Late afternoon, Entrance Hall


Balthair Spectre was crossing the Entrance Hall from the kitchen when the doors opened. It had been a warm afternoon, foretelling of spring, and the deep gold of the day came spilling through as a shadow fell across the stone floors. Tall and thin and an increasingly common sight in the manor now. A german shepherd came bounding through with alacrity - behind Whiskey, an actual German.

"Ah, Johann..." the older wizard paused on the final step with a newspaper in one hand and a mug of steaming black tea in the other. "I suppose my grandson isn't yet home."

He had been in the gardens and then the conservatory all day, enjoying the sun while catching up on correspondences. Nathaira had retired early and her husband was taking care of the bairn in their rooms upstairs. It was both nostalgic and new to have the quiet of the house stirred by different presences. In a way Balthair knew for a fact that Balfour was not home; the air felt different.

And he was grateful for the absence. Often, it was either Balfour or his sister - or even Carr - carefully trying to direct their conversations to less serious territories when Johann came to stay; as if they were afraid of what Balthair might say! But here the two of them were and not a single other Spectre in sight.

"Did you have a pleasant walk?" he asked in an offhand manner, going to give Whiskey a pet. "The flower shrubs will be in bloom, soon."

It would be a crime to not take advantage of the sudden warm weather and the fact he was in Edinburgh. Balfour was working late, they’d communicated during the afternoon, and Johann had gone back to Atreus after finishing work at 4. He’d gone in early to use the international floo for a meeting in Oslo, and his heart had sunk a little on understanding the other wizard was going to be late. It felt like a century since he’d kissed Balfour goodbye that morning. Not that he was at all soppy and sentimental, but his cousin’s brush with death that week had made him even more clingy.

Whiskey had been happy to come up from London, and Johann had left food for the Fates. They’d ignore it, he was sure, until he’d left at least, under the pretence they didn’t like him. He’d officially lived with Balfour just over three months now, from recovering to the poisonings. It was good to see Spring, historically a time for Johann to make resolutions about his health, to get back on the wagon. He’d made fine progress with Balfour’s support, despite the setbacks of Ira’s attack in January which had brought sickening nightmares. He still woke from them, but at least he was sleeping.

It was good to have the security and headspace in Scotland to reflect on it, inhaling deep lungfuls of air before stooping to throw Whiskey’s preferred squeaky toy for the week as far as he could by hand. It gave a pitiful shriek as it hit the ground and the dog was upon it, tail wagging. Johann laughed aloud at the noise and ruffled Whiskey’s coat as he returned with it. Even in Balfour’s absence, he couldn’t fault his happiness of late.

Whiskey loped ahead of him as they approached the front of the Spectre home, waiting patiently for the door to open before bounding inside to see if his master was there. Johann unbuttoned the top few buttons of his jacket. The warmer weather had made him leave his winter long coat back in London for something shorter Balfour had helped him pick out last month. He was introducing Johann to more muggle styles as time went on, which was only a good thing by the number of compliments from Pinn and Kelly at work.

“Balthair,” Johann greeted the older wizard with a friendly smile as he descended the stairs into the entrance hall. “Working late,” he confirmed with a shrug of his shoulders, slipping his left hand from the jacket pocket. “We did,” still smiling as Balthair petted Balfour’s dog, “yes, it’s interesting to see the difference, London’s already there, so it must not be long away from here.”

Johann’s keen eyes took in the newspaper in Balthair’s hand.
“Few stories in there today which really should be April Fool’s, don’t you think? Proposal to issue aurors with curse-resistant umbrellas[1] had me, but turns out it’s true. Lesson in why you shouldn’t let addled retired aurors pose as spokespeople.” Johann’s smile suddenly dropped on realising what he’d implied, “Not to say that all retired Ministry workers are addled, of course. How’s your day been?”

1.	Inspired by this list of April 1st 2011 stories that weren’t jokes

Hearing confirmation that his grandson would indeed be late, Balthair resolved to take advantage of this moment. Gods knew that quiet ones were difficult to come by with an interfering family under this roof.

He snorted softly at the reference to April Fool's, and began to cross the hall towards the drawing room. Whiskey trailed after with hesitation: caught between wanting to bother both men at once.

"It was the Nice Baps[1] that made me wonder." The older wizard easily ignored the accidental implication - at least Johann had the presence of mind to backtrack, as his younger grandchildren often never realised what it was that passed their lips.

