Morning, Master Study. M for possibly explicit language.


Grizelda disappeared from the room with both their breakfast trays as Balfour rose from his desk to one of the high shelves that lined the walls of the large study. A window on one side overlooked a pretty part of the estate, letting in some natural light to illuminate the Persian rugs over the cold flagstone floors.

The fireplace had already been lit by the time he had changed into his flannel dressing robe and come down to meet Johann. By now the room was pleasantly warm and Johann looked rather comfortable nestled in one of the two armchairs by the fire, still wearing Balfour's clothes.

"Hold on a moment," the Scotsman interrupted their line of conversation as he pulled out a book from the shelf to trigger a secret doorway - it creaked open not to reveal a corridor but a very narrow closet full of miscellaneous items. Knick knacks, old toy boxes, folders, rolled up banners. "Here we are."

Balfour drew out a wood framed blackboard on wheels, an obvious relic from when the study had once been a lavish playroom.

The disguised door closed by itself and he rolled the blackboard over next to the mantle, shaking old dust off his fingers before looking down at Johann. They had not discussed the night before whilst eating. Ira Almasy did not make for good conversation over porridge and tea.

He patted down his robe pockets for his wand, and then cast a quick charm for a piece of chalk to go about the business of noting things on its own accord while they spoke.

"Right. Well." An awkward expression stole over his face, a sense of trying to put off the inevitable as he sat in the armchair across from Johann and leaned forward to take his lover's hand. "I'm sorry my love, I've never had to talk about this before. I should have, much sooner. Do you want me to start at the beginning? Or do you have questions first?"

With a full stomach, by the fire, Johann felt as if his blood was finally warming up. His head still felt hazy, piecing together the past twenty-four hours again, and his body was weary and ached. He sat with his feet off the floor, as was habit, arms hugging his folded knees, head resting backwards. From the armchair, he watched Balfour retrieve a blackboard from a hidden cupboard, and blinked several times in succession, pondering what exactly would be scrawled there by the time they were done.

The other armchair creaked gently as the occupant resumed his position and reached out to take his hand. The question hung in the air for a moment while Johann studied Balfour’s face, as if looking at him again for the first time. He was studying every last line and the shadow of stubble, recommitting it to memory and confirming this was the face he’d fallen in love with, not the horrific mask Ira had chosen the previous night.

“I’m sorry too.” He spoke eventually, “For not telling you how I knew her. For what I do. I…” his gaze lowered, voice tired, rough from the stress it had carried the previous night between cries of pain, begging with Balfour and sobbing until placated with sedatives by Hannah. “… Did not believe we would have so much in common. Or foresee such events.” There was a waver to his tone and he swallowed, nodding and looking back again.

“Tell me, from the start of how you know her, and I will in turn, tell you mine. But know,” his fingers clasped Balfour’s a little tighter, worried, “that I love you, and I am forever grateful for what we had…” he closed his eyes momentarily, ”have” he corrected, his fear muddling his tenses. Johann swallowed, opened his eyes and composed himself. “From the beginning, then.”

He felt his heart flutter at the intensity of the other wizard's gaze, even in this sombre and private moment. Johann Storm had his heart. Would have it always.

At the change of tenses, Balfour felt heat prickle behind his eyes and he slid from the armchair to rest against the carpeted floor - on his knees before his lover. He kissed Johann's hands tenderly and barely stopped himself from letting emotion get the better of them. There was serious work to be done here today. They could curl up together later this evening, once forced past this catharsis of secrets that had been blooming between them for Fenrir knew how long.

"I was, ah, about twenty-one [1]." Balfour looked up at the pale face above him, countenance grim. "We met in Tyumen. It's where she lived in Russia, and I'd been visiting a friend. A glancing interaction but..." he paused to bite his lower lip tryingly; the truth of it was mixed with a deeper insecurity. "But she seemed so sure of herself whereas I wasn't certain of anything at the time."

Balfour released Johann's hand and sat back, crossing his legs on the floor whilst looking away towards the hearth of the fireplace. His jaw was drawn taut.

