“All black?” Edwin remarked, standing up from the table at Gregor Ramsley’s[1], “Mourning your marriage?”

Of course he was joking, he couldn’t suppress the corners of his mouth from curling up beneath his ruddy cheeks. It had not got past Miranda’s attention that Edwin had flirted with her, the pinnacle of his attempts being his bid for her at the St Mungo’s auction, outbidding her then future husband. He’d naturally been disappointed to hear they had got married by new year, but Edwin, being Edwin, had many fish in the sea to chase and talk to. So what if Ira Almasy was playing the long game, he’d get there eventually.

Perhaps she’d find him more attractive now he’d secured a running place for Minister, as he’d promised he would. Unfortunately there were many feminists pleased at the running of Miranda Storm, though admittedly she wasn’t the most popular with some families, probably ones she’d bitten into or of those poisoned last year. Still, at least they had an opinion on her, and knew who she was.

And she’d asked to meet. The tone of it hadn’t seemed malicious, had seemed almost… friendly… if Edwin could ever imagine Miranda being truly friendly. Sexy, yes, but looks didn’t always come with pleasant personalities. Gregor Ramsley’s was difficult to get a lunch table at, but there’d been a cancellation, and this had to be a conversation of significance. Their table was beside a mountaintop view through a bewitched window.

“All official now,” Glass smiled happily, taking his seat again, “Storm, Glass and Prewett for the top office. How does that feel?”

1.	An AO canon wizard counterpart of Gordon Ramsey

“Edwin.” Miranda approached the table, her lips twisting into a smirk as the waiter pulled a chair out for her to sit. “Charming as ever.” Glass commenting on her marriage to Ignan had been an expectation; he’d wanted some of her attention the past summer. Miranda hadn’t, however, expected the comment to be immediately upon her arrival. She wore black regularly at St Mungos; it was easier to clean the blood from when she needed to get involved on the wards.

Having never been a great fan of Edwin Glass since the auction incident on the first night she’d met him, Miranda had questioned her own motives for asking to meet with him this afternoon. She’d asked to simply come to the ministry, or him to her for a ‘chat’. He’d insisted on lunch. Ignan knew nothing. It was perhaps best to leave it that way considering his reaction last time Miranda had said anything about Glass to her jealous husband.

“Honestly? It feels underwhelming.” Her tone was friendly with a hint of ice. The witch was seldom warm to people she didn’t know well. She was rarely warm to people she did!
“You look like a child in honeydukes. Ministerial candidacy suits you well.”

Edwin chuckled at her comment of underwhelming. It struck him that Miranda never took great enjoyment at being called to sit on the Wizengamot, even if her appointment was for her knowledge and standing in the community. Healing was her bag, and Edwin was very happy for her to stick with it. St Mungo’s was something they could not do without.

“Do I? Well, it’s been a long time coming, first time I have thrown my hat into the race so to say.” He pulled at his cufflinks to smooth out his shirtsleeves under his jacket. “Your name was a surprise, only in that you’re doing such a marvellous job leading the hospital, one would want to prolong that.”

Two crisp parchment menus arrived out of mid air before them, along with the wine list. Edwin’s hand seized his automatically, though he did not inspect it before first asking a question,
"Are you not flattered by the nomination that you might be capable of running wizarding government?”

Miranda Storm was not a natural politician. Both she and the wizard she was dining with were well aware of that reality. She could, however, recognise when someone was playing a verbal game with her. Glass’ compliment of how she was doing at St Mungo’s and the obvious reason for it didn’t go unnoticed. Yet Miranda did nothing but smile, a cool, calm smile.

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered. This time last year no one knew my name.” She was just a Durmstrang professor visiting for the tournament. Miranda was well aware that she hadn’t featured on anyone’s radar; no one of importance, anyway. It wasn’t until she’d taken over the hospital and starting making some quite controversial changes that her name became a household one. Edwin had been a head of department for over 8 years and on the wizengamot for nearly as long as far as Miranda knew. He’d been a political mover for far longer than she ever wanted to be. To have such a relatively new leader up against him for minister? That may have stung a little.

Suddenly Miranda looked rather more serious as she put the menu down on the table, looking across at her companion through her glasses.
“How much do you want to prolong my position at the hospital?”

“How long do I want to prolong it?” Edwin asked, a little uncertainty in his features, “You have my support in your leadership there, Miranda. Why, do you not want to prolong it?”

Of course he wanted her to prolong it, if it meant she was not going to be Minister. He wasn’t going to outrightly say that of course, it was obvious and when he became Minister, he wanted Miranda on-side. She was clever, influential and had made very positive changes to the hospital, even if they were controversial to some. His obliviators and other staff were spending less time there being patched up, and more time on the job. There were efficiencies, interest in new research, especially with the dementors. Since Level 9 were doing nothing quick about solving the issue of dementors kisses, he was happy to put his support behind St Mungo’s visibly dealing with the care of, while he led the prevention of the cause itself.

