It was good to be away from Hogwarts. Yes, one could argue that the clean air, beautiful surroundings were all the better for one's health, but Ignan only wanted to be far away from there at present. It was suffocating, and sharing his life with so many ignorant teenagers only added to stifle his thoughts.

London might be busy, smelly, noisy and full of much the same, but it was somewhere else to be, and he had to visit Gringotts to sort out transferring a little money between his British account there, and his German ones, just to ensure he had enough in hand should he actually kill one of those irritating teenagers and be asked to leave Hogwarts. It wasn't far off...

Turning away from the goblin who had so formally and intricately dealt with his enquiry and etched him a new balance sheet for his time, he was all to leave and spend a little time in the Alley enjoying the change of scenery. However, his eye was caught by someone who looked altogether familiar in the customers behind him. His step paused as he placed the face, realising that actually he recalled the features at a younger age.

Melanthe Grumman. Merlin.

Staring at her in surprise meant it would be seconds before she noticed his gaze. He wondered if she would remember him. He certainly remembered her.

General Look

As Melanthe stood in line at Gringotts, she sifted through a few pieces of parchment upon which she had written some notes to herself. Though she was in the UK, she still wrote in her native tongue, especially if the notes were relating to business matters. In the event that she could not destroy them and they were to fall into the hands of the wrong person, it would be harder for them to understand.

Business had been both booming and tricky of late. Her runespoors were producing at quite the rate and with the addition of Mairead's, she almost had more eggs and venom than could be safely transported for use. With so much attention on the increase in smuggling,  more care had to be taken with what she did.

The Grummans kept accounts in nearly every country where they spent time. When asked about this, Melanthe often nonchalantly told the inquirer that it helped facilitate her social habits. In truth, the accounts helped with business. The intricate network of funding often exhausted anyone who wanted to audit her cash flow.

The London account also served to support her mother and brother, should they need it.

Finishing her perusal of her slips of parchment, Melanthe stuffed them back into her bag as the line moved up. She would be called next. Her eyes scanned the tellers with surprising patience. She was so preoccupied in doing so that she almost did not notice the man who was looking her over so intently.

Her eyes brightened with obvious affection and she drew in her breath as she exclaimed, "Oh! Professor Storm!" Without hesitation, she stepped forward to greet him, reaching out with both of her hands to take hold of one of his. She did not wish to shake it so formally, but simply hold it in her grasp. ?What a pleasant surprise!"

Only be a moment and then - ah yes. Melanthe's expression changed to recognition. Thank Merlin, he hadn't been mistaken.

"Oh! Professor Storm!" Without hesitation, she stepped forward to greet him, reaching out with both of her hands to take hold of one of his. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Indeed, indeed!" Ignan replied, his usually gruff features lit up with a genuine smile (which only looked a little awkward with his lined face). "Of all the places in the world, we both end up in Gringotts on the same afternoon. Both far from home." He paused, taking in her appearance.
"You look, different, Melanthe. I hope, for the best." He tilted his head a fraction in consideration, until they were interrupted by a pointed cough.

"Don't forsake your turn now, I'll wait." He ushered her in the direction of a goblin peering over its golden spectacles, its long fingers rapping on the wood counting desk.

Family was a strange concept for Melanthe. The death of her father had dismantled the closeness she once felt to the people who were blood related to her. Her mother and brother lived in London and though she visited often,  she still could not warm to the location as it being where family was for her.

Melanthe remembered her father saying at some point that one's darkness could be isolating, just as one's intellect. To find others who would understand her--truly understand her on a personal level--would be difficult.

Professor Storm had always been such a person. Following her years at Durmstrang, she had made a conscious effort to keep in touch, but like with many correspondence, the letters became fewer and fewer as the years went on as their busy lives took their toll.

The opportunity to remedy that now was something that Melanthe simply could not pass up. She nodded quickly to the teller and then abdicated her place in line and quickly moved to stand with Storm.