"Charlie Weasley was recruiting for the fight against the dark lord. I didn't return home to join the battle, I was -" he shrugged, shaking his head. "- scared I suppose. Too many classmates on the wrong side of it. And I wanted so much to be away from home, to be free. I was a coward."

That was enough of that. He couldn't linger on the unchangeable. Balfour cleared his throat, ruffled his curls self-consciously for a moment to collect himself before he continued. "Anyway. Didn't see her again until two or three years later [2]. That was when sh-- when we got involved."

All the while he spoke, the chalk piece behind them made little notes of dates along a vertical line. A time line of incidents, dusty white against old school board green. The Scotsman finally shifted his attention back to Johann, brow furrowed apologetically and lips pressed tightly together.

"She murdered someone that night. Tortured, really. I mercy killed him." Balfour leaned back slightly and pulled at his dressing robe, revealing his scarred chest underneath - he touched his side, where two starlike scars blended in with his other marks. It didn't occur to him that a mercy killing was a strange thing to admit to. "Ira gave me this when I tried to have a go at her afterwards."

A grimace as he left the robe open and reached out to place his hand on Johann's knee. "Almost matching wounds, I'm afraid." The hand withdrew diffidently, not certain if he deserved to touch Johann in this instant. "I don't know why I kept going back to her over the years. On-and-off, not really a relationship. She was beautiful, rich. Lethal. I was young and hungry."

Young and stupid.

He breathed out slowly, sharp misery softened by the relief of being able to say these things out loud. His eyes gleamed with feeling when he glanced up, their gazes meeting. "I love you. I love you so much more than I knew I could love anyone and I am... so, so fucking sorry you got tangled up in this business."

Balfour tried not to think about how it all sounded to Johann, focused on forming words instead. "I don't know what work you do for her but it isn't your fault, what she did to you last night. She just... the bitch hurts everything she touches."

1.	Burnt the Fire of Thine Eyes - 1996
2.	Our Queen of Peace - 1999

Twenty-one. Well that explained the younger face Ira had adopted the previous night. Johann held Balfour’s hands gently, ensuring his full attention to the other wizard, even when their hands released a moment later. He quoted names Johann knew from history, from mentions in more recent times. Again, a generation blighted by the actions of Voldemort and his followers, something Johann had avoided as a foreigner but ran into with his peers in Britain time and time again.

"That was when sh-- when we got involved.” Johann shifted ever so slightly in the armchair, uncomfortable at any insinuation Ira had been more than a friend to Balfour. Of all the many people he had been with before - many of whom Johann accepted he might never meet - she was the only one who made his teeth clench and skin crawl.

"I mercy killed him.”

The words left an icy feeling across Johann’s body. He could never think of Balfour killing someone, even out of mercy, and inwardly he was appalled even if only outwardly he appeared to have stopped breathing, and was staring unblinkingly at his lover.
Quiet Johann’s eyes followed Balfour’s fingers, but could not prevent himself flinching at Balfour’s touch a moment later. There was bile rising in his throat, breakfast threatening to revisit. His lungs remembered to breathe and for a moment it was all he could hear. His mind’s eye busy picturing Balfour with the face Ira had worn, the photo from Witch Weekly he’d just torn and burned in the kitchen. How could she touch him? Let alone do- the cacophony of voices flared internally and Johann closed his eyes a moment to swallow audibly, trying to focus.

"I love you. I love you so much more than I knew I could love anyone and I am... so, so fucking sorry you got tangled up in this business. I don't know what work you do for her but it isn't your fault, what she did to you last night. She just... the bitch hurts everything she touches.” Johann shook his head at Balfour’s earnest, well-meaning words.

“I was tangled up long before I knew of you.” He told Balfour truthfully, lifting his gaze to the ceiling a moment to consider, unable to look the other wizard in the eye, ashamed. “But you’re right, she does.” His pale fingers had gripped the sleeves of Balfour’s jumper around his wrists. “You knew - you involved yourself with her, and yet you never told?” He asked, staring down towards Balfour’s folded knees on the floor, a frown growing on his features. “You never informed on her?” If Balfour had killed someone - mercy or not - he was party to her crimes, but he was visibly friends with her, a compliant accomplice, or near enough. “Did she buy your silence, or were her open legs enough?” He looked up, colour had begun to prick his cheeks, uncomfortable to ask. The moment their eyes met, he glanced away, lacking confidence to look at Balfour.

