Did the wizarding world have an equivalent of a nobel prize?  If so, the inventor of the impervious charm certainly deserved one.  It proved to be the perfect idea for a long day of persistent, steady rain.  While the edges of those wonderfully sleek dragon skin boots sunk into the mud with an unpleasant squelch, they remained wonderfully shiny when they reemerged with each stride.  Mud oozing into the leather tooling would have been a rather sad way to end the day of carefree shopping. 

The same charm kept his new cloak likewise clean and dry.  It would have been a shame to see water spots appearing on those new buttons.  It was exceptionally nice to, finally, dress in quality, dapper, wizarding style. 

This weekend had marked Sasha's first trip to Hogsmeade after gaining full, legal-adult control of his finances.  While the Ravenclaw had never wanted before, there was only so much he could siphon away to the wizarding world without having to answer awkward questions from the trust lawyers.  He'd never been in a position to browse and shop with the same carefree abandon that he could in the muggle world and his wardrobe had always reflected that imbalance.  This first post-exam shopping spree had started in Munich and had followed Sasha back to Diagon Alley and, finally, Hogsmeade.  Shop owners all along the way were more than eager to help Sasha correct the imbalance. 

The (admittedly shallow) enjoyment from a new outfit also helped overshadow the anticipation of finally meeting the next key member of this newly uncovered branch of the family tree: Miranda Storm.  They'd flirted with the potential of meeting several times before but reasons to put those meetings off had been far too easy to come by.  Studying.  Meeting.  Pending exams.  Snow.  The matter proved easy enough to avoid until an attack had left Professor Storm - his father - barely clinging to life. 

Death had become a far too familiar visitor and, with each visit, it seemed to leave perspectives in slightly different alignments.   Sasha had quickly surmised from Miranda Storm that his being at St. Mungo's wasn't the most welcome, so he'd done his best to make his presence and concern known while giving her her space. 

Professor Storm was, thankfully, very much on the mend.  Sasha had suspected the stereotypical convalescing gift of flowers would have been, at best, humorously tolerated so he'd opted for a bottle of German elfish wine, instead.  He took a moment to (unnecessarily) straighten the lapels of his coat and smooth his hair before knocking on the front door. 

How bad could this really be? 

It was a rarity to find Miranda Storm at home on a Saturday afternoon. Saturday afternoons and evenings were habitually the busiest times for her hospital during the normal working week. If one excepted Christmas day and New Year’s Eve, it was on a Saturday that people were the most reckless and ridiculous. Reckless Saturday’s kept the witch’s hospital full. The previous Saturdays, however, Miranda had remained home, deciding she was able to do some of her duties from the desk in their small study.

Miranda was on her way to the kitchen for another cup of tea when there was a knock on the door. With Gerda tinkering in the garden and Ignan up to Merlin knew what all day, it was left to her to see who insisted on disturbing them. Her glasses hung from a string around her neck and her feet were bare on the wooden floor.

With mild irritation, the door was pulled open and Miranda was forced to look up towards a set of eyes she recognised immediately. They bore far too much similarity to her husband’s that she didn’t need to be told who this was. Pale lips immediately pressed together and her body stiffened.

This child had received no invitation.

There was little point in pretending she hadn’t figured out who was stood at their doorway towering over her. There was also little point in ignoring the fact he was there.

Her now alert mind flashed back to the last visitors she’d let into their house and her husband’s now healing injuries. with such a reminder, the door was shut without a word, leaving the boy on the doorstep and Miranda walked into the kitchen to see Ignan sat at the table.
“You have a visitor.” Her voice was cold. “He has your eyes.”

Ignan had come home from St Mungo’s a fortnight ago, and in that time, Miranda had made more of a point to be home. At first it had been to keep a sharper eye on him, particularly as the recovery in the wake of the curse had been a lot slower than the average magical malady. Then, with a strict timetable of potions (Miranda’s enchanted parchment had delivered suitable threat at least twice in that first week) and the most sleep Ignan had taken in decades, things began to pick up. He still wasn’t entirely himself, but considering he had been given less than a day to live at the end of the previous month, he was remarkably healthy.

