Follows Your Only Hope is Evil, Our Weakness is Clear Now, Closed and Bruised and What's a King to a God?.

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"… Little Wolfgang…"

His blue eyes flew open. There was breath on his ear and he was aware of a presence close by. The echo of the nightmare clung on as he jolted awake, disorientated. One after the other his senses reported back. It was warm beneath the blankets even if he was bathed in a cold sweat. He was drawn into a tight ball, without a scrap on. The latter wasn't unusual for sleeping. His hands were wrapped around another's and there was the familiar, reassuring smell of Balfour. The breath tickling his ear, he realised on blinking a little to clear his eyesight, was Balfour's too.

His heart was thumping in his chest and at the realisation of just that began to steady. Just a nightmare. A stupid nightmare, too much work, a late night or something. Ugh, what day was it? His brain tried hard to piece itself together, eyes looking past Balfour to a background that didn't match up to where he thought he was.

They were in Edinburgh. What the…? Had they been drinking? Why were they in Scotland and not in London? Was he still dreaming? He tried to uncurl from the ball.

Pain that had ebbed away in sleep with potions and healing salves was suddenly present again. His lower back throbbed with an alien sensation that did not match the usual ache from enthusiastic adventures with Balfour. It was uncomfortable, and he drew breath sharply, releasing Balfour's relaxed hand. There was a heavy presence at the foot of the bed as he forced his stiff body to stretch out a little. Whiskey was roused, dark eyes meeting Johann's.

Ok, so they and the dog were there. Why could he not remember going to Scotland? Carefully, slowly, Johann sat up in bed and rubbed at his face, silently mouthing a swear as he felt how tender it was. There was the familiar tingle where magic had healed but bruises beneath still hummed. Over the silence, a tumble of familiar voices settled in his consciousness.

Whiskey scratched his ear with a back leg, watching his master's companion before flopping his head back to the blankets between his paws. The anxiety upon waking up was fast returning. Part of him very much wanted to wake Balfour and ask what on earth had happened, but the head resting on the pillow wore a face without the sign of stress or strain. Balfour was fast asleep, without a dream. What a perfectly wonderful place to be. No, he wouldn't wake him.

Johann slipped stiffly from beneath the blankets and shivered. It was January, and the sun had not yet come up. His wand was on the bedside table, and he scooped it up. There had to be clothes somewhere. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he trod lightly across the floor of Balfour's childhood bedroom and paused mid-stride.

Crap, perhaps he'd gone a bit heavy on the sleeping potions. Where was his bag? Actually where was his bag? He recognised the one here with clothes to be Balfour's, and it contained clothes for them both which he gingerly slid on. The sharp pain from his back made him turn to try and examine it in the mirror.

Crack

He froze, the sight of his back unlocking the memories from the previous day. His head flying back as his nose broke, the bookcase meeting his back, the pain of claws tearing his skin. Of blood, of Balfour's face with pointy teeth, Hannah and tears and a bright burning pain. Rotten guilt, the resignation that he might di- Oh Merlin, what had he done?

Leaving Whiskey to guard with an affectionate rub of his furry head, Johann slipped as quietly as he could from the room. Winding down the spiral stairs, he traced his fingers along the wall to keep balance. The noise in his head was stronger, repeating disjointed phrases from his memories of the previous day's events. Everything seemed in place in the Spectre house as his eyes ran along familiar portraits and other decorations, seeking distraction. He concentrated on the fray of the carpet on well worn corners of the stairs, and the smell of leather and beeswax wood polish.

Someone else had to be here. His ears were pricked for real noise. As well as dressing himself in the warmest things in the bag, he'd stolen Balfour's slippers as his feet were like ice. He was glad of them on the cold flagstone floors once he reached the ground floor. There was the smell of breakfast, and of something burning that probably shouldn't have been.

Knox! His heart leapt at the sight of Balfour's sister both in relief and alarm. Relief to see another familiar face with the possibility of filling the unsettling gap in his memories, and alarm that their quite probably unschedule arrival might have caused her undue stress which was to be avoided while expecting.

"Good morning," He greeted tentatively, fingers lingering on the kitchen doorframe. The sun hadn't yet risen but there was a hazy twilight outside the windows of the sizeable kitchen. "This may or may not sound strange," he began, running a hand through his curls, "but what day is it?" He swallowed, "And how did I get here?"

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.