"It has been a slow day, I'm afraid. The bairn is so quiet I hardly know she is here at all." Balthair's grim mouth managed a smile and he gestured at the arch leading towards the living space. "Will you come to the fire? I fear it is too warm for this good weather but you'll forgive me an old codger's caution. I think... I think we are overdue a discussion."

His words were chosen with care, emanating a politeness he had rarely exercised before. It rarely mattered how rude Balthair had been to Balfour's attachments in the past after all; but it mattered now.

1.	Taking a cue from the same article, naturally

“Hah, quite!” Johann agreed in Balthair’s wake, his hands reaching for his buttons to undo the rest of them on his jacket now he was back indoors. Whiskey’s squeaky toy gave an unintended cry as he closed his fingers, so he tossed it into the drawing room ahead of them for the dog to mouth. “Pinn explained that one in more detail to me at work, semantics… and homonyms. English is full of them.” Johann’s pitch trailed off, letting Balthair answer the other question as Johann slipped the jacket from his shoulders to reveal a rather more casual white t-shirt and grey-green wool jumper beneath.

He was about to say he was rarely averse to a fireplace in the Spectre house, but the discussion mention at the end of Balthair’s sentence stopped him. Instead his eyebrows raised a little but he gave a compliant nod, folding his jacket between his hands. Before he crossed the threshold into the drawing room, Johann gave the boots at the end of his dark jeans a cursory check for any lingering mud.

The younger wizard followed the older one respectfully, putting the drawing room door closed behind him. It wasn’t just a discussion, but an overdue one. From Balthair’s phraseology, Johann anticipated that it should not be interrupted. Despite the polite tone, a parent of any sort, or an older family member, uttering such words could instil dread given Johann’s track history. A discussion might be of his conduct, or his inability to function responsibly as an adult. A meeting or a catch-up however were more positive notions, of work and professionalism, and a chat something cringeworthy.

No, he and Balthair got on. Didn’t they? Mostly?

Oh hell, that article in January[1].

"If you ask me, the pair of you are better off—“
"I didn't ask.”
"What?”

That morning Johann had genuinely wanted to know what Balthair would have suggested as advice. Every moment since the pair of them had been interrupted, one of several in a family situation what with Cameron’s arrival lately. Johann couldn’t actually pinpoint a moment in this busy house where he and Balthair had been alone together for more than a minute. As time had gone on, he’d not wanted to approach the subject again, and he supposed the other wizard had long forgotten about it.

Quietly, Johann lay his jacket down on the back of one of the armchairs and approached the lit fireplace with careful gaze on Balthair, studying his body language for cues.
“Was there something in particular…?” He asked gently, hands clasped loosely before him until he realised they betrayed his nerves and he tucked them behind.

1.	15 January 2011Wait Till Dawn & Then Go

The drawing room door closed with a soft thud and Balthair shot the other wizard a mild look of gratitude for affording them that privacy. He would prefer not to be interrupted by his granddaughter or her husband - an oddly prevalent occurrence in a home of this size!

But not this afternoon, thank you very much. You would think there were other rooms to haunt and other corridors to pace

Balthair stood in front of the great fire to relish its heat, gaze narrowing slightly to stare into the brilliant blaze of the hearth. Odin knew how many discussions had taken place in this room. How many Spectres have invited strangers into it, poured drinks, exchanged barbed words.

          "Was there something in particular…?"

It felt almost like Johann had appeared next to him without warning. His thoughts had been drifting from their original intent. The older wizard held his hands behind his back, smiling humourlessly at their guest. Guest? No, not accurate.

"I believe it is customary, at this junction of a relationship, for a parent to ask his child's partner about their intentions." Balthair murmured with nonchalant form, his grey eyebrows raised drolly. "Grandchild," he amended before retreating to his armchair. "Balfour is terribly protective of you so I thought it best to approach the subject in his absence."

A tired, comfortable grunt as he sat down. His eyes took on a greenish tint with the light from the fire reflected in them. Balthair observed the German wizard with a neutral air - perhaps even the same air his grandson often used, when uncertain of a response.

"You're a man," he pointed out and folded his hands on his lip. "He's brought men here before but never so often, and never for arbitrary weekends away. Certainly never in the middle of the night, covered in blood. So as not to disappoint the trope: may I ask what are your intentions with Balfour?"

“… to ask his child’s partner about their intentions…” Balthair got straight to it. His correction to grandchild made no difference, in that Johann perceived the wizard to be as good as a father, if not better than.

