Follows The Monster Upstairs

Miranda had not come back all night. Ignan had got up from his armchair, finished the last glass of wine alone. Whatever owl had arrived for Miranda, she had taken the letter with her. It wasn’t in the house, nor at the top of the waste paper bin. Something hadn’t quite seemed right, but she was summoned all hours of the day for healing, so Ignan put his thoughts aside and retired to bed. Gerda promised to keep an ear out for her mistress returning.

On Saturday morning, Ignan woke early and alone. No owl, no message. Fingertips resting on the grain of the kitchen table which had been fixed since the unceremonious upset in the path of cursing Lawrence Musgrave, Ignan spoke aloud to his elf who was drying the breakfast dishes.
“Gerda? Would you please see if Mira is at the hospital?”
“Yes, Master.” Placing down the tea towel and the plate, she vanished with a pop.

Gerda’s enormous eyes took a moment to adjust to the lack of light in mistress Miranda’s office in London. Her big ears heard the sound of breathing and a snap of her spindly fingers ignited the lamp on Miranda’s desk. It pooled enough to make out the lump on the sofa. Gerda frowned, unsurprised at the scene.
“Mistress, Mistress Miranda?” The elf approached, peering over her mistress. Ordinarily when she found Miranda like this, her mistress was fast asleep on her front, a hand trailing on the floor. She did much the same at home, nearly forcing Gerda’s master off the edge of the bed, Gerda knew because she woke them when it was an important day. But today mistress was lying on her back, her arms were folded across her stomach and the blanket was neatly folded back under her hands. She was wearing what she had left in the previous night. Gerda looked about, and saw the cloak hung up neatly. Mistress wasn’t exactly neat. The elf was much confused.

“Well?”
“Yes, Master. But she is asleep. Really asleep.” His house elf wrung her hands, ears folding back. Ignan frowned, offered his hands upturned.
“Take me.”

There were no images, sounds, dreams. There was only emptiness. Emptiness and cold. But in the distance there was a call, repeating a name. She was shaking.

“Mmm.” the shaking became more pronounced but she didn’t move. Her eyes didn’t open. The emptiness was satisfying; it was calming.

The name. Her name. Tired eyes blinked open to see a blurry face just above her. she screwed them shut again, before reopening, trying to focus.

“Miranda. Miranda, come on Head Healer, Mira.” He had one knee on the floor, and was leaning over her, shaking her firmly by the shoulders. His wife ordinarily took sleeping potion when she found it hard to sleep, but this was rivalling on waking Johann from one of his potion-induced comas with Gerda wielding the frying pan. What on earth had she been up to last night?

As the wizard came further into focus and consciousness dawned on her, Mira realised quickly that her head hurt. A lot. She squinted at him, batting arms away in tired annoyance. “What in Merlin’s name, Ignan?”

He released her abruptly, as keen as she was to keep grasp of her like that. Out of relief he sank back and got back to his feet, leaning on the edge of the sofa to push himself up again.
“I could ask the same of you.” He retorted, reaching with one hand to push her feet up the sofa so there was room enough for him to sink down at the other end. “You’ve been out all night, and we found you laid up like a patient on your office sofa.” Gerda was stood by the office fireplace, still wringing her hands, but her ears had pricked up in relief at hearing Miranda wake up. “You didn’t say where you were going. Given there’s a possibility your obsessive former classmate is alive and kicking, forgive your husband for worrying."

As Ignan spoke, Miranda could only stare. Dark eyes shot around the room and she realised very quickly that she had literally no recollection of how she’d gotten there. He pushed her feet out of the way, sitting down as Miranda pushed herself to sit up, staring at her husband with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
“Is this a joke?”

“Why would it be a joke?” Ignan replied, deadpan. When he made jokes, they were sarcastic, but funny.