With Miranda taking over the cottage's very modest study to work (her favourite hobby and primary occupation) and write more of her book if not attend to St Mungo’s business, Ignan had commandeered the kitchen table instead. Minerva had relieved him of Hogwarts duties with the news he might be unable to work for the foreseeable future, but part of getting back to normal was to pick up work again. Being stubborn as a mule, nobody apart from Miranda could dissuade him, and even she appreciated how a normal routine made one feel well again. He would restart teaching on Monday. It was fortunate he’d only lost a week of lessons.

Mira addressed him sharply on entering the kitchen. Ignan immediately dropped his left hand from rubbing at his sore right shoulder through the thick navy wool jumper as he marked second year homework from March with a quill. However, the experienced healer did not seem to give a crap about such things, stating they had a visitor.
“…. He has your eyes.”

Ignan did not immediately make the connection, first of all considering who might want to deliver eyeballs to him when he hadn’t requested any or needed any potions supplies for lessons. His mind quickly considered whether Miranda meant them as some sort of remedy he needed to consume, and then his mind but her behaviour and a visitor together and gave a start.

“He… I didn’t hear the door? I... am not expecting him.” Ignan uttered quietly with a frown, placing aside his quill and getting to his feet. He avoided his wife’s sharp gaze on his route out of the kitchen. The living room was empty, and there was no sounds within apart from the rain outside and a distant clatter from the garden where Gerda was weeding under a floating umbrella. To his initial surprise, Ignan realised that Miranda meant Sasha was on the doorstep, and hadn’t been invited in. He reached out and opened the door with his good arm.

“Sasha,” Ignan addressed, tone mildly surprised. He suppressed the instinctive reaction to address the teenager as Schlagenweit. The boy was dressed smartly, in robes which Ignan had not noticed or observed before, and the toes of dragon skin boots were visible beneath the hem of the cloak. The Professor paused a moment, considering implications, making a small movement as if about to invite him inside before thinking better. “Forgive us, given recent events, might I ask you what the topic of our last lesson was?” He asked, referring to theory work on the precautions of using fire curses for defence in an enclosed space which he had taught two weeks before the Easter holiday.

Once Sasha had responded sufficiently, Ignan nodded and stepped back, holding the door open for him to enter. “I hadn’t expect you back in the area until tomorrow,” he added, “you find us both working.” The professor closed the door behind them and looked to the kitchen door nearby. Lowering his voice, he gestured with a raised finger to his son and spoke quietly in their mutually understood language which Miranda would not understand, “Forgive me, there is no good time to introduce you both of late, and not all our visitors, as you can imagine, have been welcome.”

The door swung open and a somewhat familiar face peered through the threshold at him.  A few quiet breaths passed before the door swung shut, again, and the muffled sound of footsteps faded, quickly.  Sasha stared at the face of the newly-closed door then glanced up at the rainwater collecting along the eaves and dribbling down in steady streams. 

Well, he hadn't been hexed or yelled at.  Things could be off to a worse start, right?

However, it did leave an open question: was that it?  Were they waiting for him to give up and turn to leave?  Should he ... was it even safe to attempt knocking again?  He'd avoided being hexed the first time; he wasn't sure if he should tempt fate a second time.  At least he had the wine if he started to get cold. 

He could see the headline now: student found drinking on Deputy Headmaster's doorstep.  Protest or prank?  Luckily, it was only a few moments before the door swung open, again, and Sasha was saved from having to warm himself with ethanol.  Assuming that was what gave elvish wine it's inebriating qualities.  An interesting question to add to the growing list of things to investigate.

