“Even I found it gruesome,” Miranda Storm eagerly explained to her husband as she sliced her knife through her steak with ease. Beautifully rare, some bloody juices ran out onto her mashed potato, giving the creamy vegetable a pink hue. “It’s easier when the limb is totally removed, you know what I mean?” She stabbed the beef with her fork and lifted it. The rest of the steak rose with it, hanging from a piece of gristle keeping it attached. “Just a few pieces of tendon holding it on, the leg just hanging there.” The steak finally dropped down once gravity took hold, landing in the puddle of juicy blood. Miranda popped her piece of steak in her mouth and smiled across at Ignan before chewing.

Before she had a chance to go into further detail, Gerda ran into the kitchen, looking categorically ruffled.
“Mistress, Master, there’s a tall grey man at the door. He says that Mistress invited him to dinner.” The elf eyed her Mistress with suspicion.

“I didn-”
Dark eyes immediately widened when she realised,
“Oh @*&$!” Miranda exclaimed, staring across at her husband. “I may have mentioned you having read his book.” The wizard said nothing.
“He seemed really excited to contrast mind palaces with you.” She gave a shrug and downed cutlery.
Ignan was glaring at her, wordless.
“It may have slipped my mind.”
Still glaring.
“Can you get the door? I’ll clear this away. Can’t look like we started without him. You’ll like him. He's super chatty.”

“Can’t wait.” Ignan uttered with all the poison an unexpected dinner guest interruption required. His stomach protested as much as his outward expression as Gerda assisted Miranda to rearrange dinner. Friday nights were uninterrupted by routine, the only evening of the week where Miranda and Ignan committed to being at home unless extenuating circumstances arose. It was the only time when they might be spied uncharacteristically and affectionately sharing their space with each other.

What was worse than Miranda inviting a guest to dinner on a Friday evening, and forgetting the fact, was that she had invited a wizard who had been instrumental in some emotional upheaval in past months, and a soaring stress level for the Head Healer. His only saving grace was that he kept tabs on Miranda’s proximity to Musgrave. That and, well, the book wasn’t all that bad. Ignan had kept a lid on his interest and enthusiasm for the topic since Yavin Morgenthau had begun working with Miranda. He had to show solidarity with his wife.

This dinner invitation just proved that the working relationship had progressed enough into friendly territory. Ignan supposed that Miranda had reduced her protests and rants on Morgenthau in recent weeks, but he hadn’t anticipated it would lead to a personal visit.

“Mr Morgenthau,” Ignan addressed, extending his hand to the wizard on the doorstep. “Do come in.”

He had at least been forewarned about the sweater obsession, but Yavin’s attire made Ignan all the more conscious that he had not changed since returning home from the castle, still in white shirt, dark grey waistcoat and matching trousers, though tie loosened. Behind him, in the small yet cozy sitting room, the still unnamed cat stared at the visitor, its leg in the air as it cleaned its backside, tongue poking out.

“Miranda is just in the kitchen,” Ignan wondered how she and the Gerda were doing to construct a third dinner, “may I take your cloak?” Thankfully this famed legilimens would not be able to read Ignan’s less than polite thoughts beneath this show of manners.

There were, he supposed, better ways to spend Friday evening than to dine with the witch who had proven herself a thorn in his side on multiple occasions. Miranda was not without merit but she was possessive of her career, of power, of control. Yavin was glad to be her superior in age and intellect - she would not yield to any less.

Which made him curious about the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. What kind of man married someone like that?

             "Mr Morgenthau. Do come in."

Yavin stood at the doorstep in a plain black wool cloack, holding a golden box of marron glacés in one hand and reaching out to shake Ignan's hand with his other. A much older man than some might expect - Virgil had said he was, had also mentioned the strict and expert nature of his Defences lessons. Not a bad looking guy either. He could discern something in that countenance; charm or handsomeness. Someone who never had the stigma of ugly attached to their character in other minds.

"Why, ah, thank you." Yavin smiled complacently as he entered their home, glancing around politely while he removed his cloak to reveal the colourful sweater underneath. "Very kind, um, of you. Ignan, yes?"

A familiar name, though he was sure he didn't know anybody else by it. He held on to the sweet treats and slipped one hand into the pocket of his corduroys. "Please, aha, please call me Yavin."