He clocked the shift in Johann's body language belatedly, too caught up at first in setting straight the truth of the story but now gaining awareness of how his lover's eyes refused him. Balfour stared up with a mixture of fear and concern. Fear, as he wondered if this would be the one thing from his past that would push the other wizard away from him. Concern - well.

Could you trust someone who admitted so freely to murder?

Fuck, he should have been more careful. Phrased it differently. Words were not his strong suit and he might have taken better care in using them this morning.

The confession that Johann had been entangled with Ira before made him frown gently to himself. He shifted forward on his calves and kneeled proper before the armchair, unable to look away from countenance that would not humour his searching gaze. Man of his heart and love of his life. The sudden, visceral flinch from earlier had told him all he needed to know.

“You knew - you involved yourself with her, and yet you never told?.... You never informed on her?....buy your silence, or were her open legs enough?”

This slow trickling of pointed, earnest questions was everything Balfour had consciously avoided asking himself for years. It hurt. He covered the lower half of his face with a hand, fingers clasped to lips. It truly hurt, for reasons the wizard could scarcely describe. Perhaps because he had not realised until now how fine a blade his blasted past could be when brandished by the right person.

Johann could not even bear to look him in the eye.

Balfour lowered his hand, for once completely at lost for what to say. His eyes stung with tears that did not fall. The silence was a long and heavy beat.

Firewood crackled; morning larks in the estate made their sweet music and nurtured a discordance of ambience in the manor.

"I don't know." Balfour hesitated and then decided it worth the risk to reach for one of his partner's hands: a gentle approach, a pleading voice that shook. "I... told myself stories. That she only hurt men who had deserved it. Johann, please look at me. Please."

He could not bear what he supposed he had done to Johann by admitting to murder, to his liaison with Ira, and it made him hate himself.

His eyes did not stray from the linguist - sensitive to the slightest change in expression or gesture. "I'm a fool. I thought it all a glamorous game until I met you, until she hurt you." Balfour pause to press the heel of his other hand to his eyes for a moment before he glanced up. "Forgive me. Or don't, and I promise I'll spend the rest of my living days making it up to you my love."

What else could he say? He could not live without Johann, and he would beg for forgiveness if it meant simply another day with him.

"That she only hurt men who had deserved it,” Johann’s eyes closed quickly and he drew a sharp breath as if a finger had just jabbed the very spot Ira had punctured yesterday. "Johann, please look at me. Please.” His eyes felt hot, and there was a lump in his throat.

“I can’t.” He breathed, though it wasn’t audible, just mouthed, his anxiety swallowing his voice.
"I'm a fool. I thought it all a glamorous game until I met you, until she hurt you. Forgive me. Or don't, and I promise I'll spend the rest of my living days making it up to you my love.” Johann could see Balfour out of the corner of his right eye as his face was turned away. Was this what it felt like to feel your heart breaking? He felt he was imploding in on himself - the horrific fear that for whatever Balfour admitted now in his past with Ira, his own confession would be too much for them to endure.

“Of -“ it came out as a whisper, and he swallowed, wetting his lips before he tried to speak again, “of course I forgive you.” He croaked, and forced himself to turn and look to Balfour. “You’ve got a hold on me I’ve never known in all my life.” Merlin this was as bad as the moment they were reunited after the contamination and that just made Johann’s head hurt all the more, knowing what he kept from Balfour, and that when he told him in December there were no more secrets and lies, it had been a lie in itself. Balfour was too good for him, whatever Balfour had done. By being his own stupid self, Johann was hurting Balfour again. When you loved someone you didn't hurt them.

“I deserved it, Balfour.” He admitted and let out a breath, feeling sick. His fingertips tapped a nervous rhythm on one knee. “I shouldn’t have said that - not about sleeping with her - I - she doesn’t bring out the best in anyone - I’m so sorry. Fuck.” His mind was jumping from one thing to the next and his speech wasn’t keeping up. He looked apologetically at Balfour on the floor and raked his fingers through his dark hair.