"Sir," Sasha offered in response to the greeting.  "You mean, apart from reminding us again to not be complacent about our upcoming examinations?"  The mild quip had been a stalling tactic; that lesson's topic had been somewhat overshadowed by the subsequent events and a little muddled by a week's worth of disjointed substitute teaching.  "But, if I'm recalling correctly, it had something to do with not lighting fires in spaces too small to accommodate them.  Followed, I think, by at least two examples of why not to do so outside of class."  Neither of which, he suspected, had been intentional.  His year seemed to have its fair share of accident-prone students.  "I'm not entirely sure you were aware of that."  Which made for a somewhat poor impromptu security answer.

The Ravenclaw stepped into the living room and offered an apologetic grin, non-verbally acknowledging the unplanned visit.  He followed his father's lead when the older wizard switched to German and kept his voice low.  "I apologize for dropping by unexpected.  I hadn't expected to be up this way, either, but my appointment with the Gringott's goblins had to be rescheduled last minute.  So, I had some unplanned free time."  He omitted that he'd been the one to cancel the appointment.  Not just because this felt more important; he also wanted to try to do some more research on his own before delving too much into any financial dealings with the goblins.  Perhaps, even, hire a wizarding lawyer just to make sure he didn't make any stupid rookie-wizard mistakes.

"I realized it was probably foolish to think there would actually be a good time for this.  With NEWTs and career days and last-minute homework, I don't think that's going to change after tomorrow."  Sasha shifted the bottle of wine from his arm to his hand and extended it to the wizard.  "Besides, once I've resumed the role of student, a 'Get Well' gift might seem a bit strange.  Though, I suppose it's more of a 'be well' gift." 

Following the direction of Professor Storm's glance towards one of the closed doors, Sasha added.  "However, I can leave, if you think that's for the best.  It's not my intention to be too intrusive.  I'm satisfied with seeing you're still alright." 

Sasha took the hint and also switched language so that Miranda could not easily overhear. Gerda would understand, but she was still out in the garden as far as he knew. The younger wizard extended a bottle to his father, and Ignan was mildly surprised at the gesture, revealed only by a twitch of his silver eyebrow.
“...it’s more of a ‘be well’ gift.” Sasha admitted, as Ignan extended his left hand to take the bottle by the base and glance at the label before glancing up and uttering humble thanks.
“Thank you,” Ignan spoke in English this time, “We can’t all wait until the right moment.” He gave Sasha a respectful nod.

The door to the kitchen had come open again and Miranda was stood in the doorway[1] watching them both. Perhaps the low voices and the language she didn’t really know had piqued her curiosity. Ignan had assumed she did not want to be introduced given the manner she’d greeted Sasha. Miranda had, in contrast, been a lot more willing to get to know other members of the extended family without closing the door on them. He very much doubted Miranda had suddenly taken the security precautions to heart with Musgrave and Bombay under watch in London.

“Miranda,” Ignan addressed, “Sasha, Sasha, Miranda.” He introduced simply. “Apologies for leaving you on the doorstep,” he added to Sasha on Miranda’s behalf, “with the two of you not yet introduced, Miranda would not be able to verify who you were.” He delivered it as convincingly as he could, though his lingering gaze to his wife indicated caution. There was a pause, Ignan weighing up his wish to keep Sasha at arm’s length, Miranda’s distrust over the fact he had lied about being a father, and the fact he had nearly died. There had been other near misses, but none that definite that he was effectively cheating death now.

“Come, sit down.” Ignan invited, going to lift his right arm to gesture, but only managing a mild gesture. He was probably due yet another dose of potions. “Better to be acquainted over tea than my corpse.” He looked past Sasha to Miranda and fixed her with an intense stare.

1.

From Mel

Sasha turned as the kitchen door swung open and saw the woman standing in the doorway, appearing to acknowledge Sasha’s presence without fully committing to entering the room.  Despite many year’s worth of etiquette lessons at his disposal, Sasha wasn’t entirely sure what was the best approach.  Not for a lack of consideration, of course.  He'd had quite a few hours to ponder the options on the train ride north. 