“I don’t know, do some magic.” While Miranda started to clear plates away, Gerda, the house elf, stared up at her mistress, quite at a loss as to how she was to come up with something on the spot to pretend that her masters hadn’t already begun to dine for the evening.
“Still steak, Mistress?” Miranda shrugged, washing her hands of responsibility, tapped the elf on the shoulder, and left her to it in the kitchen. Through into the living room, the witch directed a bottle of red wine and three glasses, which all landed on the coffee table as she pulled the kitchen door shut behind her.

Ignan had already let their guest in and was playing nice for now. He would because he knew Yavin’s power in her current situation regarding Musgrave.

“Yavin,” Dark eyes shot down to the sweatshirt that looked like he’d stolen from someone’s blind and mentally incapacitated grandmother. Oh Merlin. It was unsightly. “Welcome.” Unlike Ignan, Miranda had changed since returning home from St Mungo’s. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans. Her feet were bare, as usual at home, and her hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail. Now, so short and informal, she felt somewhat ridiculous with Yavin Morgenthau in her home.

“… Ignan, yes?”

The man of the house gave the slightest of nods, trying not to stare at the visitor's choice of bold knitwear. He turned to hang up the rather plainer cloak.

“Please, aha, please call me Yavin.”
“Good to finally meet you, Yavin.” Ignan half-lied and turned to gesture into the compact living room, just as the red wine and three glasses landed on the coffee table and Miranda reappeared.
“Yavin. Welcome.” Oh Merlin, the pleasantries. He was not really in the mood for entertaining (when was he?) but now he had to put a face on and show willing. He glanced up the stairs in momentary contemplation, but his wife’s expression suggested that apologising for his attire and excusing himself to get changed at this very moment was a very bad idea.

“Would you care for a drink?” Ignan asked, interrupting the pregnant pause between them, and made his way towards the cluster of sofa and chair. The cat had stopped licking its arsehole long enough to stare at Morgenthau, the tip of its pink tongue still poking out beneath its lamp-like eyes. It resolutely ignored Ignan’s approach, until he clicked his fingers twice at it, and gestured. With a sneeze and a look of disgust, it vacated the armchair and slunk beneath the coffee table, staring at the visitor’s feet, long bushy tail curled over the edge, threatening the wine glasses.

Turning back, Ignan seized the bottle and glanced at the label, assessing Miranda’s wish to impress - or discourage - her research partner before he opened it.
“I have to say I was surprised to hear Miranda wished to spend more time with you,” Ignan began, the sentence veering towards tricky waters already, “but I understand that working together leaves little time to truly understand another, and it is good to put a name to the face, and sweater descriptions.” The cork came free, and Ignan gave the open bottle a tentative sniff.

And then there were three. He was surprised Miranda herself hadn't answered the door but it seemed that the pair were out of sorts - maybe they had just gotten home themselves, seeing as how neither had what you would consider leisurely vocations. The Head Healer looked as human as he'd ever seen her when she finally joined them.

           "Yavin. Welcome."

Oh, and didn't he just feel it? The wizard smiled, bowing his head gratefully. As was the case with most dinners, wine usually did the trick. "Yes, please, a drink sounds great." Yavin followed Ignan to the living area as he glanced around their home to take in the odd detail. Cosy. Not exactly the Ice Palace of her interior - and her husband didn't come across as the warm and homely kind either. Interesting.

"Aha, I was surprised, that is, surprised myself," he laughed as he watched the begrudging cat slink away, "Your wife is a surprising person." Yav looked at Miranda apologetically; it was bad manners to talk about someone like they weren't in the room. "Thanks, hm, for the invitation. I brought seasonal candy for, hah, for later."

He set down the box of candied chestnuts, a winter treat, before turning back to the other man. "I didn't realise my, um, my sweaters were a subject of conversation." he  raised his eyebrows, "but you ah, you have me on uneven footing then. You know more about me then I, aha, then I do about you."

Yavin lowered himself into the closest seat as the wine was poured, addressing Miranda with mock censure. "You didn't tell me your husband was so, hm, so handsome, Miranda."

There were a thousand other ways in which Miranda Storm would have preferred to spend tonight. One included sticking pins in her eyes and dancing naked on hot coals. Anything was better than the torture that her dreaded ‘niceness’ had brought on. This, Miranda learned, was what you got from being nice. As a consequence, she decided that niceness was overrated and unnecessary. It only brought on uncomfortable situations where husbands met barely likeable research partners and occlumency mentors.