Balfour's sister did not answer immediately, but looked faintly surprised before throwing an arm around his neck and hauling him into a hug. He let himself be pulled and carefully stood still, not sure where to put his hands, a little awkward what with the pregnancy.

".. you ought to be resting still." He blinked in confusion at Knox and let himself be led to a chair nearest the fireplace, glad of the warmth. He couldn't shift the cold. His eyes flitted about the kitchen, taking in the details here too and tugged the sleeves of the navy blue wooly jumper he wore down over his hands.

Saturday! Good, he hadn't lost a day, just an evening past… what time had they made it to Hannah's? He wasn't sure… perhaps six? He could remember Balfour leaving, being upset, being made to drink potions that tasted dire. Then it was decidedly missing. Missing in the same way it sometimes was when he took a hefty dose of potion. Perhaps Hannah had obliged him.

As Knox explained, Johann frowned and absorbed the information, his head tying the chronology and the observations together. He reached numbly for the coffee and wrapped both hands around it, submerged in the sleeves apart from his fingertips.
"I'm, I'm good, but thank you." The consideration of food had made him consult his stomach which gave an angry grumble. In time he would be hungry, but now it felt queasy and uneasy.

"Sorry for how we got here, then." He spoke quietly, "I don't remember leaving London." Right hand wrapped around the mug, he lifted his left hand and ran his thumbnail between his teeth in thought. "Sorry for the state of us." He lifted the mug for a sip and raised his eyebrows. "This is good coffee, Knox." Deflection, Balfour's sister saw right through it.

"There was a disagreement." He told her, "Turns out Balfour's a dab hand at fixing a broken nose. Does it look alright?" He dipped his head a little towards her to check. "He must have thought it best to come away and let the dust settle." Johann nodded, as if more convincing himself of the fact.

"How are you? How have things been up here… even if it's only been… a fortnight since we first footed?"

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.

"Ah yes," Johann nodded, "It's very quiet when there's so few here." The kitchen was so empty without the patter of smaller feet and the shouts and whoops of those whose heads were below his elbows. If not them, then the adults of Samhain or of Christmas and New Year. It did not make the place any less of a home.

The pop of Grizelda behind them made Johann visibly jump and he tried to cover it when he realised it was just the elf by lifting the coffee to his lips again for a brief sip, setting it down as Knox addressed him again. His eyebrows raised at the explanation of the doors. The place really was a curious wonder, he thought, wondering how it knew, what spells were in place.

A warm hand upon his brought his attention back and he met Nathaira's gaze without deviation, touched by her sincerity and reassurance. He gave a nod, blinking slowly, "Thank y-"

Balfour's grandfather's arrival interrupted them both and their attention was drawn to a magazine being thrown to the kitchen table. A morning greeting was caught in Johann's throat for the expression on Balthair's face. He had no idea what had happened between grandfather and grandson the previous evening when they had arrived. Whether this was a new bad mood, or a continued one. But the expression he received was not very pleasant and his stomach dropped at the first word out of Balthair's mouth.

He left go of his coffee and reached forward, recognising Witch Weekly the moment he pulled it within easy sight. The magazine was gripped tightly between his right hand fingers, his left gripped the back of his neck. His face lacked colour enough before but now drained entirely, lips apart in surprise. The photograph of them together made him feel all the more nauseated.

"Merlin…" Johann exclaimed, eyes skimming the article rapidly, "No don't, don't blame him. It's my fault," he glanced over it again and shook his head, dragging it aside to allow Knox to study it and turned to appeal to Balthair in Balfour's defence. "It's my fault - he was covered in my blood from getting me to a healer." He tugged the sleeves of the jumper up over his hands and balled them into fists, gripping the ends of the sleeves, shoulders hunched. "I begged him not to go."

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)

Johann's protest to Balthair in defence of Balfour did not make it out of his lips. His granddaughter interrupted first, and the air he'd held to speak with exhaled quietly. It was difficult to accurately defend without a clear memory of how they had got to Edinburgh. He had no idea what had been said if anything. The last thing he wanted to do was speak out of turn to Balfour's family. However robust and accommodating the Spectres were, they would not appreciate that their favourite grandson associated with an idiot and a forger who had caused friends to perish. The memory of Balfour in his funeral attire coming to visit St Mungo's came to the front of his mind. Merlin he wanted to hurl.

"I hope so." Johann uttered in response to Knox. "I hope we do." He added even more quietly and lowered his eyes to the cup of coffee, clasping it between both hands.