The Ravenclaw started to step forward, raising his hand to extend it as Professor Storm exchanged names but thought better of it.  The Healer was still standing in the doorway and nothing in her demeanor suggested encroaching upon her space was a good idea, even in the name of formalities.  He let his arm fall back to his side and offered a polite nod, instead.  Despite opting against offering a handshake, Sasha couldn't let go of formalities enough to use first names.  That felt far too awkward. 

“Mrs. Storm, it’s a privilege to meet you,” he offered.  Sasha remembered the witch from when she worked at Hogwarts but that had been …   Certainly before Darcy Bloxham had set fire to the infirmary[1].  That had been the start of his fifth year, after Snark had expelled Foley.  Back when Sasha had his own family and avoided any activity that might warrant an owl home.  To the best of his ability, he’d avoided detentions, trips to the infirmary or anything that might have been noteworthy like his life depended on it.  By extension, he’d avoided the healer as much as he could manage. 

How distant that all seemed now; like a whole other life that belonged to someone else. 

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said to both of them.  “It’s understandable, under the circumstances.  I should have sent an owl, but I’d left Jack[2] in London.  And, I suspect bullet trains are faster than my tiny owl.”  Sasha had also suspected that forewarning would have just provided opportunities to find scheduling conflicts. 

The Ravenclaw took the proffered seat, grimacing slightly at the blunt reasoning.  But, yes, Professor Storm had summed it up nicely.  Or, even if no corpse was involved, before something else happened and Johann wasn’t around to think of Sasha.   

1.	When Fiendfyre burnt the hospital wing
2.	Sasha’s elf owl Jack

Apparently Ignan hadn’t expected the teenaged intruder. His reaction was believable but his wife wasn’t eager to believe due to the pure inconvenience the unanticipated visitor had caused. She’d been quite content to never meet the secret son of her secretive husband. The child was a reminder of the many things she probably didn’t know about the wizard she now shared a life and a name with.

It was little surprise that the Healer remained in the kitchen for a moment to school herself and try to push back the irritation. Ignan could handle the anger and she didn’t care at all if his son could or not. She didn’t, however, wish to start another bout of the couple not speaking because of secret family members and resentments.

This was about the only driving force behind her finally appearing in the doorway to survey father and son conversing in their native tongue. The irritation resurfaced and her lips were pressed tightly together. The similarities were unpleasantly obvious to the witch who lived in such close proximity to the father. It sickened her that he’d failed to tell her. It sickened her that he failed to be a father. Many things she could have said about her former husband, but neglectful to his children, he wasn’t.

Mrs Storm… Miranda’s expression suddenly softened somewhat. It wasn’t this kid’s fault and yet her husband had maintained such formalities with his son! Ignan was the person to be irritated with. He was even the one levelling her with a stare. What did he think she would do?

“You shouldn’t need to owl your own flesh and blood, Sasha. Only an ignorant fool would think otherwise.” There was no smile with the words but the witch did step into the living room and took a seat in Ignan’s armchair along with the black cat.

“Ignan can make the tea. He needs to use his shoulder.”

Professor Storm could not fault Sasha’s manners most days. Despite first name terms on introduction, he kept to surnames. He’d only ever called his father sir, as far as Ignan could remember. The older wizard did not expect his son to change that any time soon. The fact they had discovered each other’s relation a year or so into the habit of Professor and Schlagenweit and maintained an illusion of barely knowing each other during term time didn’t lend itself to anything more familiar. As Ignan glanced to Sasha now, he reflected that the two of them knew hardly anything better than he did of most students despite their blood ties. It had always felt intrusive. Ignan was secretive at best, and Sasha had other confidantes.

