His brow wrinkled slightly at the unexpected change in Miranda's mannerism - he'd expected another gruesome story to put  them off their dinner, and her response seemed somewhat uncharacteristic. Curious.

Johann came to the rescue with his usual social grace, "Prefer my dragon tamers intact, and his team." Balfour felt the hand on his leg and smiled gently at his partner, heart still unable to repress its nervous little flutter whenever they touched. He had forgotten for a second that it was never necessary to feign bravado around Johann.

No need to pretend like those brushes of death weren't both the best and worst part of the job.

"We do try, my love..." he replied in a soft voice before the subject turned over to the misdeeds of his Division. If only they knew of what interest they were at this unlikely dinner table!

With the epidemic still coughing out its last notes, moving on from dragons did seem preferable. "Merlin, yes, our lot seem to get into our fair share of trouble. I like the dangerous ones, naturally, but you'd be surprised how often we get called in to deal with wayward Pixies and fire-crabs. Nuisances."

He lowered his fork and took a second to appreciate the wine once more, glancing between their hosts self-consciously. "But don't let me ramble. Johann will tell you I'm in the bad habit of talking shop when I shouldn't."

Balfour looked at Miranda - recognising that she might be of the same ilk. "Might I ask if you're thinking of a younger one?" he recalled himself, adding: "Hippogriff, I mean. The bairns don't take well to humans but the young adults are quite capable of bonding."

Luckily their guests were not perturbed by Miranda's account and Balfour even dared provide a platform for Miranda to potentially tell more grisly tales - though his choice of dragons did not sit well with Miranda. Ignan had somewhat anticipated the topic might come up, Johann had previously mentioned Balfour's great interest.

"Pass the carrots," Ignan interrupted to Johann gesturing. He didn't particularly want any more, but it was some way to interrupt. His younger relative studied him quizzically as he obliged before saying something semi-sentimental about Balfour's wellbeing.

However unpalatable public affection could be to Ignan, he did feel a fleeting gladness of the way the younger wizards interacted. His cousin was looking more at ease and in good health than he ever had since coming to Britain. Based on what he had seen of Balfour so far, he had no reservations as yet of him being part of the extended family.

".. I like the dangerous ones, naturally, but you'd be surprised how often we get called in to deal with wayward pixies and fire-crabs…" Balfour recounted, the conversation moving on.

"Might I ask if you're thinking of a younger one?" Balfour asked, and for a split second moment Ignan reconsidered his lack of reservations at this rather direct question, until Spectre clarified "Hippogriff I mean." The gap between was long enough for Ignan to stare across the table sharply and Johann to choke on a potato.

"Just one that eats intrusive reporters." Ignan suggested, "I've no particular interest in 'bonding' with a beast," Johann resumed choking and vanished behind a napkin, though Ignan suspected it was his awful sense of humour and he was laughing rather than inhaling dinner. He looked to Miranda, "Have you thought on this?"

"Prefer my dragon tamers intact, and his team." Johann fawned over his companion as Miranda stared into her wine glass, eager for the conversation to take a different turn. Her recently acquired husband may have been sat beside her enjoying his meal alive as ever, but the current turn of topic was making her remember things better left forgotten or visited very rarely.

"Merlin, yes, our lot seem to get into our fair share of trouble.” The continued conversation went unheard, Balfour’s voice mixed with Ignan’s as Mira’s dark gaze remained on the wine in her glass. She’d momentarily been taken back over a decade to her own worries of a certain dragon tamer remaining in tact, to her own terror when her dragon tamer had been brought into St Mungo’s. She felt sorry for Johann.

"Have you thought on this?"
For a moment, Miranda stared blankly at her new husband. She had thought on a lot of things but their exact current topic was unknown.

“I agree.” She ventured, putting her glass down and cutting into her meat some more.

“Tell me, Balfort, how did a dragon tamer and an…” Her lips pursed momentarily, searching for a word, “…Johann….meet?”

He felt more than saw Ignan's stare at the unwitting cheek of Balfour's earlier statement, swallowing a bite of vegetables with a boyish smile - Johann having taken to disturbing a napkin on account of their terrible, terrible minds. Bonding indeed. But somehow they managed not to dissolve into entirely juvenile remarks.

The witch of the house, however, seemed to be somewhere else. It didn't stop her from changing the subject of conversation when turned to by her husband.

It was strange to think of the pair in those terms. Husband, wife. Supposedly mundane words that of late had become more pronounced to Balfour's ears. Certainly filled with more meaning since attaching himself to Johann.

“Tell me, Balfort, how did a dragon tamer and an…Johann….meet?”

He hastily swallowed a sip of wine before he could choke on it, pausing to cough and give his chest a good thump. Balfort!! His gaze settled on Miranda hesitantly but Balfour decided not to make a correction; he had enough manners to overlook it, and not enough pride to be disgruntled.

