Absit Omen RPG

Knox laid against the cushioned back of the tartan divan in her parlour, which had been dragged over to the small fireplace where her bridge table would usually be placed. Soft blankets of cashmere and merino wool were heaped on and around her, Midwife Kemp having tactfully gotten rid of the many towels they had needed for the long labour before she gave them their privacy - the window was slightly open to let in a bit of fresh air as it had gotten stuffy over he hours. Her mother lay by the window seat: she'd fallen asleep there but nobody rose the old woman.

Dried buds of lavender had been thrown into the flames, only two or three, to lightly fragrance the space. Cleansing

Knox was holding Lil Cam - the bairn swathed in cream muslin cloth - and speaking to Balthair when her brother and his partner entered with Carr. Seanair stood from an armchair with a quiet smile at them; he held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. "Sithuad[1]," her grandfather beckoned fussily at the three wizards.

There had been no wail. Nathaira's daughter was mute in the most thorough sense, and with her babe eyes closed to the world she was also blind. Her wrinkly face was set restfully. All cried out. Knox looked up at Carr first and then Balfour.

"Uncle Balfy," she whispered; her countenance, underneath the loose bun of auburn curls tumbling down, was exhausted but fond. "Say hello to your niece -" Knox glanced at Johann now, somewhat surprised and amused to find that he too had stayed up with the others. "- and yours. Uncle Johann?"

The witch sniffed, unconsciously, siting up a bit straight to hand the bundle over to Balfour. "We've yet to give her the whiskey," she explained whilst Balthair joined them all before the divan.

1.	Scots Gaelic - Come on

Knox raised her eyebrows at the photo album their guest had brought along, fair gaze flicking to Balfour only for a moment to register the fond look he was giving Johann as he sat on the couch arm closest to her. Meant to be indeed. They were as smitten outwardly as they were inwardly, she felt.

"I've had a very relaxing Christmas, thank you..." Nathaira smiled as she left her papers - crossword games for the children - on the coffee table and rested a hand on the swell of her belly. "And we are always happy to have Johann here. The Storms are more than welcome."

One or two of their more conservative uncles had been made uncomfortable by her brother's affectionate manner but Spectres were raised to be good about that sort of thing, hardly what wizarding society considered scandalous behaviour. And besides, though she would never breathe a word to Balfour, they were a little frightened of how he reacted to  prejudices. It was a wonderful thing he loved so fiercely after all. Better for family to keep on the right side of that love.


"I did." Balfour answered Camille's question, leaning across to help himself to another pastry. "Knox would get homesick..."
            "I did not!" she exclaimed with mock indignation.
He continued, smiling, pretending not to hear. "And she would be so upset when I chose not to come home. Positively unconsolable."

Knox pinched her little brother's leg, pulling a face at him and then evenly turning back to the Storms. "He was always trying to get away from us back then but then he'd come home for the summer and mope about the house for weeks, you know."

Balfour smiled sheepishly through a mouthful of crumbs. Nathaira wanted to ask about Durmstrang and German Christmas but she didn't wish to broach on a subject that might involve a certain late wizard. The atmosphere was so pleasant and did not deserve to be dampened.

"Speaking of which," she glanced between Balfour and Johann before giving Camille a politely enquiring look. "Have either of these sickeningly sweet wizards given you the grand tour? Shown you off to the portraits?"

"That's an English tradition we've adopted." Nathaira Spectre allowed her accent the full extent of its Northern tinge as she entered the drawing room - a familiar sight in her tartan skirt and an oversized sweater. She carried a small sheaf of papers. "Old Christmas traditions are scarce, here. It wasn't much celebrated even after they lifted the ban in the 17th century."[1]

Balfour rose like it was instinct and took her hand as she approached, offering his seat. A kiss on her glowing cheeks as she sat and they were introduced. "You've met before, I believe? My sister, Knox. Johann's mother, Camille."

Samhain had been a long, drunken night for most others so she couldn't blame him for a muddled memory. Knox remembered, of course, and hugged the other witch in a warm manner - nearly dislodging a thick book on her lap.