"Oh nonsense, Professor," she protested lightly. "I can take care of this at another time. But catching up with you simply cannot wait!" Without a second thought, she looped her arm through his and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "How are you? What are you doing here in London?" There were plenty of other questions she felt like asking in that moment, but then she breathlessly added, "Are you hungry? Perhaps we can grab lunch?"

"Oh nonsense, Professor," Melanthe replied, belittling his worries gently. "I can take care of this at another time. But catching up with you simply cannot wait!" She looped her arm through his in a most familiar way and squeezed. Normally such an action would have him recoiling, but strangely, not with Melanthe. Even after the years of not seeing each other, and barely writing to each other, she had the qualities and natural grace of a daughter.
"How are you? What are you doing here in London?" Are you hungry? Perhaps we can grab lunch?"

Ignan was about to answer when all the questions came at once. So he smiled, mouth a little open, and responded to the last.
"That sounds like a marvelous idea. Get out of these crowds. Do you know a place? I'm rather out of touch with the places these days - everything changes." He heard the protests of an old man creep into his voice. "Do lead on, and I'll tell my side once I've heard yours!" Together they made their way back out through the great doors of the bank.

"But to answer it simply, alive, and very much the better for seeing you." He cracked a genuine smile and patted her arm which was looped through his, as they traversed the alley together.

Even though her joy was evident on her face, Melanthe was certain that it did not express fully how excited she was to see Professor Storm. Whether he knew it or not (or even how much he knew), he had been quite instrumental in Melanthe becoming the dark witch that she was. There had been many factors over the years--her heritage, her upbringing, her father's death included--but it had been rare for any of them to provide her with as much structure and guidance as he had.

He had become a surrogate father figure to her and seeing him now made her realize how much she had genuinely appreciated his presence in her life when she had had it. She silently cursed herself for not trying harder to stay in better contact with him.

But clearly he was in good health so she decided not to dwell on it too much and focus on enjoying their reconnection now. Grinning, she said, "Lunch it is, then." She paused as she seemed to debate where to go. Part of her wanted to go to Knockturn Alley, specifically to the Black Chimaera, which had begun to feel much more at home to the dark witch as opposed to its more squeaky clean counterpart.

But Melanthe was with her dear old professor. And though she knew he was not perfectly squeaky clean, and she was certain he knew that she was not either, she wasn't sure if she should suggest the more shadier of places to interact upon first reconnecting. So she suggested brightly, "How about the Leaky Cauldron?" When he said that he was out of touch, her thoughts immediately went to the journal that she still had in her possession that he had given to her in her final year of Durmstrang. She gently squeezed his arm and scoffed, "And I bet you could still teach me a few things, Professor. You won't fool me with that..."

As they walked down the street towards their destination, she continued, "I am glad to see that you are well. Any new projects keeping you busy? I admit that I was curious to know what you've been doing since you left Durmstrang."

"Lunch it is, then. How about the Leaky Cauldron?"
"Wherever you may suggest, I am a stranger to here these days." Ignan replied, although not so fond of the busier places, it was known for actually cooking things properly.
"And I bet you could still teach me a few things, Professor. You won't fool me with that..."

Ignan humoured her with a laugh as they progressed down the street. It was a good job indeed that all the students were stuck in Hogwarts, otherwise they would have been furious rumours about what was going on.
"I am glad to see that you are well. Any new projects keeping you busy? I admit that I was curious to know what you've been doing since you left Durmstrang."

"Oh nothing too dramatic, I assure you." He told Melanthe as they passed between street sellers with the smell of oiled food pushed into their faces. "Germany was becoming stifling again, and I've always been fond of Britain for all its difficulties and quirks. Something a little more homely of it, which must mean I'm getting old, which is hideous." They entered the throng around the Leaky Cauldron where the thoroughfare of Diagon Alley narrowed as people came and went, and Ignan unlinked his arm to let Melanthe go first, feeling she had been a bit reluctant to.

