Continues from this snapshot.


The door closed shut behind him and Balfour Spectre found himself in Carstairs' waiting room - finally able to sigh in relief. He had been on edge and ready to fly off the handle since reading the article this morning; seeing Raine Almasy was the shock that slowed him down. She was a sensible creature but he knew from experience it was the same brand of sense that led her aunt through thick and thin, struggling to think three steps ahead. Raine's presence had reminded him of Feliks and the true stakes at risk today.

He was a father now. Solomon might have approved of Witch Weekly getting a nasty shock but they'd only take it out on the Spectre name. A name his son now carried.

Balfour realised he wasn't alone. Somebody was supposed to take him to a conference room, and he turned from his thoughts to smile at Abby Reid. He had caught a glimpse of her whilst being dropped off at the office earlier.

"Aileen's sister." Bal observed, holding out his hand - grateful they had not thought to restrain him or confiscate his wand. "So sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I'd introduce myself but I think you've already been briefed," his smiled turned rueful. "All the same. Balfour Spectre. I went to school with your sister."

Fellow snakes.

If Abby was going to be called in on a Saturday, she expected a crisis of epic levels, not to sit at her desk while Carstairs smoothed over an awkward situation. Still, she didn't mind much. Raine was working too, and had even broken up the hexing party at Witch Weekly headquarters. Abby looked forward to pestering her later for the details, but she also wanted to make sure Raine was doing alright. It couldn't be easy, facing Almasy family drama in the press every few months, from Ira's garden graveyard to her secret affairs.

She stood, not bothering to hide her curiosity as Balfour Spectre strolled out of Carstairs' office and stopped in front of her desk.

"Oo, I'm sure you have stories!" Abby smiled and raised her eyebrows, tickled to be greeted as Aileen's sister.

"A few of the Aurors call me 'mini Reid', but please call me Abby," she shook his hand. She'd seen the genial Mr. Spectre around the Ministry. He looked more likely to hug than hex someone, but she couldn't blame him for losing his temper over that article.

Witch Weekly had seriously disappointed her this week.

She flipped the 'BRB Riding Unicorns' sign to display on her desk, gave Mr. Spectre an innocent look in case he'd noticed, and opened the door of the waiting room for him.

"Come this way to our finest conference room," Abby led Mr. Spectre down the hall and around the corner, a short walk to the conference rooms adjoining the Auror bullpen. Even on a Saturday she had to book rooms in advance, and this one happened to be the very same that Raine and Trevelyan had brought her to on that fateful day back in early August.

Walls the color of stone, an antique wooden table, and a rug warmed the room. She stood there just for a moment, glancing around, then glanced at Mr. Spectre with another smile.

"Would you like anything? Tea, coffee? Level Two's hidden stash of whiskey? I also know where they keep the chocolate."

Like son, like father?[1]

1.	Referencing Sulwen's letter to Abby in which Sulwen says that Feliks was in the kitchens, drinking hot chocolate and looking sad.

Aileen and Abigail - their parents must have wanted an alliterative pair. He repeated her name as they shook hands, committing it to memory, and raised an eyebrow at the desk sign. They would have to get a level four equivalent for Mrs Lanningham one of these days. BRB Slaying Dragons would be appropriate for the beast division's formidable secretary.

Balfour followed the wee girl to his supposed cell. If he spotted a few familiar faces on their way to the conference room, they either smiled back in recognition or sympathetically in secret knowledge of what had gone down this morning.

There was healthy accord between the two floors, luckily, what with frequent cooperation where illegal creature activities were concerned.

            "Would you like anything....where they keep the chocolate."

He dropped heavily into one of the seats and tipped his head back for a moment, feeling a weight roll off his shoulders now that he was officially out of view. Abby didn't seem the kind to judge him for his emotional exhaustion. It felt like he had some old wound reopened every few months, these days. No end to it.

"Tea." Bal came to himself, sitting straight and considering the young squib. "Black with sugar, please. Do you usually offer chocolate to all of Solomon's prisoners?" he smiled at her speculatively. "Also, before I forget-"

How could he possibly forget?