Anticipating Miranda would also distance herself, due to her reaction and also her unwillingness to pursue conversation about Sasha at any point, Ignan was pleased to hear her speak evenly to the younger wizard. The pleasure was shortlived, an edge of sarcasm beneath Miranda’s tone. He very much doubted Miranda would enjoy Maya turning up on the doorstep lately, if her brother’s explanation of an argument stood. Still, Miranda had been content to tolerate Bug stealing from her for the sake of her daughter’s happiness, well, to a point. She’d been overjoyed when Ignan had dissuaded the butcher. In a way that only Miranda could be ‘overjoyed’.

Sasha had taken a seat on the sofa, for the living room was very modest, and the cat was occupying Ignan’s armchair. The more he discouraged it, the more it preferred it. The thing had fallen asleep on him during the first week of his recuperation, and Ignan had been too tired to protest. He’d done a lot of sleeping that week, and the cat had rejoiced in the adoption of its sleeping schedule. Miranda took a place beside it, sharing the armchair. If a cat could look smug, then that cat was exactly that as it stared at Ignan now.

“Ignan can make the tea. He needs to use his shoulder.” Miranda’s suggestion was received with no verbal response, just a subtle nod before he retreated to the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. 

Within their modest kitchen, Ignan made a face and rubbed at his shoulder, and flicked his wand at the kettle and the tea tray. He reached for the familiar bottles on the counter, turning briskly as the back door opened. He visibly relaxed as he saw Gerda, their house elf, step through, shaking off the umbrella before setting it against the doorframe. The back door swung shut of its own accord. Her enormous eyes took in the scene, confused at why her master was boiling the kettle for three cups of tea. Ignan pressed a finger to his lips, discouraging the elf from speaking, and then made gestures to her to finish the job - tailed with a thankful thumbs up as she bowed. Ignan carefully crept back towards the door to the living room, attempting to overhear.

The dynamics in the room had shifted discernibly, though Sasha couldn't say for sure what had prompted the shift.  There was still a palpable strain to the gathering but some of the edge seemed to have lifted.  Whatever the cause, Sasha took it as a good sign when Mrs. Storm stepped into the living room and took a seat in the armchair. 

First, no hexing.  Now, sitting down to the join the conversation.  Not too shabby of a start, from what Sasha could tell. 

The Ravenclaw wasn't sure how to respond to the remark about not needing to owl and he watched as Professor Storm stepped into the kitchen to prepare the tea.  How many times had he played through this scenario in his head on the train ride back to Britain?  Given all the mental practice, he would have thought he would have been better prepared.  But, the witch across from his was an unknown entity.  He wasn't even sure who had been the intended ignorant fool. 

"We tended to be fairly proper in my household when I was growing up.  It wasn't uncommon for me to notify my parents ahead of time if I intended to come home during holidays," he offered in explanation.  "And, I don't think anyone really knows what's proper etiquette in, you know, this scenario." 

The Ravenclaw offered a slight grin and shrugged.  "I suppose it's a good thing I have an owl that's only slightly better than useless.  I just didn't want to overstep my bounds, again." 

The boy’s comment about his parents sparked questions for the healer but she did nothing but stroke the cat lying beside her in the armchair. The black feline stirred, the commencement of purring automatic as he stretched, stood and found his way onto his owner’s lap.

“Yet you still showed up.” Her tone was plain, her gaze intent. For a boy that didn’t want to merely show up unannounced, he’d certainly failed at this plan. As for his description of a home life, Miranda couldn’t help but feel he’d been brought up by rather pompous if not overly formal parents. But who were the parents if her husband hadn’t been on the scene?

“I guess you were worried for him.” Dark eyes strayed down to the cat now curling up in her lap. “The absent father nearly dying.” A short pause followed before her tone hardened. “Or was there disappointment that he didn’t?”

“Yet you still showed up.”

Sasha slowly nodded, confirming the obvious.  Though the signs were, thus far, positive, Sasha had a feeling the jury was still out on whether he had overstepped his bounds. 

He continued to nod his head, thinking he was wordlessly confirming the other motivations for his visit until Miranda Storm posed her question.  The Ravenclaw stiffened, bristling at the insinuation.  Granted, he was almost a complete stranger and she knew nothing about him, but was she actually entertaining the possibility that he'd hoped for a different outcome?  He flinched, stung by the accusation. 

