On Wednesday it would be a year since Felix unexpectedly arrived in the night. Johann and Balfour had woken with hangovers from Knox and Carr’s wedding to find a young wizard curled on the sofa. But this year they weren’t expecting another illegitimate son to kip on the furniture, but a fully grown wizard from Balfour’s past instead.

“He’s rough around the edges,” Balfour had explained, to Johann’s raised eyebrow, curious, “… but mostly kind.” Mostly. Mostly. Merlin…

“Hrrrgh.” Johann shrugged off the lingering memory of scepticism at this interaction the other day. He put down his cup of tea, realising he’d been staring out of the window rather than ensuring some of the feed bills were paid for the many beasts that were tended to on the estate.

Balfour had been keen to lay out the welcome mat for their arrival, and Johann had reminded himself that they were married wizards now, so he should contain any green-eyed monster that might arise. Besides, he understood Robin Louvelle might be ‘easy on the eye’, though ‘rough around the edges’ in other senses. Did that work, or wasn’t that a oxymoron?


Johann scrawled his new signature with a pleased grin. No St but Sp these days. He was a spook too.


Whiskey heralded an arrival and there was an almost imperceivable shudder through the old house as it felt it too. Johann inhaled, rose from his desk chair and strode through the otherwise empty house.

There on the doorstep that balmy Saturday afternoon was a wizard, as described. Johann affixed his best smile, throwing open the front door. Whiskey and the other hounds poured out to investigate, tails wagging, tongues lolling in the warm weather. The linguist's lanky form was clad in a white linen shirt, untucked over faded dark blue jeans, his feet hidden by green socks with an owl pattern on them, framed by the doorway.

“Robin!” He greeted, with exuberance that was actually a bit more genuine than it had felt five minutes before. “Welcome!” He gestured to himself. “Johann, Balfour’s husband, good to meet you." He thrust his hand out to shake.

"Here, come in” he stepped back, and clicked his fingers to indicate to the dogs to relent in their nose poking. “Come in," he repeated, moving to draw his wand to levitate any baggage. "You made it. How was your journey?”

What was he doing here?

Robin Louvelle appeared on the summery terrace of the Spectre Estate with nothing but the clothes on his back and a duffle bag that had seen better days. He took a moment to orient himself - he was facing a forest on one side, that seemed to dip and rise on hilly terrain.

"Jesus," the wizard muttered as soon as he turned to see the house in which shadow he stood.

When Balfour had told him about growing up in a manor, nearly fourteen years ago, he described it as one of the lesser pureblood homes of Britain but it was nonetheless bigger in reality than it had been in his imagination. It was also warmer in appearance, of old stone and that immutable quality of places actually lived in.

He hesitated. Their correspondence had dropped three years past, through Robin's own doing. Balfour's letter[1] was more than cordial but they'd not laid eyes on one another in so long. Robin half-expected a stinging refusal. That wasn't like Bal, though.


Once he braced himself to knock and wait, the doors creaked open. Beyond them, the sound of dogs barking. And then a figure, about Balfour's height, but definitely not the Scotsman himself.

            “Robin!” a deep velvety voice exclaimed, and it came as something of a nasty shock not to be greeted by his old friend first.

"Johann," Robin repeated the name in a dazed, surprised moment as he reached to take the offered hand - grasping it by the wrist without thinking, his own particular way of shaking hands.

A pair of brilliant white Huskies and a black German Shepherd appeared to be part of the welcome party. He laughed, breaking the awkwardness of his shock and entering into the hall with a wondering look around him. It was old old.

"Uh, journey was fine," he let Johann charm away his bag, and kicked off his shoes - the dogs were all noses. "Took the train in from Paris and apparated here."

Robin felt entirely out of his class. How the hell did a place like this produce a guy like Balfour? Or the Balfour of fourteen years ago anyway.

He looked at Johann properly now, taking in the unusual face and dark curls. A marvel, said the letter. He did not disguise his interest. "You're not what I was expecting," his words came with a smile, friendly. "Nice to meet you. Bal not around?"

1.	9th August - As Far As the Eagles Fly

A forearm shake, different, but not unknown. Empty right hands clasped had shown for longer than man remembered that strangers were not holding weapons and bore no ill will towards each other. Even so, it gave Johann a moment to adapt his expectation, but just added to his assessment of the other man. Nice coat, lean, slightly weathered face, yes he could quite see how Balfour would like the wizard, especially in their younger days.

His name sounded strange in a Canadian accent, but he had done well to repeat his own pronunciation of his name with the yoh. Johann was however quite accustomed to the British referring to him more like Joe. Nobody would ever butcher it as much as Hannah’s mother.

Robin’s gaze was up and about them as he stepped into the manor’s entrance. This was ordinary for any first time visitor. It was an impressive but homely space, decorated by generations past, but now adjusted to the present occupants taste. Robin’s bag floated gently to the foot of the stairs.