The darker haired wizard was motionless, hands still tucked behind the small of his back, clasped together with tension now at the query. His blue eyes followed Balthair as he sat down and folded his hands. Johann hadn’t yet drawn a full breath to give an answer, his mind already leaping from one thing to the next like a fleeing stag beneath his curls. He was biding his time in considering an answer. He did not perceive Balthair to exactly be the sort to lay a trap, but it would not be too far fetched to consider. Both Knox and Balfour navigated conversation with Balthair in ordinarily when things got pointed. That didn’t mean Johann couldn’t, just that Spectre kin had many years of experience.

“You’re a man,”
“Mm.” Johann’s hum was barely audible, but the narrowing of his eyes as he stood rigid by the fire was visible. He was observing Balthair keenly, as he had been since entering the drawing room. He was trying to read the other man, not legilimency, nor divination, just plain old reading of words and movement.

Then, piece said, comparison made, Balthair gave Johann the floor. He set the trap.

“An intention suggests I have an aim or a plan for Balfour.” Johann replied after a pause. He didn’t move, and his gaze didn’t break from Balthair’s. He felt like a fly caught on the spider’s web, that if he moved it might draw in the spider. He hoped his caution was more than he needed to maintain. “I don’t.” Johann put it bluntly, and blinked.

He looked away, wondering whether he should have by now. They had been together just short of seven months. He’d admitted to Balfour that he never engaged in truly planning his life past academic obligation. He’d kept his plans fluid and changing, if he made them at all. He’d never intended to be in Britain all that long, and yet, here he was two years later. Johann sighed, looking down into the flames.

“I never expected to be in this position.” He admitted, “And by that I do not mean to I am ungrateful, alarmed or at all lumbered.” Johann glanced up at Balthair to confirm that was understood, “Your so- grandson has upended my life, saved my life on more occasions than I deserve or he realises.” Johann swallowed and looked away pointedly.

He winced. Everything he was saying was coming out awfully. If Balthair had asked him to write an essay, or given a glass of red wine and a moment to think and he’d wax lyrical about how wonderful Balfour was, and how much he loved him. But he was here, sober, at the end of a working day, contemplating how Balthair had asked a rather more practical question. Not how much Johann adored, loved Balfour, but what he intended to do with him. What their future was. Right now he sounded desperate.

“I don’t have an intention, Balthair.” Johann admitted, shoulders drooping, “Balfour has his own life to lead. All I hope is to be there for him for as long as we love each other.” He turned away from the fire and let his hands drop away from his back, “I will follow him to the ends of the earth if he asks me to.” He glanced up to Balthair again, “I intend him no harm, no sorrow. Just a future, if one is fated for us both. Maybe not what you wanted to hear?”

He did not interrupt.

Interrupting was one of those filthy habits that Balfour was in the habit of doing whenever Balthair was around, cutting into sentences so bluntly that their words felt bruised. So he let Johann speak, while Whiskey came to him to get a good ear-scratching. The older wizard had reservations about... two men at the head of the clan, in their foreseeable future. It was unusual to say the least and it did not look to him like his grandson was going to address how unusual this situation would be.

Well, in the past, a wizard might marry a witch who is complacent to let her husband spend his time with another man. This wasn't the case. Balthair didn't want it to be anyway.

This was the face of progress, wasn't it? Faster than you'd like.

            "I don’t have an intention, Balthair....Just a future, if one is fated for us both. Maybe not what you wanted to hear?" Storm finished, ungraceful in a way that implied his answer had been similar to having teeth pulled.

Balthair watched the German Shepherd withdraw from him, going instead to the Linguist in a sympathetic form of affection. Good dog. Could always tell when someone needed it; probably why Balfour liked him.

"I had no expectations. You know," he said without looking away from Whiskey. "I thought that too. I mean, that my grandson had his own life to lead. He would come for holidays and birthdays and then he would disappear, back to that bolthole in London. Lately, it's almost like he can't keep away."

The gaze slid over to the fireplace, where Johann's lean figure cut a neat silhouette against tall flames. "I feel like I must thank you for that." Balthair paused, finally looking up to meet the younger man in the eye. "Fix us some whisky, won't you? And sit down, for Odin's sake, I'm not trying to poach you."