"So good to see you again. And out of costume!" she smiled, glancing at Johann just then. "Spectres and Storms. How very alliterative."

1.	Cromwell's ban of Christmas is what led to Hogmanay traditions taking precedence, and Christmas was not even a public holiday in Scotland until 1958.

Nathaira was as tactful as the best of them - and for the most part, took her coffee as if though the two wizards were not entirely wrapped up in one another. They were both forward and social minglers at Christmas so it was easy to forgive their nauseating moments. And she would never expect them to be anything but relaxed in the manor.

Always in her mind was the day that her brother would come to stay for good.

At present, however, Seanair had abandoned her. Scoundrel. She crossed her legs as the boys finally snapped out of their bubble. Porridge! Food! Oh thank Merlin, something useful she can do.

"I did!" she exclaimed happily, impervious the awkwardness prior. "Did you both want it in the Study?" Grizelda left the bread to cool and disappeared - she suspected to ensure her brother's old Study was in good condition. It had once been their playroom but was converted for him during their time at school, being the last of them to need a place for toys and games.

He glanced at her distractedly while handing Johann the magazine. "Might be wise, yes."

"I'll have one of the elves send a couple of trays along, then." Knox rose gracefully, steady hand on the swell of her belly, and attended to the bread at the counter. "I'll let papa and mum know you're spending the weekend here," she said this with an air of collusion. "And something hearty for lunch, I believe."

Their parents had fortunately retired to their rooms when the pair arrived last night. Vagueness would be their friend. Too much (or little) detail, the lie was spotted. She and Balfour had many years experience in this case.

"We can talk more later."

With Balthair having safely retreated into the pages of the Daily Prophet, it was easier to let the article roll around in her head and steep for a little while. Seanair wasn't making this any easier for their guest - she realised - but they had been told very little by Balfour last night and it made more sense to the older wizard that dearest Balfy might have gotten himself into another right mess. Nathaira thought this was unfair. It wasn't like he could help himself.

She replenished her coffee and returned to the table with a pragmatic manner. "As long as the door wards don't throw themselves open for every unexpected arrival." Johann remarked, earning him an amused snort from the front page; it went ignored.

"Oh no. Only my brother and seanair, if we're being honest. The rest of us in a fix." Knox settled back into her seat as her gaze followed those bright eyes. "It's an old place with a mind of its own."

Balthair cleared his throat, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "Approaching*cough*senili--" but a startlingly loud bellow interrupted him.

"JOHANN!" Balfour's voice sounded equal parts sleepy and fearful, so much so that Knox nearly dropped her coffee as she turned her head in surprise. Bloody hell, he knew how to give her a heart attack. And then again, closer, she supposed the main stairs. Off his rocker, honestly! "Johann?"

The witch lowered her cup sensibly, just as her grandfather turned a page in the newspaper and looked dryly at the man in question. "I believe that's you he's calling."

It wasn't the most flattering photograph of her brother. Everyone else always looked so much less when standing next to someone like Ira Almasy. What an odious woman.

Knox watched her grandfather carry cup and saucer to the table, a comfortable four or five places away from the pair of them as he settled down to the sugarless nightmare that was his morning routine. His eyes remained steadily on the German wizard perusing the Witch Weekly article - she recognised the look, severe but laced with the same curiosity that Balfour expressed for anything he couldn't naturally understand.

"No don't, don't blame him. It's my fault," Johann began while she turned her attention to the proffered page and skimmed it with as much distaste as she did anything written by Lil Snigger.  There must be a flock of Howlers surrounding their Headquarters every morning!

Nathaira only glanced up at the mention of whose blood it had been, suspicion confirmed.

It sounded exactly like Balfour to go running into trouble ever when he's been warned. Balthair beat her to the remark, swallowing down coffee that should have burnt the roof of his mouth. "If you begged my grandson not to go and he went regardless, then it's perfectly his fault isn't it? Just like him, too.[1] " he sniffed and reached across the table for a copy of the Prophet.

