’t even said a word to her about the Witch Weekly article suggesting a secret love affair.

Now stood facing him with her arms crossed, Miranda rose her eyebrows expectedly, as if to suggest he had the floor.

So she was going to let him have the first word. Ignan hadn’t anticipated Miranda would, normally her curiosity got the better of her, and she voiced opinions. Perhaps she was expecting an apology. She owed him one. Then again, neither apologised - not directly.
“For someone more intelligent than me,” Ignan began, “you were reckless on Sunday.” He let that sit for just a moment. “It could have very easily ended in a far less favourable outcome. The garden, the roof fixed… my head,” he gestured mildly with his hand, “healed, but if I had been much longer…” Ignan stopped, set his jaw and left Miranda with a perturbed stare.

"I know you want to help and understand him,” the older wizard reasoned, turning away to settle back on one end of the sofa, "because it is your oath, your specialism and above all you want him caught, but he’s not some stray cat. He is capable of killing you.” Ignan tapped the neck of the bottle of wine with his wand. “Which is why if he comes back, we’ll need a better plan.”

The cork of the wine bottle came free of its own accord with a dull ring.

As Ignan spoke, Miranda stood stoic, maintaining eye contact with her arms folded defensively over her stomach. She’d completely expected a lecture at some point; she’d expected a rant a few days ago but it hadn’t come. The silence must have been to calm down but Miranda couldn’t help but wonder if he’d spent four days rehearsing the very small speech.

“He is capable of killing you.” Miranda did finally look away now. She glanced down to the wine, uncomfortable with the truth. Over the past few days that same reality had played through her head countless times as she’d sat at her desk late at night. She knew he could have killed her, she just hadn’t thought he would.

The surprise came when Ignan suggested a new plan. Mira’s gaze sprang back up to his, her lips parting slightly in confusion.
She would address that in a moment.
“Being capable of killing someone doesn’t mean you would, Ignan.” She commented, still stood, still uncomfortable. “He’s not a stupid man; he wouldn’t kill his only chance to grasp back sanity.” The more she spoke the more she realised it was pointless. She was trying to defend the stupidest thing she’d possibly ever done.

“I know I fucked up and I dragged you into it.” A shrug. “But I could have had him.”

"Hmph." Ignan replied. "He is a stupid man. He's making mistakes, repeating his actions. That's how he'll get caught. Eventually, he won't have enough wits to consider reclaiming his sanity. Or maybe he won't kill, but he'll ensure you're uninterrupted and at his mercy." Ignan's gaze was direct and as he gave his students. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

He lowered his gaze a moment and reached for one of the paper parcels.
"You didn't drag me into it," he added a little more quietly, "I vowed to be there in Norway." He meant their wedding. Ignan Storm could be a miserable git but he took his promises seriously, especially when it involved protecting one of the few people he genuinely loved, especially the witch he loved above all others. It was the sort of dedication that could get a wizard killed.

"Is he infatuated with you?" Ignan asked, sitting back enough to retain his dominant pose, "I don't believe what the insufferable Snigger spewed into that magazine, but was there ever anything between you?"

It made her uneasy being stared at by her husband in such a way. He was used to speaking to teenagers in such a manner, used to them shrinking under his glare. Miranda grit her teeth when being asked about her past with Lawrence, having wondered how long it would take for him to bring it and the article up.

She spent a moment inwardly debating how to approach the question. She’d never been a good liar and Ignan, she knew, could tell.  Further time was taken in taking the parcel of chips and sitting in the vacant armchair. She endeavoured to keep her expression calm, to not let it show that his words and stare were getting to her.

“Have you not seen him, Ignan? He’s never featured on my radar.” That was honest. She could omit the truth. Miranda wasn’t shallow; she’d fallen for Ignan mainly through personality and his engrossing intensity. Her first husband had been gorgeous; large, muscled and an arrogant arsehole. Lawrence Musgrave didn’t come close to either wizard. Glasses were pushed up onto the top of her head and Miranda started to unwrap and paper. “I can’t speak for him, however.”

“That is as I thought.” Ignan replied quietly, and gave a nod to his wife who had taken his armchair. Taking it himself had seemed too aggressive, considering their subject matter. Contrary to how it might appear, Ignan had no wish to pick a long-term fight with Mira. “And he isn’t the first, nor will he be the last, if he is.” The older wizard let out a small sigh, staring down at the parcel of food, contemplating whether he was still hungry. He felt tense.

“You need to promise me three things.” Ignan spoke again, looking up, less forceful in his stare this time, but still with enough gravitas to indicate how he really meant this, “Firstly, you keep that healer’s badge with you at all times, because half an hour’s delay is better than no help at all, and secondly, that you do not let anyone over the house boundary without confirming they are who they say they are- and then never ever Lawrence Musgrave.”