“… lately it’s almost like he can’t keep away.” Johann nodded. It was for more reasons than family though, not that he would like to disclose to Balthair. The older wizard knew far more than he ever let on, Johann was absolutely sure. Turning up unannounced bloodied and incoherent in January, as Balthair pointed out, rather piqued the curiosity. “.. I feel like I must thank you for that…”

Johann’s lips opened to form defiant words, but he held himself, instead nodding at Balthair’s request to fix them some whisky. His fingers left the lazy scratch on Whiskey’s head to approach the drinks. It gave him suitable thinking time as he poured. He picked carefully around Whiskey rather than nudge the dog to move as he delivered Balthair’s, fingertips carefully gripping the rim of the glass as he made eye contact with the older wizard.

“You’re just asking a question I have been avoiding a firm answer to in my own subconscious,” Johann admitted thoughtfully as he settled down, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know Balfour’s future is here, well, you suggest he might have been avoiding it until late, but the way he explains it to me is that it’s inevitable, and he accepts it. Openly, talking about the duties, about how it might be when he… when we… move up here.” Johann’s mouth twitched nervously into a smile. It was a fond memory of the night little Cam had arrived, talking on the kitchen doorstep in the early hours, waiting to greet her with whisky. Johann glanced down to the tumblr in his own hand and hummed in realisation that the spirit came hand in hand with being a Spectre.

… being a Spectre.

“Balthair, do you have any reservations about me being here, when he does?” Johann asked, fixing Balfour’s grandfather with a thoughtful gaze, “I don’t.. worry you… do I?”

            “I know Balfour’s future is here, well, you suggest he might have been avoiding it until late, but the way he explains it to me is that it’s inevitable, and he accepts it. Openly, talking about the duties, about how it might be when he… when we… move up here.”

Balthair did not sip his whiskey at first, staring intently at the German wizard who was taking a seat across from the armchair on the end of the long sofa. Inevitable? Oh, he was an old man and there was something untouchably moving about hearing the word from the mouth of one who had all mannerisms of speaking a truth. That Balfour spoke freely of coming up here, of assuming his birthright and responsibilities...

The older man drank.

It tasted sweet, sweeter than whisky had a right to taste. If he was smiling to himself he made no attempt to acknowledge its rare presence, and - well, if his eyes glimmered, it was only the firelight and certainly not emotion.

"Worry me?" he lowered the tumbler, repeating only so as to buy a bit of thinking time under Johann's gaze. "Hm. I won't lie. It worried me to begin with, on Samhain. You looked so at home, sitting here on the floor with Knox."

A light, fond laugh and another nip of liquor. "But no. Not anymore. You have to understand that I... I assigned Balfour heir rights because he is so very open minded, in addition to being-" Balthair sighed and looked into his drink, "- being a good leader, I think. But my idea of progressive at the time had been along the lines of him settling down with a half-blood witch."

Whiskey padded over to the space between the two men, well within the emanation of fireplace heat, and he curled up on the thick carpet. Oblivious to the words exchanged above his dark head.

Balthair drank deeply and stretched out his legs as he leaned back into his armchair. His gaze was steady on Johann, pulling itself away from past ruminations.

"He was supposed to gently dilute our musty, pureblood ways and usher us into this century," the Scotsman's smile was dry, and he gestured dramatically with his tumbler. "Now it looks like we must forsake the gentleness. Artis would have approved. She always loved surprises - and you're as surprising as they come."

“It worried me to begin with,” Balthair explained, and Johann’s heart seemed to skip a beat in alarm. He didn’t breathe. “You looked so at home...”

Johann’s lungs began working again in relief. His shoulders raised and fell with a sharp inhalation. Balthair laughed a little, at what he was saying, or Johann’s reaction or both, he wasn’t sure. It was a good laugh, a content, lighthearted one. It wasn’t filled with malice like his father would have done. It was reminiscent of when he amused Balfour with a sarcastic reply or mockery of someone they knew. Still, he didn’t feel entirely at ease and fell still and quiet to listen, his whisky between his long, pale fingers.

“… a half-blood witch.”
“Oh.” Johann replied, lips forming the shape even after he spoke. His shoulders had rounded and he had leaned forward, opposite to Balthair’s more horizontal positioning. The older wizard was being open, Johann felt exposed. For once he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t now if he was meant to, if it was appropriate. He wasn’t a half-blood witch. He wasn’t the wife Balfour was expected to take, to provide children. It was all reminiscent of how his parents had expected him to marry a witch, have children to provide them with grandchildren and further the family name.