Grizelda disappeared from the kitchen with a tray of food.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic seanair." Knox shot the older man an unimpressed look - convinced he'd have done the same for their grandmother -  though her manner was light when she looked back to Johann. "We're relieved you made it to a Healer on time. Never mind all of this rubbish," she shut the magazine pointedly. "It isn't important. I'm sure Balfour will... probably... learn to laugh at it."

In time. After he banned copies of it from the fourth floor. Again. Balthair snorted at this optimism, patting the pockets of his dressing robe for his spectacles. "Defending your honour, was he?" he brusquely ignored Nathaira's attempt to push aside interest in last evening's activities.

Grizelda reappeared, handing Balthair his spectacles before popping over to sift flames in the fireplace behind Johann. 

"Well at least you're both alive." The wizard continued with a mild harumph and slipped on his glasses. "Better to come running here than Fenrir knows where." His gaze dropped to that morning's headlines, only half reading.

Knox rose to pour herself another cup, a begrudging little furrow on her brow. "Mm. It used to be he'd go to Zamperia or Dietrich," she drew her wand to lift the heavy pot. "I think it's much safer here."

1.	October 1993 - I Bet My Life (Snapshot)

Knox drank her own coffee sweet and black, bright eyes never quite leaving her guest's face as he explained what he remembered of the night before. She nodded in response to the query of his nose; it looked as she remembered it. Although she didn't like to say so, their arrival yesterday had been entirely upsetting. Seanairhad handled it better - he was much more used to dealing with problems before asking questions, and possessed the rare temperament of never always having to know everything. A wizard at peace with the mystery of the universe.

Annoyingly, she was of a different disposition. ""He must have thought it best to come away and let the dust settle." Johann explained, and Nathaira narrowed her gaze at him minutely. For less than a second she considered pressing the subject - not enough detail to be the truth, though too much detail might have indicated a lie - but decided otherwise. It was too early for that.

Neither he nor her brother were going to disappear anytime soon.

"Barely over a fortnight now," she replied pleasantly and sipped coffee to clear the muddled worries in her mind. "I'm well, thank you. We are much quieter than when you last left. All the wee ones back to their homes or Hogwarts."

Knox didn't bat an eyelid as their house elf appeared at the kitchen counter behind them, ignoring the pair in favour of pouring more coffee cups. Grizelda was not a talkative elf and always seemed to be busy doing one thing or another in the large house.

"You don't have to apologise for how you arrived." Nathaira met Johann's gaze with a soft but practical smile. "This is home. I swear the house knows whenever Balfour's coming, the doors were open before you both apparated on to the terrace..." she trailed off to finish the rest of her drink in a manner that indicated it was the first cup of many that morning.

The more stringent, herbal scent of tea underlaid that of coffee as Grizelda prepared it in the background. Knox put down her empty cup to rest her hand on Johann's, squeezing reassuringly over the sweater sleeve. "You're always welcome to stay here. With or without my brother," she informed him firmly. "Now. Are you sure you ough--"

Balthair Spectre came striding into the kitchen in his dark green dressing robe, wrinkled face contorted into an expression of pure incredulity. Knox cut herself off, staring as the older wizard slapped a magazine down on to the dining table before going to collect his coffee. "Russians!" he growled with a grumpy, cutting glance at Johann. "Fine way of dragging our name through the mud, isn't it?"

She peered over at the page the Witch Weekly had been opened up to, and frowned. Oh, Merlin.

Tea on the stove. Green, of course, the leaves Cormag had sent from Sapporo, although she wasn't all that certain if Balfour would take to it or if he still liked his black as forest soil. A larger pot for the coffee just coming to boil - cups ready for the house elves to pop up to their parents' rooms, and Balthair's. Most other Spectres had returned to their respective homes after New Year's, with their bairns.

The light mist outside and the pale approaching light of morning signalled the possibility of good weather. Nathaira was still in her plain flannel dressing gown. A cashmere scarf was wrapped around her neck and auburn locks came down in a sleepy tumble. A healthy pinkness in her cheeks despite tiredness.