A barrage of defensive responses were forming in the Ravenclaw's head, ranging from a flippant dismissal to questions about the witch's sanity.  He dropped his eyes to his hands and the floor beneath his feet and when he finally responded, his spoke slowly, picking his words with care.  "Even if I hated him for being absent, which I don't, I would not wish him ill.  And I certainly wouldn't wish ..."  He faltered, biting the inside of his lip. 

If he'd wanted Professor Storm dead, there would have been no need to wait in the hopes that fate or someone else would take care of it.  At the slightest indication, Malvivicus would have jumped at the opportunity to do away with the competition.  There was some painful irony in the thought.  Sasha had been more than prepared to follow whatever plan Malvivicus had for him, if that would keep the old man content and others, including his father, safe.

Sasha took a deep breath and looked up at Miranda Storm.  "I had far more reason to wish my step-father dead; much more than Professor Storm.  Even then, I never thought that of him.  I ... I'll live with the guilt of his death - with all of my family's death for the rest of my life.  The thought of losing Pro- my father, too ... you have no idea.  I am more relieved that he's recovering than you can ever imagine.  He could be absent the rest of my life and that wouldn't change."

The boy grew tongue-tied, struggling against Miranda’s probably ridiculous suggestion. Her gaze didn’t decrease in intensity. Why ever he would have wished death on his step father, the witch wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Getting too involved in other people’s lives could become messy and she wasn’t at all interested in that. She was playing nice for Ignan’s sake and probably for his health, too. Had this been before the attack, she may have been stubborn enough to return to St Mungo’s with a poor excuse.

Unfortunately for the emotionally stunted witch, the boy got deeper and started talking about guilt associated with the deaths in the family. Miranda stiffened and glanced at the kitchen door. Ignan was taking his bloody time.

“Hm.” Having no wish to question him on his ‘family’, she wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sure he’ll be comforted to hear such a thing.” There was an awkward twist of her lips as an attempt at a smile. Instead of continuing to look at the boy, she glanced down at the nameless cat in her lap who was purring loudly as she willed her husband to return and ease the awkward situation.

Sasha blinked and stared at the witch in complete bafflement.  He wasn't entirely surprised that she'd been put off by the answer but it had been a rather off putting question.  Had she really posed it as a simple 'yes or no' question?  Did she really hoped he would have offered a simple and casual 'yea, just a little bit' or 'no, not really'? 

“I’m sure he’ll be comforted to hear such a thing.”

"I would like to think he doesn't feel a need to hear such a thing."  Was it a false assumption that the question had just come from Miranda Storm?  Sasha glanced between the witch and the door to the kitchen.  Professor Storm hadn't actually considered that Sasha had wished for a different outcome, had he?  The idea didn't even make any logical sense.  "If that's what I was hoping for, I'd have nothing to gain from coming here.  I could have just waited to read it in the Prophet." 

He'd visualized a myriad of potential variations of this scenario during the train ride back from Germany, but he'd never imagined this.  Mrs. Storm averted her gaze, seemingly surrendering to the awkward silence.  It seemed prudent to rein the conversation back towards something that resembled control. 

Sasha shifted in his seat so he could slip his hand into his pocket; the bottle of wine hadn't been the only peace offering he'd packed for the visit.  Trying to decide what gift would be best suited for Mrs. Storm hadn't been entirely stress free.  None of the typical hostess gifts seemed appropriate and Sasha didn't know the witch well enough to attempt any personalized gift. 

"Given everything that happened around Christmas, I was remiss on the customary gift giving ritual.  I suppose it could also be a house warming gift or, simply, a hostess gift."  Whichever would be least offensive.  "I suspect you tend to be rather busy.  I know, sometimes, I get into that state where I'm trying to do too much at once and someone has just asked for something else and you suspect something might explode.  Sometimes, thirty seconds of mindless, pointless nothing is a good mental vacation for me."  He set the wooden zen garden set with the seedling bonsai on the table. 

