Diagon Alley, Afternoon. Rated M for possibly mature language.


"Cheers!" Balfour flashed the barista over the counter a friendly smile as he received his takeaway cup. "Fixes everything."

Black tea, that is, with a sprinkling of nutmeg and honey. The work day on level four had begun before sun-up and continued without halt until only an hour ago when Mrs Lanningham confirmed his department meetings were moved to the following week due to some mess or another about Sphinxes. A breather now was appreciate even if it meant more work later.

He followed a tall witch carrying her toddler out into the seating area and smiled as a mild breeze swept through Diagon Alley, carrying with it the scent of roasted chestnuts and brewing fumes. This was enough.

Navigating the tables out towards the street was tricky, the woman in front juggling her child and handbag and drink with such precarious dexterity that even other patrons threw a fearful look at the wee one. "Can I help?" Balfour asked politely - but just as she turned around to answer, her cup slipped.

And he grabbed it in time, although at the expense of dropping his own on the nearest bystander. "Oh, blast it!" 

Balfour hastily returned the drink to the witch before turning around to the fellow on whom he'd spilt his drink. "I'm terribly sorry about that, complete accid--" he stopped himself, look of apology turning to one of surprise as he caught sight of the telltale black and white hair. "... accident."

Most certainly a complete accident that had nothing to do with his partner's ex-whatever being assailed by steaming hot tea. He remembered himself and closed his mouth.

As much as he didn't look like he was appreciative, sitting there with a cheek cupped in a hand and with the most disinterested look on his face while he watched the teaspoon in his cup merrily clink around in his cup, Arcturus was only glad that he was out here enjoying the last of the day's sun rather than coming home in the wee hours of the morning. He'd have to get something for Healer Antonopoulos for offering to take his night shift. A Greek dessert might work, although he wasn't sure how familiar she was with Greek food.

So preoccupied was he on thinking of how to repay his colleague that he didn't really notice what was going on around him. The slightly pungent fragrance of his black ginger tea mixed with the faint tinge of sweet honey was more or less in his sight, the teaspoon gently and hypnotically stirring. Only this place did black ginger tea with honey well, and he was glad he'd found it. His smoking habit was giving his lungs a bit of trouble already. He was a healer in plant poisoning putting poison from plants into his body, it couldn't get any more ironic than th--

There was a pouf of a falling takeaway cup breaking apart right next to his ear. The healer instantly jerked out of the way, ducking instinctively as freshly made tea exploded onto his shoulder. Thankfully he had deigned to dress in more than just a hoodie today, and the tea did not penetrate the dark grey coat or thick scarf to the collared shirt underneath.

He looked up after the initial shock had worn off, his wand already emerging from his sleeve to clean it up. The apology just then reached his ears, and he finally took stock of the situation. Well...he could kind of excuse that? Perhaps. He gave a tentative smile and a wave of a hand.

"It's all right." Arcturus gave a nervous chuckle as he used his wand to move the tea graciously onto the floor instead of him or his table. "Accidents happen. I'm okay, no worries." He looked around at the tea haphazardly distributed all over the floor, and then looked back up. "Are you okay? Did any of that splash on anyone else? If anyone got burned, I can help."

For some reason the man was gaping at him, but his eyes were focused on the black and white hair. The healer was utterly used to this at this point - the little toddler in his mother's arms was staring at his hair too. As long as people didn't come up to him and tell him his fashion sense was tasteless, or that he was simply too good-looking of a young man to dye his hair in such a vulgar way, he was fine with the staring.

A smile twitched at his lips as he recovered from the surprise of recognising Arcturus Hollingbury. Balfour had seen and briefly observed Mordecai around the Ministry on occasion - somehow he'd expected more of a resemblance. The thought was pushed aside as he glanced over his shoulder at the witch who seemed quite ready to leave this awkward mess behind.

When he turned back to the other wizard, the gaze was less arrested by the startling hair and more by that face. A pinprick of jealousy sharpened his curiosity.. "I'm sure you could but it seems we have all escaped unscalded." Fieldwork boots could take a good deal of torture considering the violences they were put through, even if they did clash with the navy office robes . "A waste of a good tea, really."

Déjà vu. This time last month, he been in the similar circumstance of knowing a man's identity who did not recognise his. The backlash from that particular decision still smarted.