"The previous Professor left suddenly to take care of matters within the Ministry, issues surrounding werewolves over here, somewhat the scapegoat of choice now that the most fashionable of darker crimes have been buried. Typically British humdrum." They negotiated the busy pub to find a table nearer the edge of the room, with good view of the door and the bar, always to advantage when one is perpetually suspicious of others. Ignan had been glad to unlink arms, considering the number of faces that turned to regard them together already. However fond he was of Melanthe in a mentor-like role to her, he didn't want her to be associated with him as his pretty entertainment.

"I could leave at short notice, Durmstrang wasn't quite the same, politics. Besides, the British youth need a bit of stick put about them. Far too complacent in peacetime. Now, that is particularly uninteresting all of it. Whereas you, clearly have a story to tell Melanthe." He fixed her with an intense stare, in an almost father-like way, folding his arms onto the table between them.

Melanthe was certain that her dear old professor was being modest in regards to his activities since her days as a student. As an alumna of Durmstrang and one who routinely provided the school with a sizeable endowment annually, she had made it her business to know what was going on. So she had heard that he left, but she had regrettably not attempted to find out what he had been up to.

After entering the Leaky Cauldron, Melanthe headed for the first pair of open seats she could find that would offer them some semblance of seclusion from the rest of the patrons--if that was entirely possible given how popular the establishment was.

The dark witch still listened to her professor as he told her about his foray into teaching at Hogwarts. An amused smirk befell her lips as he described it. "I wholely agree with you, professor. As you may remember, my aunt married into a prominent family in the area. And, well, my cousins are likely students of yours." Then, with a knowing grin, she boasted, "But surely not anywhere close to being as brilliant as I was..."

His next query sobered her merry mood ever so slightly, as did his fatherly look that seemed to say that she would not be able to pull the wool over his eyes. Still, even to her beloved professor, she was not going to come right out and admit to her crimes, whether they be big or small in nature.
 
"Me? A story to tell," she asked with coyness. She averted her gaze, even though she knew Storm was going to be able to see through the facade. She then carefully asked, "Why Professor Storm, whatever do you mean by that? I've been nothing but a perfect little angel since leaving Durmstrang..."

"I wholly agree with you, professor. As you may remember, my aunt married into a prominent family in the area. And, well, my cousins are likely students of yours." Then, with a knowing grin, she boasted, "But surely not anywhere close to being as brilliant as I was..."

"Me? A story to tell, why Professor Storm, whatever do you mean by that? I've been nothing but a perfect little angel since leaving Durmstrang..."

"More true than you would imagine." Ignan replied, in response to her earlier comment, with a shake of his head. "A few exceptions have the potential, but mediocre is the word to apply to Hogwarts students." He glanced sideways as someone at a nearby table shot them a look. Conversation might be overheard, or someone merely was far too interested in an old man and his younger acquaintance - presuming it something much more sinister.

"As for your cousins, you'll need to let me know their names so I can keep my eye on them. I'll expect a lot better from them, as long as the British schooling hasn't made them go soft." He stroked his chin in thought, his mind leafing back through a few months worth of lessons and the associated faces to see if he could guess.

"Let me see now..." He narrowed his eyes at her and thought back to the letters they had exchanged. "Your letters hinted at much, as did the walls in Durmstrang. Actually, it was my father who last asked me of you - said you'd donated generously towards replacing some artifacts lost in an unfortunate accident at the start of the September term. Thank you for that, I got a little carried away with some obterteils. German Ministry gave me an earful for experimental curses... again. Merlin, do you remember that time we lost a whole damned staircase in the building? I had a whole term's wages docked to replace it." He chuckled. "Worth it, for what we discovered the reaction was to combining those two curses."

His features lit up as he laughed to himself softly about the incident in Melanthe's last term. They'd been combining two curses cast simultaneously to observe the reactions, investigating if the two curses would combine or their - for the better use of a word - frequencies would disrupt and cancel.  The resulting curse had blown through the classroom door, rolled up the stairs just outside and taken the whole set out, sending stone downwards on the students on the stairs the floor below and cracking several thousand years of magical enchantments, which had given the tower a bit of a lean until the architects at the Ministry had rectified it for the school.