"- parchment, ink, and an owl. I need to write my son."

"Only the nice ones," Abby smiled at his question, then opened the door of the conference room. "I'll be back in a minute with tea and parchment, Mr. Spectre."

Don't go anywhere, she might have teased if she knew him better. He looked like he needed a few minutes to himself anyway, after the morning he'd had.

She returned shortly, carrying a tray of tea and an assortment of writing materials that would make her mother cringe if she saw everything on the same tray together. Abby set the tray on the wooden table in front of Balfour Spectre, and moved the folder, the ink pot, and the quill onto the table. She opened the folder, and gestured at the two sets of Ministry parchment tucked into the sleeves.

"Your choice of doodles or no doodles."

Flower doodles adorned the parchment at the bottom of the stack, like those she'd seen in the botanical gardens with Sasha, and in the middle there were flying fairies and flower crowns and donkeys that resembled dogs, and on the top of the stack there were frog faces that looked a bit like Kermit, and more recognizable fish swimming between ribbons of seaweed.

She normally reserved the parchment she'd doodled on for memos to Virgil, Raine, and Fauna, or letters to Sulwen, but Abby had a feeling that Mr. Spectre (or his son) might appreciate some levity. Of course, the other side of the folder held a stack of plain parchment.

"Once you're done writing and you've put the address on the envelope, hold the letter up like this," she gestured above her head. "And it will autofly to our little owlery. Isn't that brill?"

Abby poured the tea into a red and white teacup that matched the steaming teapot on the tray. She moved the bowl of sugar closer to him, so he could select how much he wanted.

Then she plopped into the chair across the table, in what she thought of as Trevelyan's seat. It had been the one he'd sat in when she'd first arrived at the Ministry in August. She opened up her own folder with several doodles on parchment, and clicked her Kermit the Frog bobble head pen.

"I've been told I must stay here with the prisoner," Abby looked up and grinned. "I promise I'll try to be quiet and let you write in peace. Though I do have to say that I'm sorry to hear about what happened with the article," she said more seriously. "No one deserves that, least of all a child."

Being left to himself for a few moments was a blessing - the quiet of the room helped to dissipate both anger and anxiety, made him yearn for the serenity of his study in Edinburgh. Or for the cosiness of curling up with his lover on the sofa in front of a great fire. Anything outside of these walls and away from anyone who might have had contact with Witch Weekly. But wishful thinking wasn't going to help him now.

Those moments would come, eventually. The door opened and Abby returned bearing treats.

"Thank you." Bal drew his chair closer to the table to position himself for writing, and reached without hesitation for one of the 'doodled' parchment sheets. "I appreciate it, really." He breathed in deeply to consider the blank page whilst tea was being poured.

What to say? What to say to poor Feliks? Gods knew where the boy was at this very moment, whether he had found out about the article and, if so, how. The more Balfour thought about it, the more he suspected the news must already be known: Hogwarts had its fair share of gossipy Witch Weekly subscribers.

             "No one deserves that, least of all a child." Abby stated, causing him to look up from his quill.

"Least of all Feliks," he added with a sad smile and then scribbled the first few lines[1] of the letter, expressing his most immediate impulse to comfort his son. "He didn't know anything about all of this, he thought he was an orphan before he came to us."

Many of the Aurors knew about their situation, so Bal didn't feel he had to hide it Solomon Carstairs' assistant of all people. He allowed a moment to pass in silence as he wrote more; asking after Feliks, assuring him he would get Johann and Camille.

"Somehow I imagined fatherhood to involve less gossip columns." Balfour muttered, sitting back to examine his penmanship with a thoughtful frown. "Naive of me maybe," he thought about what Sandy had said, implying that it had been Bal's fault for failing to anticipate the getting out of Feliks' origins. "I just wish he didn't have to deal with this bloody nonsense."

What was the logic of a boy getting the lash for his father's sins? It hurt him to think of it.