From behind the kitchen door, Ignan listened, and swigged at one bottle and then another of potion, accustomed to the dosage by this point. Behind him, Gerda watched surreptitiously and did her best not to clatter the teacups while they waited for the kettle came up to boil and whistle. She examined with approval the label of the bottle Sasha had gifted.

“… I just didn’t want to overstep my bounds, again.”
“Yet you still showed up.” Ignan frowned at this response. He hadn’t quite decided if Miranda was entirely displeased that Sasha was here, or whether she intended to use it as ammunition. “I guess you were worried for him, the absent father nearly dying, or was there disappointment that he didn’t?”

Ruddy hell Miranda! Ignan frowned in alarm. Gerda, seeing his distraction, and perhaps hearing the very same with those enormous ears, reached for both potions in his hands, so as to stow them away while her master continued to listen. Ignan thought to open the door right there and then to interrupt at such a question, but Sasha had begun to answer, and Ignan stilled again, heart quickening.

“Even if I hated him for being absent…. I would not wish him ill…”

The kettle began to whistle and Ignan glanced back to Gerda who snapped her fingers at it to lift it from the heat. There was little she could do against the nature of water in this case. It covered Sasha’s continued explanations to his newly acquainted step-mother. The frustration passed quickly for Ignan, as it was followed by a feeling of guilt for cowardly eavesdropping.

“I would like to think he doesn’t feel a need to hear such a thing.” Ignan caught as Gerda placed the lid upon the teapot and lifted the tray. There was a moment’s pause of confusion between the elf and her master, as Ignan thought to take the tray from her, and Gerda did not understand why on earth he would. Not only was he her employer but he was also still not entirely healed. Carrying heavy things filled with hot water was not advisable in her understanding. As such, there was a strange, silent dance in the tiny kitchen.

“… pointless nothing is a good mental vacation for me.”

The kitchen door swung open to reveal Gerda and then her much taller wizard shadow. The elf smiled broadly to see Sasha, they had met more than once before (she was one method of message passing while at school) and Gerda had hosted him in the summer holidays when he had come to Godric’s Hollow to visit Ignan while Miranda was not home.

“Young Master Sasha!” Gerda greeted, satisfying her curiosity at who the third teacup was for. Behind her, while the elf distracted Sasha, Ignan shot Miranda a frown which wasn’t altogether friendly. It lasted just enough to convey the sentiment before husband took his pew at the other end of the sofa to his only child. He glanced to Sasha, trying to read how comfortable the younger wizard was following Miranda’s independent questioning.

“How were your exams?” Ignan asked, having remembered something of use and individual to Sasha despite his alarm at Miranda’s questioning. The Muggle exams Sasha had been so obsessed with, had come up in conversation between them at school. Despite perceptions that Ignan didn’t care, he did pay attention, which was his way of indicating he did. “You find out in August, is that correct?”

No words came from Miranda’s lips as she stared at the offering from who was, in name, her stepson. What in Merlin’s name would she want with such a gift? A woman who thrived on stressful environments certainly did not need thirty seconds of mindless, pointless nothing. Perhaps her assistant would appreciate such a ridiculous object but Miranda couldn’t possibly fathom what use she would have of it.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to respond before Gerda and her husband came into the room. Gerda greeting the boy with enthusiasm and Miranda’s gaze made contact with Ignan’s.
He wasn’t impressed.
Tough.
She was hardly impressed to have his secret stepson show up on their doorstep.

Ignan, ever the teacher, asked his son about his exams. Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead momentarily distracting herself with the still nameless cat on her lap.
Gerda brought her some tea, one sugar. Miranda did a customary blow on it before taking a small sip.

“Exams? Perhaps you’d better benefit from the rake and sand pot, Sasha.” Another sip of tea hid her smirk.