“I met Ira Almasy through working for Vedir Prideaux in 2009. He recommended me to her when she needed a job doing. I don’t just translate things for people Balfour. It usually starts out like that, people keep coming back because I can turn work around quickly - being an insomniac rather helped there.” He shrugged, mind quick to deviate to better days when he’d arrived in Britain. Johann’s tone had lightened, as if he was just recounting the general success of his private work. “And word gets about. Handy to have a Ministry employee on your side who can spot fake paperwork before you submit it. People are willing to pay quite a bit for that. More... if you can do a better job.”

He bit his bottom lip and drew breath, pulling at the sleeves of the jumper again, unable to meet Balfour’s eyes out of his own shame. His cheeks were burning.
“It’s a game, Balfour.” He looked up, uncomfortably, cheeks red, shoulders rounded. “I enjoy it.” There was a ghost of a smile on his features and he shrugged again. He had come to accept his own morals were crooked, that his arrogance and enjoyment at proving his intelligence overruled any legality in an outcome. Every time he found decent morals he ended up in danger. It was better to set aside his honesty and let the traits he’d quite clearly inherited from his paternal family take point.

“Ira took me on in October - favour for my father, she said, but I desperately needed the money.” He’d rarely, if ever disclosed much about his own finances to Balfour, tiptoeing aside any discussion, appearing to have enough even though his summer of sleeping on sofas and in spare rooms had partially been out of lack of funds to support himself alone. He certainly could not afford to live in Atreus without the second floor flat being part of the terms of his employment.

"She and he had… I hadn’t realised quite how much… no not like that - at least I don’t think … shit.” He extended a hand towards Balfour, waving away the miscommunication, about his father, berating himself in German for his inability to talk straight.

“You’ve not worked for her, though? But you know people who do. Yes, I’ve signed a contract, but you asked if it was a blood contract.” His gaze was on Balfour now, keen, "Why do you know Ira uses blood contracts?”

His heart felt lighter knowing that, regardless of what they might face now, Johann had forgiven him.

But what did he mean he deserved it? Balfour drew his shoulders back to sit straighter as he tilted his head slightly to the side and frowned be disconcertedly at the other wizard. None of the words were making sense - or they weren't until the phrase fake paperwork clicked the rest of it into place like a fatal lynchpin.

Again, Johann would not look at him. Now he understood why.

“It’s a game, Balfour...I enjoy it.”

Present tense. Balfour bit his lower lip, understanding this sentiment more intimately than he wished as he observed the barely-there smile. "Johann..." the name was said tenderly rather than with reproach.

In some ways it was a relief to know that he had not been what drew Ira to his lover; still, she had acquired those services not long after the pair met in September. Services. Johann Storm provided illegal services to a witch likely responsible for dozen upon dozens of deaths in the last year alone.

Balfour extended his hands towards his partner, firmly gripping the other man's forearms and carefully levering him down so that they were both huddled on the floor by the fireplace - his touch was sturdy, though mindful of the injury Joh had sustained last evening. "Come here," he ignored the questions for the time being and lifted a pale hand to kiss its knuckles as he once did in a ward at St.Mungo's.

"It's alright. You don-- nobody deserves to be hurt as you have been. Especially not you," Balfour squeezed the hand and thought of that moment twelve years ago when he had laid on the floor bleeding out, at the mercy of a woman who knew none. His eyes dropped to his own knees. "I love you. There's nothing you have done or could do that can change that."

To love as devotedly as one wished always to be loved was, maybe, the only way to heal from these things. Johann was released and their gazes met once more. Sober, soft.

"When I came back to work here a few years ago, she told me. I think she was drunk that night - we both were," he blocked out the other details of that night as eagerly as he tried not to think of Wolfgang and Ira in similar proximity. "There's a room in the penthouse. Full of contracts, gods help us if the Aurors ever find it. She likes to show off."