Of course, the wizard’s questionable taste in jumpers was brought up immediately, as was their shared shock at Miranda’s invitation. Clearly neither expected her to be kind, so she should stop now. All this wasted effort was for nothing.

"You didn't tell me your husband was so, hm, so handsome, Miranda." Yavin stated. Miranda blinked, frozen in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. How very…forward.

She took a moment, wary of making an immediate response. Ignan poured the wine, and she offered the wizard a strained smile.
“Not really something that comes up in conversation, Yavin,” she finally said, measured. “I doubt Ignan would appreciate being objectified for his…” she paused, casting a glance at the blue-eyed wizard, “good looks.” She sat on the edge of the sofa and took a glass of wine from her husband.

“You didn't tell me your husband was so, hm, so handsome, Miranda.”

Merlin’s arsecheeks. Ignan shoved a memory of Nightingale Kesali’s unexpected advances back down into a mental box as quickly as Morgenthau’s verbalised observation had snapped it to front and centre. Ignan, even when he wasn’t looking like he’d just bitten into a lemon, did not consider himself at all handsome. Miranda deigned to pay him compliments on physical appearance when it suited her, but he’d long past considering he was. Yet he was clearly good looking to his own gender, which meant he most definitely had to check he wasn’t using the same personal grooming products as Balfour and Johann.

It was small mercy that the perturbed expression at Yavin’s remarks to Miranda were masked by Ignan inclining down to pour the wine. Miranda’s silence only made him wish the wine poured ever more slowly.

“Not really something that comes up in conversation, Yavin. I doubt Ignan would appreciate being objectified for his…” His wife’s eyes met his own and they shared a whole conversation in a glance. You have just invited him for dinner, haven’t you? He’s not assuming he’s staying for… pudding?!

“...good looks.” Miranda saved them all, and Ignan managed a twitch of a thankful smile across his lips as he handed her the wine glass.

“You are too generous, Mr Morgenthau,” Ignan managed, though his tone very much tinged with sarcasm. He extended a second glass to their guest. “I am to understand we are not too different in age, which means time has been rather to you. A lifetime of travel, teaching and auror duty does that to a man, not to mention dying not so long ago.” He lifted the third glass in his hand in the slightest of toasts. Two could play at the same game, and if passing sarcastic compliments was the game to support Miranda in her unwise decision to ease tensions at work, then he could manage that. He was first-rate in student put-downs, after all.

“To what should we toast?” He queried the research partners, “To breaking boundaries? … conquering minds?”

Gerda better be working her best magic in there, otherwise they wouldn’t need Musgrave and his dementors to freeze over the living room.

            "I doubt Ignan would appreciate being objectified for his...good looks."
       "You are too generous, Mr Morgenthau."

His comment, playful as it was, garnered an interesting reaction. Of course he assumed that Miranda did think her husband to be good looking - she wasn't the kind of witch who settled for the subjectively unattractive - but Ignan clearly did not enjoy lingering on the subject of his own visage. Maybe he would have felt differently in another time of his life.

Yavin accepted his glass, raising it in response to the other wizard's kind (if sardonic) remarks. "Why, aha, why thank you," he smiled like a man who's heard this compliment before. "I'm turning out to be a, hm, a vain man in my old age. It was all turtlenecks in the seventies."

He had always like fashionable clothes but his tastes had been tamer, before. Nowadays he wanted colour. For his eyes, for other people's eyes. To be reminded that these shades were accessible to them and a delight to play with. As Ignan initiated a toast, the older wizard mirrored the movement.

"Boundaries, yes." Yavin couldn't help raising an arch eyebrow, "I don't believe that minds can, that is, can be truly conquered. Not even our own, not as long as we, um, we continue to surprise ourselves, don't you think?"

A glance from one host to the other, sportive.

“I don’t believe that minds can, that is, can be truly conquered. Not even our own, not as long as -” Oh good, there might at least be intellectual debate over dinner. He might manage to discover something about what they were up to in London without actually mentioning the M name. No, not that one, the one that wasn’t here.

“To boundaries,” Ignan agreed courteously. Gerda’s timely return to the kitchen doorway raised a genuine smile to accompany the toast.