Johann Storm appeared quite without warning while she was putting aside the burnt toast (how did Grizelda manage to burn it every morning??) and laying out the marmalades and accompaniments. The witch looked up with a vaguely surprised countenance, hand softly drawing away from the butter dish. He looked a better state than he did last night.

And what a shock the two had given them! Barging in just after the evening meal!

"This may or may not sound strange, but what day is it?And how did I get here?"

Nathaira was quickly out from behind the table, an arm across her noticeably swollen belly and another reaching to hastily pull Johann into a hug from around his neck. He was cold! Merlin, were there not enough blankets in the tower room?

"Johann!" she said fondly before releasing him, concerned eyes searching the pale face above hers. "What are you doing up so early? You ought to be resting still. Come, sit down. I'll pour you something hot and we'll see if you can stomach some food." Knox firmly guided her brother's partner to the table and sat him in the chair closest to the hearth burning at the far end.

A risen lump of dough was gradually baking amid open flames; the second of that dawn. She spoke in a her usual voice, practical and bracingly cheerful, as she moved away to serve coffee.

"Saturday, by the way. You and Balfour dropped by yesterday evening. Seanair thought you'd been through hell, the way you looked." A dry, humourless smile on returning to the table with the cups. Balfour had only said they had run into some trouble that he couldn't talk about in detail.

Knox wasn't prepared to settle for that explanation but at the time, her brother had looked so haggard and bitter that she didn't think to question it. Something had happened to Johann, something keeping them away from London. Carr - still in bed - had been silent on the subject.

Unspeakables never had anything useful to say about the nature of secrets.

"You weren't terribly coherent. Neither was Balfour," she spooned sugar into her coffee. "So I can't tell you very much, I'm afraid. He did say you had been hurt." Knox stirred and she sat down next to Johann, adjusting the angle of the chair to face him better. "Porridge, you think? Or soup? We have some from last night. Mulligatawny, really."

She suspected the wizard wouldn't welcome prying, and that his mind was of a temperament that dealt better with practical information rather than soft sympathies. Balfour was better at that sort of thing.

Before she could make a pronouncement on their guest's blasphemous inexperience with Hippogriffs, Aisling made a well-time appearance in the drawing room. Nathaira was most fond of their cousin - she had in fact plans to corner the precocious redhead with a request of making her their unborn child's godmother. Carr supported the decision entirely. Here on the estate, they lived in some other era and realm. An old fashioned place where records were played on old, inherited gramophones in the evenings and wizards or witches spun old dances across dusty carpets, and raucous toasts were given at long tables full of Spectres dressed to the nines.

Aisling was a breath of fresh air, in the same way that she supposed Johann was. Something new and exciting to compliment their warm, archaic ways.

"Knox is indulging me with photographs. Will I find a young herbologist amongst the pages too?" Johann explained with a glance between the two witches, and the older Spectre looked back down at the album to flip through the pages.

The same cheeky, adventurous grin stared back from several of the sheets.

"You shall indeed!" she exclaimed happily, a bit of mischief in her eye - same as she shared with Balfour. "I do believe there is one of wee Aisling and Balfour trying to squeeze into the fireplace." Knox wasn't certain what it was with her brother climbing into hearths but there were at least two other photographs of him ducking beneath various mantles.

She beckoned at Aisling to come sit next to them on the floor. "Come join us, greenfingers -" Nathaira was inspired to monopolise the two of them now that they were here, content to avoid running her usual Samhain errands. "- we might while away the time until they're done finding the tree and getting ready. Balfour ought to do some work if he's going to have his run of the place."

It was a running joke that Balfour hardly knew how to manage the estate, on account of having lived away for so long, but it was always meant with affection and with the understanding that he might be a better master of the house than their docile father. Nathaira shifted over on the rug to make room for Aisling and gave her cousin a kindly smile.

Was it the pregnancy? Every moment spent with her relations - and new possibilities, this Storm lad - seemed more precious than ever before. It was very good indeed to be surrounded by family.