He found himself moving to push back an empty chair at Hollingbury's table, taking a seat without being invited as his eyes didn't once leave the Healer. "Arcturus, isn't it?" Balfour extended a hand to shake. "A pleasure. Balfour Spectre. I hope I'm not intruding."

Tea was easily forgotten. This was certainly interesting enough to wake him up for the time being.

It seemed all right, so Arc settled back a bit, although he was still taking in details of his surroundings in case there was something he - or anyone else - might have missed from the first glance. It was things like this that he was used to as a healer, since details could mean the difference between life and death. Anything less major was usually treated on the same level anyhow.

Since the teaspoon had finally stopped and removed itself politely from his cup, he took the opportunity to take a sip just as this man lowered himself uninvited right opposite him. The healer was about to put the cup down when the bomb dropped.

"Arcturus, isn't it? A pleasure. Balfour Spectre. I hope I'm not intruding."

It took a few seconds. Then Arcturus accidentally inhaled some of the tea still in his mouth as realisation hit him like an oncoming train without brakes, sirens flashing FUCK! He choked, and then had to turn away from Balfour to cough the tea out of his windpipe. At least I didn't spray him with tea, he thought with some giddiness from coughing that hard and wiping some water out of his eyes that had emerged from his lungs' brief encounter with ginger tea.

He took a deep breath to replace whatever he'd hacked out and composed himself in front of Balfour like nothing had happened, typical healer manners now settling into place. "Well," he began, "that's a surprise for the ages. I'm sorry, I just had a little moment." He pushed his cup aside before he made any further mess. "You're not intruding. What do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, Mr Spectre?"

For a fleeting, startled moment he thought that Arcturus was going to return the favour of showering him with tea.

Balfour quite nearly laughed but he could anticipate his sister smacking the upside of his head reproachfully. A bit much, considering how he'd decided to ambush somebody else's peaceful afternoon tea. He bit on the inside of his cheek with a modicum of restraint and nodded a matter-of-factly at surprise for the ages. It pleased the territorial creature inside of him that his name was recognised.

"Chance, possibly. And intrigue," he explained as he blatantly took in the wizard's general appearance - well dressed, striking, composed outside of that incident with the tea. "I don't make it a habit to seek out..." a short pause to awkwardly phrase whatever he thought Arc meant to his new partner. "Johann's old flames."

Odin's bear. That sounded like a fucking melodrama waiting to happen. Old flames. He tried not to look like he regretted using the phrase and cleared his throat self-consciously, leaning back into the chair. Now would have been a better time for mannequins to come marching down the street and distract him from himself.

"I'm friendly enough with my exes but you'll excuse me wanting to get to know you better." Balfour finally glanced away from Arcturus to notice a group of witches meandering past the cafe in shimmering night robes. "You mean a lot to him, I imagine."

The implication wasn't obvious but he trusted the Healer to catch on that if someone meant a lot to Johann, it meant something to Balfour as well.

Johann's old flames. Circe's pigs. Did this guy seriously come here to keep reminding Arc about what he was trying to push from his mind these days? Did he have a bone to pick? Despite what he was saying, Arc felt somewhat singled out by this man right now, and he was getting very uncomfortable. Anxiety levels rising. He would have to keep them down.

His stoic poker face remained itself as the lurking thorn-covered tendrils of jealousy stirred deep in his chest. Now that he wasn't having a coughing fit, he had time to observe Balfour. He was impressed, he had to admit. Taller than Johann (much taller than he himself was!), well-groomed, poised...oh, there were a lot of things about him. Maybe a little too forward, but even though he was unintentionally making Arc uncomfortable, the healer had to recognise that he was assertive. Far more assertive than I'd ever be.

"You mean a lot to him, I imagine."

At his words Arc disconnected abruptly and briefly from the here and now. Maybe Balfour had meant that innocently, maybe he'd been implying something, but at those words the healer felt as if a cold icicle had sank into his chest and now his heart was bleeding the whole swirl of confusing emotions that had been plaguing him for over a week by now. What had he meant to Johann? And in the face of this man, Balfour, who now had Johann's heart...

The only person who was stabbing him was not Balfour. It was himself.

Despite his blank expression, he lowered his eyes towards the table. He was just lost for words as his head swirled in memories he didn't want to think about, in the hollow cold that was now filling his chest. There was no way he could describe how he felt about that, so he went for another route.