His face must have outwardly relayed his dismay as Balthair elaborated swiftly. It took Johann a moment of blinking to understand what he had just come to know.
“Thank… you?” Johann replied eventually tentative, blinking rapidly still. “I mean, for… allowing me to pass for a half-blood witch,” his lips curled into a smile, still trying to settle his spinning mind. “No, I’m honoured, I am, Balthair, especially if, as you say, Artis would have approved. I understand how she … how you and she did not necessarily meet the initial approval of Spectre ancestors either.” He lightly toasted with his glass, “As much I am an outsider, I’ve no demand, I’ve no place to change what being a Spectre means. I’d…” Johann’s gaze was flitting from somewhere about Balthair’s knees to his wisened face, “I’d be honoured to be one. I mean, if it… if … you’ll have me… I...” He ran a hand through his black curls nervously and took a healthy sip of whisky.

Balthair was of the opinion that it was better to be frank than to sugar coat his opinions - at least insofar as grown wizard or witches were concerned. The likes of his young grandchildren could do with a bit of spoiling coddling. Even so, he found himself somewhat regretting his mention of a half-blood witch. It had been meant lightly but it seemed that Johann was taking the comparison to heart.

He mirrored the toast, sipped, and then put down his drink on a side table. Balthair smiled softly at the younger wizard's candid reaction, the smile only growing softer at his late wife's name. It was true. The clan hadn't wanted Artis. In spite of its generosity the clan could be rather close-minded when it came to tradition.

              “I’d be honoured to be one. I mean, if it… if … you’ll have me… I...”

"Aye, come now..." he gestured dismissively, though in friendly manner. "Don't dwell on it. Whatever it means to be a Spectre, besides always having an extra space at the table, we don't think of you as an outsider. That isn't our way." They had been quick to welcome Johann when he had come for Samhain, then Christmas and so on.

To say nothing of the quick friendship between the German and Balthair's other progeny[1].

"I only wanted you to know that-" Balthair paused, reclaiming his drink as he tried to strike the right note between seriousness and levity, "- if or when you and my grandson should wish to, ah, move forward... there are no familial barriers."

He finished the rest of the whiskey and then pushed on, to reassure Johann so that his earlier comment might not leave a lasting mark. "I have known Balfour all his life. I promise: he's not looked at any witch, half-blood or otherwise, the way he looks at you. So." Balthair cleared his throat, awkwardly trying not to meet the other man in the eye. "That's that."

1.	Sweet Spectre Child - March 1st

Balthair’s reaction brought reassurance to Johann, advising him not to dwell on it. He was entirely right, and it was a good move to say that to Johann, who could overthink. He was so careful not to spoil this wonderful situation he was forgetting to enjoy it when put on the spot. A small smile broke on Johann’s lips and then it grew, the stiff posture melting.

“Move forward!” Johann echoed, blinking in surprise, he … knew what Balthair must mean, but he hadn’t quite known the words to use either.

Balfour’s grandfather’s assurance about the way Balfour looked at Johann brought a rush of colour to the narrow face. “Oh! I’m honoured, I-.” Johann let loose a peal of nervous laughter at the awkward conversation. “I do catch him, sometimes. Makes me think how my mother looked at my father. I hate to think what I look like…” he laughed again, sitting forward, resting his elbows on his knees, feet apart.

He sobered a little, and looked up properly to Balthair.
“Thank you. This means a lot to me. And to Balfour, gods knows he looks up to you, who can blame him.” He lifted his glass in acknowledgement of Balthair’s superior qualities.

“I thought we’d… I’d made you think less of us for the whole business with Almasy. You never did say your piece on that… I think at the time Balfour was afraid, of what you’d say. At hearing you disapprove when he was still on the defensive.” Johann narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, curiosity fuelling his courage, “Only, he’s not here now to stop me asking, nor you to speak your mind.” 

The younger wizard, once put at ease, came into his own rather well. Balthair liked Johann best when he was in a chatty and more relaxed element; it was easy to see in such instances what his grandson found so charming - a sort of detail to attention. And an alarming memory, in spite of how blatantly smitten he looked whenever Balfour came up in conversation. It was... something. Sweet, Balthair supposed.

He put aside his empty tumbler and smile dryly as what he called The Almasy Incident was brought back to attention.

            "Only, he’s not here now to stop me asking, nor you to speak your mind."