1.	A Nothing King - 24th Sept

Balfour picked the doodled parchment. Abby arched an eyebrow of approval in his direction. She sketched a tiny elf in the margin of her own parchment, and began to write a letter back to her niece.

Dear Sulwen,

Guess who I am sitting with right now, as I write?

Guess!

Feliks' father, drinking hot tea and looking sad.

Abby looked up when the man spoke about how his son had grown up away from him and had always believed he was an orphan. The boy not only had a new family to adjust to, but a new school, and new country, and new, unpleasant knowledge about his mother. His father just wanted to protect him, like most parents did.

"He shouldn't have to deal with it," she nodded. "It can't be easy for any of you."

Neither of the fathers, or the rest of the family, or Feliks, or Raine.

        Or you, or me, reminded of mass murderesses.

Abby winced very slightly, rubbed at her temple, and let Flower Girl's voice fade into the background. She was right, but it was so much easier to focus on someone else's problems. Unless, of course, when those problems related.

Ira Almasy had left behind a whole graveyard garden of squibs...

Lori and Lee had left a whole graveyard of fallen stars.[1]

Abby set her pen down. "So, full confession time," she said brightly. "My niece woke me with an absurdly early owl this morning, telling me about the Witch Weekly article. She happens to be a first year Slytherin, and being the sly, stealthy Slytherin she is, she just so happened to run into Feliks in the kitchens. She reports that he did not look happy," Abby paused.

"However," she pointed the pen at him, bobble first so that the Kermit head bobbled in emphasis.

"She also mentioned that a prefect found them and that there was hot chocolate involved. Naomi - the prefect - is a friend of mine, and if I know her at all, she would have been telling silly stories and trying to make his day better."

She watched his face for a moment, then gestured at the letter in front of her. "Anything you'd like me to ask my team of informants?"

Abby cocked her head and offered him a smile, pen poised over parchment. He didn't need to know she had just one. A team of one. A Slytherin first year, yes, but a first year all the same.

1.	What Lori had called the patches of white flowers in the woods, where they'd buried their victims.

            "So, full confession time," Abby put down her pen.

He raised his eyebrows at this sudden change of tone, trying to keep up with what she was saying and trying even harder not to imagine what an unhappy Feliks must look like at Hogwarts. Balfour had never felt so useless to somebody he loved - for even when Ira had attacked Johann, he'd been able to help bring his lover to safety.

All he could do right now was rely on Abby Reid's remote army of Slytherins. And the healing power of hot cocoa.

That brought the slightest of smiles to his face, tinged as it was with remorse. "That's... extremely kind of you to offer." Balfour glanced at his own parchment and scribbled down the last sentence, ending with the quick flourish of his signature. "And thank you for telling me what's going on over there."

The kitchens - so this owl might not reach Feliks until he braved the upper floors. It was a good place to hide, probably reminiscent of their own cosy kitchen in Edinburgh. He folded the letter and held it up, letting the sheet flutter into the air before it sped away.

"If you could simply ask them to, um. To keep an eye on him." Bal hesitated, not wanting to intrude on the sensitive social sphere Feliks would not find himself in. "Don't let him feel too alone," he sighed and put away the quill he'd been using. "Are all you Reids Slytherin material? Can't imagine you would have liked the dungeons."

"Oh." Abby raised her eyebrows in surprise at Balfour's gratitude. "It's nothing," she waved her hand in the air, but smiled a little.

Despite Spectre's outrage at Witch Weekly and despite the fact that he was stuck on Level Two for the day, he remained kind and genial. Abby found she genuinely wanted to help him and his family, in whatever small way she could. Some other department heads might smile in the halls and then proceed to forget her name and her existence until they required something, but she had a feeling that he was one of the sincere ones.

"I can definitely do that."

She'd tell Sulwen to use all her subtlety. Which would likely result in the girl hovering around Feliks, too reserved to speak up first. Abby glanced down at the letter she'd started. Perhaps just a smidgen of subtlety would do.