“Took the train in from Paris and apparated here.”
“Agréable, little more refined than the international floo.” The European wizarding trains were naturally comfortable, retaining a style from an age of refinement. These days Muggles crammed themselves into trains which resembled tin cans, especially on the Tube. Johann would rather apparate than be forced upon that again too soon.

“You’re not what I was expecting.” There was no attempt to hide the visual examination, which was fine, as Johann had been doing the same. Well, that was a rather lovely smile. “Nice to meet you. Bal not around?”

“Unfortunately not,” Johann addressed the insecurity of their guest first, “he wanted to be here to greet you, but had to floo to London an hour or so ago to take care of something at the office.” He closed the door behind Robin. “He’ll be back as soon as he can,” he gestured for Robin to explore inwards of the building, permitting his curiosity.

“Tea, coffee? Have you eaten lunch?” He offered hospitality, subsequently dithering on their destination. “We’ve some leftover chicken legs we were going to use for lunch, only they’ve probably got something down there now.” One of the dogs gave a subdued bark at the mention of chicken, knowing it shouldn’t speak. “Ahh… they’re hoping you say no.”

Wasn't it just like Balfour, running around putting out fires? Though probably metaphorical ones these days.

Robin wandered into the entrance hall with hands in pockets, lifting his head as he had a better look at it - the fixtures and fittings, high ceilings that extended to the floor above. He could imagine a big family in here. Huge, in fact. It clarified a few things about his old friend. Robin always had to make an effort to socialise, being an only child. Bal took to it like a fish in water.

"Tea would be fantastic," he turned back to Johann, laughing at the eager dogs. "I've eaten, thanks, on the train. Happy not to disappoint your loyal hounds."


The kitchen was more his speed than anything else he'd seen so far. Even the passageways were full of history - portraits, pictures, sideboards boasting family relics. Here was a warmer, more purposeful space.

Robin sat at one end of the long rustic table, glancing at the windows in front of the sink. It was propped open to let in some of that late summer air and the estate looked peaceful outside.

"You and Balfour were in the states for your honeymoon?" he asked conversationally, arm stretched out along the back of the dining chair. "He mentioned when he wrote back. I've been a real ass about correspondence, haven't really caught up with him. Dropped off when I got bit a few years ago."

A part of him was sure Johann knew all this; Balfour had probably told him. But he was still feeling wrong-footed, and it was easier to start on familiar territory instead of all the other questions he wanted to ask.

Tea he could do easily, and it would seem odd to be so pompous to ask the house elf to tend to it. Besides, if Robin was staying with them a while, he’d need to know where the most important room of the house was. So he led him through. The dogs watched him fill the kettle and set it over the fire, so retreated to their food bowls in suggestion and the huskies briefly protested over the ownership of a bone.

“We were,” Johann agreed, “took a road trip down the west coast, first time I’d really been over that way.” The kettle ticked as the water began to heat. Despite Robin’s suggestion he’d already eaten on the train, he rustled up shortbread for a sober welcome to Scotland at the very least. Tea mugs, teaspoon, plates, teapot all danced gracefully from their homes to the end of the table nearest Robin.

He wondered if they were meant to look Robin up while they were over there. But looking up your ex while you’re on honeymoon didn’t quite sit right. The thought of looking up Arcturus Hollingbury… Johann’s mouth twitched at the ridiculous thought. North America was a whole continent, after all. He glanced back to Robin, trying to read him.

“Understandable,” he sympathised instead with being distracted to write, “big change in your life that. I have a couple of good friends who are the same. One’s a healer, though, not at St Mungo’s any more.” That had been quite the transition for Hannah, but she seemed happy enough being a healer for Azkaban. She never was conventional. “That’s what’s brought you over here, right?” He asked, approaching the fireplace and looking back over his shoulder in a futile attempt to hide his curiosity, “a job at the hospital?”

West coast - so they had gone by the old haunts, distant now both in time and space. Robin was glad he hadn't been around when the pair looked in on the old clinic; it would have been awkward, especially after the wedding invitation had gone so unceremoniously ignored.

He smiled gratefully at Johann as a little army tea things danced their way to him. It was all so charming and so British, he found it hard not to like the other man. Though he wasn't, of course, technically British. Not with that voice.

"A job, a change of pace." Robin fiddled with a teaspoon, tracing the edges of its handle as he looked across the kitchen at Johann. "My mother is part English, went to Hogwarts and the whole nine yards. Doesn't have any family left here though."

If she had, he would have looked them up instead of writing to Balfour. But here he was now, feeling more welcomed by his ex-boyfriend's husband than he'd felt with his own people back in the states. It was almost laughable.

Robin set down the teaspoon, willing his hands to be still. "So how did you come to meet Bal?" his own curiousity was piqued as nerves settled. "Tell me a love story," he raised his eyebrows, a laughing smile underneath. "I think the world of him but he could never tell a story straight."

Always some intense emotion got in the way of that, for much the same reason Robin himself was bad at it.