The German Ministry had told them both off severely for it, Ignan had lost a term's wages, and been ordered to teach the dregs for the rest of the year while other tutors took over the higher magic. He and Melanthe had continued to practise... off campus, which had meant sneaking out by floo on a regular basis.

"You've neatly distracted me there. What have you been up to?"

"There always was a natural competition between Durmstrang and Hogwarts," Melanthe commented lightly. She remembered back to her own time in school how she and her classmates would often comment about their counterparts and how soft they were in comparison. Melanthe smirked when she thought about her own cousins. To Storm, she said, "They are part of the infamous Whitman clan. No doubt they walk around school like they own the place? Maeve, the oldest, probably cares more about her social life than classes. Carys is more studious but a little naive. And little Maxen....don't let his baby face fool you, Professor. He's a little terror. Might have the potential for darkness there if you ask me." She paused and added, "He's what Arturo should have been at that age."

It was a rare occasion when Melanthe mentioned her younger brother, another member of her family who was more estranged from her than not. It wasn't that she saw him as weak-willed; he had simply never reveled in the dark arts quite like the rest of the Grummans. Artujro had been an Oberteils like Melanthe, but his position was less based on his skill proficiency and potential and more based on the politics. Surely Professor Storm had seen that in his time teaching at the school.

In reference to the incident that took him away from Durmstrang, Melanthe simply smiled. "Well, I would do anything to help Durmstrang thrive. It has, afterall, afforded me with so much in preparation for my life now." She did not add that there was much of that life that he did not know about.

His reminder of another incident that happened in her final year caused Melanthe to release a hearty laugh which drew some dirty looks from nearby patrons, perhaps hoping for a quieter dining environment. She propped her elbow up on the table and gently rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She did not mind reliving the memories that Storm evoked. "Yes, that was, indeed a wonderfully accidental discovery."

She then turned back to his repeated question. "Up to? Well, certainly nothing as exciting as that was." She was still being playfully guarded with her secret dark endeavors. Sitting up straighter, she laid her hands flat on the table and pursed her lips. Deciding that she could trust her professor, she quietly divulged, "Lets just say that all of my activities are not suitable for public consumption in Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet. My mother would be horrified." She paused. "My father....he would say it was all in the name of the family business."

She left it at that and allowed her chocolate gaze to settle on her professor's face, waiting to see what kind of reaction that would dredge up.

"Up to? Well, certainly nothing as exciting as that was. Lets just say that all of my activities are not suitable for public consumption in Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet. My mother would be horrified." She paused. "My father....he would say it was all in the name of the family business."

Ignan raised his eyebrows.
"Well, you're obviously doing it well, given you're here and not in pieces or held against your will." He told Melanthe in a slightly unsurprised tone. He had been mildly surprised that it had taken until now for the fact to be said outright, that Melanthe's dealings were not all sweet and innocent (whose where?) She had a fantastic mind, and the claims of socialite as a suitable occupation for her time never quite matched up for him.

"You were expecting me to be alarmed?" He asked Melanthe. "I'm sure you remember my views that those brought up to appreciate that less accepted methods can be harnessed, adjusted, finely tuned to strengthen our magical reserves, one is far more accepting and curious about how it can be used." Ignan propped his elbows on the table between them, and rested his chin on his hands.
"Besides, I'm sure I've done worse." He told her, posing a challenge.

Though she wasn't close to her mother, her brother, and many of her kin, Melanthe still felt that family was important to her. She would do anything for her family and even the friends who were close enough to her to be considered like family. And Professor Storm had always been a closer father figure to her than anyone else, so it was understandable that she held his opinion in high regard. Melanthe hoped to never disappoint him.

Even though she knew he wasn't perfect, she lamented over how he might feel about how she used the Dark Arts, especially on others. She could never be certain if his view of her would change upon knowing that she had few, if any, scrouples about using them so freely. If he knew what she had done in the past, would he condone those actions because she had avenged her father's death? Would he be okay with her using the very information he had given to her in his journal for her own purposes. What would he think of her upcoming endeavor to use crucio for Kingstreet her involvement with the other criminals of the WBA?