"Dancing. He rescued me from a terribly predictable evening of dancing and drinks..." the wizard smiled across the table and then at his lover, warmly. It could have been just another go at Le Masque, that night, but he'd met the love of his life instead. "Didn't you, dear?" Balfour glanced back at the older couple.

What did they think of him, he wondered? It was hard to tell. He suspected that they were courteous and guarded but on the whole quite interesting. Better than interesting: likeable.

"And tequila. We must blame tequila as well." Balfour lowered his fork, meeting Ignan in the eye - Miranda seemed distracted. "And how did our Head Healer make your acquaintance? Charming bedside manner?" The boyish smile returned.

Whereas Johann was busy inhaling potato and suppressing laughter, Miranda had dropped out of the conversation. Perhaps the subject matter wasn’t to her taste, Johann pondered, but in truth she looked like a witch who had realised she’d forgotten to do something important at work. Her answer to his cousin was strangely short, but she followed it up with a query… and forgot Balfour’s name.

“Tell me, Balfort, how did a dragon tamer and an…”
“…Johann….meet?”

He was about to correct Miranda when Balfour coughed and thumped his own chest, distracting him enough to be concerned.
"Dancing. He rescued me from a terribly predictable evening of dancing and drinks…” Johann returned a soppy grin to Balfour, forgetting for a moment where he was and who they were with. "Didn't you, dear?”
“Mhmmm... you were the one doing the rescuing my love.” He meant his knees, threatening to give way on the dance floor, but he realised himself and who they were with and bit his bottom lip a moment, reaching his right hand out to Balfour’s left forearm, resting it gently.

"And tequila. We must blame tequila as well.”
“Margaritas, but tequila helped too.” Johann corrected quietly, referring to where he’d got to on the Le Masquerade cocktail menu that week when he encountered Balfour and his terpsichorean hips. Somehow despite Johann swallowing a thesaurus before drinking, Balfour had seen it alright to dance with him.

"And how did our Head Healer make your acquaintance? Charming bedside manner?”

Nauseating interactions aside, Ignan paused in eating to consider how exactly to describe how he and Miranda had come to be.
“Miranda and I met professionally, she was part of the Durmstrang contingent for the Tournament.” He looked to his wife thoughtfully, rarely expanding from there on why the pair of them had come to be. Truth was it had been rather quick, and he tried not to dwell on the past but on the present. It hadn’t been tequila or dancing. Those descriptions had Ignan feeling his age decidedly.

”I heard it had something to with a severed arm.” Johann added, anticipating the end of the brief explanation, but happy to press for more information since he’d rarely got a straight answer in the past. Considering it had apparently taken his once fiancee, Hannah Bombay, to point out that Ignan was cooking dinner to entertain Miranda in a social, not professional purpose that night Ignan had turfed his temporary lodger out, Ignan preferred to keep him guessing.

“… which Miranda had me dispose of.” Ignan agreed, and looked back to Balfour as he explained, “I used it for demonstrations, only it was no longer adequately preserved when we came to consider using it when teaching together. I have only once been Miranda’s patient, of sorts, which was shortly after I proposed to her in Norway and we encountered a dementor.” He paused, looked apologetically to Miranda, “Still, you and the bottle of whisky were safe that night.”

It would seem that the witch’s question brought on a coughing fit in the rather strange wizard. Of course, Miranda didn’t much enjoy discussing her own private matters with strangers but she’d never choke on her own wine to get out of giving a truthful answer! Some people were most bizarre.

At least the dragon enthusiast had a story. Not the most interesting of tales but at least it was one. Miranda watched with disinterest and mild discomfort at the two gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes like a pair of love struck adolescents who couldn’t bear to be parted for a second. Soppy terms “dear” and “my love” floated around like pixies that needed batting away.

Any then the question was thrown back at her husband to catch with his own terms of soppy endearment.
True to form Ignan kept his response polite, curt and perfectly satisfactory for his wife.
“You weren’t.” A look was cast at her husband before she spoke to Balfour. “He’d been so focused on getting me and the damned firewhiskey back safely that he landed himself over the edge of a cliff. I had to apparate in the dark which is not something I ever enjoy doing and I thought I was engaged to marry a corpse.”

"Pretty much married to one now." Johann replied, his cheek quicker than the common sense he did keep for special occasions. He flinched away instinctively from Ignan towards Balfour, anticipating a clip round the back of his head. Often the newspaper. His hand found Balfour's arm as he did, and the cutlery left his fingers. "At least my cousin had his priorities right - partner and drink before self."