"If I meant a lot to him," he said, placing a very subtle emphasis on the past tense as he gazed at the table, "then I suppose he would have told you so, so I'm not sure why you're asking me that question." He wished they were in a more private place. There was a rising lump in his throat - not large enough to threaten his voice, but large enough to hurt slightly. He couldn't let it show. At least he just wanted to keep some dignity in front of Balfour, and as it was he was now taking a huge mental effort to suppress his anxiety.

If there was anything Balfour could recognise on instinct alone, it was the deliberate endeavour to maintain neutrality. It was almost habit for anyone who had to confront antagonistic Horntails or cumbersome Sphinxes - those beasts with a knack for tempting you into impatience and, by extension, mortal danger.

But he couldn't quite wrap his head around why Arcturus wanted to conserve peace. They weren't schoolboys, pointed words were as satisfying as nonsensical name calling. Somehow it didn't matter if this was a Hogwarts courtyard or a crowded London cafe.

"It wasn't a question." Balfour cocked an eyebrow as he returned his attention to their exchange - ignoring the shift into the past tense. "You mean a lot to him. Surely you know as well as I do, how well that memory works. The attention to detail."

It surprised him to no end whenever Johann turned the conversation into unexpected territory, things mentioned much earlier in the day or week, floating somewhere in his inexplicable consciousness. Trying to predict those turns was half the fun of being around the Linguist.

Balfour met the wizard's gaze levelly, not brazen enough to be confrontational but with a gleam of morbid curiosity. Johann's feelings he might discover by asking. Arc's? It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did. The compulsion was ridiculous.

"And... he means a lot to you." Another statement - a purposefully assertive, prodding one. "Or you wouldn't have shut up like a razor clam the moment I brought him up. Most people are rather talkative about their exes." Balfour at least had been subject to many such rants in his previous relationships. "But I can appreciate a fellow who doesn't kiss and tell."

There was no escaping this, and even Arc knew there was no way out of it. He could recognise this kind of person...he'd actually dealt with them in hospital. Not patients, but kin of patients, asking and making sure he knew what he was doing. Except that those scenarios were in a professional environment and he was supposed to know what he was doing, whereas here, where he'd been enjoying a quiet afternoon alone and planning to go and do some research in peace, his life had been badly disrupted.

He did not look at Balfour. The feeling he had right now was exactly the same as the one he'd felt when he met the new Head Healer just ten days ago[1]. Diminished in his lack of certainty, feelings of regret and anger at himself, the sensation that everything was his fault. He'd hoped to clear it out, get it out of his system, tuck it away...but it was a mean little beast. It wasn't going to release him from its frozen, ugly grasp so easily just yet.

"But I can appreciate a fellow who doesn't kiss and tell."

What did that even mean? What did Balfour want? Arc had to wonder if Johann had told Balfour that the healer was not exactly that socially capable. Clearly not. He hated being put on the spot for something he'd been blaming himself for over six months at this rate, being reminded that he'd made mistakes and being hounded as if he might make them again. If it involved this much pain to himself in the end, this was not the consequences he wanted to live with for the rest of his life.

But right now he was wishing that the ground would now just open up beneath his chair and swallow him up. It could return the chair later.

"And what does all that mean to you?" he heard himself asking. It was no longer his voice. Arc had to disconnect, or else he'd be a wreck in the next few minutes. He'd spent too much time being publicly spoken to that he never wanted to show the side of him that he brought to people he knew he could trust. "If you know all that already, since you're not asking me, is there something else you're implying? Something else you...want me to do? I'm sorry if I don't understand what you're saying or why you're saying it, I genuinely want to know."

1.	She Who Breathes Fire, 18th Oct

The wry and inquisitive smile on his face fell away gently.

Balfour had hit a nerve - well, he suspected hitting it earlier than just now but there was a shift in Arcturus that told him a line had been crossed. He flexed his fingers, clenching them into a fist unconsciously as the other man spoke in a changed voice. A lurking notion occurred to him. Perhaps he was being cruel. He expected banter, a sparring of wits or pride. That was the sort of competition that he had grown up around; measuring the old yard stick, so to speak.

This wasn't playful at all. Something truly sensitive had been treaded upon.