Just like she showed him off, a bauble that hung off her arm at parties and formal events. Is that why she had told him? Did she think him so harmless, so loyal as her decorative huskies?

Balfour's jaw drew taut with the notion and he looked away towards the hearth. "I didn't think I would ever have to tell anyone about this," the change in subject was vaguely abrupt."And I can understand why you didn't explain earlier. But darling, just in case..."

A tired, humorous smile when he looked back. "Is there anything else I ought to know?"

Johann let himself be pulled from the armchair to the floor.  He felt listless, exhausted and curled with temporary relief into Balfour’s arms.  He felt like ice even though he wasn’t all that cold.
"I love you. There's nothing you have done or could do that can change that.”  His blue eyes turned to Balfour’s at that.  He knew he could believe Balfour, but at the very same moment, he worried that when tested that might not prove true.  Still, Balfour had just admitted to Johann that he’d mercy killed a man, and Johann did not think him any less a human.  Balfour killed animals when he had to, but he didn’t take pleasure in it, it broke him apart to see animals he’d bonded with become sick.  Nidhug had been like losing a member of the family.  She’d become an honorary late aunt in their lives.

"There's a room in the penthouse. Full of contracts, gods help us if the Aurors ever find it. She likes to show off.”  Johann nodded, knowing of rooms with shelves and paperwork from times he’d been up to see her in person.  “I may have seen it.” He uttered, “though one can never quite be sure up there.”

"Is there anything else I ought to know?” The question alone made Johann’s stomach churn.
“Probably too much,” he looked to Balfour, the response being as much a deflection as it was truth.  “Last night I was up there, signing papers.  Nothing sinister, routine stuff I can sign my name to as a neighbour.” He brushed aside a hand to indicate the trivial nature of what he’d left a bloody handprint on.  “But I asked Ira about a job I did for her at the start of December.  Day before I went to Aruba.” Johann drew his legs under him a little more, staring away into the fire. “I… well Layton and I… went abroad and tampered with a shipment for Drammes Apotheke.”

He glanced to Balfour, flinching, expecting his partner to put two and two together, and swallowed. “I thought it was human cargo.  We took out the certifier, just knocked him out for a bit and I did all the paperwork.  Managed it in the nick of time!”  The hint of the proud smile was back beneath the worried expression, “Then I got sick.” He bit his bottom lip between his teeth, “and people died.” He averted his gaze immediately, “I figured it out when I was back here and thinking straight, but I didn’t want to believe.  Then Adon starts poking his nose into it. So,” he looked back to Balfour, a break in his voice, “I asked her.” He shrugged. “Never ask Ira Almasy what her motivations are.  Or let her get bored.  Two things I’ve learned in the last twenty-four hours that I should have learned long ago.  You knew those I’m sure.  Being so close."

He found it difficult to stop himself from wanting to touch Johann, to reassure and seek reassurance, as was the tactile nature of his most earnest moments. Balfour reached for one hand and held it between both of his as he listened - although his lover glanced away at different instances, Bal did not tear his gaze from the pale countenance that spoke.

As often was the case he found himself floundering for understanding in an ocean of facts and words; references to a time and place (Aruba, before Aruba) to which it took him a moment to arrive at in recollection whilst explanations continued to tumble from Joh's red mouth.

"People died..." he repeated slowly as it dawned on him - and Ira's calm, malicious nature the night she drugged him[1] felt even moreso malevolent.

Johann had not known what crime he had committed until after the fact but she, she'd known full well what she had suggested he do to his partner.

The crack in the voice, the voice he loved above all other sound, caused the Scotsman to inch forward and gently tuck a dark curl behind the other wizard's ear.

"You knew those I’m sure.  Being so close."

He froze mid-gesture and then swallowed, hand lowering to clasp Johann's again. Balfour forced himself not to look elsewhere - he felt ashamed of himself, of what he'd done in the past and couldn't take back, but he wouldn't allow it to get in the way now. Couldn't. This meant too much.

"It wasn't like that," his voice came out soft and thick with emotion - gods he wanted to weep for want of Johann's kind touch. "We were never... never close. Not like you and me." Balfour drew in a deep breath, found that it shook.