Miranda had selected the cottage primarily because it was on the doorstep of Hogwarts, and secondly because it was too small to sensibly entertain. The house Ignan had acquired in Godric’s Hollow and improved until they could sensibly let it out and relocate for convenience was far more the size for entertaining and guests. They’d had more than a few guests, considering they were both somewhat intolerant of social intrusion into their routines. Now, clustered around the tiny dining table, trying not to nudge Yavin under the table as he shifted a leg between courses, Ignan was only too acutely aware of the lack of space in their home.

“I mean, I can’t speak for the Ministry at present,” he continued the conversation, which had of late covered the fact both Yavin and Ignan were foreigners and yet had served, or were presently serving posts in the British Ministry. “But there’s definitely an arrogance, that the British know best when it comes to governing. Magical population, of course, I only have an impression of Walcott on the other side.”

He refilled their glasses with the last of the first bottle of wine.

“Do you follow the Muggles at all? We buy the occasional Muggle newspaper, not only to despair at the ridiculous crossword once we’ve completed the Prophet’s.” He glanced to Miranda with a knowing look. For two cruciverbalists it was the only one that could defeat them owing to their lack of knowledge of Muggles. It had begun back in Godric’s Hollow out of curiosity[1].

1.	28th August 2010 Too Late, We’ve Been Spotted

For the majority of her life, Miranda had been rather averse to keeping a house elf. It had little to do with the cruelty and rights that people preached; a bully would always be a bully and would find something else to bully if not a house elf. No, for Miranda it was more about necessity. She’d never felt the need to indulge in the exuberance that was to have an in-house servant. She’d managed a household with a husband and then alone fine enough without the extra help. Maya probably would have pointed out that Miranda’s ‘managing’ was hardly up to par, but the girl was alive and not so badly off, wasn’t she?

Since having Gerda, her mind-set had changed. Of course, it was a challenge to ignore how Gerda was basically owned by them, a slave. But they treated her well and she was basically the third member of their very strange little family. The still nameless cat was the fourth. This evening was one of those nights when Miranda was decidedly grateful for their little house elf. She’d outdone herself, and, in no time at all, turned dinner for 2 into a perfectly adequately sized and delicious dinner for three. It was also fortunate that Ignan and Miranda were not the couple to buy a bottle of wine on their way home because they fancied it. There was, of course, a very healthy stock of more than palatable wine hidden away in their small pantry.

The two wizards were talking of their situation as expatriates in wizarding Britain. Ignan’s calling the British arrogant in their beliefs earned a look from his wife, but she said nothing. She somehow imagined that her dear husband would far prefer a utilitarian approach to governing a country. He was practical, no nonsense, and pragmatic. The same could not be said for a lot of British leaders.

“Dinosaurs next to the iPod,” Miranda said after a sip of freshly refilled wine, “Ten letters. We’re stumped.”

To his mild surprise, the Storms made for excellent company over the dinner table. Yavin did not mind knocking knees with either of his hosts as they chatted over the meal and drank good wine. He was especially pleased by Ignan's willingness to discuss the English from an outside perspective; something that would have earned him a few deadpans looks even amongst Unspeakables on nine. Besides, there was something familiar about the wizard.

Maybe it had to do with the accent, or his German origins. Yavin's grandparents were Austrian and he had been fond of them in youth.

             “Do you follow the Muggles at all?" asked on Storm. "Dinosaurs next to the iPod...stumped." added the other.

The guest smiled a little to himself as he sipped his wine. It was cosy, oh yes, picturing the two of them solving crosswords by the fireplace on winter mornings. Was Ignan to Hogwarts what Miranda was to St.Mungo's? If so, a well suited pair. They were growing on him at any rate.

"Gramophone? Audiotape?" Yav suggested, prone to answering the puzzling query first before tracking back to its initial impetus. "I, aha, I have to keep an eye on the no-maj. Occupational obligation, if you, um, ask me. It's important to check on what they're doing in their little laboratories!" he wiggled his fingers theatrically. True, he found no-maj society interesting and useful to study - but there was a distinct, patronising note to how he spoke about them.

Those little magicless people who went stumbling into the unknown with their blunt tools. A thoughtful, somewhat sheepish look came over him for a moment.