Nathaira allowed for her companion to take charge of the album, sliding it even closer to him while she answered that Balfour had been about fourteen in the Easter photograph. It was a naturally awkward age but her brother was impish enough to wear ungainly looks with a handsome shade of mischief. Bunny costume or not.

She glanced over at Johann, noticing that the other image had also caught his eye. A Balfour better resembling his adult self stared back with a laughing smile. Knox could still recall taking the picture - just at the edge of the estate, the youngest two of them listless with the relief of recent graduation.

They were a charming pair. "That's Francis, his half-sister." Nathaira's fair gaze flickered kindly to the darker face in the photograph, and then to Johann's hands as she watched him scribble a divining stone for great aunt Catriona. "She used to visit every summer until Balfour ran away to do his dragon training."

It often felt to the rest of the clan that Francis was a sort of misplaced and distant cousin. Knox knew that Balfour didn't see it that way - he could never help growing close to the people around him - but the thought never failed to occur to her whenever she saw the other witch.

Johann's remark on their eye for photography made her laugh lightly, and she flipped a few pages forward in the album while she replied.

"We only use the good photographs in these albums. The blurry ones are all in a shoebox somewhere." Knox smiled, pausing at a spread of pictures that look like they'd seen some wear and were taken on different cameras. "Is your father a frequent practitioner of cropping family photos, then?" she looked at her guest with a level, friendly air.

It wasn't unusual for family patriarchs to go around crossing members from trees, albums, invitation lists. There was a time when father had been tempted to cross Balfour off the clan wall.

She returned her attention to the album. Two of the photos were clumsily taken - late twenties Balfour living in what looked like a rustic cabin. He stood next to a stove in one, trying to heat up a small cauldron and grinning at the photographer with henna mud in his hair. The other image was of him and a younger man[1] crouching shirtless in the cabin fireplace, a bottle of Firewhiskey between them. It looked like they were playing a convoluted drinking game.

The remaining pictures were in the same vein, the two wizards out exploring in a mountainous range.

"French Alps. This was just before he came back from travelling." Nathaira noted as the image of her brother at the stove winked cheekily at his watchers. "Something to do with Graphorns and Trolls. Would you like to look at some younger ones? I might have something from when he met his first Hippogriff."

1.	Sylvain Onuris

While she had long reconciled herself with the treacherous nature of Balfour's vocation, the witch felt a familiar pang of concern at the worry that Johann so openly expressed. She had a vague idea of where this new companion was coming from - Knox saw it in his reaction to her comment on their grandfather, saw traces of something gentler in the furrow of his brow. Her brother surrounded himself with the most fascinating creatures.

And so eager to be of use! Johann was back to the stones once more, the great house settling into its previous silence in spite of conversational echoes drifting in from the main hall as people came or left in a hurry. Carr was taking his time with the bairns. She suspected him of marshalling some mischievous prank for later that night.

Nathaira climbed on to one of the sofas in front of the fireplace and stretched her legs out along it, staring pensively at her feet as her guest continued his work. Looking at her, it was easy to imagine a younger counterpart. Glowing blonde hair and gangly pale legs sticking out from underneath the skirts.

Toes wriggling as she rested on her elbows to give Johann a quick smile, chin tilted down to fix her gaze meaningfully. She delighted in the fact that they would be undisturbed for a little while.

"Crowded, there always used to be family visiting. But we were very lucky to grow up here and I have the fondest memories of childhood." Her hand slid on to her stomach unconsciously, a thought occurring. This wasn't always going to be her home. Knox didn't let the realisation dampen their exchange. "You must mean Balfour's embarrassing stories." A knowing grin.

There were many, after all. "Grizelda?" she turned her head, a muted pop! preceding the appearance of an old, prim looking house elf between the coffee table and furniture. "Balfy's album, won't you please?" The house elf blinked, was gone in an instant.

