Nona rose from her chair and leaned over the usually towering man, one of the few times she would seem taller than him, finger jabbing into his chest, "Oh but wouldn't you deserve it if I did. You're being a smarmy spoiled little tit and I don't like it at all," her tone was blunt, glare bearing down on him, normally affectionate smile gone. Her expression was serious, grim even.

"You have no idea what it's been like for he and Camille. Living with that man, just because Johann doesn't process things the way you do doesn't mean he's fine or that he doesn't need anyone. It might actually mean he needs us more. Do you know what Johann has really lost? The chance for things to change, to be different, for his father to be different. We spend our whole lives thinking we have more time, to make things right, to be the people we're supposed to be - and somewhere inside that lanky sad eye'd man is a little boy who only wanted to be loved by a man who didn't have any idea how".

She stopped to take a breath, turning away from Balfour as she began tidying the kitchen. She thought of the way Camille looked at Storm, the softness her voice had for the man. Nona hadn't understood it, she couldn't see it...but she didn't have to. The thing was, even monsters were loved by someone. Wolfgang Storm had been loved by Camille, and at some point in time by his son. Now there was all the unfinished business, the things left unsaid, the things that couldn't be made right. Whatever Johann said Nona felt sure he was suffering in a way few could understand. If Balfour had made that worse... she didn't want to think about it.

Johann's problem with potions wasn't exactly covered under the Statute of Secrecy. The Ministry was full of more gossip than a Skeeter byline.

Balfour sat up straight, less surprised to have this particular Spectre in his face than he was with Knox. Was it something in the water? Hormones? Pack mentality? Did he have a target charmed on his forehead?

His jaw drew taut as she ranted, however, so unwilling as she was to let the bloody subject drop. It wasn't that he lived in a vacuum outside of Johann's life - and frankly, being chided by a witch nearly ten years his junior about what he did or did not know about the fellow he'd been sleeping with was more than enough to test his patience.

Oddly, he thought of his talk with Ira last night and this calmed him. Nothing ruffled her. That was something he admired about his neighbour.

He let Nona turn away before he rose from his seat. "Thank you, I think, for your presumption." Balfour observed in a quiet, suddenly detached voice. "I've promised Arabella a dance so I'd better get to it before she comes to collect me."

The music outside had stopped but he was certain it would begin again, with enough inducement. He nicked another oatmeal cookie off the table and stepped over the mug that Knox had thrown. Balfour felt that he was getting too old to be starting kitchen sink arguments in their homestead - he crossed the room, stepping out into the autumn sunshine without really feeling its warmth.