"When I was young and, hm, and held less scruples, I'd look into a the odd no-maj head..." he admitted before quickly shooting Miranda a smile. "They do have some fascinating, aha, notions. But of course those days are behind me," Yavin added conscientiously as he took another bite of steak.

They all had their histories and he didn't mind sharing the less sanitised parts of his, in this company. He doubted either of them have always been moralistic; certainly Mira wasn't, in his opinion. "Even the no-maj deserve some, uh, some internal privacy."

Yavin suggested some possible crossword clue answers and Ignan glanced to Miranda with a optimism that these suggestions might work or at least if written down might aide lateral thought.

“I’d look into ... odd no-maj head…” Ignan felt his wife bristle even if he didn’t see it outwardly. The wine was loosening their tongues all round, the social lubricant had drawbacks.

“Past fascinating,” Ignan remarked, “I doubt their thoughts were all that illuminating.” It wasn’t that he considered Muggles lesser, just that their lives were rather less intriguing to Ignan than those of wizarding lineage. He could have understood all manner of Muggle interests if he just asked Tapendra Trishna, former Astronomy Professor and colleague. He had for some time been Ignan’s best friend… but difficulties with family and the realisation that Ignan and Tapendra’s mother had been criminal lovers in past decades had distanced them both.

“As a defensive practitioner, I can only imagine that the ease of legilimency you and Mira practice must be like a radio of nearby thoughts playing ad infinitum with the greatest of temptations to actively listen.” He was not implying Miranda did such a thing, though he knew she was tempted. It was human curiosity.

“I understand my quiet is … ‘unnerving’.” The corner of his mouth upturned[1]. He wondered if Yavin was tempted to listen right now… 

1.	In reference to this conversation

Miranda had some idea what a grammar phone was, but an audiotape? She knew tape as something inexpert or lazy muggles used to stick broken stuff back together in lieu of fixing it. Singing sticky tape? Ridiculous and unnecessary. It was, however, the correct number of letters. It would have helped if either her or her husband actually knew what an iPod was. This was exactly why the couple only did the muggle crossword when they needed an inconceivable challenge. Yavin apparently kept an eye on muggles while Miranda found it was probably best to avoid them. One was a fool to even get her started on muggle healers.

"When I was young and, hm, and held less scruples, I'd look into a the odd no-maj head..."

Well wasn’t the quite the surprise that Miranda struggled to hide. Her dark brows twitched as she exchanged looks with the wizard that had so oppressively tried to hold the moral high ground with her in regards to Musgrave.

Ignan mentioned his unnerving quiet, and Miranda put a hand on his thigh, a small smile showing some affection for her husband.
“Ignan is an accomplished occlumens.” She explained superfluously, “Although I didn’t ask him to teach me because there are lines you simply shouldn’t cross with a spouse.” The couple were deeply in love, but boundaries still needed to be set. Both had lived considerable lives before one another, and neither had ever wanted to really share. There was a deep respect there, a response for one another’s privacy.

“You would probably agree that the quiet is quite the relief.” Thoughts flooded regularly from many minds, a cacophony of voices swimming through the air between them. Miranda managed to tune most out in that respect over privacy, but it was nice not to need to around her husband.

            "I understand my quiet is … ‘unnerving’."

Yavin tilted his head to the side, lowering his wine glass as he looked at Ignan speculatively. His quiet? Ah, but Miranda clarified with uncharacteristic affection. Her husband was an Occlumens! An accomplished Occlumens, and yet she had never mentioned before! He smiled, glancing from one to the other. They were pretty well suited.

"Oh, aha, yes. I am a big fan of quiet up here," Yavin replied to the witch's remark, tapping his forehead dryly. "One of my pupil's is almost perpetually inundated, it, hm, it gives me a new sense of appreciation."

Having natural limits to one's ability was a blessing. Limits helped you to navigate life without being overwhelmed, they gave you the walls you needed to form pathways and to create interfaces for the mindscape. If your limits weren't narrow enough you had to build those walls out of thin air.

"I used to, that is, used to read my late wife," he continued conversationally, looking into his wine glass. "She wasn't an Occlumens but she kept certain thoughts in Urdu, to maintain a sense of privacy. Boundaries are, hm, are important, I agree."

Curiosity overcame him however - he couldn't help nudging Ignan's mind slightly, their gazes making brief contact.