No sign of lovesickness here. Johann was sharp, he didn't seem to like leaving intellectual stones unturned. All for the better - he would need to be sharp, the way the Spectres carried on without giving thought to the future.

"Think less of you...? No. No, it was vexing to read those things in the Witch Weekly, of course, but it's the price one pays for being a person of note." Balthair leaned back in the arm chair and interlaced his fingers, looking at Johann with unfocused eyes. "And for acting with one's heart instead of mind."

He was trying to remember the exact scene that night. "I was going to say that you were both better off leaving London altogether." The Scotsman sighed, a soft and displeased hiss. "It's a fine city for the young but... that woman. I never liked the mention of her."

Balthair was no naive fool after all. He had never met Ira Almasy but from what he knew and had seen; she was an ill omen. A dangerous creature with none of its warmth. He reached into the front pocket of his robe, retrieving a little cigarette that he rolled between his fingers.

"But I'm an old wizard," he brought it to his mouth and lit it with the same, rhythmic smoothness his grandson adopted. "Maybe I just wanted him to call this place a home again." Balthair blew out a bit of smoke, smiling at Johann. "Does that satisfy your curiousity?"

“… acting with one’s heart instead of mind.” Johann smiled to himself at the description. Definitely Balfour, and much loved for it. Fierce to fight for friends, for the beasts he adored (however lethal), for family and for what was right. Always ready to dash off to adventure. Johann was oft in tow, but always one to think a little more, they balanced each other thankfully, otherwise it might become a rather frustrating contrast. It had been an upsetting one back on that January night when Balfour had left him under Hannah’s care to take his wand to Ira’s head in Slandermouth, but all forgiven.

“I never liked the mention of her.”

Balthair was a good judge of character, Johann reflected, glancing away a moment at the fireplace as he reminded himself the older wizard had good thoughts on his own character. Talking of Ira made Johann feel unworthy of positive comment.

“Maybe I just wanted him to call this place a home again. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For now, yes.” Johann replied gently, returning the smile, “but my curiosity is rarely sated for long.” He folded one leg over the other and shuffled his shoulder blades more comfortably against the armchair, altogether more relaxed about the conversation now. “And he does call this place home. I perceive it’s never truly stopped being a home even in his more hot-headed younger days.” Johann rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, “home is just where those you love are, to my understanding. The rest are just roofs over our heads. I’ve had a lot of those - Balfour’s had a lot of those judging by what he’s told me of travels.”

He blinked and looked up at Balthair properly, keen gaze examining the other wizard carefully.
“I hadn’t realised that when - and that’s when rather than if - he makes this his home it ceases to be yours.” He didn’t blink, “I’ve known loneliness, and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemies, let alone a grandfather who has remained a constant in Balfour’s life. Balfour says you’ll be alright[1], but you will keep us bothered, won’t you?”

1.	28th March 2011 In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

He liked it better when Storm was frank - the shedding of polite trivialities usually left behind a man of few morals but Johann still maintained a sense of underlying respect. Balthair could not stop himself from smiling as he was reassured that his grandson has always been very fond of the estate. It was tricky to tell what Balfour was thinking sometimes, so spurned on by his heart that he was. That temper!

             "...our heads. I’ve had a lot of those - Balfour’s had a lot of those judging by what he’s told me of travels."

The older man nodded gently, taking another drag of his cigarette. He could imagine the two of them in their youth... Odin knew how close or far apart, but both lost to the ambitions and wanderlust of desires that couldn't be met. Before he could think to say anything, Johann changed the subject one more.

Even closer to home, this one.

His cigarette burned away as he deliberated, thoughtful gaze not leaving the other wizard. Yes. Johann did seem to be telling the truth. Perhaps he did know loneliness, what it was to feel entirely alone in this world.

"Of course," Balthair finally replied in a soft voice and glanced at the fireplace with an even softer hum. "I've a cottage in Aberdeenshire, where I've lived before, but you can count on my being here from time to time. Not ready to live the life of a hermit just yet."

He looked back at Johann; his smile reached his eyes. "And there's the Croft. I often visit Benneit there, and then Spectres across the country. You mustn't worry too much about me..." Balthair trailed off, hesitant.

This exchange had told him more about Balfour's partner than he would have discovered, if they'd not found a moment alone to speak.

"Thank you, Johann. I hope that you come to see this place as your home as much as my grandson does." Balthair reached out to the side table and stubbed out the cigarette in a pewter ashtray, "It could use someone like you."