Johann had always figured that Ignan wouldn't ever find anyone else, which had been a whole side to his surprise when Hannah had suggested Miranda was over for dinner for romantic reasons. Conversation with his older cousin about anything romantic had been few and far between[1]. Johann knew Ignan had loved women, what with the conception of Sasha alone, but like most things about himself, Ignan just didn't talk. They were more likely to discuss current affairs, other family members, the weather than their romantic lives.

Despite this, Johann had always known Ignan had his corner, for which he was very grateful for, especially with all that had come to pass the previous summer. For a moment, inclined towards Balfour he reflected on the fact he was very lucky to know all three people he shared dinner with, even the ruddy house elf and her frying pan. It gave Ignan the moment to hex his foot and he sucked a breath in through his teeth in response to the sharp pain in his toes.

Not deterred, Johan grinned to Balfour and then nodded across to Miranda opposite him. "You obviously patched him together alright though, Miranda. He's just as crotchety as ever."

1.	13 Apr 2010 I Prefer Badgers These Days

“You weren’t.” Miranda commented, received with a hint of a smile from Ignan in agreement. No, he’d pitched off the edge and taken a knock to the head. “He’d been so focused on getting me and the damned firewhiskey back safely that he landed himself over the edge of a cliff... I thought I was engaged to marry a corpse.”
"Pretty much married to one now.”

Ignan narrowed his blue eyes and looked pointedly at his cousin as if more annoyed than he actually was for the comment about his age. His relative leaned out of the way towards his other half with a lunatic grin. "At least my cousin had his priorities right - partner and drink before self.”
“Exactly.” Ignan agreed, but his hand had dropped beneath the table to point his wand at Johann’s toes in retaliation and enjoy observing the wince above the table before he returned his hand to his cutlery as if nothing had happened.
"You obviously patched him together alright though, Miranda. He's just as crotchety as ever.”

“Such a pleasure to invite family to dinner,” Ignan interrupted, straightening his shoulders. “Balfour, you couldn’t have offered this waif a home at a more opportune moment. To think I entertained his presence here. What sort of place is this House of Atreus the pair of you inhabit? As grand as the name suggests? The thought did cross my mind if one should turn down a dinner invitation to the address if ever offered. Or is it purely the notion of godly neighbours the owner attempts to insinuate?”

Ignan Storm, he thought abstractedly as he set down his wine glass, was not a wizard of many words - unlike the dark haired man who had so easily and sweetly infected Balfour's heart. But there was something... vaguely threatening about him underlying the sensible veneer. An efficiency of character that also seemed at the heart of their romantic tale.

It was difficult to interpret. All Balfour had ever had to go on in his life was a feeling and so he felt that maybe it was fortunate to be on Ignan's good side. As well as Miranda's, even if her odd behaviour left him wondering what she really thought about the pair.

"Johann!" Balfour exclaimed reproachfully, half-laughing at his partner's cheek and then stifling a proper laugh at Johann's sudden intake of breath. Likely something worse than a light kick at the shins. He watched the exchange fondly, gaining a feeling for the dynamic between Storms.

Very much like Johann, Ignan steered the conversation with little trouble.

"Oh, I don't think I offered him a home so much as he made my dismal flat a proper one..." Balfour replied in a cheerful tone, abandoning his fork to warmly take the hand Joh had laid upon his arm. "I suppose Atreus is rather grand? And urban, you know." In his eyes it had nothing on the grandeur of stately country homes or even their mixed up manor in Edinburgh.

But the story of Atreus, namesake place of gods being served mortal royalty, brought a dark smile to Balfour's face. He was nearly done with the roast and could consider that aspect as safely as he did innards stepped on by Hippogriffs.

"I would never have chosen to live there if I wasn't already acquainted with the Landlord," he explained to hastily correct the implication that he might be the sort who was inclined to that sort of living. "Ira Almasy is quite the goddess. In the classical sense, cold and distant, but she throws the most theatrical dinner parties - so I can't deny her sense of humour."

Balfour drained his glass of wine.

The conversation continued over the last bites of dinner, Miranda dipping in and out of topics as she wished. It had certainly taken this evening for her to realise how out of practice she was at dealing with dinner parties and how much she really didn’t fancy it again. The thought of being sat around a table with people you barely knew, pressured into talking because of the arrangement didn’t appeal to the straight talking witch. That didn’t mean she didn’t like Johann or Balfort, it simply meant she wasn’t comfortable making small talk. She’d have also been surprised if Ignan suggested anything similar again.

Not too intent on rushing the couple out of the house after coffee, Miranda ‘sutbly’ mentioned how tired she was after a long day of work. A few gory tales may have found their way in there and by 11 o’clock Mr and Mrs Storm were stood at the door regrettably agreeing “Yes, of course we should do this again.”

The door closed and Miranda drained her final glass of wine, feeling a mixture of tipsy and exhausted.
“Dinner parties are for friendly people that like people. We need a smaller dining table.” With that, Miranda began to ascend the stairs to bed.