"Defending your honour, was he?" Johann's gaze snapped up again to Balthair.
"Something like that." He uttered in response, an edge to his voice to indicate he did not appreciate the tone of the question. His shoulders were still hunched and he shifted ever so slightly. The warmth of the fire Grizelda stoked was beginning to permeate his body from behind but his heart felt like a cold stone.

Balthair seemed to respectfully retreat, and Johann let him have the last word out of equal respect. He quite liked Balthair, which made it all the more disappointing to hear Balfour's relative speak in such a way. Between cowardice, Johann only wanted to snarl and snap at anyone who dared swipe in the shadow of yesterday evening. He couldn't do that to Spectres. They were safety. He drank the coffee to stop his mouth while Knox got up.

"Well, they're good friends to him." Johann agreed, "The best of sorts." Although he did not know either wizard in quite the same way Balfour did, what he knew of them was on the whole rather positive. Balfour certainly seemed to speak highly of them, and he trusted his lover's opinion of people. Perhaps a little too much sometimes, he reflected, but he had met and worked with Ira long before he had met Balfour. Pity how small the world was.

"I hope so," he said, for the second time to Knox. "It feels safer. Better to be amongst others." He nodded, as if telling himself rather than the other two. He hadn't realised quite so much until December when he'd finally left Balfour's flat and gone down to his own on the floor below for a few hours to work, how acutely he hated being alone now. Even when his work required him to concentrate, the other flat was too quiet. Not even the wireless could sustain the same feeling that another presence gave. Only the menagerie on the third floor could come close. It was so very obvious, and yet had escaped his realisation all those years. Perhaps he had just needed the right person to make him see.

"As long as the door wards don't throw themselves open for every unexpected arrival." He added thoughtfully, gaze moving to observe the nearest doorway in his eye-line as he considered.

Balfour Spectre woke with a start, as if though someone had placed a very cold hand against his spine. The absence of dreams told him nothing of it, though a whining, concerned noise from the foot of his childhood bed indicated that Whiskey was also in the land of the living. Morning light coming through the high windows temporarily blinded the blinking wizard. He patted the space next to him but met only with flannel sheets and traces of warmth long dissipated. There was a sharp, medical scent about the place. It interfered with the softer and human smells.

Sleep, sweat, aftershave. Johann.

Johann.

He nearly fell out of bed in the scramble to get up. Whiskey was on all fours just as quickly, though he could not beat his master to the door - in briefs, tugging on an old Slytherin Quidditch sweater that had been collecting dust on the armchair. Fuck! Where had he gone? In his bloody condition, too. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surely he wouldn't have gone back to Atreus after that nasty business? Or would he. What was it he had said, that Ira had threatened to hurt him? Christ. Balfour heard the tower door slam shut behind him as he carefully hurried down the winding stairwell, not wanting to tumble down in his frantic dash. He drew breath just as he approached the landing to the first floor...

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."

Strange, strange place, Johann thought to himself as Knox explained that only Balthair and Balfour shared such favouritism from the house. Those must be old wards, perhaps laid with blood, he considered. Complicated, intricate ones. A puzzle, for sure. Perhaps as the years grew on and he got to know the place better he might understand a little more of it. Either way, he couldn't doubt its opinion of who to trust - even if the older Spectre was a little barbed this morning.

His name being yelled from somewhere deeper in the house made him drop the coffee mug, splattering some of it on the kitchen table top. He recognised Balfour's voice instinctively without any cognitive effort, and the anxiety in it along with the abrupt declaration snatched back the fear from the previous night when he'd run from Ira's rooms.

He went to move quickly, to get up and his back complained, delaying him a moment while another yell came.
"I believe that's you he's calling."

This time Balthair received a withering, darker glare from the guest as he made it to his feet. He had no energy to keep up polite pretence however much he respected the older Spectre.
"I'm here," he called out, not as loudly. He approached the kitchen door, left hand reaching behind himself instinctively to his back, wincing as he stumbling over Balfour's slippers on the flagstones, a little unused to wearing them. He tended to survive in socks or bare feet while at home in Atreus.

"Balfour I'm here," he called again, catching sight of the other man approaching, though neither had reached the kitchen doorway on seeing each other. Johann shoulders dropped, tension releasing for seeing Balfour. His initial horror when he dropped the coffee cup had been that there was someone in the house, but the lack of reaction from the other two had prevented his complete panic.