Abby grinned and shook her head. "The dungeons may have been a bit dreary for me," she glanced at the stone walls. "But I'm sure I would have found a way to fit in."

He was right, though - she doubted she would have been placed there. Which reminded her that he said he'd gone to school with Aileen.

"You seem to get on well with everyone," Abby nodded. "Everyone who has a sense of decency, at least," she couldn't help but add.

"So I'm guessing you were in Slytherin," she smiled. One of the affable snakes.

For reasons likely to do with her unicorn desk sign, Balfour imagined that the Slytherin common room would have looked much brighter than it did in his time if Abby had attended Hogwarts. Green and silver glitter, maybe, and the cutesy side of snakes. Possibly less of their doom and gloom.

            "So I'm guessing you were in Slytherin," she was right on the galleon.

"Same as Aileen," he smiled and reached for the tea he'd yet to touch. "Good guess. I suppose Feliks followed in my footsteps, somehow. I thought he might be too nice for it but they said the same thing about me when I was sorted."

They had called Balfour the runt of the litter - scraggliest of his hardy siblings and with a polite disposition. He had outgrown the former and polished the latter; although not without some struggling.

In some ways, the struggle continued to this day.

"Speaking of which. How is your sister?" Bal thought it best to ask, seeing as how he had nothing else to do until Solomon's paperwork allowed him to leave in search of Johann. "I haven't seen her in an age, seems like. Never did get on with Runes or History."

Abby smiled. Slytherins could be very sweet when they wanted to be. Naomi and Virgil were excellent examples of that. It didn't surprise her that Feliks had taken after his kindly father.

When he asked after her sister, her smile faltered, and worry flitted across her face. Something about his open manner made her want to tell him, though it was really for Aileen to say.

"You know her," Abby stalled, "Always on a historical, runic adventure. Her last trip was to Ireland."

She paused, turning the pen over in her hand.

"But she's home now."

If there was a strange emphasis on the word home, she couldn't help it. Aileen was not at St. Mungo's, not with their parents, but home. She was well enough for that, at least, though Abby hated to think of her by herself, and knew she either couldn't or wouldn't reach out to old friends and classmates without cause.

Abby had to create the cause.

"Were you friends, growing up?" She watched his expression carefully as she shifted her tone to a teasing one. "And was she a hellion in school?"

Balfour lacked the typical bitter, beleaguered air of Aileen's peers.

"She won't tell me. She hints," Abby sighed, her smile inching back in place.

The faltering smile worried him - had something happened to Aileen Reid that he didn't know about? Even Abby's response did nothing to entirely reassure him. There was an odd tilt to the way the young witch had spoken about her sister being home. Like it had come at the end of a torturous journey, instead of at the end of an adventure in Ireland.

"Hellion?" he laughed at the word, an image of catty young Aileen emerging in his mind. "I suppose you could say she was, although it depends on who you're talking to."

A nostalgic light entered his eye, softening the worried countenance from earlier this morning. Balfour was happy to chat about the good old days at Hogwarts if it meant cheering up Abigail for a little while. She reminded him of some of his teenage cousins, like innocent Isla.

"Your sister was very similar to.... to the opera," he resorted to one of the aphorisms said about that form of theatre, which he'd often attended with Ira before everything went to hell. "You either really liked or disliked her. Luckily, we were friends. I don't think I'd have fancied being one of her victims."

Bal smiled to himself, hoping his exaggeration was taken in good humour rather than as damning testimony. "You'll pass on my regards, won't you?" he reached into his robes and took out a cigarette case. "Would love to see her again."

Abby's eyebrows shot up, amused by his comparison of Aileen to the opera. She'd guessed as much from Aileen's behavior over the years, and felt a flare of hope that at least they'd been friends.

"I absolutely will," she smiled, her expression a touch grateful and relieved.

She then glanced at his cigarette and resisted a giggle.

Nope, nope, she wasn't going to tell him no smoking. She didn't care. Someone else could tell him no. The Aurors did worse in the simulation rooms, bursting the room into flames some days and nearly drowning poor Fauna on Wednesdays.