“I was reading.” Miranda glanced to her side, she could clearly remember. “You were doing the crossword.”
“That was eleven hours ago.” Ignan replied, grumpy at his wife’s response. “Then you get an owl, and up and leave the house without an explanation.”
"No I didn't."
“Are you being obtuse on purpose?” Ignan asked, now visibly irritated. He looked to Gerda. “Gerda, please tell your Mistress when we last saw her?”
“10 o’clock, Master. An owl and then Mistress Miranda went upstairs, put on her cloak and went out the front door. That cloak.” Gerda pointed to the coat stand. “Mistress normally uses the fireplace when she comes to work. And her badge normally tells her come. Not an owl.” Ignan looked from Gerda to Miranda and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Miranda didn't cease glaring at her husband as the house elf reeled off a series of events that definitely didn't happen.
"Even the house elf. " she was getting irritated, frustrated.

“Gerda, coffee for your Mistress.” Ignan requested tersely. “Neither I or our house elf are having a joke with you Mira, what possible gain would there be?” Something was not right. He needed to be sure this was Miranda. He drew his wand, the tip glowing gently and lifted it towards her face. It was instinctive to look away when someone did that, so he added in a considerably more gentle tone, “No, look at me, there’s something - your pupils are uneven.” He drew his wand from one side to the other. Had she been stunned? Or hit her head? He wasn’t a healer, but she was acting like someone who might have a head injury. He drew his wand back, tip still lit, “What bottle of whiskey did we take up the night I proposed to you?”

Having squinted with the light in her eyes, Miranda was now worried. His demeanour had changed; no longer irritated but concerned. The witch frowned at the change in attitude and sat back, watching him.
“Ogdens. It’s all you buy.” Miranda was no longer irritated. She was confused. This wasn’t a joke. Ignan and Gerda were being genuine. “I didn’t leave the house last night.” Her voice was quiet, “We were sat in the living room. You spent five minutes on one answer, too stubborn to ask for help.” Her brows knitted together. “So why the hell am I here?”

“Very much what we were wondering.” Ignan agreed, the comment about his steadfast wish to answer every crossword question independently went by the by, even if he did concede that Miranda was far better at the plants, potions and cooking questions at very least. He flicked his wand at the other lamps, and they puttered into life.

“And you haven’t checked I am who I say I am,” he commented, “but it was eight across, bloody marine plants.” He gave her a nod, both satisfied the other was their spouse. “What is the last thing you remember? You don’t remember an owl at all?"

“I didn’t get an owl last night.” The healer once more insisted, her temper flared as her head hurt more.

Ignan frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Miranda was reminding him far too much of a student who maintained they hadn’t done something he’d seen them do with his own eyes.
“My love,” he addressed Mira, a phrase he only tended to use when exasperated and really wanted her to understand, "you did. A barn owl with a short note at about ten. You left the house of your own accord after it. In that cloak.” He pointed to the one hanging. “I’ve slept alone in our bed and asked Gerda to check if you were at work, and well, here you are.” He lowered his hand and put his hand to her foot, before pulling up the blanket. “And you went to sleep on your office sofa in your boots.” He gestured with both hands to Miranda’s feet beside him.

She’d been unwilling to even entertain such a thought until he pointed out the boots. Even in a state of exhaustion, Miranda took her footwear off to sleep. Not doing so was ridiculous. Why would Ignan make it up? Gerda wouldn’t seem as convincing if he had.

Frustrated, Mira sat up, swinging her legs around and throwing away the blanket. She closed her eyes, desperate to piece something together.

“Gerda, pop outside and ask Snardsworthy if there were any emergencies last night.” The houseelf nodded and scurried to the door as Miranda looked back at her husband, shaking her head concerned. “I don’t remember.”

The house elf had left the coffee for Miranda on the table beside the office sofa. It could wait. He was now very genuinely concerned that something was wrong with Mira. A lack of memory of how she got there, not remembering the owl, being fully dressed and very deeply asleep on the sofa in her office.
“How do you feel?” Ignan asked, trying hard to keep his tone neutral and concerned, “Do you have a sore head? Have you got your wand?” Too many questions at once perhaps, but he was worried.

Her wand! Miranda’s eyes widened as she felt around on the sofa.

“Shit.” She cursed, jumping up and heading to the cloak stand where she felt her cloak. The long wand was pulled, with much relief, from her pocket.