Before she could explain to Johann her habit of keeping a respective photo album for each Spectre sibling, Grizelda reappeared holding two leather tomes almost as large as her frame. Ever efficient. She placed them on the table, next to the labelled divining stones, and stayed only long enough to accept a quick thank you from Knox before being called away to some other corner of the estate.

"Don't mind Grizelda, she almost never speaks." Knox swung her feet about and gracefully slipped down to the floor so that she might join the wizard - she took the topmost album, plopping it pragmatically between them and sending up a billow of white dust from the carpet. "He hates it when I show this to people but I've no idea why. We think he was such a fetching boy."


The album opened up to its first page, where a formal group photograph exhibited the four Spectres posed in the same drawing room in late afternoon light. They were young - Nathaira at least eight - and dressed in formal robes. The three brothers wore kilts in their clan's tartan print and the twins bookended their sister, in front of whom stood five year old Balfour. Cormag and Goraidh were arguing soundlessly. Knox had a hand in her youngest brother's strawberry blonde curls as he protested the show of affection.

In the present, this incited a smirk. "Did Balfour ever say he was slightly premature? Runt of the litter and small even for his age..." she pinched several pages at once, flipping through the album. "Let me see if I can find someth-- ah. My favourite. Easter."

On the right page, grabbing one's attention almost immediately, a young adolescent Balfour Spectre stares begrudgingly at the camera. He was outdoors wearing a bright pink bunny onesie - complete with matching ears - and surrounded by a crowd of small children grabbing his legs in merry dance.

"Lost a bet with seanair." Nathaira explained and slid the photo album closer to Johann, looking at him with impish wisdom. "If he ever gets too full of himself, remind him of this. Look at him sulk! Oh, he was such a crybaby."

The photograph on the left page was more recent but she didn't think to reference it yet. Seventeen or eighteen years old, Balfour was sat crosslegged at what looked like the crest of a towering hill, next to a dark skinned witch his age. They had the same intense blue eyes, and wore matching jeans and white t-shirts. An old, russet cocker spaniel lay at their feet as they gave its ears a tousle.

Nathaira, as a rule, never missed a beat.

She didn't give their grandfather an inch as Balfour entered - helping steer the conversation far from the path of inappropriate romances and arbitrary gambling. It had taken years of awkward clan reunions for them to be any good at it but Balthair had always given everyone plenty of practice. If anything, they were much better at swaying the exchanges than their parents.

It gave her an opportunity to observe Johann while they spoke. His concern for Ichabod's handiwork was curious.

People, especially people close to Balfour, were accustomed to that sort of thing. Bruises and blood and burns. Or if they weren't then they never displayed tenderness in response. Dear Bal was good about taking a beating without complaint. 

"Carr would be more than happy to take photographs." Knox put in, ignoring her brother's charmed little smile at the play on cats and eagle. Such a silly smile. "But you must let me help with the costume. I'm a Hippogriff, you see. Quite good with all that feather nonsense."

A series of cracks went off in the background while she addressed Johann - it didn't merit much attention except from Balfour, who glanced over at the windows looking on the front terrace. A pair of tall wizards had appeared on the green. They were both of fair red hair and broad, powerful build. Not so graceful as their young sibling. A vague eye might have taken the men for twins but they were not entirely identical. Cormag, the shorter, sported obvious burn and clawmark scars on the right side of his visage and body. He seemed to be in an argument with the other.

"We'll give your headdress a fighting chan--" Nathaira was saying.
            Balfour interrupted. "-- that's my cue."
"Oh dear. Try not to break anything this year."

He was already extracting himself from Johann, looking around to the Spectre elder in a way that belied his relative youth to the man. "Come on then seanair, we'd better be going." Abruptly, Balfour turned back to lay a hand on his partner's shoulder fleetingly and with an air of distraction before planting another kiss in farewell. "You're mine tonight," he muttered in response to the quip of ownership.

Knox didn't catch all of it, though she found herself smirking as Balfour finally made to leave the drawing room. Balthair had noticed the chalk marks on his grandson's back and was making a halfway decent effort of pretending it didn't bother him. "Nathaira." The grey haired wizard parted in a soft voice. "Johann."