But he also found that it was easy to say what he meant now, because it was the truth as he'd unconsciously hidden all this time. "She wanted me to hurt you. In December, when I found out about... about the potions. She hurts people. And I let her," he bit the inside of his cheek so hard he thought it might bleed.

His hands grasped Johann's tightly now, without realising. "I won't let her hurt you any more. You... oh, fuck-" the wizard shut his eyes tightly to suppress his tears; darkness overcame his sight. "- I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I fucked her and that I was ever foolish enough to believe there was good in her. I'm sorry I fucked us up like this."

1.	Reflex - 5th December

"It wasn't like that … Not like you and me.” Johann winced, closing his eyes as if thinking about it was a slap round the face.  It was silly really, he was jealous that Balfour had even looked twice at Ira in the same way as he looked at Johann.  The green-eyed envy that Balfour exhibited months ago when Johann had admitted to catching up with Arcturus long before the truth had outed was now rather evident in Johann.  It was overriding his shock from what had happened last night, perhaps more a deflection.

"She wanted me to hurt you. In December, when I found out about... about the potions. She hurts people. And I let her, I won't let her hurt you any more. You... oh, fuck- I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I fucked her and that I was ever foolish enough to believe there was good in her. I'm sorry I fucked us up like this.”
Johann let out a strange sound on reflex of seeing Balfour torn like this, blotting out the darker voice commenting at the edge of his mind.  It was as if a pup had been bit, and had it been any other time he might have flushed red out of embarrassment at it.

“No, no, you don’t need to - you haven’t - I’m the one who - augh,” the words that uttered out of Johann’s mouth were not in English and didn’t require translating for the thankful kiss that was planted upon Balfour’s downturned lips said it better. “We were always a little fucked up,” he assured the man he loved above all others, “you’ve been the unfucking of me - well…” there was a pause, Johann’s fingertips resting gently on Balfour’s jaw where yesterday’s shadow could be felt.

“If you ‘let’ her, then I help her.  We’re no better than each other.” Johann maintained a firm eye contact at last after avoiding it for a good length of the conversation thus far. “I helped her poison the patients because she was bored Balfour.  I wanted to be sick,” his fingertips covered his mouth, and he glanced to his right, “I still might,” he mumbled behind his hand and swallowed. “There are other things,” his hand found Balfour’s again, “she gives me jobs to do, things to find out, people to talk to.  I don’t ask.  Asking is always a bad idea, but I can’t help it, that’s been eating me for all of December.  I just wanted her to deny it.  Heh, stupid, Ira Almasy giving me hope.” He shook his head and forced himself to take a deep breath.

“No, right, where were we, on and off - when did you get to Atreus, how - when did she... Sorry. Just…” he gestured upwards to the chalkboard and the timeline the chalk was attempting to scrawl.

His eyes blinked open, brow furrowed in concern at the little yelp Johann had given.

Balfour would have rather be hurt by Johann than complimented by any other person - he might have felt his lover's words keenly but they only pricked, and left no soreness. It wounded more to know that Joh suffered at all. His lips answered the apologetic kiss and wished for more, more, always more.

“...you’ve been the unfucking of me - well…”

A dark, tired smile at the phrasing. He nuzzled at the hand idling against his jawline, "You have been my unraveling." The interjection was soft and uttered with teary eyed dreaminess that he would never have expected of himself before meeting Johann.

As the conversation drew back towards the subject of poisonings, however, Balfour had to swallow back the urge to cry - it was good, so good to be touched anyway - and focus on why they were in this situation.

"Yes. I suppose we have both  been fools, haven't we?" he let Johann take his hand and squeezed reassuringly at mention of being sick, bringing it up to kiss those beloved pale knuckles. "Better a fool with you than a wise man without." They would manage somehow, together.

It was the togetherness that would bring them through. Balfour's gaze distractedly followed the other wizard's gesture, briefly acknowledging the timeline on the chalkboard by the mantle.

Right. Facts, dates, places. A pause to collect himself, still holding Joh's hand as if though it were life itself.