"I... I think I've made a mistake." Balfour ran a hand through his hair, suddenly rueful. "You must think I'm dreadfully rude. You're a friend of Johann's, and I shouldn't ha--" he stopped abruptly to recapitulate. Carefully this time, in a softer tone. "I only meant that I wanted to get to know you because you are still a part of his life. And you're important in some way. "

That was true. He ought to stick to true things, circumlocution and wordplay only seemed to get him in trouble. Arcturus either wasn't the sort or Balfour had put him in a mood that discouraged it.

October must be a cursed month. Ever since that fateful broadcast of the Haunting Hour, he was finding it difficult to separate alter ego from the more acceptable version of himself. One simply does not provoke people without reason. It wasn't done and nothing comes of it.

"I'm afraid I might have ruined it." Balfour uncurled his fist, flashing Arc an apologetic smile. "But all the same, I'm sorry. There's nothing I, ah, want you to do. Just... wanted to chat I suppose?" he finished lamely.

The disconnect was enough to put a distance between him and Balfour mentally, but also to keep in touch with the world around him. It was a useful skill. Developed in times of pain and grief, certainly, but it seemed to serve him well as a healer. His response to Balfour's realisation, reasoning and apology was not outright anger from the start, despite the freshness of the wounds, but careful creeping back to ensure that Balfour wasn't just merely toying with him.

Later on he'd realise that the way he'd put himself on the defensive was like a scared, previously abused animal. Caution at the approach of a stranger, making himself less threatening and more submissive in the face of aggressive approaches, finally going on defensive as a warning. After that there was only distancing, though that would have gone down two ways: physical retreat or lashing out to keep him away. He would be grateful that it didn't come to that.

But now here was the stage where with a hand extended to him, he wanted to make sure the hand was not going to hit out at him when he was close enough.

"Chat about what?" he said. His voice was returning, but not fully himself quite yet. It was softer than usual, velvet, uncertain. "Getting to know me? Haven't you gotten to know me enough already?" He felt like a coward, that was all he knew. He hadn't been able to stand up to this person. "We're just friends now. Of course that would mean we're still a part of each other's lives.Just pushing someone aside and forgetting them when everything's over, or even forgetting lessons were learned from being with them, that's not me. It may be what you're used to, but that's not with me. Please respect that not everyone behaves the same way under the same circumstances."

He finally picked up his cup, his gaze averted from Balfour as he drank. The pungency of the ginger and the sweetness of the honey - good grief, how long had it been since he had something this sinfully sugary? - settled his overly frayed nerves a little more, but he was still hesitant and struggling to focus on the now than nurse the silent wounds in his chest.

He pressed his lips together grimly, careful that the other wizard did not read anything flippant in his body language.

This was as infuriating as trying to approach an offended Hippogriff. Balfour was sometimes told off for drawing parallels between being and beast behaviour in terms of how he dealt with people but interactions of late continued to prove him right. He sat straighter, shoulders pulled back into a more open and friendly bearing.

"Small talk. It isn't strange, you know. Although I realise it might not be your cup of tea." Balfour conceded with a humourless glance at Arc's cup. "I wasn't... implying that your being friends was unusual. Gods, I wasn't doing that at all, I was just trying to instigate a conversation."

Some day he might look back at this and laugh. He wasn't supposed to be the socially incompetent Spectre! Really, he wasn't used to being disliked at all. At least not as a first impression. Even old lovers still spoke to him. Balfour scratched his chin thoughtfully, ignoring the reminder to shave.

"Listen," he tried to grab a firm hold of a line of thought. "I wasn't looking to unsettle you. Wasn't even expecting to run into you, so I don't have any designs to insinuate myself into your friendship. If you'd like, I can leave, and we can pretend this never happened."

Was it too early for him to be waltzing into Rover's now? Balfour was torn between being fed-up with Arcturus and feeling like a complete ass for introducing himself in the first place. Either way it was on him, not the Healer.

"Usually small talk doesn't encroach on personal space when we're just strangers connected by a mutual..." Arcturus muttered into his cup.

He put his cup down. Did he really just drink half of it in one go? He needed a smoke later, for goodness' sake. But for now, he had to be a little more...flexible. Outside of the hospital he didn't really have any real reason to keep up the poker face. It was just the expression he used for...almost everything, come to think of it. He needed to really just not hold anything to anyone.