With that relief, the witch turned to stare at her husband.
“You need to check if I’ve been obliviated.” She’d seen it before so many times. She’d seen the symptoms

“Obliviated?” Ignan echoed, a heavy weight in his stomach. Messing with memories had strong negative associations for him, and the thought that someone he loved might have had the same made him fearful for her. “Would you not prefer one of your healers…” Ignan began to ask, as Gerda came back through the office door, looking from the sofa where he sat round and up to Miranda above her.

“Miss Bingham insists no one summoned you, Mistress.” The elf said, twisting her feet uncomfortably. Miranda could only stare at Ignan.

“Well, you always forget her name.” Ignan shrugged. “And it wasn’t your badge. It was an owl. You left to apparate.” He blinked, “Do they summon you by owl if it’s a Ministry matter? Or a healing emergency somewhere else in the country?” He asked, considering Miranda’s Wizengamot role. The Ministry had trained obliviators, but he couldn’t help but think she would be given some kind of indication. “Is there anything else in your pockets? What was the last spell you cast?” He gestured to the wand in her hand.

Too many questions. Miranda didn’t answer them, she just stared, trying to think. Her head hurt. Really hurt.
“It’s always the badge. I touch it and just know.” But that was beside the point. She needed to know. Feet carried her back to the sofa where she sat down next to her husband. “You need to check, now. There will be emptiness if I was obliviated. Just blank.”

Uneasy, he nodded, and shifted to face her on his left. He reached for her right hand with his left, gripping it with just enough pressure to convey solidarity.
“Alright.” He said, though it was as much for them both as it was for him. He lifted his wand, steadied his breath. Whereas Miranda could jump into this (as he had seen her do to his cousin) he was apprehensive, especially over entering her mind. Not least because searching an legilimens mind even with their permission opened a door into your own. One which Ignan kept bolted and sealed. But, Miranda’s current state of bewilderment was far more important. She wasn’t going digging.

He uttered the incantation and closed his eyes.
Alright. It was eight across, remember the answer for me.

His voice in their minds was almost removed of any German accent which could be heard by native British speakers in his speaking voice. With an English mother he had been raised speaking it, and perceived his own voice far cleaner than it was. Mira’s mind was oddly ordered, but very quick to react. They were in their living room, bright as day and he could feel her glee at being able to answer a question instantly which he’d struggled on. Then… blackness. Like something had been there, not quite an end, but an obscurity.

He felt his own rising fear, a thought of blood on Venetian cobbles, and withdrew suddenly and abruptly, letting go of Miranda’s hand simultaneously.
“As you described,” he spoke, “blank.”

She hadn’t tried to search or keep him out. She’d let him in willingly, eager to know the truth. But the truth didn’t tell her enough. Miranda frowned deeply at him, lips pressed together as she thought. His thought had reached her mind. Cobbles, blood. But now wasn’t the time.
“Who was my owl from?”
“You didn’t say,” Ignan replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose again. Using legilimency could give him a headache and the situation was already doing nothing for his blood pressure. “Just said you had to go. Have you still got the letter? It wasn’t at home… I had a look when you didn’t come home.” He got up this time to search her cloak.

“I’d have taken it with me.” The cobbles and blood. It was as if that had replaced the blankness in her memory. “Pass me one of those.” Ignan had pulled her cigarettes from cloak pocket. Smoking wasn’t exactly accepted in St Mungo’s (it was in fact banned) but Miranda more than often did it in her office. He had pulled that and a bar of chocolate, and a small packet of mints from her cloak. The rest of the pockets contained lint, and not any parchment. He tossed the packet towards her lap before giving the chocolate a once-over. Standard St Mungo’s issue for staff and for the I.D.R.E.A.D team, absolutely unremarkable.

He dropped the mints back into the pocket he found them and brought the chocolate back, sinking down on the sofa once more. Gerda didn’t even flinch at the fact Miranda was now smoking. She was instead subtly straightening papers and clearing away a leftover sandwich festering from a previous working day.
“Perhaps you better have this, as a precaution.” Ignan suggested, handing over the chocolate. “Pass me your wand, would you?”