"I used to live with Aileen. For a few years," she nodded. "I just showed up on her doorstep after my mother scolded me for dyeing my hair," she lifted a red strand and smirked. No dyes this time, Mum!

"Told her she had a new roommate. Drove her mad. It must be karma from her hellion days!"

Abby added another line to her letter to Sulwen, pushing away the thought that as far as karma went, they'd paid their dues. She hesitated for a moment before deciding to trust him with her living situation.

"Now Raine puts up with my antics. She's a darling," Abby added affectionately, glancing up.

She wondered how he felt about Ira Almasy's niece, especially since this morning, as she hadn't caught up with her flatmate yet.

A flame leapt to life at the tip of his wand and he breathed in as he lit the cigarette and listened to Abby. Her remarks made him laugh, cheered him up.

The age gap between sisters must have made it interesting for the pair of them; in addition to not having a magical school to bicker or bond over. Not for the first time he wondered about the many Almasy squibs Feliks had mentioned growing up with - poor souls forced from their own families for no good reason. It made him consider Solomon's assistant in a kind light.

            "Now Raine puts up with my antics. She's a darling," Abby added.

He thought of the red-haired auror-in-training, her face flashing in his mind like an unwanted memory. Darling wasn't a word that he would apply to her, and certainly not one he had ever heard Ira use either. She talked about her niece in proud and objective terms. 

"You live with Raine?" Balfour turned his head to blow out a puff of smoke, not wanting to get it in Abby's face. "We keep meaning to  speak to her, properly, about Feliks. She was rather level-headed about getting me away from Witch Weekly."

Even if she did have that odd aura about her, of always knowing where she was. Overwhelming competency. Ira had it too. Not an intimidating quality in Raine but it had the potential to be.

"You two must have your run of the place over here, aye?" he smiled, picturing the odd pair working on level two in such different capacities.

Taking another drag, his gaze flicked to the clock in the conference room. "Don't suppose you know how much longer I'll be here?" Bal was impatient to see Johann and to catch him up on their son's misfortune.

Abby nodded at his question. She hoped, once things calmed down for Feliks, that they would arrange for Feliks and Raine to meet, forge new familial connections. Find something good out of the madness that was Ira Almasy.

"She has a good head on her shoulders, and I'm sure she'd appreciate you thinking of her," she said lightly, though meant it.

"We cause all sorts of mischief here," she smiled, thinking of their letter to Witch Weekly. "Though I must admit, the mischief spans levels," she gestured with her hand in the air, pausing at intervals like a lift. "All the way to Level Nine. Haven't hit Level Ten yet."

Give her a few more months, and more contacts at the Ministry.
 
"Don't suppose you know how much longer I'll be here?"

Abby raised her eyebrows. Typical Head of a Department! Lounging in his conference chair, smoking, and wondering aloud when he could escape when she too, was essentially stuck there, babysitting on a Saturday. Abby stifled a laugh. At least he was charming and personable.

"I can ask," she rose from her seat. "Can I get you anything in the meantime?"

Like a dartboard made out a certain magazine.

He raised his eyebrows as Abby explained her network of mischief spanned nearly all ten floors of the Ministry... and not to mention the Slytherin common room. A social butterfly then. How different sisters can be. And yet both charming in their own ways. It was funny to imagine the young squib befriending the likes of Unspeakables and Obliviators but Balfour believed her.

             "I can ask," she was terrifically obliging. "Can I get you anything in the meantime?"

"Not unless you see my fiancé wandering around," he grinned at Abby - though his countenance was tinged by something sadder, a kind of longing for comfort that only Johann could provide. "Thanks very much. I do appreciate it, after the devil of a morning I've had."

Oh, yes, much better than a muggle cell[1]. She left the conference room. Balfour continued to smoke and watch the clock, rubbing at his eyes every so often with the palm of his hand. A part of his mind flittered worriedly to Hogwarts and another part to his lover.

He lit another cigarette.

1.	Outraged Public Decency - Balhann got arrested on Valentine's Day, oops!