He paused, and perhaps that felt like three things already, but his gaze dropped a moment to Miranda’s hands and her parcel of fish and chips.
“And that you never ask me to kill anyone again.”

Despite the parcel being open and the smell of food wafting up to her nostrils, Miranda didn’t touch the food. She’d barely eaten over the past few days, stressed and suffering a lack of appetite and this discussion certainly wasn’t conducive to a resurgence in her appetite. As she listened to her husband lay down his expectations of what she should promise him, she briefly wondered how long he’d spent going over these in his head before she arrived home.

She had nothing to say in response to the first two. Ignan cared for her safety and these should have been basics. She normally kept her badge with her, aware of her somewhat vulnerable position at present. But to require it in her own new and safely guarded home, she’d not expected.

“And that you never ask me to kill anyone again.”

It hadn’t been expected, such a promise. Rather hoping he wouldn’t bring it up, Miranda sat frozen in the chair, unsure of how to respond.

She’d been desperate that morning. The screaming in her head had overwhelmed her, taking over her mind, blurring her conscious. It had been agony, excruciating. She’d wanted it to end. At the expense of Musgrave’s life. She’d never experience such horror before and hoped to never have it again.
But that didn’t excuse how she’d asked Ignan to kill him. She was horrified with herself.

“I never should have done that.” Voice quiet, Miranda looked up from the food to her husband. Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears, of emotion. “I’m really sorry.” Miranda didn’t do apologises unless thoroughly deserved.

“I know.” Ignan replied quietly. “I forgive you. Because I may have, unless Musgrave crawls out of wherever he’s hiding.” The Professor reached for his wine glass, mouth dry, and wet his tongue. The grimace it induced did not suggest he enjoyed the wine, but it wasn’t that he was considering.

Strange to wish a bastard to live on, especially after what he’d done to Miranda, but Level 2 needed a few more heads on metaphorical spikes that weren’t their own staff. Trevelyan had enough suspicion over Azorma when Ignan had spoken to her after believing her dead two years ago. He hadn’t anticipated Mira would apologise over it, more sidestep it or scoff. That she hadn’t meant it, or admit that she still wanted Lawrence dead. He would not be a loss on the world.

“And if I haven’t, I’m sorry too.” He added, and drank the rest of his glass of wine swiftly, setting it down with a bump. The bottle lifted to begin to fill it again. “But he won’t easily recover from what I used against him.” He looked up at his wife guiltily. “And your daughter may well think I’ve done that to Katrine’s father for you too.”

“I forgive you. Because I may have, unless Musgrave crawls out of wherever he’s hiding.” 
 A possibility that Ignan actually may have killed Lawrence hadn’t crossed Miranda’s mind all week. She’d watched the wizard leave but hadn’t considered what would have happened to him after. For a witch all too aware of how easily death could come, it was a grave mistake. Her husband may well have acted on her intentions and murdered someone. Any colour that had been in Miranda’s face drained and she sat back in the chair, chips in her lap forgotten about.

“She won’t.” Mira’s voice was even quieter than before; her mind distracted, away with Lawrence Musgrave wherever he may have been. Maya had come to terms with the fact that Bug had left because he couldn’t cope; she was now far better off for it. But that wasn’t important at this moment in time.

Trying to remain calm and collected, Miranda put the pile of chips back on the coffee table and grabbed her own wine glass that he’d poured before for her.
“I didn’t want him dead,” The healer muttered, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. “I needed it to stop. The screaming; it was unbearable. It made me desperate to see him die. But the thought I’ve made you take a life…”

“You didn’t make me,” Ignan replied without any hesitation. “You asked me. You asked me in such distress -“ his blue eyes found her darks ones, “-I wanted to.”

The declaration hung between them a moment, and he looked away, unable to hold his gaze with her. The cottage was absolutely silent, Gerda entirely gone to ground to give them space. Miranda had very clear edges of right and wrong in her moral compass. However nasty, near spiteful she could be to her staff she always had her reasons and her evidence to behave. If Lawrence Musgrave had given her permission to heal him, she would have, despite what he had done to her. If he did survive and ever was caught without fatal injury, Ignan suspected she still would. Still, the elephant was in the room now. Closing in at an alarming rate.

“And I have in the past.” He confessed, fingers tearing the edge of the chip paper in his anxiety. Anxiety Ignan very rarely displayed, that he hid and kept internalised with ferocious need to appear strong and uncrossable. It was another reason he and Miranda found unstated common ground - each of them hiding behind efficient control and sharp command of their subordinates while hiding their own insecurities. But he desperately needed her to understand the danger she had placed herself in, that he was entirely at a doubt that he could ever protect her now he’d tried.