Their water glasses filled themselves with a gentle tinkle, and Edwin’s stomach grumbled quietly beneath the table.

“You misunderstand me,” out of the corner of her eye, Mira noted their glasses filling themselves but she didn’t remove her dark eyed gaze from Edwin.  “How much do you want me to remain at St Mungo’s. What is it worth to you, Mr Glass? Don’t answer immediately.” Suddenly she drew her gaze away from him, people didn’t appreciate being stared at or read.

Taking up the menu in her hands, Miranda started to scour it. Edwin had insisted on lunch. With her proposal he would certainly be eager to pay for it. That was fortunately when she glanced over the prices. There was a reason the Storms rarely ate out.

The head healer wasn’t sure exactly how much she would be able to get out of this meeting but Glass’ very words made her quite certain he’d be willing to help her to help himself.

Miranda’s gaze averted to her menu while Edwin’s remained staring across at her. Now, that was an interesting proposal.

Was Miranda proposing he bought her out of the running, or the hospital with her in it? She didn’t seem the sort for the former, so it had to be the latter. Edwin was already a benefactor of the hospital, his Head of Department wage was more than comfortable considering his seniority and long service, and he had no problems monetarily supporting an essential service he’d benefitted from. He wasn’t so comfortable on naming a price, so it was good that Miranda did not seek to press one.

Edwin’s lips curled into a smug little smile and he looked down at his own menu.
“Will you also be having lunch with Prewett?” He asked after reading the starters.

“If you make the wrong decision.” Miranda didn’t miss a beat. Glass had been her first choice. It was better the devil you knew. She didn’t even look up from her menu to speak to him but he gaze did rise when the waiter approached with a small notebook and quill floating beside him.

“Do you have anything on this menu that normal people eat?” the healer found herself asking. She didn’t like pretentious food.

The young wizard looked slightly stumped, not accustomed to being asked such a thing. “Pumpkin pie?” he tried.

Miranda shook her head, frown lines creasing near her eyes. “I’ll have the duck. Hold the dolphin potatoes,” a look of distaste was evident as she glanced at the word ‘dauphinoise’. “Do you do chips? And tea. A cup of tea.”

Perturbed by the request, the waiter nodded and glanced at the wizard, hoping he would be easier to deal with.

Edwin’s smug smile grew. It even managed to sustain itself while Miranda blundered through the menu.

Dolphin potatoes. Edwin resisted the urge to laugh or even bite his lip to stop it. He executed his best straight face which had been exercised well over the last decade as a Department Head to the floor that saw the most ridiculous incidents. He couldn’t help but feel he might have dodged a curse by not managing to woo Miranda Elliot last year. Merlin knew what Ignan Storm did with her. Perhaps he was as uncouth as she was with cuisine.

Thankfully Gregor Ramsley’s waiters could cope, but whether the chef turned the air blue by the time she received her food back would be seen. Edwin blinked slowly, expressing just enough apology to the waiter without uttering a word.
“Côte de porc, with the pinot noir.” The waiter dipped his head and vanished without a further word, bread and olives appearing on the table between them.

“I was intending to meet with you, either way,” Edwin continued the conversation, his response to her unspoken but surely understood, “Ministry policy is my forte, health, not quite so. What do you consider to be our greatest challenges and risks to magical health currently, and in future?”

Edwin wanted to know Miranda’s predications for the future but she wasn’t yet prepared to share her thoughts. He wouldn’t get any insider information until he’d agreed to the bargain. The healer’s lips twitched, a small smile forming just as a small teapot, cup and saucer appeared on the table before her. She decided to focus on that rather than Edwin’s question, and therefore poured the tea, spooned some sugar in and stirred.

It was when she added a drop of milk that Mira finally spoke.
“You’ve avoided my question, Edwin.” Dark eyes met his once more. “How much is prolonging my tenure as Head Healer worth to you?” After a final stir, Mira lifted the cup to her lips for a sip.

“You don’t just want me to put a number down.” Edwin replied smoothly, ignoring his wine while Miranda stirred her tea. The waiter had presumably decided against asking which leaf she wanted and had divined English breakfast or something universally palatable. “Besides, one can’t control the Ministry budget allocations until one is in office. However, I am keen to divert some research funding from Level 9 to the more transparent and ethical research.”

They had reached a temporary stalemate, but Edwin was confident they could see past it. He did want to understand plans for the hospital, because despite how Edwin might enjoy chaotic interventions with the likes of Ira Almasy, he had always wanted to do his job rather well. Department Head was rather easier after so many years, but Minister had always been his long term aspiration. He wasn’t about to stuff it up because Miranda Storm decided she was going to undermine him before he was even elected!