Arcturus chewed his lower lip in annoyance, but not at Balfour. In Malaysia he'd been much better at befriending strangers; it helped that everyone was friendlier than he expected even to a foreigner like him, but he'd gotten along well with them. Maybe he needed a touch of that.

"I had a fancy that one day I'd meet you. This, however, wasn't the way I imagined it." He was at least feeling better, and his voice had finally returned. "I'm sorry about that whole thing. I've not had a good week, so I've been a little more on the edge than usual. We can put all of that behind us and start again, if you like?" The healer sat back in his seat. "At this rate I suppose Johann told you everything about me, yet I know hardly anything about you. I'm curious about you, I'll admit, so we could start off properly with that?" He smiled, although he wasn't entirely recovered yet and the smile was probably just somewhat wan, but what mattered was that he tried.

Oh thank Odin. Balfour didn't know to laugh or sigh in relief, and opted for neither as he smiled sheepishly at Arc's comment on small talk. It was too easy to assume intimacy with complete strangers, if you weren't thinking too hard about it, get carried away with the bravado of taking the first step.

"I know, I forget my manners. Too much time around beasts," he explained as he reached into his robes to procure a pack of cigarettes.

In addition to this morning's meeting about the epidemic, a smoke was well deserved. He tried not to light up if there was still field work ahead - animals had sensitive noses, charms be damned - but the day was well on its way to an end. While it sounded like Arcturus was recovered, the security of holding something in one's hand seemed a good idea.

"Starting again sounds perfect." Balfour lit his cigarette smoothly and offered the pack, an afterthought. "Johann hasn't said much, to be honest. Enough to recognise you by-" an indifferent glance at the black and white mane, "- bit of a competitive impulse, that. I imagine it comes from working the fourth floor. Base instincts and whatnot..." he trailed off, taking a long drag.

That tasted sweet. "Is there anything you'd like to know, in particular?"

Getting offered cigarettes by this man was a completely out of the blue gesture that even Arc wasn't so sure about just yet. He glanced at the proffered package warily, and then politely put a hand up, palm facing Balfour. "It's all right. I have my own." And demonstrated as such with taking out his own. It was a Muggle brand compared to all the fancy wizard ones out there that had various smells and flavours and effects upon the mind, but Arc had taken a liking to something someone would call 'cheap and classless'. His family had been called classless for years. A cigarette packet was not going to change anything.

"I'm sorry? Competitive impulse?" Balfour's glance at his black and white hair did not go amiss. "Where do you work? You seem experienced with animals in particular considering your occasional references to them. Magizoologist?" He'd also left his cigarette packet untouched; the blue smoke the wizard was blowing was certainly sweet and even curled properly like a cultured bit of cloud. Arc's on the other hand would just stink up the place, and he didn't want to be asked to leave.

"Well, regardless you'd probably be a patron of the Creature Injuries floor, so I wouldn't have seen you about much." Arcturus glanced at his tea. "Unless you happened to have tea on the fifth floor while I was having my lunch, but even so...ships passing each other in the night."

Balfour licked his lower lip, holding his cigarette away as he glanced at the other wizard's choice in tobacco - it briefly reminded him of Dietrich. The tattoo artist rolled his own smokes but he always used a muggle brand. Said it tasted like something old and real that the wizarding ones couldn't replicate.

What did that say about Arc? Better not to assume.

"I wanted to know if I had anything to worry about," Balfour clarified with a contrite expression. "Couldn't help myself. Not that I think Johann wou-- it's not important. Nothing to do with you personally, just my own curiosity."

Really, he could hardly blame Arcturus for leaps of imagination. Balfour didn't have it as bad as Knox - she knew more about when their father nearly ruined a perfectly good marriage over some tawdry affair. Being the result of that infidelity gave the subject a different perspective. His sister was much more cynical.

Balfour took in another breath of smoke, a less urgent one now that he could relax a little. "I was a Dragon handler, been heading the Ministry's Beasts Division for nearly a year now. Anniversary in December," he shrugged. "Do tend to find myself at St.Mungo's more than I'd like. What's your specialty then?"

Johann had never really explained how he'd met the Healer but he met so many in the line of duty that it didn't seem unusual to court one. Odin knew he'd flirted with enough of them to earn less-than-friendly treatment on subsequent visits. "I would have remembered your-" Balfour indicated Arc's shock of hair. "- if our ships ever passed. It's rather distinctive."