Too focused on her cigarette and taking a calming drag, Miranda let the chocolate sit in her lap for a moment. He thought Lawrence was responsible, hence the chocolate. She couldn’t disagree. Her wand was handed to him, content for the moment to let him do his thing while she tried to piece together whatever had happened.

Ignan gave Miranda’s wand a quick inspection, checking for signs of new damage as she smoked. Miranda’s wand was two inches longer than his own, made of holly, but they both had the same cores. In theory, his wife’s wand had good potential to him in a fix, for defensive magic.
“Priori Incantatem,” he cast out into her office, studying the pattern of the previous spell with a frown. It had last been used to apparate.

“Musgrave is alive. He must be.” Miranda spoke and he looked to her abruptly.
“What makes you say that?”  She took her wand back from him, almost snatching.
“Who else would obliviate me? I saw him last night, I know it.”
“Then who sent the owl?”

“How should I know?!” The witch was frustrated. She stood and walked to the window, opening it to drop the ash from her cigarette out of it. A cool, calming breath later and she looked back at her husband. “I wouldn’t have gone if it was him.”
“That, I hope, is obvious.” Ignan agreed, sitting forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “You upped and went without a hint of who. It was someone, or something that caused you to urgently leave at ten on a Friday night before full moon. Someone needed you.”

He sighed, “You should have told- never mind. You will need to report it, Mira. The Ministry’s obliviators might be able to recover something for you. The other possibility I can entertain is that this has something to do with the wizengamot.” Though he wasn’t sure which was easier to consider, Lawrence Musgrave or their government. “And then there’s your eyes.”

“Why would I report it? It’s bad enough that I’m the Head Healer who got poisoned by her own potions supply. Now I’m the one who’s been obliviated? People can’t know this, Ignan.” Her eyes grew wide, concerned. “What if I did something last night? Something I shouldn’t have?”
“And obliviated yourself?!” Ignan responded swiftly, sitting up straight. “Miranda, there are surely a finite number of people in this world other than me who you would run to help and not want to tell me about. Gerda, go to Maya and check with-."
“No!” She waved her hand at Gerda, a look that challenged the elf to defy her. Dark, tired eyes darted back to Ignan, straining. Where were her damn glasses? “Of course I didn’t obliviate myself. And I would have told you if I was seeing Maya. I don’t need to keep my own daughter a secret from my husband.” Her tone was harsh, revealing how frustrated she was with fewer and fewer answers.

Ignan didn’t reply, but to Miranda his change in posture and expression was enough to indicate his hurt for that retort. Miranda would never truly forgive him for lying about being a father.
“What if…” He struggled to find a way to phrase it, “What if someone has hurt you. Taken.. advantage of you.” She had deflected his questions about whether she felt any pain or was injured. It was clear enough she’d taken a blow to the head, probably from a spell. If she was left with a lingering decision that Musgrave was still alive, then something subconscious had been triggered.

“What the-?” She stared at her husband, incredulous. Now he was being ridiculous. “No marks, no pain. Just a fucking huge gap in my memory!” More than aware she was losing her temper with the person trying to help her, Miranda couldn’t stop it. The cigarette was thrown out of the window and she slammed it shut. “I’m not reporting it because the aurors will do nothing and it will only end up in the papers.”

“Fine.” Ignan replied sharply. Gerda’s ears flattened back on her head at the cross words and she cowered slightly, putting the desk between her and her owners. Her master got up, crossed the office in a few short strides, pausing before her fireplace. “I ward the house. I do what I can to protect you.” Because I love you, he added silently. “But you’re hellbent on digging your own grave. Do excuse me if I don’t stand by and watch.” He scooped a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantle, and threw it in, uttering the name of their home.

The fireplace burst into flames as Ignan vanished within. Miranda didn’t try and stop him, she just glared after him for a few moments. Her hands were shaking as she went back to the sofa and pulled another cigarette from the pack. Gerda was still stood by the desk and received a dark glare from her mistress.
“Go home then.” The elf squeaked and popped, vanishing. Miranda closed her eyes and sat back on the sofa. The cigarette between her fingers hadn’t been lit but a single tear was slowly falling down her cheek.



End