Balfour was wearing a green jumper over boxer shorts, barefoot, hair still a mess from sleeping, eyes a little wild. He looked exhausted, and the sight both induced a relief and also a horrible heavy feeling of guilt in Johann. The copy of Witch Weekly was on the kitchen table, although closed, he doubted Balthair would leave it long before going a second round.

Johann stopped where he was and let Balfour come into the kitchen proper, hands reaching out, fingertips protruding from Balfour's blue wool jumper, black curls knotted and pulled together on his way down, dark jeans at least were his. The choice of outfit had purely been driven by the need to get warm rather than who owned what. It was only now he realised on seeing Balfour's lack of warm clothes.

"Gosh, still fits." He heard himself say as they drew into each others arms. His subconscious had twigged the green sweater was old Slytherin uniform. Johann blinked, snapping to and shaking his head against Balfour, "I mean - I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you… still a bit disoriented."

Johann applied a gentle pressure to look back at Balfour, hands still clinging to the other man as he did. "You alright? No panic, Knox and…" Johann glanced across at the older wizard, his eyes narrowed for a glimpse, "… and Balthair were just explaining the doors." He looked back to Balfour, sensing a mild confusion, "apparently they unlock for you and him alone?"

Yes, they could talk doors and he could get rid of that dreadful magazine into the fire.

If he were not so acutely aware of injuries suffered by Johann last evening, Balfour might have attempted a more enthusiastic embrace to match the feeling of relief upon seeing his partner in the house. He was gentle instead - and barely aware of the other two Spectres in the kitchen as he shuffled in to carefully draw his arms around the other man. His hands avoided the waist, settling instead against ribs, which he felt through the knitted material. Every panicked thought disappeared.

"Thank the gods." Balfour murmured softly, although with their timing it sounded like he was extremely grateful for the old Quidditch sweater still fitting (barely, even if it had been oversized when he played Beater for the team). Smells of home pervaded the air: coffee and tea and baking bread, and that startlingly clean fragrance of winter morning.

All he wanted was Johann, however, and so pressed his face into the dark brown curls with such tenderness that both Nathaira and Balthair looked away uncomfortably for a moment.

"Mm. I'm fine," he felt his heartbeat steady at this intimacy and only listened with one ear while he drew back to study the face before him. Time spent with Johann made him sensitive enough to the little changes of expression, mannerism. The quick look at Balthair alerted him to some unannounced tension.

This put Balfour in an irritable mood. He was, after all, a wizard without tea and still smarting from last night's events. "...apparently they unlock for you and him alone?" his lover continued - he suspected with the intention to distract, but it was all a confusion to his recently woken mind.

He let go of Johann, kissing him quickly and softly before going to reach for a mug of tea that appeared in Grizelda's hand the moment he did. "They do. Used to for my father as well, before he threatened to cross me off the clan wall for going to train with dragons." Balfour said absently, gaze straying to breakfast condiments laid across the table.

William Spectre was not a popular topic of discussion. His grandfather shot him a peculiar look, which he knew was largely because he never told many of his romantic partners about that particular relationship strain. At least not in detail. But Johann had a way of loosening his tongue; Balfour had told him about his father[1] as well as his mother, with whom he spoke on much more cordial terms. Even if she did never see it as her place to take sides.

"You look a treat. Won't either of you sit for breakfast?" Knox gestured exasperatedly at the chairs, something odd in her voice.
            "No. I'll take it in the study. What's this doing here?"

His eyes had found the outlier of morning routines: a copy of Witch Weekly. Balthair seemed to recover, clearing his throat meaningfully. "Might need something stronger than tea before you tackle that. Patterson sent it in with the mornin' mail." That wasn't reassuring. Grandparents generally did not encourage drinking before noon, not even his.

"If you ask me," the older Spectre went on."the pair of you are better off--"

"I didn't ask." Balfour cut him off tersely, gaze flicking up to convey that he wasn't having Balthair's lecturing tone of voice this morning. He suddenly understood the look Johann had given, and instead turned to his lover with a helpless grimace. "Do I want to read this?"

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

In company, depending on inebriation and the individuals around them, the pair were often more restrained in their demonstrations of affection. Partly because public displays of affection could be nauseating, and conversation was usually worth the investment. Hands, close proximity, shoulders pressed against each other, affectionate touches were instead a common sight.

That morning the brief kiss felt all the briefer despite the mild hum of pain from his nose. He'd rather spend the time to thank Balfour properly for saving his neck the previous evening. For having to quiz him on what they'd taken from the very kitchen they stood now before allowing him to help.