“Yes, in theory, and without knowing your plans for the years ahead, you have my support at the hospital, Miranda, but before I can confirm how deeply, and how I may prioritise health policies within my manifesto, I really do need to understand your plans.”

Ignan wouldn’t have liked her admitting, but Edwin was a smart wizard. He wasn’t eager, or even willing, to confirm complete support until Miranda explained her plans and ambitions. He was sensible; she’d have done similar. She nodded slowly, took a sip of her tea and placed the cup back on the saucer on the table.

“I have three main foci.” She suddenly looked quite serious.

“It’s no secret we are steadily more and more inundated with victims of dementor attacks. I am prioritising research into demented patients. If the ministry can’t reign them in, we need to cope with the effects.” Her tone was business like, focused. “I am working towards funding for a specialised werewolf wing. Each year the full moon seems to affect more peope, putting more strain on a hospital no longer built to cope with the increasing number of attacks.”

Dark eyes glanced over Edwin’s face, checking he was with her. “Finally, perhaps the most public of our plights,” a grimace, “potions. We now have our own greenhouses, we are working towards being almost completely self-sufficient, meaning complete control over what we use on our patients. What happened in December will not reoccur while I am Head Healer. But that takes money for herbologists, potioneers and facilities.”

Miranda paused for a moment, considering her words.
“I have no interest in becoming Minister for Magic, Edwin. I have every interest in making sure that St Mungo’s is the best wizarding hospital out there.”

Edwin was glad Miranda obliged with her plans. He paid good attention, adding nods at regular intervals, his hands folded over each other on the edge of the crisp linen tablecloth.

“… if the Ministry can’t rein them in…” They would, but this wasn’t the moment to say about his own dementor plans.

“… the full moon seems to affect more peope, putting more strain on a hospital no longer built to cope with the increasing number of attacks…” Edwin suppressed a curious little hum in his throat about this point, not entirely agreeing that her feelings on the increase in werewolf numbers and attacks was entirely correct. He sipped his pinot noir gently, placing it aside again as Miranda paused.

“Something which the wizarding nation is very glad of,” Edwin confirmed graciously, once she’d finished. He lifted his fingers in gentle gesture to Miranda. “Much as my motives seem otherwise placed, I would much rather see you at the helm of St Mungo’s.” Edwin sat back a little.

“All very valid, sensible choices from my perspective, and I should think the public’s too. The Ministry will sort this dementor issue, I do not doubt that it is close to Prewett’s heart what with the boys in your long term care, and it is one of my foremost priorities.” The Department Head’s expression was entirely serious. He had thoughts to reverse Shacklebolt’s decree that the Ministry would never ever use dementors again, if it was a method for keeping the population under control.

"As for the werewolves, however, I do question your claim of increasing numbers of attacks. The numbers since the afflicted were required to be confined to the Ministry has stabilised, and the population has naturally declined a few from natural death, at least since the Ides of March direwolf attacks.” Edwin looked thoughtful, “though I would be most interested to review your data on injuries and attacks. You have increased your safeguards for staff, I hope, one does recall a Miss Bombay was turned while employed.”

Their lunches materialised on the table before each of them, swiftly followed by their waiter to ask if they might bring them anything else. Edwin tried not to eye Miranda’s duck and chips, which had been expertly presented despite the fact it was not on the menu.

“Staff in creature injuries are expertly trained to deal with the events of the full moon, Edwin.” Miranda took up her knife and fork to begin slicing through the duck breast. “What happened to Healer Bombay was a freak accident with a witch probably too inexperienced to deal with the situation.” Edwin surely knew that she’d not even been in the country when it had happened. “But safeguarding my staff is obviously a top concern.”

Miranda wasn’t about to justify opinions and policies to the wizard and therefore she took a bite duck with a crispy chip on the end of her fork, enjoying the tenderness. It wasn’t often she ate such posh food; she may as well enjoy it.

“I will be stepping down from the election early next week once I have some plans in place.” The healer’s tone was business-like, stern. “During my statement to the Daily Prophet I shall mention my support for you as minister. As long as I can guarantee your support for my hospital.”

It would be foolish to believe that Miranda and Edwin would see eye to eye on every inch of her policy, but the broad brush strokes were definitely in the right landscape. As the Head Healer made short work of digging into her lunch, Edwin was more considered. He’d come here wondering if Miranda was going to offer him a deal, or ask for advice. The reality was rather more satisfying.

“Given what you have outlined,” Edwin replied calmly, “I do not foresee any issue with those terms.” He smiled, thick lips pressed together tightly. His mind was already factoring in routes and possibilities from this moment ahead of them.

“To St Mungo’s.” He proposed, lifting his wine glass to toast. Miranda’s teacup met it a beat later.

End