Around 3pm.


His office had come a ways. Its predecessor's personality and trappings were now long removed, replaced by Balfour's recent preference for Edwardian furniture. A large desk of light mahogany, ornately carved solid chairs, cabinets and chests of drawers full of folders still being painstakingly organised by Mrs Lanningham.

A large Serbian tapestry rug dominated the floor, its emerald green weave complimented matching colours in office lamps or the odd bamboo palm.

The most obvious feature was the large map that took up an entire wall, covered in a scattering of pins that indicated different known populations of beasts and beings. Balfour's other walls were occupied by full bookshelves or small windows overlooking beast sanctuary landscapes. This room felt more and more like his own with every passing day.

           "Will that be all?" his secretary was sealing his response to Greyfriar's[1] note.

"I think best to let the Werewolf Wing know there might be trouble," he sat back in his chair with a sigh, taking off his spectacles for a moment to rub his eyes. "Bagnold, not Ballentyne. Greyfriar's note to be forwarded on to Johann, of course. And if you could keep an ear out for Two, that would be brilliant."

It was a Saturday, and he had dropped by in fairly casual dress to sign a few papers and check in with department affairs. The letter from Greyfriar was a surprise. As his wedding drew closer, these weekend work visits grew more frequent. They would be taking a little over two weeks off work for their honeymoon and Balfour was anxious to leave the department in competent condition.

"Thank you Mrs L. And you'll see I'm not disturbed for the next hour?" he called out as the old witch left. She raised her grey eyebrows, noting the instruction before gently shutting the office door.

1.	17th March - Making No Mistake

Alone, the wizard made a frustrated noise and brought his hand down on the table with a jarring slam! He was upset by this news from Hogwarts but not surprised. It would have been stupid not to expect some follow up to those werewolf gloves. At least Feliks was safe.

That thought calmed him some. Balfour looked down at the papers on his desk, pushing aside the ones already signed. Underneath them was parchment of a different texture; slightly aged and richer. The kind of paper he used in his study at the manor.

His sharp handwriting massacred the first page, a brief outline of wedding vows to be read before their guests next month. It was short and relatively decent. Bal shuffled it to the back of the stack. Beneath his vows were three pages worth of notes, written in various inks over what looked to be a span of days if not weeks.

He was writing a letter to his future husband. It was an old-fashioned letter in concept, a love letter. What Balfour wanted to say to Johann, as they approached marriage, could not be said in open vows.

If observers thought the men to be nauseatingly romantic in public then their private lives would simply appall. Part of this had to do with the fact that so few knew of their true entanglement with Ira Almasy. What would they say, if told that Johann had threatened[1] a murderess in defence of Balfour? Or told of the blood on their respective hands, blood only they could see, cleansed over and over by obscene acts of love?

His plan had been to tell Johann. Before the wedding, maybe, or on their honeymoon. But Balfour always struggled with expressing himself in words and he wanted his wizard to know exactly how he felt. Exactitude was better executed in writing than by tongue.

He picked up his quill thoughtfully and glanced at the clock. An hour to write, and then it was back to the lived reality. Back to dealing with the owls and writing to Feliks to ensure all was well.

Balfour dipped the nib into ink, brow dark with thought.

1.	14th Jan 2011 - Your Only Hope is Evil