Her uncertainty about how he would react caused her to flash him a tepid smile. "No, not alarmed. But Professor, even you must admit that there are some things that professors probably do not want to know about their students and former students." She sat up a little straighter and wryly added, "We're supposed to be angels, right?"

She sipped at her drink before meeting his gaze. When he spoke of doing worse, she chuckled. "Have you, now?" She leaned further over the table top and whispered with intrigue, "Worse where you should be held against your will?""

"Have you, now?" Melanthe asked, Ignan was sure if she had ears of a cat, they'd be pricked. "Worse where you should be held against your will?"

Ignan chuckled and broke eye contact a moment.
"I think I should be worried about your interest, but I'm not so surprised. I did lend you that old diary of mine, so you're well aware of what I was prepared to do within my duty." He laced his fingers and rested his chin upon the back of them.
"Nothing I should be proud of by rights, Melanthe." He didn't want to outright explain to her what things he'd got up to during his travels.
"And I have been held against my will, its not advised. Lost a very good wand out of it. Now, why would that possibly interest you?" He smirked.

The two seemed to be dancing around the obvious -- that they were both dark artists, no matter how much they tried to play coy with that information. And being the dark artists they were (and given that Melanthe was the proficient she was because of is tutelage), surely it was easy to fill in the blanks.

"Of course I am interested in your doings, Professor. You are one of my idols. And perhaps the only reliable or honorable one left in my life." The mention of the diary sobered her slightly. It was one of her most prized possessions and she had made sure to take care of it. She told him, "If you should like to have it back, Professor, please do let me know. I believe I have the contents committed to memory by now. And I have done my share of practical study of the many....topics....contained within it." She grinned. "Perhaps there is another student at Hogwart's who might benefit from its' teachings?"

Melanthe mirrored his movements, lacing her fingers together and then resting her chin on top of them. She peered over at him with her dark eyes. "Though I have never been held against my will, I feel it is important to prepare for what could happen. And I figure I can either strive to never allow it to be, or, to come to terms with all the possible outcomes in the event that it does."

She paused and then very confidently added, "And I think I've decided that I cannot allow myself to fear it."

"Of course I am interested in your doings, Professor. You are one of my idols. And perhaps the only reliable or honorable one left in my life." Melanthe replied, and Ignan felt incredibly humbled.
"Surely not..." He uttered quietly.
"If you should like to have it back, Professor, please do let me know. I believe I have the contents committed to memory by now. And I have done my share of practical study of the many....topics....contained within it. Perhaps there is another student at Hogwart's who might benefit from its' teachings?" She grinned.

"Though I have never been held against my will, I feel it is important to prepare for what could happen. And I figure I can either strive to never allow it to be, or, to come to terms with all the possible outcomes in the event that it does. And I think I've decided that I cannot allow myself to fear it."

"The important part is planning to prevent being held." Ignan instructed her with seriousness. "Know your location, the routes out, get wise to estimating the strength and area of any anti-apparition someone may try to impose. Never divulge every detail to anyone." He returned her level gaze, their positions mirrored.

Breaking his hands, he tapped a finger to the tabletop between them.
"The only reason I got caught was because I got complacent. Someone else chose my routes, I trusted them, and it was a trap." Frowning he recalled. "Whatever they are to you, whoever they have chosen, you do your own leg work, your own checks and thoughts. If you want a job done well, do it yourself." Between them, they maintained a very intense stare before Ignan sat back.

"And if you must have a signature, break pattern, confuse every now and then. Patterns reveal." He smiled knowingly, having switched between severing limbs and necks at bloody will, to strangulation, breaking necks, bleeding to death, or even a little imperio - though the latter was haunting, given that the caster's mind was linked to the recipient even up to the moment of death if the curse was maintained.

"You do have friends, that will help bury the bodies now, don't you?" He asked, with a curl to his mouth.