"I returned to Britain in 2006 and ran into her at some social event or other - she offered a place in Atreus. We were friendly," he uttered the word uncomfortably now that he could see that it brought out a particular shade in Johann. "And she told me that she... she helped people with few morals get in touch with people who had even less. I never asked for details. I never signed a contract with her, either."

Balfour looked back to his companion, grimacing, and then down at their laps with a self-conscious air. Maybe they were no better than each other but he had known Ira longer. He had no excuse but his own foolhardy curiosity and lust. "Technically I could pop down to level 2 and tell them everything I know. But gods know what she would do in return..."

When his gaze rose to meet the bright blue eyes that have never failed to undo him, it was with quiet resolution. "You're my priority, darling." Balfour bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before adding: "I should mention, by the way, that she funds the Haunting Hour. I mentioned back in 2009 and she helped put everything together... I'm not certain to what end."

“Technically I could pop down to level 2 and tell them everything I know. But gods-”
“No, no, no, no-"
"-know what she would do in return…”

Level 2 already knew far too much than was safe.  Johann felt every time he and Adon Eleor crossed paths that the auror just knew and it was only a matter of time before he found something properly concrete to arrest Johann.  He did not want Balfour willingly turning himself in.  Not only because it would put Balfour in problems, but because Johann feared anyone with knowledge on Ira was not even safe in custody.  Whatever his father knew had gone with him.  Merlin, he had to find some legitimate clients, get away.  Or take better care of the ones he had.

His mind had drifted and it took a moment for him to snap back to Balfour’s comment about The Haunting Hour.  He chewed his bottom lip, and flexed his fingers around Balfour’s.
“It appeals to her dramatic sense of humour.”  He ventured, “And you’re not reporting any more than what we know as complete bystanders, are you?  She’s not getting you to warn or goad - that’s your material and it’s impartial.  Ministry’s got cl- fingers in all the media.” Johann glanced between the board and Balfour, earnest to reassure him, “I’ve listened to it without even knowing it was you, before we met.  It’s fantastic, and of course it is, you -.” He stopped, realising that this wasn’t so much as what Balfour was worried about, but the fact Ira was in any way involved. “We can rebuild it elsewhere, between us we can figure it out - I have contacts who could help.  I daresay Ira’s helped put more than a hundred things together that are both worse or more bloody.  Nobody’s died because you put on an accent and talk about what’s happened.” He clasped Balfour, wanting so very desperately to reassure him.

“I agree, she’s got us both.  But we can’t be going to Level 2 and bleating about it without a bargain to be made.  For one, she’d have us, two, they’d have us, and three, every time I’ve done it, it’s backfired.  We’ll have to do it without them.”  Johann gazed grimly up at the blackboard a moment, “ we could turn her own against her.  Ruin her plans from the inside.”  He deflated, swallowing “though I threatened that…”

Not for the first time, Johann was right.

The Haunting Hour belonged to Balfour - Ira made suggestions and at most influenced the timing of his broadcasts; usually in his favour rather than her own, to avoid him being headhunted by Aurors. Inciting political change on the eve of Guy Fawkes night would have been disastrous last year. She did these things in the same way she humoured him as a friend: a personal joke at the expense of his ignorance.

He turned away from his thoughts, feeling Johann clasp his hand and returning the gesture instinctively. "Yes. We won't tell, at least not anytime soon." Not while she still held as much sway over them as she did.

Balfour's frown relaxed at the suggestion that they may be able to sabotage Ira's plans from their current position. It was a very tempting idea because it absolved them of making an immediate decision at the price of their moral conscience.

            “Though I threatened that…” the German wizard trailed off.

That's right. Johann Storm had threatened the bitch herself. Threatened! Balfour looked at his lover softly and felt a deep sense of admiration for the man; even aside from personal feeling, that was a ballsy thing to do. He placed his free hand on Johann's leg and leaned in to kiss a pale cheek.

"You did, you crazy bastard." Balfour smiled into the kiss before tilting back and meeting Joh in the eye, thoughtful. "We'll lay low and play along for now. Half of the battle is knowing the truth."

And he felt that there was nothing they could not do, if they had the other there to see them through.