And using the first name, too! She would have to remind herself to be proud of him later. Knox stood up and dusted off her skirts as she drew up next to Johann to watch her younger siblings reunite on the terrace outside. They appeared youthful in one another's presence, Balfour most of all as the other two pulled him into a hug.

"You'll meet them later," she looped her arm through Johann's and smiled affectionately. "After they've run themselves stupid in the wood. I think grandfather tolerates you. He's awfully old fashioned, you know, but he loves Balfour very much." The clan's golden child, both to his pride and detriment.

Nathaira looked at her guest with studious eyes.  "Don't worry about his face. It's nothing he isn't used to," she added in what was not a very reassuring voice.

Nathaira Spectre was an eddy of Hippogriff feathers and labyrinthine layers of flowing fabrics. Her crown, the carved eagle head,  stared vacantly over the throngs of costumed peoples who either ate or danced or fell into one another in surprising conversations. She had thrown off her shoes as soon as the bonfire walk was over and was now being helpfully carried through the party by her fiancé.

He was almost an invisible figure, cloaked in the velvety darkness of a Thestral costume. She held on to him with a hand across his shoulder and legs dangling sweetly from the crook of his arms.

"Stop!" Knox exclaimed on their way to join Balfour at the buffet table, pushing up her crown to look through the silhouettes cast by the flames. "Put me down, dear?"

Carr obeyed - voice muffled by the equine mask he wore. "As you wish. Are you going to play hostess? Ought I save you a plate of something?" he was as gentle as sin in letting her feet touch the ground and she smiled at him, a rare combination of gratitude and amusement.

"Some pudding or other. I've only to do my duties." Nathaira made a melodramatic gesture, turning away and knowing with certainty that he was watching her go. She disappeared into a group of older witches, surrounded by children who were demanding their names for the remaining stones.

The children allowed themselves to be distracted by her momentarily, letting out a cheer as she gave them Fizzing Whizzbees in passing - it was the sweet that the wee ones were collecting in competition this year. She laughed at their clamour, pausing only to ask one of the older girls if she'd seen their tall and dark stranger tonight. She had.

---


"Angus Mcboid!" Knox exclaimed, joining Johann's odd clutch of people with confident ease. She embraced the older man, wishing him a merry Samhain, and then - as if though they hadn't only seen one another before the festivities - pulled Johann into a hug. "Afraid that I'm no Ratatoskr," the feathered witch said in a low voice and slipped a piece of parchment into his hand.

It did not seem too long ago that Balfour was the one running secret notes between her and her boyfriends. Nathaira released the wizard without ceremony, turning instead to Camille and the figure she recognised as probably being cousin Gabbie.

Only Gabbie spoke gaelic so poorly.

"Poor place to be practicing, cousin!" she told her in their clan tongue, uncertain of what mischief was being gotten up to between the women. Knox looked from her to the other witch, extending a slender hand in greeting. "And you must be Camille. I'm Balfour's sister, Nathaira. Has everyone eaten? Drinks? They're brewing something vile at the cauldron but there's Firewhiskey and tea to be had in the kitchens."

Grandfather Balthair was beyond reproach - quite literally he would not give a damn - but she didn't much worry for her brother's latest adventure, who like many of the others seemed perfectly capable of handling himself around the older gentleman. They had all witnessed the awkward introductory phase of what their parents once deemed as Balfour's rebellious period and now accepted as part of an urban lifestyle.

Knox rolled a bit of chalk between her palms as she watched the two wizards in their imbalanced exchange, lips twisted in a diverted smile. All politeness. "Am I keeping Nathaira? She has tasked me with the stones, though I am here to assist in any way I and my wand can."

There would be no instance of somebody else answering on her behalf.

"Not at all. I'm afraid I have a monopoly on you, Johann..." she gave her grandfather a look that might have reminded him of his late mother - it was the same one she gave the bairns, softened only by her tone of voice. "Balfy should be here any moment. He's to come by before they go looking for the tree, I can't imagine what's keeping him."