Without Balfour in his life, the previous night would undoubtedly have played out very differently. By that he didn't mean that he'd have bled out on the bathroom floor, but that he might not have felt so awful about his actions on the 1st December, have checked with Ira on it more immediately. But, as Johann realised, his mind flitting from thought to thought the longer he was awake, he might have sealed his own fate with the somniculose and perished before now. The thought cooled the sudden warmth on being in Balfour's arms.

"… before he threatened to cross me off the clan wall…" Johann snapped to the present again, nodding. He couldn't understand why Balfour's father would be angry at someone pursuing their interest. In the grand scheme of things sons could do to be disowned, not even his own late father would have been upset enough. (Well, perhaps if Johann had pursued dressing as a woman and something entirely unacademic, dancing or something similar, he might have.) Dragons was bloody brave. He could only surmise that William Spectre also felt the same fear Johann did, that a dragon would be the end of Balfour. One very nearly had been…

But he trusted Balfour. He trusted him more than he trusted anyone. More than he'd trusted anyone in his life and they'd only known each other four months. It felt like four years. The hours ahead of him would require him to explain how last night had come to be. The thought was acutely nauseating.

There was no real hiding that ruddy magazine. If Balfour hadn't spotted it, Johann was absolutely sure Balthair would have ensured it.

"The pair of you are better off-"
"I didn't ask."
"What?"

Johann's query to Balthair fell beneath Balfour's terse response, both of them examining the older wizard. Johann pressed his lips together and swallowed, conceding to Balfour's response and pretended he'd not said anything. He was curious as to Balthair's suggestion though.

"Do I want to read this?"

Johann's gaze moved from Balfour's face to the cover of the magazine and then back again.
"Only if you really want to read the reviews of the top five anti-ageing potions, and the exclusive interview with Dolly St.James." He replied, as straight as he could. "But if you don't want to read what Lil Snigger thinks happened at Slandermouth last night, allow me to toss it in the fire." He paused, gaze dropping, a pained wince crossing his face, less assured in his addition, "that and… who she thinks you're really in love with."

At that he let out a little sigh and folded his arms around himself. Of course he didn't believe Witch Weekly, but once a seed was planted, and with enough history confirmed by Balfour in the bathroom the previous evening. He shivered involuntarily and drew closer to the fire, shoulders hunched, watching Balfour make a decision on whether to open it.

In the muddle of overlapping words, Balthair ignored his grandson's rudeness to exchange a look with Johann - as if to say that he might finish his sentence if he could get a private word with the german wizard at some point today. Balfour didn't quite catch the expression.

He was too worried about whatever Witch Weekly might contain. The quip about potions and interviews softened his irritability slightly but what followed quickly  evaporated anything left behind of the bad mood."...that and… who she thinks you're really in love with." It was the little sigh that did it, the change in the way he held himself and drew closer to the kitchen fire - further from Balfour by default.

Christ. Was he making a muck of things? There was so much he hadn't yet told his lover, that they needed to go over together, information to verify and confirm - stretching as far back as his first meeting ever with Ira Almasy. Practical things, he thought, but saw now that he might actually be the source of Johann's hurt. Him and his stupid loyalties.

Balfour quickly and quietly turned to the magazine, flipping through the pages until he caught sight of a familiar picture - one that had been in the Prophet a long time ago, of himself and the fair-headed witch smiling into the camera. They were both always so ready to have their photographs taken.

He skimmed the article.

Fine, pearly plates lining the kitchen shelves shook with a sudden tremor and cracked.

"Balfour." Nathaira was reproachful but resigned in tone: it had been some years since he'd broken anything on sheer temper alone, also his first indication of magic as a toddler. Balthair's chair was pushed back. The older man tucked his copy of the Prophet under his arm and left the kitchen with an air of sufferance.

China could be repaired, naturally. Balfour's state of mind needed more time. He closed the pages with hushed silence and lifted a controlled, steady gaze to where Johann was stood. "I'm sorry, my love. Wasn't thinking. I was angry." He swallowed and, conscious of his family watching, crossed over to the other wizard to gently take his hand.

"We need to talk about what happened-" Balfour ran his thumb soothingly over the pale knuckles, peering into those brilliant blue eyes with a mixture of determination and remorse. "- and we will. Promise. I just... please trust me when I say I've never loved anyone like I love you. And I was frightened. I wouldn't have gone after her if I hadn't been so scared she might try something else."