“Desperate times. You can never underestimate someone. It will be your downfall.” He speared a chip with a fork and munched it thoughtfully, not tasting it, but his appetite surviving despite what he’d just told his wife, “He and I certainly underestimated you on Sunday morning. If you’d given him that potion, wouldn’t you have killed him?"

The only words that registered with Miranda were the ones admitting to killing someone. She sat frozen at the edge of the chair, her dark eyes watching his carefully as she gripped the still untouched wineglass a little too tightly. She stopped truly listening instead took in his expressions, his body language. It wasn’t something he was happy telling her and he’d done it for a reason.

She took in his sudden reluctance to make eye contact, the fidgeting with the chip paper, the vein in his temple throbbing, the frown lines contorting his usually calm face. Tiny signs of anxiety for such a seemingly unemotional and cold wizard, but enough for the healer to spot and take in.

His tone and final words snapped her out of her thoughts and she took a long sip of wine, trying to consider a response to her husband admitting he’d taken a life when she’d spent her whole life saving them. He’d been an auror, but she’d never considered the ramification of the job. Maya wanted to become an auror. All Miranda had thought about was the danger to her daughter’s life, but she would be expected to kill.

Her husband had killed.

“He didn’t have unclean thoughts about antelopes[1].” Was all she managed to say, still trying to process.

1.	Staring over the ledge where Miranda reprimands Ignan for drugging Johann with sleeping potion from St Mungo's.

Despite himself, Ignan Storm laughed.

“Bloody antelopes.” He uttered, a smile tugging at his lips. It felt out of place to do it, and out of place for him to laugh, but it felt good to. To find some humoured relief in the fact they’d almost killed a very bad man. It appealed to Ignan’s darkest humour, which he knew he shared a little with Miranda. Only his wife would never act on her darkest threats. She had morals and boundaries and limits on what she would risk.

“It was a quick idea given the constraints of the resources you had. You stalled time for me to get back. Had it not kicked off when it did, we could have had him.” Ignan agreed, and chewed on a chip thoughtfully. “Strange for him to make the same mistake twice though - to enter the house and threaten you but not do anything further. Repeat the same mistake twice. Unless he doesn’t see it as a mistake…” Ignan pondered and ate the other half of the chip, staring off to one side from Miranda, thinking. “His patterns are dementors, and notes from what I have gleaned from the newspaper. But he is drawn back to you. Are you sure there was nothing between you at school, or after?” He looked up at Miranda, who had still not touched her food. “And what would you have done if he’d drunk it? You’d have had to administer an antidote, surely?”

Would it have been better to stick to the subject of Ignan having killed people than move back to his questioning of whether anything had happened between herself and Lawrence Musgrave a lifetime ago back when they were teenagers. To Miranda, nothing of note had ever happened. To Lawrence, perhaps it had been more memorable. Miranda couldn’t say. All she knew was that he did keep coming back and he didn’t seem willing to really hurt her. Sandy had mentioned unrequited love as a joke. Had he been right?

The food continued to sit on the table between them untouched. The  wine glass was in Miranda’s hand, thin fingers grasping it tightly as she considered exactly what she wanted to share with a somewhat jealous husband.

“It wasn’t enough to kill him.” To someone that didn’t know Miranda well it would have sounded convincing. She took a long sip of wine to bide time.

“We helped each other at school. I was the top of the class in potions and he needed help. So I took help in Defence.” For all the good it had done her. She certainly saw the irony in now being married to a wizard who taught the subject she’d earned a troll in. “We got drunk one night after one of these meetings. My first time on…” she stopped, Ignan didn’t need details. “We kissed. When I was sober I was embarrassed. He didn’t enjoy being ditched.”

Miranda didn’t look away from her husband, wondering how he would react. “It’s one of those mistakes I’d rather forget.”

"Hmm." He didn't believe her claim that it wouldn't have killed him, but Miranda would have found a way. She was quick, and clever and the finest healer he'd ever met. He paused mid-chew at Mira's recount of what had happened with Lawrence when they were teenagers. He suddenly felt terrible for asking her, but the only thing that let on was the downturn of the corners of his mouth and the sudden swallow of a chip that hadn't quite been chewed enough.

"I can imagine," he said to his wife, and reached for his own wine. "We all have exes we'd rather forget." He took a long sip and put his wine glass down. "That's fine, I'll make sure I blind him next time he's here, so he can't look at you again." Ignan sat back on the sofa and picked at his chips. "Poor sod, still infatuated with you decades on. He really must be mad."