His lips were pressed into a thin line - their resolve belied the warm, subdued light in his eye. Knox had tactfully looked away from them, staring into her coffee while Grizelda went about the business of laying out more breakfast things, as if though the commonplace sounds of morning might make the scene equally unremarkable in nature.

Balfour lifted Johann's hand to his lips, kissing them. "It's a stupid article, alright?" he murmured with soft, certain conviction. "You're my everything. I won't ever again leave you like that."

The kitchen fire began to seep into him from his back, chilly skin turning to the gentle sting of rapid temperature change. He was tense, hands gripping his upper arms above the elbow as they crossed. There was a silence while Balfour turned pages, the brightly coloured paper crinkling with every touch. Johann dropped his gaze to the floor momentarily, observing the way the fire's light coloured the floor beneath his slippered feet.

He looked up sharply when the crockery began to rattle and crack and winced, seeing equal tension building in the other man's stance - anger. Knox called his name, it sounded in mild warning. It wouldn't do to lose temper for a second time in twenty-four hours, or at least if the article had a shred of truth.

Beyond Balfour, Johann's eyes slid to Balthair, watching his retreat from the kitchen with the Daily Prophet. He wondered what the wizard thought of it all past what he had already spoken. Knox had been quick to take sides with her brother, and it had sounded very much as if Balthair had not entirely been on the other. Still, he felt he owed the older man an apology later for allowing Balfour to feature negatively in the press over an eye for an eye. He doubted he'd have had the same balls to do it if their roles had been reversed, though he suspected the side that could keep his head might have found a way.

"… I was angry." Johann nodded, and agreed quietly:
"Very." He shuffled his feet, trying to relax as Balfour came to him and took his shaky hand. He exhaled and met his love's gaze, blinking softly, expression thoughtful. He nodded to Balfour's explanation.
"I know, you did what you had to, and it's ok." Johann replied quietly, as if his voice were caught in his throat. "I love you, and I trust you. I just thank Merlin you came back unharmed."

The kiss to his hand and the soft murmuring dispelled much of the tension that had sprung up on watching Balfour interact with the magazine. He nodded, closing his eyes for the kiss, it warmed his heart.
"It's a stupid article, alright?"
"Of course it is."
"… I won't ever again leave you like that."

Despite bruises and healing flesh, Johann suddenly, tightly threw his arms around Balfour and gripped him tight, face pressed into the other wizard's neck. It was with such great relief to do it, to be present and conscious in doing it, not a sobbing wreck or a potion-induced stupor of the night before. To wholeheartedly believe the words, to trust implicitly in a way he had never trusted anyone.

"I know, I know you won't." He let go and kissed Balfour again, seeking out the other man's gaze, his arms wrapped around Balfour's waist, refusing to let go. "Now can we please throw Lil Snigger into the fire?" His eyebrows raised in query to the other wizard, wondering if he had other plans on what he might do with the besmirching publication.

The moment was punctuated by a revealing rumble of Johann's empty stomach, which had taken the opportunity to remind its owner it existed, and hadn't been fed since the previous morning.
"Did you say there was porridge, Knox?" Johann asked, remembering Balfour's sister was sat awkwardly at the table nearby.

He laughed softly, in surprise, at Johann's sudden embrace. Warm breath against his neck and lovely arms wrapped around him. Balfour had not been the one injured last night and yet he felt like he was the one being protected here. Nothing could touch them when they were together in this house. Not even the formidable Ira Almasy.

"Now can we please throw Lil Snigger into the fire?" his lover asked, both their lips still warm for the reassuring kiss. Fenrir knows what he's done to deserve this man's love and understanding.

A snort, knowing they would both gladly throw the literal journalist (if you could call them that) into the flames. Grizelda scampered around the clinging wizards to retrieve the baking bread from the kitchen hearth and shoot them a judgemental look. There would be no gossip rags mixed in with breakfast if she had anything to do with it!

Balfour grinned apologetically at her just as the rumble of Johann's stomach interrupted the crackling of wood and ash. He glanced back at the other wizard, hands going to the ones around his waist to ease them away. "You need to be fed!" his voice was playfully mournful and he kissed his partner's hands again before going to collect the magazine.

Hearth vacated of edibles, it was fair game now. Balfour handed the Witch Weekly over to give Johann the pleasure of letting it burn. Somehow he doubted this would be the last copy they deal with today.